Goodbye to the World
FATE came plodding down the Yadkin Valley Road one day, leading a pack-horse. Fate had for the moment assumed the guise of a backwoods peddler, and his name was John Finley. It was nearly fourteen years since Boone and he had fled for their lives after Braddock's defeat.
There is no reason to suppose that the two men had ever met since. There was no particular reason why they should ever have met again; men scattered far and wide upon that wild frontier. And yet one day John Finley with his peddler's pack drew up at Daniel Boone's cabin door. He was just one more of those itinerant merchants who wandered with their moveable stores among the backwoods settlements, which were so nearly self‐ sufficing that a merchant with an ordinary country store would have starved to death. Still, there were a few things backwoods ingenuity could not produce; and frontier wives and daughters loved bright ribbons, fine cloth, odd knick-knacks as much as any other women.
Years later, in Missouri, Daniel's son Nathan remembered Finley; how he stabled his spare nags in the Boone stables; and most of all he remembered the yarns Finley spun beside the cabin fire. Kaintuck'—there was a land for you. Game in such abundance as no man dreamed of. A deer at every lick. Buffalo thick upon the traces. Herds so huge that a man had to be careful lest he be crushed to death in their mad stampedes. The