Besides, about a mile on there's a creek running down to the Kentucky that will have deep water in it, no matter how dry the season has been.

Tom May and I have swum in it many a time, and I reckon our horses need water, colonel." "So they do, and so do we.

We'll stop a bit at this creek of yours, Powell." The creek was all that the two Frankfort lads had claimed for it.

It was two feet deep, clear, cold and swift, shadowed by great primeval trees.
Men and horses drank eagerly, and at last Colonel Winchester, feeling that there was neither danger nor the need of hurry, permitted them to undress and take a quick bath, which was a heavenly relief and stimulant, allowing them to get clear of the dust and dirt of the day.
"It's a beauty of a creek," said Powell to Dick.

"About a half mile further down the stream is a tremendous tree on which is cut with a penknife, 'Dan'l Boone killed a bar here, June 26, 1781.' I found it myself, and I cut away enough of the bark growth with a penknife for it to show clearly.