184 WILD SCENES AND WILD HUNTERS. 



butcher knife, until I did come to wliere my tomahawk had 

 left an impression in the wood. "We now went regularly to 

 work, and scraped at the tree with care, until three hacks aa 

 plain as any three notches ever were, could be seen. Mr. 



and the other gentlemen were astonished, and, I must 



allow, I was as much surprised as pleased myself. I made 

 affidavit of this remarkable occurrence in presence of these 



gentlemen. Mr. gained his cause. I left Green 



River forever, and came to where we now are; and, sir, I 

 wish you a good night." 



There are a thousand such characteristic anecdotes of 

 Daniel Boone that might be given, but none of them would 

 be so interesting in themselves or possess such attraction as 

 this, coming from the lips of such a narrator — for Boone was 

 never more remarkable for the development of the curious 

 instincts of wood-craft, than was Audubon himself — who of 

 all men was best qualified to appreciate such phenomena in 

 another. 



Not long after his removal to Missouri, Boone calmly laid 

 down and died in 1818, and what is not the least extraordi- 

 nary fact connected with his history, died poor ! With all the 

 opportunities his life had afforded him from the beginning, of 

 amassing enormous wealth, by dealing in lands, the settle- 

 ment of which he pioneered, he preferred a clear conscience 

 and a stainless name, and only retained to the last what was 

 his original inheritance, his rifle ! Simple and generous hero 

 — the turf of that wild distant grave must lie lightly on that 

 broad and gentle bosom ! 



Audubon, too, as we know, is lately dead. But let us, be- 

 fore we pass to other themes, linger to look upon him once 

 more at the moment, and in the scene of what he considered 

 the greatest triumph of his long life — ^his discovery of the Bird 

 of Washington. He says — 



It was in the month of February, 1814, that I obtained 

 the first sight of this noble bird, and never shall I forget the 



