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Mangy dogs barked at our feet, men and women ran forward joyfully to seize our hands and greet us. And so we came to Kaintuckee. The old forts like Harrodstown and Boonesboro and Logan's at St. Asaph's have long since passed away.
It is far from old Greece to this forest of Kaintuckee, but he makes me think of the mighty heroes who are enshrined in the ancient legends and stories." "That thought has come to me, too," Paul whispered back. "I like to picture him as Hector, but Hector with a better fate. I don't think Henry was born for any untimely end." "No, that could not be," said the schoolmaster with conviction.
Would you leave Polly Ann and go to Kaintuckee?" "Are you going?" I said. "I reckon I am," he said, "as soon as I kin." "Will you take me?" I asked, breathless. "I I won't be in your way, and I can walk and shoot game." At that he bent back his head and laughed, which made me redden with anger. Then he turned and looked at me more soberly. "You're a queer little piece," said he.
"Hush, Polly Ann," he answered; delighted at her raillery. "But I've a word to say to you. If we come on to the redskins, you and Davy make for the cane as hard as you kin kilter. Keep out of sight." "As hard as we kin kilter!" exclaimed Polly Ann, indignantly. "I reckon not, Tom McChesney. Davy taught me to shoot long ago, afore you made up your mind to come back from Kaintuckee." Tom chuckled.
"Robbed you!" I exclaimed, indignant that he, of all men, should suffer. "Ay," he said, "robbed me. They've took one claim after another, tracts that I staked out long afore they heerd of Kaintuckee." He rubbed his rifle barrel with his buckskin sleeve. "I get a little for my skins, and a little by surveyin'. But when the game goes I reckon I'll go after it." "Where, Mr. Boone?" I asked.
It was beautiful, this great wilderness of Kaintuckee, and each boy saw it according to his nature. Henry, the soul of action, the boy of the keen senses and the mighty physical nature, loved it for its own sake and for what it was in the present. He fitted into it and was a part of it. The towns and the old civilization in the east never called to him.
It was a song of anticipation, and when they translated it to themselves it ran something like this: To the land of Kaintuckee we have come, Wielders of the bow and the tomahawk, we, Shawnee and Miami, Wyandot and Delaware Matchless in march and battle we come, Great is Manitou.
"I think there are caves all over, or rather, under this country that the Indians call Kaintuckee," he said, "but down in this part of it they're the biggest."
It was made long ago by the Southern Indians as they threaded their way to the Hunting Lands of Kaintuckee, and shared now by Indian traders. The path was redolent with odors, and bright with mountain shrubs and flowers, the pink laurel bush, the shining rhododendron, and the grape and plum and wild crab.
There was no stint, either, of maple beer and rum and "Black Betty," and toasts to the bride and groom amidst gusts of laughter "that they might populate Kaintuckee." And Polly Ann would have it that I should sit by her side under the maple. The fiddlers played, and there were foot races and shooting matches.
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