Chapter 1 — The Hunters
September 1751
DANIEL THOUGHT HE SPOTTED WINGSin the trees, but he couldn’t be sure. He’d been hunting on the rugged mountain since morning. Now it was nearly dusk. He was tired and more than a little hungry. To make matters worse, the fog rising above the little creek he’d been following was getting thicker, swirling around the oaks and pines on the hillside. But Daniel never let fog or waning sunlight keep him from bagging game back home in Pennsylvania on Neversink Mountain. He wouldn’t leave this mountain empty-handed, either.
He knew his mother Sarah would already be at the campfire, boiling beans and preparing spits for roasting whatever he brought back. They had some venison left from previous hunts, so no one would go to bed hungry. But quail, partridge, or even pigeon would be a welcome respite from chewing on stringy venison.
Truly, though, it was now a matter of pride: Daniel, the best hunter in the family, rarely returned without a prize. He usually returned with several.
Sure, hunting was easier in familiar surroundings. Back home, he’d known intimately the hills, valleys, and forests that lay between their farm in Oley and the bustling city of Philadelphia. Now these familiar places were far behind them. Over many months, Daniel and his family had traveled hundreds of miles, following the path of other settlers through Virginia into the backcountry of North Carolina. Some days earlier, his father had spotted rocky cliffs thrust improbably high against the otherwise flat horizon. The family had headed for them. Now their camp lay in the shade of the tallest mountain. Daniel had traipsed up and over it, following the sound of rushing water to a striking waterfall and the little creek beyond.
The place was unfamiliar, yes — but hunting was hunting. Even at sixteen, Daniel was a master. Everybody said so. Back in Pennsylvania, he’d earned more selling furs and hides in Philadelphia than he had working his father’s fields and forge. He knew from experience that where there was fresh water, there was bound to be game.
He wasn’t about to be defeated this night, on this mountainside, by a few wisps of fog.
What was that?
Daniel saw movement in the thicket. He stopped short, placing one moccasin silently next to the other in the soft leaves as he hefted his well-worn hunting rifle and peered into the tangle of low trees and vines. He stayed frozen in place for what seemed like an eternity. Although confident in his ability as a marksman, Daniel didn’t want to risk his game taking flight. With a rifle, it was a whole lot easier to hit a treed bird than one on the wing. Folks usually needed a fowling gun for the latter.
Daniel listened intently. Presently, his keen ears picked up some rustling in the thicket, along with the sound of tree branches scraping together behind him and what seemed like footfalls in the fallen leaves much farther down the creek. Were there three birds in earshot? Or something else? Slowly, carefully, he cocked his rifle.
Then several things happened at once. The thicket suddenly exploded into a mass of shaggy fur, bared teeth, and beastly rage. Behind him, he heard a rustle of branches. And he heard a faint, eerie scream — like nothing he’d ever heard in years of hunting and tracking.
Perhaps that’s why he jerked. Perhaps that’s why his finger yanked the trigger prematurely rather than squeezing it. Perhaps that’s why Daniel Boone missed.
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The huge black bear — for, of course, that’s what was charging the young hunter at ferocious speed — wasn’t at all startled by the report of the rifle. Daniel swore, drew his hunting knife, and turned to run. He’d tangled with bears before. There was no chance for him to reload. There was little chance of playing dead and placating the bear. And there was little chance of outrunning it, particularly since Daniel had been following the creek downhill and would now have to run up a slope. There was, in fact, little chance of surviving the encounter at all. But Daniel Boone was no coward. He’d run as fast as he could and then put up a determined, probably doomed, fight.
As he turned on a heel to begin his flight, he saw wings. He’d have paid them little heed had the wings been attached to what he expected to see: the back of a gamebird. But what Daniel Boone beheld was just about the furthest thing he’d ever expected to see along that creek, in those woods, or anywhere on God’s green earth.
He saw a small, lithe, human-like body flying through the air.
Daniel saw the wings beat and then straighten as the little creature banked toward the rampaging bear. He saw one slender arm holding a bow and another slender arm pulling an arrow back to a faintly whiskered chin.
He heard the minuscule bowstring twang.
Fast as lightning, Daniel whirled to see the bear stiffen, an arrow sticking out from its neck. He saw the bowman reloading his weapon and lifting his left wing to bank around the head of the bear, whose jaws were thrown open
