“Lord A’mighty!” said Fletcher Blount, “be they Cricks?”

“Chickasaws, by the headgear,” said Terrell.  “Davy, you’ve got a hoss.  Ride out and look em over.”

Nothing loath, I put the mare into a gallop, and I passed over the very place where Polly Ann had picked me up and saved my life long since.  The Indians came on at a dog trot, but when they were within fifty paces of me they halted abruptly.  The chief waved the white belt around his head.

“Davy!” says he, and I trembled from head to foot.  How well I knew that voice!

“Colonel Clark!” I cried, and rode up to him.  “Thank God you are come, sir,” said I, “for the people here are land-mad, and the Northern Indians are crossing the Ohio.”

He took my bridle, and, leading the horse, began to walk rapidly towards the station.

“Ay,” he answered, “I know it.  A runner came to me with the tidings, where I was building a fort on the Mississippi, and I took Willis here and Saunders, and came.”

I glanced at my old friends, who grinned at me through the berry-stain on their faces.  We reached a ditch through which the rain of the night before was draining from the fields Clark dropped the bridle, stooped down, and rubbed his face clean.  Up he got again and flung the feathers from his head, and I thought that his eyes twinkled despite the sternness of his look.

“Davy, my lad,” said he, “you and I have seen some strange things together.  Perchance we shall see stranger to-day.”

A shout went up, for he had been recognized.  And Captain Harrod and Ray and Terrell and Cowan (who had just ridden in) ran up to greet him and press his hand.  He called them each by name, these men whose loyalty had been proved, but said no word more nor paused in his stride until he had reached the edge of the mob about the land court.  There he stood for a full minute, and we who knew him looked on silently and waited.

The turmoil had begun again, the speculators calling out in strident tones, the settlers bargaining and pushing, and all clamoring to be heard.  While there was money to be made or land to be got they had no ear for the public weal.  A man shouldered his way through, roughly, and they gave back, cursing, surprised.  He reached the door, and, flinging those who blocked it right and left, entered.  There he was recognized, and his name flew from mouth to mouth.

“Clark!”

He walked up to the table, strewn with books and deeds.

“Silence!” he thundered.  But there was no need,—­they were still for once.  “This court is closed,” he cried “while Kentucky is in danger.  Not a deed shall be signed nor an acre granted until I come back from the Ohio.  Out you go!”

Out they went indeed, judge, brokers, speculators—­the evicted and the triumphant together.  And when the place was empty Clark turned the key and thrust it into his hunting shirt.  He stood for a moment on the step, and his eyes swept the crowd.