Daniel Boone peered anxiously through the green-smelling foliage at five Shawnee braves cooking meat over an open fire. His fringed, buckskin shirt was black with sweat and his expression was more intense than any of five coonskin-capped companions had ever seen. That intensity did not surprise them, though. Wild-eyed and frightened themselves, they knew that this was not going to be a typical attack. These Indians had captured Boone's daughter and two other girls; Boone's party was here to get them back ... alive.
That morning, Sunday, July 17, 1776, had begun like other Sunday mornings at the Boonesborough stockade in Kentucky. Work had ceased, the Bible had been read, and most of the men were inside their cabins taking naps. The sun-lulled peace exploded into mayhem, though, when a scream ripped up from the river below. Jolted awake, Boone recognized the voice immediately. It was Jemima, his precious fourteen-year-old. He.....
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