Adventure Magazine Cover — page 97: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Battle of the Kettles he must reach the nearest settlers quickly and give the alarm. But how and where to reach the nearest help? By the very lowest estimate he must be at least fifteen miles from Bullitt’s Lick and on the wrong side of the river; and as he could not walk, but must go on hands and knees, his necessary meanderings might increase the distance to twenty miles. Yet he must make his toilsome way. An ordi- nary man might have quailed and sunk down hopeless as he contemplated the task; but Henry Crist was an American pioneer. He began his task by making a detour around the deepest part of the ravine on the edge of which he had been wounded. He saw that it would be best to keep a few hun- dred yards back from the river in order to avoid those deepest erosions, which were decidedly difficult going for a man on all fours. He had not proceeded far when he found that his palms and knees were not intended for such work and must have pro- tection if they were to save him. With leathern thongs from his hunting shirt he bound one of his moccasins to each knee; then cut two squares from the leather shirt and bound one over the palm of each hand. He was now able to travel with slightly less discomfort, especially as to his hands; for stones, sticks and briers had been dreadfully wearing on them when they were bare. But he found that the thin leather shields wore out rapidly. He had to stop and cut two more sets of them by nightfall. They all gave him trouble, too, by slipping out of position. As darkness fell he crawled into a thicket and lay down, hoping that he might refresh himself with a little sleep. But sleep was impossible; worry and pain and loss of blood had driven it from his eyes. After fretting a while and trying in vain to find an easy position he decided to continue his journey. Creeping out of the thicket, he was able to locate the north star, and, guided by this, - he struggled on. It was an hour or more later that he saw the glow of a camp-fire through the trees ahead of him. At first he thought that fever from his wound must have made him slight- ly delirious; but as he moved nearer he saw that the fire was a reality. No telling, how- ever whether it was a camp of friend or foe. Slowly, cautiously, trying not to break a twig nor rustle a leaf, he inched nearer to the glow. Now he could discern the dark 95 bulk of a watcher sitting against a tree. Suddenly a little dog began to bark furi- ously. Evidently he had heard or scented the white man, although the latter was fifty yards distant. At that, half a dozen men rose up from the ground around the fire, and Crist saw to his horror that they were Indians! They stood talking and trying to peer into the darkness, while Crist stole away as rapidly as he could, and by the blessing of Providence managed to do so without making any noise. The Indians were probably some small, wandering band on a hunt, and could not have taken part in the fight of the previous morning. They must have decided that the dog was barking at some prowling animal, for they presently lay down again around the fire, and Crist was able to get away undis- covered. But he was fearful that they might find his trail next morning, so he . ‘made his way down into the bed of an almost dry streamlet that ran toward the river, and crawled there for some distance over the stones which, though mostly worn smooth and round by the water, yet hurt his hands, knees and shins most cruelly. Again and again he slipped down between the stones in the darkness, jamming and twisting his fingers, bruising his face and legs and giving his wounded heel terrible pain. He had decided to put the river between him and the Indians’ camp. He would have to cross it before reaching the Lick anyhow, and it might as well be done immediately. The moon was just beginning to appear above the tree tops in the East as he came out on the riverbank and crawled to and fro in search of a piece of driftwood to serve him as a float. He finally found a small log and half rolled, half dragged it down to the water’s edge. Then with a dead bough for a paddle he sat astride the larger piece and cautiously propelled himself across. The current was sluggish, and he lost but little ground in his passage. The cool water felt very refreshing to his wound and the in- flamed leg. On the opposite shore he had a hard time getting up the slippery bank, sliding back almost as fast as he advanced. But at length he won to the crest and lay down, breathless, to rest a while. His hand- shields were worn out again, and he must cut some new ones out of his shirt before he could goon. The light of the rising moon DOOK (© in