JAMES HARROD, OF HARRODSBURG. 241 
“Good morning, Jones!” 
A few hours afterwards, Jones’ horse, with his snip on his 
nose, is quietly driven up to the fence and turned in—James 
Harrod walks on. 
News comes into the station that the Indians have attacked 
the house of a settler, five miles distant, and murdered all the 
family but the two daughters, whom they are hurrying off to 
a brutal and perilous captivity—the war-cry of Harrod is 
instantly heard. ' 
“Come, boys! come, boys! we must catch those rascals— 
we can’t spare our girls !” 
While his dark complexion glows with enthusiasm, and his 
black eye flames again—the men know their leader, for he is 
off without them in a moment, and they are soon ready. 
The swift and tireless pursuit, the wary approach to the 
camp, the night attack, with its short, fierce struggle, the 
rescue, the return, were all the not unusual incidents of their 
wild life. 
In the capacity of spy, guide or ranger captain, his excur- 
sions into the Indian country were very daring and frequent. 
There was no enterprise too audacious for his enthusiasm, 
none requiring patience, dexterity, endurance of hunger, 
thirst and fatigue, too serious for his cool self-reliance to. 
undertake, and that most frequently alone. He avoided, 
when possible, having other men with him, for, -he said, they 
always complained of the hardships or the dangers before the 
fun was fairly commenced with him, and therefore it cost him 
more trouble to take care of them, than to do all there was 
to be done himself, twice over. This extraordinary love of 
solitary adventure was one of the marked characteristics 
of James Harrod. Indeed, the Indians christened him the 
“Tone Long-Knife,” and dreaded his mysterious prowess 
very greatly. 
He on several occasions entered their villages in the night 
to ascertain their plans; a once, when discovered by a 
