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Updated: May 2, 2025
In the strongly marked frontier character no traits were more pronounced than the dislike of crowding and the tendency to roam to and fro, hither and thither, always with a westward trend. Boone, the typical frontiersman, embodied in his own person the spirit of loneliness and restlessness which marked the first venturers into the wilderness.
"Ever shoot anythin'?" the frontiersman questioned, when he had taken four or five puffs at his pipe. "Squirrels." "Good practice, shootin' squirrels," observed Jeff, after another silence, long enough to allow Joe to talk if he was so inclined. "Kin ye hit one say, a hundred yards?" "Yes, but not every time in the head," returned Joe. There was an apologetic tone in his answer.
"The trail is poor," observed James Morris. "Much poorer than I expected. We shall have our own troubles getting through." "It is not as good as when Barringford and I marched under General Braddock," answered Dave. "Then the pioneer corps cut down every tree and bush that was in our way." "And lost so much time our army was defeated," put in the old frontiersman grimly.
To say that real estate was once active at certain places on its shores is just simply about as powerful as the remark made by the frontiersman who came home from his haying one afternoon and found that the Indians had burned up his buildings, massacred his wife, driven off his milch cows and killed his children.
I never done you no harm. I'll have y'r life for this." "Y' will, will y'? Did y' ask for a drink? Wayland, wait for m' here!" The Ranger saw the white-haired frontiersman seize one sprawling leg and the shirt front of the struggling limp thing in his hands. He heard him plunging down through the tangle of windfall and brush.
He was a powerful man physically, and a typical frontiersman. He was born in Kentucky in 1791, and, with his wife, moved to Illinois in 1815. He settled in Sangamon County in 1818, and in 1829 took up his abode in a cabin on a hill overlooking the Sangamon River, and, with James Rutledge, founded the town of New Salem. According to tradition, Lincoln, for a time, lived with the Camerons.
Both were now quite anxious to return to the East, Henry to learn how his folks were faring, and Barringford to see the twins and find out if their identity had yet been disclosed. "If they ain't found out nuthin' about them twins, I'm going to make 'em my own," said the old frontiersman. "I ain't got no chick nor child, an' I might as well be a-doin' somethin' for somebody in this world."
A know the Cree tongue, an' A know the need o' decency in th' tepees, an' A know the trick o' puttin' Christianity into th' end o' m' fist on white blackguards! An' that's all." "Is that all?" repeated Wayland; and he gave the old frontiersman the same kind of a look, Matthews had given him that day going up the face of the Pass precipice.
Once an Indian fired through a port-hole into the bedchamber, and the burning gun-wad landed on one of the straw bedticks. "Put it out!" roared Poke Stover, and while Dan trampled on the fire to extinguish it, the frontiersman let the Indian have a shot in return. Crash! crash!
During the continuance of these blizzards, which is usually about three days, the cold wind sweeps over the Plains with great force, and, in the latitude of the Indian Territory, is weighted with great quantities of sleet and snow, through which it is often impossible to travel; indeed, these "Northers" have many times proved fatal to the unprotected frontiersman.
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