Many and perilous were his adventures during his three months of lonely life in the woods and canebrakes of that fear-haunted land.  Prowling wolves troubled him by night, prowling savages by day, yet fear never entered his bold heart, and cheerfulness never fled from his mind.  He was the true pioneer, despising peril and proof against loneliness.  At length his brother joined him, with horses and supplies, and the two adventurers passed another winter in the wilderness.

Several efforts were made in the ensuing years to people the country, but numbers of the settlers were slain by the Indians, whose hostility made the task so perilous that a permanent settlement was not made till 1775.  The place then settled—­a fine location on the Kentucky River—­was called, in honor of its founder, Boonesborough.  Here a small fort was built, to which the adventurer now brought his family, being determined to make it his place of abode, despite his dusky foes.  “My wife and daughter,” he says, “were the first white women that ever stood on the banks of Kentucky River.”

It was a dangerous step they had taken.  The savages, furious at this invasion of their hunting-grounds, were ever on the alert against their pale-faced foes.  In the following spring Boone’s daughter, with two other girls, who had thoughtlessly left the fort to gather flowers, were seized by ambushed Indians and hurried away into the forest depths.

Their loss was soon learned, and the distracted parents, with seven companions, were quickly in pursuit through the far-reaching forest.  For two days, with the skill of trained scouts, they followed the trail which the girls, true hunters’ daughters, managed to mark by shreds of their clothing which they tore off and dropped by the way.

The rapid pursuers at length came within sight of the camp of the Indians.  Here they waited till darkness descended, approaching as closely as was safe.  The two fathers, Boone and Calloway, now volunteered to attempt a rescue under cover of the night, and crept, with the acumen of practised frontiersmen, towards the Indian halting-place.  Unluckily for them they were discovered and captured by the Indians, who dragged them exultingly to their camp.  Here a council was quickly held, and the captives condemned to suffer the dreadful fate of savage reprisal,—­death by torture and flame.

Morning had but fairly dawned when speedy preparations were made by the savages for their deadly work.  They had no time to waste, for they knew not how many pursuers might be on their trail.  The captives were securely bound to trees, before the eyes of their distracted daughters, and fagots hastily gathered for the fell purpose of their foes.

But while they were thus busied, the companions of Boone and Calloway had not been idle.  Troubled by the non-return of the rescuers, the woodsmen crept up with the first dawn of day, saw the bloody work designed, and poured in a sudden storm of bullets on the savages, several of whom were stretched bleeding upon the ground.  Then, with shouts of exultation, the ambushed whites burst from their covert, dashed into the camp before the savages could wreak their vengeance on their prisoners, and with renewed rifle-shots sent them away in panic flight.  A knife-stroke or two released the captives, and the party returned in triumph to the fort.