The morning of the third and last day’s march opened to find Halliwell quite incapable of going farther. He could hardly stand, and his legs bent under him when he attempted to walk. As his dismayed companions stood around him, at a loss what to do, two warriors approached, tomahawk in hand. They had been ordered to do away with the unfortunate man, who had already occasioned sufficient delay in the start to excite the impatience of the Indians. Boone stepped between the appointed executioners and their intended victim, and with upraised hand motioned them to stop. There was something in the quiet air of command that constrained the savages to obey the unarmed man. Boone then addressed the five chiefs, who stood together at a short distance. He said that it would serve no good purpose to kill the man and might bring great trouble upon themselves. If their only object was the professed one of avoiding delay, it might be accomplished without recourse to the measure they contemplated. He would carry the sick man through the last stage of the journey and would undertake that they should not impede the march. If he failed to fulfill his promise, they might tomahawk both himself and his charge. To this proposition the Indians assented without hesitation. They were not, however, moved to this action by any sense of humanity but by the respect they already felt for Boone and, even more, by the desire to see him perform the extraordinary feat of carrying a man weighing something like one hundred and fifty pounds for a distance of thirteen miles. The arrangements were quickly made. Boone’s pack and that of Halliwell were divided among their comrades. With a buffalo skin and thongs of elk’s hide a sling was constructed and so adjusted as to secure the greatest degree of ease to the sick man whilst causing as little unnecessary strain upon Boone as possible. This done, Halliwell was lifted into the contrivance and the march commenced. Boone knew that he was making no idle boast when he undertook the task that amazed the Indians. He had more than once carried an equal weight of dead matter for as great a distance. It was not, nevertheless, any light undertaking. Before the journey was more than half completed, he began to look forward to its close with eager anticipation, and when at length the party arrived within sight of Chillicothe, on the banks of the Little Miami, Boone was nearing the limit of his endurance. But the savages, who frequently looked at him with curious wonder, had not the satisfaction of learning this. He turned upon them his usual calm, inscrutable countenance, and replied to their jibes with perfect good-nature. [Illustration: BOONE WAS NEARING THE LIMIT OF HIS ENDURANCE]