The stranger had been entirely silent so far in the struggle. As Kenton finished, he put out one hand and said: “_Simon, is that you? Well, this_ IS _a good story_.” The voice of the stranger was deep and powerful; he spoke better English than Kenton, and the latter seemed to recognize the tones in a moment. The ranger sprung back in the water, with a cry of wonder, and shouted out: “Gee-Christopher-cricket-and-blue-blazes! Wal, ef we arn’t be’n a couple of durndest jack-mules this side of ole Virginny. By the holy poker, _it’s Cunnel Boone_!” Daniel Boone himself indulged in a short laugh, instantly checked, as he quietly said: “And I took you for a Shawnee scout, Kenton, and thought you wanted to scalp the girl on the island. Well, well.” Not another word passed between the two famous hunters, so strangely met, for some time. They returned their knives in silence, groped about in the water with their moccasined feet, and discovered their rifles, with which they slowly landed on the island, both buried in curious cogitations. They ascended the bank together and entered the thick cover of bushes before either of them spoke, and then Kenton, in a sort of sheepish tone, said: “’Twon’t do to tell this story too permiskus, cunnel, I reckon. I’m clean ashamed o’ myself fur not pluggin’ ye, when ye give me such a chance. I war a-sayin’ to myself, what would cunnel say ef he knowed I’d made sich a show o’ myself to a Injun varmint, leave alone a white man, and _sich_ a white man as you, cunnel.” Boone again uttered one of his low laughs. “To tell you the truth, Simon, I was thinking that _I_ was the man to feel ashamed. You never saw _me_, and you put two holes into my old cap, for all that. I _saw_ you, and missed you. Simon, I thank God for my erring hand.” There was a short silence, both hunters being busily employed in drawing the charges from their wet rifles, and wiping the same. Then Kenton spoke, with a curious mingling of pride and regret in his voice, hesitating in a manner not usual with the reckless borderer. “Then ye don’t think I did so bad arter all, cunnel. I swow I feel amazin’ glad I didn’t hit yer, but still--ye don’t think I acted like a greeny--eh, cunnel?” “You did what no other woodman in Kentucky could do, Simon. You fooled Daniel Boone,” said the elder hunter, in a grave tone. “I didn’t believe it lay in ye, and I don’t want to meet ye again in such a fashion. But one thing we forget. There’s a white woman on this island, and we have to find her; and, besides that, we haven’t a dry thread till we light a fire. Take one side the island, and I’ll take the other, and hunt till we find her.” The young ranger raised his hand to his cap in a military salute, as he turned away. “All right, cunnel. We’ll git her.” The two hunters moved off on either side of the island in a circuit, which speedily brought them face to face at the upper end, for there was not more than an acre of ground embraced in its limits.