The Young Trailers by Joseph A. Altsheler

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THE YOUNG TRAILERS

A Story of Early Kentucky

JOSEPH A. ALTSHELER

Appleton-Century-Crofts, Inc. New York Copyright, 1907, by D. Appleton and Company All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, must not be reproduced in any form without permission of the publishers. Copyright 1934 by Sallie B. Altsheler Printed in the United States of America

TO SYDNEY A YOUNG KENTUCKIAN

CONTENTS

I.--Into the Unknown

II.--The First Great Exploit

III.--Lost in the Wilderness

IV.--The Haunted Forest

V.--Afloat

VI.--The Voice of the Woods

VII.--The Giant Bones

VIII.--The Wild Turkey's "Gobble"

IX.--The Escape

X.--The Cave Dust

XI.--The Forest Spell

XII.--The Primitive Man

XIII.--The Call of Duty

XIV.--The Return

XV.--The Siege

XVI.--A Girl's Way

XVII.--The Battle in the Forest

XVIII.--The Test

XIX.--An Errand and a Friend

THE YOUNG TRAILERS

CHAPTER I

INTO THE UNKNOWN

It was a white caravan that looked down from the crest of the mountains upon the green wilderness, called by the Indians, _Kain-tuck-ee_. The wagons, a score or so in number, were covered with arched canvas, bleached by the rains, and, as they stood there, side by side, they looked like a snowdrift against the emerald expanse of forest and foliage.

The travelers saw the land of hope, outspread before them, a wide sweep of rolling country, covered with trees and canebrake, cut by streams of clear water, flowing here and there, and shining in the distance, amid the green, like threads of silver wire. All gazed, keen with interest and curiosity, because this unknown land was to be their home, but none was more eager than Henry Ware, a strong boy of fifteen who stood in front of the wagons beside the guide, Tom Ross, a tall, lean man the color of well-tanned leather, who would never let his rifle go out of his hand, and who had Henry's heartfelt admiration, because he knew so much about the woods and wild animals, and told such strange and absorbing tales of the great wilderness that now lay before them.

But any close observer who noted Henry Ware would always have looked at him a second time. He was tall and muscled beyond his years, and when he walked his figure showed a certain litheness and power like that of the forest bred. His gaze was rapid, penetrating and inclusive, but never furtive. He seemed to fit into the picture of the wilderness, as if he had taken a space reserved there for him, and had put himself in complete harmony with all its details.

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