“Oh, Davy,” she exclaimed, “what will become of us--hundreds of miles from all my friends? The Indians will come and kill us while you are away.” But Davy Crockett could not stay. “I’ve got to go,” he said. “My country needs me, and if we don’t fight and kill the Indians they will come and kill us all, that’s sure.” Even when fighting in General Jackson’s army, Davy Crockett was “a law unto himself.” The officers decided to let him do as he liked, for he seemed to wish to do the right thing by them all. He would be missing for hours, and then come back with some game, big or little, to feast the company. Food was very scarce on the long march. When they got to fighting the Indians, Crockett knew exactly what to do. His aim was as sure then as it was when hunting bear or deer. Many a time when a big brave had his tomahawk raised to kill a fallen white man, the savage suddenly dropped dead where he stood. The astonished soldier would rise, look around, and mutter, “Davy Crockett must be somewhere around.” Davy’s bear-hunting, sharpshooting, and Indian fighting were so remarkable that his life was a strong proof of the saying, “Truth is stranger than fiction.” After General Jackson had put all the hostile savages out of the way and made it safe to live in those western states, the people were so grateful to Davy Crockett for his part in it that they put him up for election to Congress. Rival candidates, who felt much more fitted to go to Washington, made all manner of fun of Davy Crockett, and said the people ought to be ashamed to send a man like that to represent them in Congress. But the people said, “Davy Crockett ain’t much on book-l’arnin’ an’ spoutin’ poetry, but neither are we. He knows our life and just what we want. He ain’t much of a lawyer, but he’s got good sense, an’ he can represent us better’n a dozen lawyers.” Those people knew what they were doing. Though Davy Crockett did not know much about books, he was not ignorant, for he was well-educated in the real life of that western frontier. So the people elected him three times to Congress, and he came to be loved and admired there for his homely wisdom and his quaint way of making others understand just what he meant. While he was a member of Congress he traveled up and down the eastern states. Wherever he went he was cheered and feasted. In Philadelphia, the home of American independence, the people presented him with a beautiful rifle and a hunting-knife and tomahawk of razor steel. He told the people he would love and cherish that rifle as he would a daughter. Then and there he named the gun “Betsy.” While he was away in Congress and the east, Crockett’s enemies worked against him, and he was defeated in the fourth election. The boyish longing for home came over him then, and he wrote: