Old Matt and the Horse-Thieves.
Page 12.

THE UPWARD AND ONWARD SERIES.

FIELD AND FOREST;

OR,

THE FORTUNES OF A FARMER.

By

OLIVER OPTIC,

AUTHOR OF "YOUNG AMERICA ABROAD," "THE ARMY AND NAVY STORIES,"
"THE WOODVILLE STORIES," "THE BOAT-CLUB STORIES," "THE
STARRY FLAG STORIES," "THE LAKE-SHORE
STORIES," ETC.

WITH FOURTEEN ILLUSTRATIONS.

BOSTON:
LEE AND SHEPARD.

NEW YORK:
CHARLES T. DILLINGHAM.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870,
By WILLIAM T. ADAMS,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

ELECTROTYPED AT THE
BOSTON STEREOTYPE FOUNDRY.

TO

MY EXCELLENT YOUNG FRIEND

CHARLES H. FOWLE

IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.

THE UPWARD AND ONWARD SERIES.

1. Field and Forest; or, The Fortunes of a Farmer.

2. Plane and Plank; or, The Mishaps of a Mechanic.

3. Desk and Debit; or, The Catastrophes of a Clerk.

4. Cringle and Cross-Tree; or, The Sea Swashes of a Sailor.

5. Bivouac and Battle; or, The Struggles of a Soldier.

6. Sea and Shore; or, the Tramps of a Traveller.

PREFACE.

"Field and Forest" is the first of The Upward And Onward Series, in which the career of a youth from his childhood to manhood is illustrated and described. In following out the plan which the author adopted when he began to write books for the young, and which he has steadily pursued in the fifty volumes now before the public, he has endeavored to make his hero a young man of high aims and lofty purposes, however strange, stirring, or even improbable his adventures might seem. Phil Farringford, the leading character of this series, though he may have some of the conceit which belongs to youth, is always honest, true to principle, and faithful to the light which he seeks in the gospel, and in all the other sources of wisdom. He aims to be a Christian young man, respects and loves all the institutions of religion, and labors to make his life an "Upward and Onward" progress.

The scene of the story is laid upon the waters of the upper Missouri: and while the writer hopes the reader will find the story sufficiently stirring and exciting to engage his attention, he also trusts that Phil's Christian principles, his reverence for the Bible, and his devotion to duty and principle, will receive the earnest consideration of his young friends.

Harrison Square, Boston,

June 6, 1870.

CONTENTS.

FIELD AND FOREST;

OR,

THE FORTUNES OF A FARMER.

[ ]

CHAPTER I.

IN WHICH PHIL COMES HOME WITH PLENTY OF FISH.

"Hollo, Phil!"

That was the name to which I answered, especially when it was spoken as decidedly as on the present occasion.

"I'm coming," I replied, at the top of my lungs.

I had been a-fishing in a stream which flowed into the Missouri about a mile above my home. I had been very successful, and had as many fish as I could carry. I was gathering them up, after I had fastened my bateau to the stake, and intended to convey them to the Castle, as our log hut was rather facetiously called by its owner.

"Phil! Phil!" repeated the voice above the bluff of the river.

It was Matt Rockwood who called; and as he was the only master and guardian I had ever known, I always obeyed him—when I could not help doing so. His tones were more imperative than before, and I proceeded with greater haste to gather up my fish, stringing them upon some willow twigs I had just cut for the purpose.

Crack went a rifle. The sound startled me, and, dropping my fish, I ran up the steep bank of the river to the summit of the bluff on which the Castle was located.

"What's the matter?" I asked, when I reached the spot by the side of the house where Matt stood.

"Don't you see?" he replied, raising his rifle again, and taking aim.

I looked in the direction towards which his weapon was directed, and saw two Indians, mounted, each of whom had a led horse.

"Them pesky Injuns hes stole our hosses," added old Matt, as he fired his rifle the second time. "'Tain't no use; I might as well shoot at the north star."

The two Indians, with their animals, disappeared in the forest beyond the clearing, and Matt's last chance was gone. A few years earlier in the life experience of the old squatter, the thieves would not have escaped so easily, for Matt was a dead shot before the rheumatism took hold of him. Now he hobbled about a little on a pair of rude crutches I had made for him; but his eyes were rather weak, and his arm was unsteady. His rifle was no longer unerring, and the thieving savages could plunder him with impunity.

There was an Indian village about ten miles from the Castle, and from the known character of its inhabitants, and the direction the marauders had taken, we concluded they had come from there. I went into the house, and procured my rifle—a light affair, which old Matt had purchased on board a trading steamer for my use.

"'Tain't no use, Phil. You needn't run arter 'em," said the old man, shaking his head. "You don't expect to run fast enough to ketch Injuns on hossback—do you?"

On second thought I concluded to take his view of the matter.

"But we can't afford to lose them hosses, Phil," continued old Matt, as he hobbled to a seat. "And if we can, them Injuns shan't hev 'em. I ain't a-goin' to hev old Firefly rid by them critters, and starved, and abused—I ain't a-goin' to do it! Them hosses must be got back. You're gittin' old enough to do sunthin' with Injuns now, Phil, and you must git them hosses back agin."

"I'm ready to do anything I can; but, if I can't catch the Indians, what shall I do?" I replied.

"We can't do a thing in the field without them hosses, Phil; and 'tain't no use to try. We can't plough the ground, and we can't haul no wood. We must hev them hosses back agin, if I hev to hobble arter 'em myself."

"What can I do?" I asked, willing to fight the Indians if necessary; and I was rather impatient over the amount of talk the old man bestowed upon the subject.

"I'll tell you what to do, Phil. Hosses is skuss with them varmints. It's been a hard winter for vagabonds as don't lay up nothin' for cold weather, and they lost half their hosses—starved 'em to death. Them critters they rid on wan't nothin' but frames, and you could hear their bones rattle when they trotted. They won't go far on them hosses to-day, for it's most night now."

"But if I'm going to do anything, it's time to be doing it," I suggested, impatiently.

"Keep cool, boy; 'tain't time to go yet," added the old man, lifting one leg painfully over the other with his hands. "About dark, them Injuns will camp for the night, and that'll be the time to take 'em."

"Very well; then I will go down and bring up my fish. I'm hungry, Matt," I added.

"So am I."

"While they are cooking, we will talk the matter over."

"Stop a minute, Phil," said Matt, as I started for the river. "There was a jug of fire-water in the barn. I left it there this arternoon. I used some on't to wash Firefly's leg where 'twas swelled up. Go into the barn, and see if it's there now."

I knew what the old man was thinking about, and I went in search of the jug. I could not find it, and so reported to him.

"I didn't think o' that jug before. The Injuns come into the castle, and asked for fire-water. I never gin 'em none, and shan't begin now. They were lookin' for hosses, and went to the barn. They took that jug of whiskey, but it's jest like camphene. 'Tain't fit to drink no more'n pizen."

"They will get drunk on it," I added.

"They kin git drunk very quick on such stuff as that, and they won't go fur afore they do it, nuther."

"Then I can very easily get the horses."

"If you work it right, you kin, Phil; but if they are crazy drunk, you musn't go to showin' yourself to 'em. Wait till they go to sleep, as they will when they git drunk enough. Then take your hosses and come home."

"I will go down and get the fish, Matt."

"Go, boy."

The old man rose with difficulty from his seat, and, with the rifle in his right hand, with which also he was obliged to handle a crutch, he hobbled into the Castle. I hastened down to the river, excited by the prospect of an adventure that night with the Indians. I was a boy of only thirteen, and the idea was an immense one. I was to go out into the forest and recapture the horses—an undertaking which might have taxed all the skill and courage of a person of mature age and experience. But I considered myself equal to the mission upon which I was to be sent. I had been brought up in a log cabin, and even as a child had made long hunting and trapping tramps with old Matt Rockwood. I had stood before angry Indians, as well as thieving and drunken ones. I had shot deer, bears, and wolves, as well as smaller game, with my rifle.

Old Matt had always taught me that there was nothing in the world to be afraid of but one's own self—a philosophy which was very pretty in theory, but not always capable of being reduced to practice. But I certainly was not afraid of an Indian, or of any number of them. From my rough old guardian I had acquired a certain contempt for them; but I had never passed through an Indian war or an Indian massacre. I had heard of the savage Blackfeet, and other tribes, who were not to be contemned, but I had never seen any of them.

I hastily completed the stringing of my fish, thinking all the time how I should conduct the expedition in which I was to engage. Indeed, I could think of nothing else; for, although I had often been away on similar excursions, it was always in company with my guardian, while on the present occasion I was to manage for myself. I forgot that I was hungry, and only lived in the brilliant schemes for recovering the horses, capturing the camp, and even wiping out the Indians themselves. I was bent on desperate deeds, and intended to convince old Matt that I was worthy of the confidence he reposed in me.

"You have been lucky to-day, Phil Farringford," said a voice near me, as I rose from the bottom of the boat to step on shore.

It was Mr. Mellowtone, an old neighbor of ours, who had squatted on an island in the river. He was a good friend of mine, and I regarded him with the utmost love and respect. He had taught me to read and write, and furnished me books, which had been both a comfort and a blessing to me.

"I have done first rate to-day," I replied. "Won't you take some of these?"

"Thank you, Phil Farringford. I will take two or three of them, if you have any to spare."

"Take as many as you can use, Mr. Mellowtone," I continued, removing from the twig some of the handsomest of the fish.

"Enough, Phil Farringford. I am not a swine, to eat more than six pounds of trout in a day," said he, with a smile.

I strung them upon a willow twig, and handed them to him, as he stood in his barge—a very aristocratic craft, which he had brought with him from the regions of civilization.

"I must be in a hurry now, Mr. Mellowtone. Won't you come up to the Castle with me? The Indians stole both of our horses this afternoon, and I am going out after them."

"That's unfortunate," he replied, running his barge upon the bank. "I will walk up to the Castle with you, and you shall tell me about it."

Securing his boat to the stake, he followed me up the bank of the river; and on the way to the house I told him what had happened just as I returned from my fishing trip. We entered the log house, where old Matt had kindled a huge fire to cook our evening meal.

"Good evening, Mr. Rockwood," said my friend, as politely as though he had been speaking to the President of the United States.

"Your sarvant, Mr. Mellowtone," replied Matt, who always labored to be as courteous as his visitor, though not always with the same success.

"You have been unfortunate, I learn from Phil Farringford."

"Yes; them pesky redskins is gittin' troublesome, and I'm afraid we shall hev to wipe out some on 'em."

"We must not allow them to steal," added Mr. Mellowtone, decidedly.

"No; Phil is goin' out arter 'em. They stole my jug of fire-water, and they'll be as drunk as owls afore long."

"If neither he nor you object, I will go out with him."

"I hain't no kind o' objection. I should be much obleeged to you if you help git back them hosses."

"I shall be glad to have you go with me, Mr. Mellowtone," I replied, as I put the pan of fish on the fire.

We were all of the same mind.

[ ]

CHAPTER II.

IN WHICH PHIL FINDS THE CAMP OF THE INDIANS.

I was certainly very glad to have Mr. Mellowtone go with me on the expedition after the Indians; but I did not exactly like to share the glory of the great deeds I expected to do even with him, though he was one of my best friends. However, I consoled myself with the reflection that his pleasant company would in part compensate me for the share of the glory he would appropriate.

While the fish were on the fire, I set the table in the best style that the contents of our meagre China closet would permit, for our distinguished visitor seldom honored us by taking a meal at the Castle, and I was anxious to make the best possible appearance. Measured by the standard of civilized life, the result was not a success; but for the backwoods it was. Our table ware was mostly of tin, dented and marred at that; but we had one crockery plate, and I devoted that to the use of our honored guest.

If the table ware was not elegant, the fish were infinitely better than are ever set before the pampered sons of civilization. They had been swimming in their native element a couple of hours before, and were a species of trout, weighing from a pound and a half to two pounds apiece. Mr. Mellowtone declared that they were delicious; and he justified his praise by his trencher practice. For bread we had cold johnny cake, for we were out of flour, as no trading steamer had passed since the ice in the river broke up. We lived well at the Castle, for besides the game and fish supplied by the woods and the rivers, we had bacon, pork, potatoes, and vegetables from the farm.

"Now, Phil, you must be keerful," said old Matt, as we were eating our supper. "Injuns is wicked, and Injuns is cunnin'."

"I will try to be careful," I replied. "I suppose, if we follow Little Fish Creek, we shall find the Indians before morning."

"Yes, you will. Go through the forest, and cross the brook. Follow the path till you come to the creek, and you'll be all right. The varmints hain't got no feed for their hosses, and they won't go fur to-night."

The old man gave us directions how to proceed until we finished the meal; and after I had put things in order about the house, I slung my rifle over my shoulder. Mr. Mellowtone had no weapon, and declared that he needed none. Just at dark we left the Castle, and, crossing the field, entered the forest. There was a well-beaten path, so that we were in no danger of losing our way. We crossed the bridge over the brook which bounded the farm on the north-west; we continued our course through the forest till we reached Little Fish Creek, at the point where it flows into Big Fish Creek. All the names of streams and of localities in the vicinity had been given by Matt Rockwood. The brook we had crossed was called Kit's Brook, because, three miles from its junction with the Big Fish, lived on its banks one Kit Cruncher, an old hunter and trapper, who, until the arrival of Mr. Mellowtone, five years before, had been Matt's only neighbor.

We followed the Little Fish for an hour without discovering any signs of the Indians or the horses. We were within a mile, across the country, of Kit Cruncher's cabin, and we concluded that the thieves would not deem it prudent to halt near so formidable a person as the old hunter had proved himself to be.

"Are you sure we are on the right track, Phil Farringford?" asked my companion.

"We are on the right road to the Indian village," I replied.

"Is it certain that the thieves came from there?"

"They must have come from there, for I don't know of any other Indians within forty miles of the Castle."

"They may be wandering Dakotahs, who do not stay long in one place."

"But there were only two of them, and Dakotahs go in bigger crowds than that. Matt says they took this path, and I saw them strike into the woods myself."

"Doubtless we are right, then. We might go over to Kit Cruncher's, and inquire if he has seen anything of the thieves," suggested Mr. Mellowtone.

"I am sure he has not seen them; if he had, he would have stopped them. And the Indians know him well enough to keep out of his way. He is hard on Indians when they don't behave themselves."

"Very well, Phil Farringford. You are the leader of this expedition, and I will obey your orders."

"I hope you won't, sir; at least, I don't mean to give you any orders," I replied, abashed at the humility of one whom I regarded as the greatest and best man in the world.

We walked in silence for another hour, for my companion always did more thinking than talking. I led the way, and kept both of my eyes and both of my ears wide open, expecting every moment to come upon the camp of the savages. While we were thus cautiously tramping through the forest, I heard the neighing of a horse behind us.

"Hark!" I whispered to Mr. Mellowtone. "We have passed them."

"How can that be?"

"They struck off from the river, and went into the woods to sleep. That was old Firefly's voice, I know. I shouldn't wonder if he heard us."

"If he did, perhaps the Indians heard us also."

"If they have that jug of whiskey with them, they are too drunk to hear anything by this time."

"We must look for the place where they left the path."

"It is rather dark to look for anything tonight," I replied, as I led the way back.

We proceeded with great care, though we made noise enough to apprise Firefly of the approach of friends. He was a knowing old horse, and had faithfully served his master for ten years, but was still a very useful animal. I fancied that he despised Indians quite as much as old Matt himself, and that he was utterly disgusted with his present situation and future prospects. Doubtless he was very uneasy, and displeased at being away from his rude but comfortable stable. The grass had just begun to start a little in the wet soil, and as our stock of hay was getting low, I had picketed them with long ropes where they could feed. In this situation they had become an easy prey to the Indians.

I hoped old Firefly would speak again, and I ventured upon a low whistle, to inform him of my presence, but he did not respond. The other horse was a good beast, and worked intelligently by Firefly's side at the plough and the wagon: but he was an ignoramus compared with his mate, and I expected nothing of him.

"They can't be far from here," said I, as I halted and whistled again a little louder than before.

"We must examine the ground, and see if there are any horse tracks," replied Mr. Mellowtone, as he lighted a match to enable us to see the path.

"No tracks here," I added. "They all lead the other way."

"Then they turned in farther down."

We resumed our walk, but in a few minutes we examined the ground again.

"Here they are," said my companion. "They turned in between this place and that where we stopped last. Whistle again, Phil Farringford."

"We are farther from them now than when I heard the voice of old Firefly," I replied, after I had whistled in vain several times.

"But we are on the track of the horses. There can be no doubt of that," answered Mr. Mellowtone. "We can follow their trail till we find where they left the path."

"I hope you have a good supply of matches."

"I have about a dozen more."

We examined the path in several places, and at last found that the Indians had left it to follow a small brook which flowed into the Little Fish. I whistled at intervals, but received no response from Firefly. The stream which was our guide did not lead us far from the creek.

"I smell smoke," said Mr. Mellowtone, after we had proceeded a considerable distance. "We are not far from them."

"I don't see the light of any fire."

"Probably it has burned down by this time, for the Indians must be asleep."

I whistled, and this time a very decided answer came back from Firefly.

"We are close by them," said I; and involuntarily we slackened our pace.

"I am afraid the noise that horse makes will awaken the Indians."

"They are beastly drunk, without a doubt, and no ordinary sounds will rouse them," I replied. "If they had known what they were about, they would not have built a fire. They are not more than two miles from Kit Cruncher's cabin."

In silence, then, and very cautiously, we crept towards the bivouac of the Indians. In a few moments I saw the four horses, fastened to the trees: but between us and them lay the extended forms of the two Indians. They reposed on the ground, one on each side of the smouldering embers of a fire they had kindled earlier in the evening. The faint light enabled me to see the whiskey jug, lying on the ground near them. The cork was out, and it was evidently empty. The thieves snored so that the earth seemed to shake under them, and I was satisfied that they were as drunk as human beings could be and live.

We made a circuit around the sleeping Indians, and reached the place where the horses were fastened. Firefly neighed and danced in his delight at seeing me, and even his more stolid mate was disposed to make a demonstration of joy; for both animals had been in the habit of spending their nights in a comfortable stable. The horses of the Indians were as they had ridden them, wearing their bridles, and the folded blankets, which served us saddles, strapped upon their backs.

"We needn't spend much time thinking about it," said I, after I had patted Firefly on the neck to assure him I was still his friend. "They have nothing but halters on their necks, though we have only to mount them, and they will go home without any guiding."

"The Indian horses have saddles and bridles on," answered Mr. Mellowtone. "I think we had better do as the redskins did—ride their horses, and lead the others."

"Shall we take their horses?" I asked, rather startled by the proposition.

"Certainly; we must teach them a lesson which they will remember. We are in the world as instructors of those who are less wise than we, and it is our duty to impart wisdom to those who need it."

"They will come down after them, when they are sober."

"They will do that if you take only your own animals. They will fight just as hard to recover the property they stole as to obtain what is justly their own."

Without stopping to debate the matter any further, we mounted the Indians' horses.

[ ]

CHAPTER III.

IN WHICH PHIL TAKES GOOD CARE OF THE HORSES.

I took old Firefly's halter in my hand, while Mr. Mellowtone had that of our other horse. We were ready to start; but the problem of reaching the river path without disturbing the Indians did not seem so easy of solution as at first. We intended to make a circuit around the drunken thieves; but I found the underbrush was so thick that a passage with the horses was impossible. There was seldom any undergrowth in the forest, but this place appeared to have been chosen by the redskins for the purpose of presenting to us the very difficulty we now encountered.

They knew that they must be pursued, if at all, from the direction of the Castle, and they had built their fire in the space between the brook and the dense undergrowth, so that the horses could not be taken back without passing over them. I had visited the place before, and, as I recalled its peculiarities to my mind, the difficulty of the situation increased. The ground was low and swampy, and though I had easily passed through it on foot, the horses could not go through without brushing off their riders. The brook had its rise in the low ground. We could cross it, but the bushes were just as thick on the other side.

We tried in vain to find a passage for the horses; and it occurred to me then that the Indians had possibly come to a halt here because they could go no farther in this direction. I did not like to ride over the drunken thieves, though this seemed to be our only means of passing them. They were asleep, and snoring like the heavy muttering of an earthquake, and we could not tell exactly how drunk they were. It was possible that they were still able to use their rifles and knives, though, if they had drank the entire contents of the whiskey jug, which probably was not less than a quart, we had little to fear from them. Some Indians, however, could drink a pint, and still be able to use a rifle, while others would be overcome with half that quantity.

"We can't get out in this way," said Mr. Mellowtone, after we had vainly sought a passage around the Indians.

"I will take a look at the drunken redskins," I replied, dismounting, and fastening my two horses to a sapling.

I walked cautiously to the spot where the Indians lay. I threw a few dry sticks on the fire, so as to obtain some light from the blaze. I found that the thieves lay on a knoll between the brook and the swamp. There was not space enough on either side for two horses to pass abreast without stepping over or on their sleeping forms; but there was no other way for us to get out of the trap. The horses might pass singly, and I decided at once what to do.

"I think we will ride the Indian horses, and let the others follow," said I, returning to my companion.

"But they may take it into their heads not to follow."

"Firefly will go as straight to his stable as he can," I replied, loosing him, and securing the halter around his neck. "The other one will follow him."

Mr. Mellowtone released his led animal, and I mounted my steed. The latter was an ugly beast, as he must have been from the force of association. I urged him towards the Indians, and Firefly closely followed me. The horse I rode was not disposed to pass the fire and the sleeping forms; but I pounded his naked ribs till he changed his mind, and stepped over the legs of his drunken master. Firefly snorted, and sprang over the obstruction.

"Hoo!" shouted the savage, over whose legs I had passed, springing to his feet.

But he was too drunk to stand up, and pitched over upon the body of his companion. As the path was now clear for an instant, Mr. Mellowtone urged his horse forward, and joined me. Our other horse, which I had always called Cracker, though Matt never recognized the name, followed without making any sensation whatever. The fall of the one Indian upon the other had awakened the latter, and by the light of the blazing sticks I saw them clutch each other. Probably the second, in his tipsy stupor, supposed the first was an enemy, having designs upon his life. They rolled over together, and in the struggle the legs of one of them were thrown upon the fire.

Such an unearthly yell I had never heard. He was not so drunk that fire would not burn him, and the pain made him howl like a wounded buffalo. They rolled and struggled, and the firebrands were scattered in every direction. In a moment they sprang to their feet, but only to fall again upon the burning brands which were strown over the ground. They did not appear to see us, though we had halted quite near them, curious to see the result of the struggle.

As they fell upon the earth, the brands burned them, and they leaped to their feet again; but they no longer grappled with each other. It was now only getting up and falling down, and this continued until they had stumbled out of the circuit where the brands had been strown. Exhausted by the violence of their exertions, or bewildered by the fumes of the liquor, they lay still, and we started on our return to the Castle. If the Indians saw us at all, they were unable to follow us; and their experience seemed to point the moral that, when one steals horses, he must not steal whiskey at the same time.

"They had a warm time of it," said my companion, as we jogged along very slowly through the forest, for the horses we rode could not be persuaded to go faster than a walk.

"I am glad they wasted their strength upon each other, instead of us."

"What a condition for a human being to be in!" added Mr. Mellowtone, with an expression of disgust.

"I don't see why Indians take to whiskey so readily. It is a curse to all the redskins I ever knew."

"It is a curse to any man, red or white."

"I never saw a white man drunk."

"Your experience has been very limited, Phil Farringford."

"That's very true. I never saw much of the world, but I hope to see more of it one of these days. What do you suppose these Indians will do when they become sober?" I asked.

"No doubt they will try to get back their horses. They came down for more, and they go back with fewer, unless they can recover them. If they behave themselves we will let them have their own horses. We don't want them."

"They are nothing but skin and bones."

"Very likely they are good horses, but they have been starved and overridden."

"Old Matt won't care about filling them out, for we haven't more than grain enough to carry us through. I suppose we shall see these redskins again by to-morrow."

"Perhaps not; they may go to their village first, and return with more men."

"Well, we won't borrow any trouble about them. When they come we will take care of them. We shall be obliged to watch our horses after this; for I would rather shoot old Firefly than have him abused by those redskins."

"They are not worthy to possess so noble an animal as the horse. But, after all, the white man is more to blame for their present degraded condition than they are themselves. Out of the reach of the vices of civilization there are still noble red men."

"I never saw any of them," I added, rather incredulously.

We continued on our way through the solemn forest, and by the side of the rolling river. Old Firefly and Cracker were ahead of us, but we could hear the tramp of their feet, and were satisfied that they were on the right track. When we reached the Castle, we found them patiently waiting at the stable for our arrival. I opened the door for them, and they returned to their quarters with a satisfaction which they could not express. As our stock of hay was nearly expended, we had room enough in the barn for the two Indian horses. I fed all the animals alike, for it was not the fault of the strangers that they kept bad company.

Old Matt had gone to bed when we went into the house, but he wanted to know all about our adventures; and, when I had told him the story, I was pleased to hear him say that I had done well. Late as it was, Mr. Mellowtone insisted upon returning to his home on the island, two miles above the Castle; but he promised to come down early the next day, for we expected trouble with our Indian neighbors. I went down to the river with him, and watched his barge till it disappeared in the gloom of the night. I was beginning to be sleepy, but I dared not go to bed, fearful that the Indians would come before morning, and steal the horses. I had concluded to sleep in the barn, if at all, with my rifle at my side, so as to be sure that no accident happened while I was in the house.

I did sleep in the barn, and with my rifle at my side; but I was not disturbed by the visit of any redskins, and the horses were all right in the morning. I fed them alike again, and watered them at the brook. Before we had finished our late breakfast in the Castle, Mr. Mellowtone arrived.

"Have you seen any more Indians, Phil Farringford?" he asked.

"No, sir; but we expect to see the two who stole the horses very soon."

"I brought my rifle with me this time," he added. "I saw Kit Cruncher this morning. He says there is a band of Indians in the woods north of him."

"How many?" I asked.

"He saw ten together, all of them mounted, and thinks they came down to find feed for their horses. I told him what had happened here yesterday, and he says there will be trouble before the day is over."

"Does he think so?" asked old Matt, rather anxiously.

"He does; and I came prepared to assist you, if need be."

"Thank'e, Mr. Mellowtone. Time was when I didn't want no help agin any ten of these yere redskins; but the rheumatiz has spiled me, and my arm shakes so I can't shoot much now," added old Matt, mournfully.

"Kit said he would come here immediately."

"Kit is a good neighbor, and is allus on hand when he's wanted, and there's any Injuns to shoot."

At that moment the door was darkened by the appearance of Kit Cruncher, who bowed his head, and entered without ceremony.

[ ]

CHAPTER IV.

IN WHICH PHIL LOSES AN OLD AND VALUED FRIEND.

Kit Cruncher was about six feet and a half high, and it was necessary that he should bow his head when he entered even the humble log cabin of Matt Rockwood. He wore a cap made of skins, so tall that it seemed to add another foot to his height. It was ornamented with the long, bushy tail of a fox, which dangled on one side like the tassels from the cap of a hussar. His beard, gray and massive, was more than a foot long, and gave him a patriarchal aspect. His pants were stuffed in the legs of his long boots, and he wore a kind of hunting frock, which reached nearly to his knees. He was lean and lank, but, annealed in the hardships of backwoods life, he was wiry and sinewy. He was about fifty years old, though his gray hair and beard alone appeared to betray his age. He was from the south; a fine specimen of the real Kentucky hunter—"half horse and half alligator."

There was a kind of stern dignity in his countenance that always awed me, though I knew that Kit had a kind heart, and was only terrible to those who injured him or his friends. He lived by hunting and trapping, and always had a large supply of peltries to dispose of whenever a trading steamer came up the Missouri.

"How's yer bones, Matt?" said he, dropping the butt of his long rifle upon the earthen floor of our cabin.

"Poorly, Kit, poorly," replied Matt. "I'm about did for in this world. I can shoot no more, and couldn't hit the moon at ten paces."

"That's bad; 'cause 'pears like some shootin' must be did. There's a squad o' redskins up above me, and I cal'late they mean mischief, if they begin by stealin' your hosses. We'll git out into natur'," said Kit, as he left the house, followed by the rest of the party.

He evidently expected a visit from the savages very soon. I took down my little rifle from the brackets, and also, at Matt's request, carried out his long weapon, with the accoutrements. We were all rigged for the war path, and, for my own part, I was never so much excited in my life. I wondered how Kit could keep so cool. He was deeply skilled in Indian craft, and when he thought there was danger, others might be excused for adopting his opinion. Old Matt seated himself on a box near the barn door, and the rest of us gathered around him.

"Them Injuns has had a hard winter on't," said Kit. "They won't git their gov'ment money and traps for a month yit, and they are half starved. They've lost half their hosses, and all these things makes 'em ugly. But I didn't think o' nothin' till I heered they stole your hosses, and you hed theirs."

"I never hed much trouble with 'em," added old Matt. "They've stole my hosses afore, but I allus got 'em back, as I did this time."

"When an Injun's hungry, he's ugly."

The two patriarchs discussed the situation at length, while I listened in reverent humility to their words. Mr. Mellowtone smoked his pipe in silence. I think his pipe was in his mouth at least two thirds of the time, and was a very great comfort to him. We were all watching the path which led across the field into the forest, for this was the only approach to the Castle by the land side. Matt's farm—as he called it—was situated between two deep creeks, the Fish on the west and the Bear on the east. Half a mile from the cabin, in the midst of the forest, was a lake, through which flowed Bear Creek. Half way between this sheet of water and the Little Fish ran Kit's Brook, on the bank of which was a path leading to the hunter's cabin. The great thoroughfare to the north was by the Fish, and this was the only practicable way for mounted men, and was the road by which the Indians came down to the Missouri to exchange their peltries for powder and whiskey.

While we were all watching the spot where the path entered the forest, a couple of redskins emerged from its shades, and hurried towards the Castle. As they approached we all raised our rifles. Even old Matt rose from his seat, and prepared to use his weapon. But the savages made the signs of peace; and Kit, to whom we all looked for inspiration and direction, permitted them to approach. I immediately identified them as the two who had stolen our horses, and whom I had seen rolling among the burning brands the night before. Their greasy garments showed the marks of fire, and the leggings of one of them were nearly burned off.

"Those are the redskins who stole our horses," said I to Kit Cruncher.

"Jest so," replied Kit, as the savages halted before us.

They were very much excited, and looked decidedly ugly. Their eyes were bloodshot after the debauch of the preceding night, and their eyeballs seemed to be marked by the fiery nature of the liquor they had drank.

"Ugh!" growled one of them, shaking his head.

"Well, old Blower, what do you want?" demanded Kit, straightening up his tall, gaunt form.

"Want um hosses," snarled the Indian, shaking his head violently, as though he was so ugly he could not contain himself.

"D'ye want to steal some hosses?" added Kit, sternly.

"Ugh! White man steal hosses! Lose um two hosses," howled the spokesman, pointing to the barn.

We understood what he meant. He evidently thought it quite right for him to steal our horses, but very wicked for us to reciprocate in the same manner.

"Well, they sarved you jest as you sarved them. You stole Matt's bosses, his folks stole yours. That's fair play," added Kit.

"No steal hosses!" growled the Indian. "Give back hosses."

"They kin hev their own hosses. I don't want 'em," interposed Matt. "They ain't fit for scarecrows."

"Bring 'em out, Phil," said Kit. "They shall hev their own. We won't wrong an Injun, no how."

I led out the bony racks which the Indians had ridden, and delivered them to their owners.

"Now you kin leave," added Kit.

"Want more hosses," said the Indian who spoke this pigeon English, and which the other appeared not to be able to do, and only grunted and howled his anger and indignation.

"You won't git no more hosses here."

"Want corn, want meat, want whiskey."

"Not a corn, not a meat, not a whiskey," replied Kit, decidedly. "Ef you'd come as a hungry man, we mought hev fed you."

"Big Injun come, burn house, kill white man—no give hoss and whiskey."

"Big Injun mought git shot, ef he don't behave hisself."

"Ugh!"

"You kin leave," repeated Kit, significantly, as he raised his rifle.

"No go," howled the Indian, though he retreated a few paces, and plainly did not like Kit's cool and stiff manner. "White man pappoose steal um hosses, and burn Injun."

The speaker stooped down, drew aside his tattered leggin, and pointed to a huge blister on his leg, made by the fire into which he had rolled in his drunken frenzy. Then he pointed to me, and as he did so, his bloodshot eyes lighted up with rage and malice. I understood him to charge me with the infliction of the injury upon his leg. Since both of the thieves were so very drunk when we were at their camp, I did not at first see how they had been made aware of my presence. They did not seem to see me, and I concluded that they had identified me in the morning by the smallness of my track in the soft soil. They could not have known what transpired in their fury, but probably reasoned that, as I had been there, and taken the horses, I had burned their legs also.

The Indians' Horses returned to their Owners.
Page 47.

"I did not do it," I protested, hardly able to restrain a laugh, as I recalled the ludicrous scene of the night, before at the camp fire.

I explained how the Indian had burned himself.

"Pay Injun damage," added the injured thief.

"Nary red. You stole whiskey, got drunk, and rolled into your own camp fire," answered Kit. "You kin leave."

The tall hunter raised his rifle again, and the two Indians, mounting their bony steeds, rode off, yelling in the fury of their rage and disappointment. They had intended to obtain something more than their horses. Indeed, the Indians never visited the Castle without begging or demanding something, always whiskey, and often corn and meat.

"There's more on 'em up there somewhere," said Kit, as the thieves rode off.

"Do you think they will return?" asked Mr. Mellowtone.

"I'm afeered they will. Them Injuns is ugly, and I reckon they mean to make trouble. They don't ask for bread and meat; they demand 'em. They spoke for t'others more'n for theirselves. 'Tain't wuth while to quarrel with 'em ef you kin help it. I allus give 'em sunthin' to eat, when they are hungry, ef they ask for't; but I don't let 'em git the upper hands on me. 'Twon't do."

"If you think they mean to attack us, don't you think we had better prepare to defend ourselves?" suggested Mr. Mellowtone.

"I'm allus ready, and I am now," replied Kit.

"So am I," added old Matt, as he examined the lock of his weapon.

"But we might do something to make a better defence," said Mr. Mellowtone. "There are ten or a dozen Indians, you think, while we are but four."

"What kin we do except shoot 'em when they come?" replied old Matt.

"There is a bridge over the brook in the woods yonder," continued Mr. Mellowtone, pausing to permit Kit to take up the suggestion, if he chose.

"Yes, there is; and it cost me a deal of hard work to make it," said Matt. "It wan't an easy matter to get a hoss over afore it was put up."

"Precisely so, and it won't be an easy matter now. Therefore I think we had better take up the bridge, and make the brook our line of defence."

Kit approved the plan, and we hastened to execute it. The brook ran at the bottom of a deep gully as it approached its mouth, and for half a mile it was impossible to take a horse over, except on the bridge. We removed the logs with which it was covered, but allowed the string-pieces to remain. Kit thought we could do better if we prevented the Indians from coming over on their horses.

By the time we had finished our work, old Matt had hobbled over the ground, dragging his rifle after him. Just as he approached we heard the yell of the savages on the other side of the stream, and a band of ten dashed up to the position. Kit told us to got behind the trees, to guard against any accident. The Indians drew up their horses when they discovered that the bridge had been dismantled. I heard the crack of a rifle.

Old Matt uttered a deep groan, and dropped to the ground, shot through the heart.

In his weak condition he had not been able to reach the shelter of a tree in season to save himself. We knew now what the savages meant.

[ ]

CHAPTER V.

IN WHICH PHIL FOLLOWS KIT CRUNCHER.

Old Matt Rockwood, my friend and protector, the friend and protector of my childhood, was dead.

Ten years before, he had taken me to his home and his heart, and since that time had done for me all that his limited means would permit. He had been a father to me, and the bullet that sped through his heart lacerated mine.

All that I could remember of existence was associated with the Castle and its vicinity, though I was not born there. I knew nothing of my parents, and nothing of the circumstances under which I had come into the world. Ten years before, while upon a hunt, Matt Rockwood had wrapped himself up in his blanket, and slept on the bank of the Missouri, about a dozen miles below the Castle. It was in the spring, and the water was very high, for the melting snows in the mountains had swelled the mighty stream to its fullest volume.

A bright light awoke the hunter in the evening, and he discovered a steamer on fire in the river, only a short distance below. Launching his bateau, in which he had come down the stream, he paddled with all his might to the scene of disaster. The pilot had run the steamer ashore; but before those on board could escape,—for the fire was in the forward part of the boat,—the swift current carried her off again, and she descended the stream at a rapid rate. Matt paddled after her; but, half a mile below the point where the steamer had run ashore, he heard the wail of a child, very near him.

The light from the burning boat enabled him to see the child. It was floating on a door, which had evidently been put into the water to support its helpless burden. Matt, who often told me the story, believed that the child's father, or some other person, had intended to ferry the little one on shore in this manner, when the steamer had been run aground. Probably the starting of the boat had defeated his plan, or possibly the person who was trying to save the child had lost his hold on the door. There was no one near the little raft. Matt took the young voyager on the great river from its perilous situation. It was benumbed with cold, and he wrapped it in his blanket, and laid it in the bottom of the boat.

Hardly had he accomplished this humane task before the boilers of the burning steamer exploded, and she was instantly a wreck on the swift tide. Matt paddled his bateau as swiftly as possible, but he was unable to overtake the mass of rushing fire. He shouted occasionally, in order to attract the attention of any sufferer; but no one responded to his call. Though he searched diligently, he was unable to find another survivor of the terrible calamity.

The little child thus saved from the fire and the water was myself.

Matt took his charge to the shore, made a fire, warmed it, and fed it with buffalo meat and soaked cracker. Wrapping the little stranger in his blanket, he pressed him to his bosom, and both slept till morning. The next day, with the child in his bateau, he renewed the search for any survivors of the calamity. He could find none; but months afterwards he read in an old newspaper he had obtained from a trading steamer, that another boat had passed down the river and picked up a few persons; but neither the names of the lost nor of the saved were given.

Loading his bateau with as much buffalo meat as it would carry, Matt started for the Castle with his new charge; but the current of the swollen river was so swift that it was night before he arrived. At this point in his story, I used to ask my kind protector whether he tried to find out anything more about me. He always answered that he was unable to obtain any information; but, after I was old enough to understand the matter better, he confessed that he did not wish to discover the friends of the child. After he had taken care of it for a few months, he became so attached to it that he was only afraid of losing the little waif.

Matt and the Little Foundling.
Page 55.

I was only two years old when I was thus cast upon the protection of the old squatter. He watched over me and cared for me with all the tenderness of a mother, and I became a stout and healthy child. The plain food and the wholesome air of the wilderness gave vigor to my limbs. The old man took care of me like a woman when I had the maladies incident to childhood, and I passed safely through the whole catalogue of them.

The steamer which had been burned was the Farringford, and Matt had read the name on her paddle-box. He gave it to me as a surname, to which he prefixed Philip as a Christian name, simply because it suited his fancy. With such a charge on his hands Matt was unable to make any hunting expeditions for several years; but he had already begun to turn his attention to farming. His only neighbor at that time was Kit Cruncher, with whom he exchanged corn and pork for game and buffalo meat. Matt was disposed to indulge more in the comforts of civilization than the hunters and trappers generally do. He sold wood to the steamers that passed, and thus obtained money enough to purchase clothing, groceries, and other supplies.

When I was about seven years old Matt began to take me with him when he went hunting and fishing, and I soon learned to be of some service to him. I acquired all the arts of the backwoodsman, and soon became quite skilful. I worked in the field, and tramped a dozen miles a day with him. I was tough and sinewy, and knew not the meaning of luxury. My clothes were made by old Matt, until I was able with his help to manufacture them myself.

It was a fortunate thing for me that Mr. Mellowtone established himself in the vicinity of the Castle, for he took an interest in me, and taught me to read and write. He was a singular man; but I shall have more to say of him by and by. Until he came, I spoke the rude patois of Kit and Matt; but Mr. Mellowtone taught me a new language, and insisted that I should speak it.

Matt had been a pioneer in Indiana, but had afterwards engaged in trade and failed. His ill success had driven him into the far west to resume his pioneer habits. Even then he had passed the meridian of life; but he cleared up a farm, and had been prosperous in his undertakings. The sale of wood and the produce of the field to the steamers brought in considerable money, and he had supplied himself with all needed farm implements, so that we were able to work to advantage. We had a grist-mill, turned by horse power, which enabled us to convert our corn into meal. We raised pigs, and always had an abundant supply of pork and bacon.

I was about thirteen years old when my story opens. I was contented with my lot, though I was occasionally troubled to ascertain who my parents were. Matt had no doubt they were both dead, since no inquiries had ever been made for the lost child. Some day I expected to visit the regions of civilization, and see the great world. Only twice in my life had I seen any white women, at least within my memory. They were on the deck of a steamer, lying at our wood-yard near the mouth of Fish Creek. I had a reasonable curiosity, which I hoped to gratify when I was older. For the present, I was willing to cleave to old Matt, as he had to me.

But now the old man lay upon the ground, silent and motionless. The crack of the rifle which had sent the ball to his heart was still ringing in my ears. It was almost instantly followed by another, and I saw a burly savage drop from his horse, and roll over into the brook. Kit Cruncher had fired, and was loading his rifle for a second shot. It was fortunate that we had removed the logs from the bridge, for the Indians were kept at bay by the deep gully in which the brook flowed.

When the big Indian fell, his comrades set up a fierce howl, for he seemed to be the leader of the band. Mr. Mellowtone fired next; but his aim was less certain than that of the hunter. For my own part, heedless of the howling savages, I stood behind the tree gazing at the prostrate form of old Matt. I wept bitterly, and should have thrown myself upon his body if Kit had not sternly commanded me not to move.

The savages were not long in discovering that all the advantage was on our side, and, with a ringing whoop, they turned their horses and retreated a short distance.

"They are unhossing theirselves," said Kit. "Don't move, boy!"

"Matt is shot!" I exclaimed. "I must go to him."

"Don't go, boy. You can't help him any now, and you mought git shot if you show yourself. Don't do it, boy."

"Is Matt dead?" I asked, trembling with emotion.

"Dead as a hammer," replied Kit. "He'll never move hisself again. Hold still, boy."

"He may be alive, and I want to do something for him," I insisted.

"He hain't moved since he dropped, and I know by the way he went over that it's all up with Matt. Don't throw your life away, boy."

"Poor Matt," sighed Mr. Mellowtone, from his position near us. "It is a sad day for him, and for us."

"Keep your eyes wide open, or some o' the rest on us will smell the ground," added Kit. "The redskins is gittin' down into the brook."

The savages retreated to a point on the stream, where they dismounted, evidently with the intention of crossing. They picketed their horses, and we judged that they meant to complete the work which they had begun.

"We must follow them up," continued Kit. "Boy, take Matt's rifle, and follow me."

I bent over the form of the fallen patriarch. I placed my hand upon his heart, but there was no answering throb. He was indeed dead, and my whole frame was shaken with convulsive grief.

"Don't stop there, boy!" called Kit.

"He is dead!" I groaned in bitterness of spirit.

"I know he is, boy; but we can't help it. We can't stop to cry now."

"My best friend!"

"Come, boy!" shouted Kit. "Bring his rifle, powder, and ball."

I wiped the tears from my eyes, but I could not banish the sorrow from my heart. Gently I raised the head of the old hunter, and removed the powder-horn and bullet-pouch which were suspended over his shoulder. Picking up the rifle, which lay near him on the ground, I followed my companions into the forest. I felt then that I could shoot an Indian without any remorse.

[ ]

CHAPTER VI.

IN WHICH PHIL ASSISTS IN THE BUILDING OF A BLOCK HOUSE.

Kit Cruncher was a prudent man, brave as he was. We did not therefore march boldly through the forest, for there were only three of us against four times as many Indians. We dodged from tree to tree, always keeping our bodies sheltered from the bullets of the savages. Kit went along near the brook, and presently I saw him raise his rifle and fire. The shot was followed by a wild yell from the savages.

"Give me Matt's rifle, boy," said Kit, as he passed me his own, with his powder-horn and ball-pouch. "Load that, boy."

With his eye still on the spot where he had seen the Indian, he told me how much powder to put in his rifle, and to be sure and ram the ball home. I loaded it as quickly as I could, but he did not find another opportunity to fire.

"Did you hit the one you fired at, Kit?" I asked.

"I hit him, but I didn't kill him. They won't cross the brook in that place. I'm afeard they'll scatter next. Howsomever, we've did enough out here. We'll go back to the bridge. That's the safest place for us. I don't hear 'em now; and that's a bad sign with Injuns."

"Where are they?"

"They was trying to cross the brook when I fired last time. They hev got behind the trees now. We must git nearer the Castle, or they'll drop in atween us."

Kit led the way, and Mr. Mellowtone and myself followed him, dodging from tree to tree, until we reached the bridge. A couple of shots, fired by the enemy, assured us they were on the watch, though none of us was injured.

"'Tain't no use to stay here," said Kit. "The brook is a good line agin hosses, but not agin Injuns afoot."

"I think you are right," replied Mr. Mellowtone. "When I spoke of the brook as a line of defence, I considered the enemy as mounted men."

"The Castle is the best place for the rest of this fight."

"But the Indians can cross the brook, and then lay down this bridge again," suggested Mr. Mellowtone.

"Set them sticks afire, boy," added Kit, pointing to the heap of logs we had removed from the bridge. "It will be easier to cut some more than to let the redskins use them."

Mr. Mellowtone gave me a card of matches, and I piled up some dry sticks against the heap, which I set on fire. While I was thus employed, my companions made a litter, on which they placed the body of Matt. As we could neither see nor hear the savages, we concluded they had gone farther up the brook to find a crossing. We waited till the fire had nearly consumed the bridge material, and then started for the Castle. Kit and Mr. Mellowtone bore the litter, while I carried two rifles. It was a mournful procession to me, and my companions were sad and silent. I knew that Kit grieved at the loss of his old friend; but he was only grave and solemn, as he always was.

When we reached the Castle, the body of the old man was placed upon his bed, and we left the room to prepare for the defence of the place. It was not in the nature of the Indians to go away without further wreaking their vengeance. Besides, the Castle was rich in plunder to men pressed with want, and even with hunger. We must expect a visit from them by night, if not before.

The Castle was a log cabin, containing only a single room, with the chimney on the outside, and next to the river. On the other side was built the barn, which was twice as large as the house. They were joined together, so as to save the labor of building one wall, as well as for convenience in winter. The building stood on a kind of ridge, which was the "divide" between Bear Creek and Kit's Brook. From one stream to the other the land was cleared, and included in the farm. The forest line was within a hundred and fifty rods of the river.

We had, therefore, an open space from stream to stream, three miles long by about a hundred and fifty rods wide, from which Matt Rockwood had cut off the wood, hauling it to the landing-place at the mouth of Fish Creek for the steamers. Only a portion of this territory had been cultivated, though all of it was used for crops or for pasture. Kit had come to the conclusion that we could defend ourselves better in the open space than in the woods, so long as we were able to prevent the Indians from dashing suddenly upon us on horseback.

"Our army's small," said the old hunter, as we met again in front of the Castle. "We must see, and not be seen."

"We can stay in the Castle, and fire out the windows, then," suggested Mr. Mellowtone.

"That won't do. It hain't but two winders, and none on the wood side," replied Kit. "We must make a block house, or sunthin' o' that sort. Here's plenty of timber sticks."

He pointed to the pile of wood which we had hauled to the vicinity of the Castle during the milder days of the winter, when Matt was able to be out. The sticks were about eight feet long, and suitable for such a stockade as I had seen at the fort twenty miles up the Missouri.

"You mean to build a fort?" asked Mr. Mellowtone.

"That's jest what I mean," replied Kit; "a kind of a den we kin fire out on, and will turn a bullet at the same time."

"Where shall we put it?"

"Jest on the ridge back of the barn. Then we kin see the whole clearin', and draw a bead on a Injun jest as quick as he shows his head. We hain't no time to lose, nuther."

"I'm ready," replied Mr. Mellowtone, throwing off his coat.

"Fetch on the shovels, boy," added Kit.

I furnished them with picks and shovels, and went to the high ground in the rear of the barn. We carried all the arms with us. Kit marked out a circle about ten feet in diameter, outside of which we began to dig a trench. The ground was soft for the first foot, and the work easy. Below this the labor was very severe. We watched the woods all the time, that the Indians might not surprise us. We were out of the range of their rifles, and only by coming into the open space could they fire with any chance of hitting us. We found they were not disposed to waste powder, and we judged that their supplies of ammunition were as low as those of food.

At noon I was relieved from work to get some dinner for my companions. I went back to the Castle and built a fire. The form of Matt lay on the bed in the room where I was at work, covered over with the quilt. I put the fish and potatoes on the fire, but I could not refrain from crying. I had often before attended to my domestic work while the old man lay in the bed, but he was never so still as now. He did not speak to me, and did not know that I was there. I could not help looking frequently at the bed, and gazing at the outline of his form beneath the quilt. His death might change the whole current of my destiny, but I did not think much of that then. I dwelt only upon the loss I had sustained, recalling the kindness of the old man to me. I was glad then to think that I had always done my best to serve him; that I had tenderly and devotedly nursed him in sickness, as he had me; and this thought was a very great comfort to me.

When I had cooked the dinner, I carried it out to the site of the block house, and with our faces to the forest we ate it. We were a sad and a silent party. For ten years before I had not eaten a meal except in the presence of him who was now no more. Kit said not a word about his lost friend; but Mr. Mellowtone, seeing how badly I felt, tried to comfort me.

After dinner, my companions resumed their labors; but Kit directed me to commence carting the timber to the block house. I put away the dishes, and harnessed the horses to the wagon. The sticks were only three or four inches in diameter, and I loaded them without difficulty. By the time I had hauled a sufficient number for the structure, the trench was deep enough, and we all went to work setting up the sticks. We placed them on the inside of the ditch, propping them up with others, until we had a dozen up, when we began to throw in the dirt around them, jamming it down with a maul.

After a beginning was made, I was directed to set up the sticks, while Kit threw in the earth, and Mr. Mellowtone rammed it down. Once in every four feet I was required to put in a stick only five feet long, so that above it there was an opening three inches wide, which formed a loophole from which the rifles could be discharged at the enemy. The trench was two feet deep, leaving the bottom of the loophole three feet above the level of the ground.

As none but the straightest sticks were used in the works, the cracks were very narrow; but the earth was to be heaped up to the bottom of the loopholes against the outside, thus making the structure absolutely bullet-proof for three feet from the ground. By the middle of the afternoon, the sticks were all set, and the trench filled up. A space a foot and a half wide was left on the side next to the barn, for a door. I nailed together a sufficient number of sticks, putting cross-pieces of board over them, to fill this space, and serve as a door. In the mean time my friends shovelled the dirt against the outside of the palisades; and before sundown the work was completed, and we were ready for the Indians as soon as they wished to make an attack.

"No doubt this fort is a great institution; but the Indians will come upon us in the night, when we can't see them," said Mr. Mellowtone.

"But we must see 'em," replied Kit.

"The nights are rather dark now."

"There is plenty of pitch wood, and we can make it as light as we please."

"That's your plan—is it?"

"That's the idee. We must keep the fires up all night, and one pair of eyes wide open."

"It's a pity we haven't my twelve-pounder here," added Mr. Mellowtone.

"I reckon you'll hev to fotch it down, Mr. Mell'ton."

"I would if I could leave."

"I reckon we kin stand it one night."

"I don't wish to stay here any longer," I added, sorrowfully. "Matt is dead, and I don't care much where I go."

"You'll git over that, boy, one of these days. You kin kerry on the farm and do well here," added Kit. "But I reckon we must plant the old man to-night."

He meant, to bury him; and while they were digging a grave near the block house, I made a rude coffin of some boards we had saved for another purpose. It was the saddest job I had ever done, and my tears fell continually on the work. I carried the box into the house, and my companions laid the silent old man in it. I took my last look at the face of my venerable friend, and the lid was nailed down. We bore him to his last resting-place, as the shades of night were gathering around us. Mr. Mellowtone was to make a prayer at the grave, and had knelt upon the ground for that purpose, when we heard the wild yell of the savages on the border of the forest.

[ ]

CHAPTER VII.

IN WHICH PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS GUARD THE CASTLE.

We had realized all day, while building the block house, that we were watched by the Indians, and that whenever a favorable opportunity was presented, they would make a dash upon us. The dusk of the evening now favored them, and I think they understood what we were doing. But the movement on their part was premature, for it was still light enough to enable us to see an Indian anywhere in the clearing.

"Run for the block house!" said Kit Cruncher, leading the way with long strides.

It was only a few rods distant, and we rushed in before the savages were near enough to use their rifles, which were not of the best quality. Our four weapons rested against the palisades, loaded and ready for instant service.

"Shut the gate, boy," continued Kit, as he thrust the muzzle of his rifle through a loophole.

I closed and barred the gate with the heavy timber I had prepared for the purpose. Before I had done so, Kit fired, and I heard an awful yell from the savages.

"There goes one of them," said Mr. Mellowtone.

"I shall fotch down one every time I shoot," replied Kit, calmly, as he picked up the rifle of old Matt. "Load my piece, boy, and be sure you ram the ball home."

"They have come to a halt," added Mr. Mellowtone, as he discharged his rifle.

"You didn't hit nothin', Mr. Mell'ton," said Kit, quietly, as he gazed through the loophole in front of him.

"I see that I missed my aim that time. Well, it's too late now; they are running away again."

"They kin no more stand it to be shot at than they kin live without eatin'," added Kit, as he set the rifle against the palisades. "They was go'n to run up and shoot, because they see we hadn't nary gun in our hands. We kin leave this place now."

The Indians had disappeared in the forest, bearing with them the body of the one who had fallen. We left the block house, after making sure that our rifles were in condition for use at the next attack.

"We mought light the fires now, afore we finish planting Matt," said Kit. "But I don't reckon them Injuns will come agin jest yit."

"I should not think they would come at all," added Mr. Mellowtone. "They have lost two of their number, and one or two have been wounded."

"We've lost one man, too," replied Kit. "That gin 'em courage to go on."

"But they are sure of losing more the moment they show themselves. I should think they would get tired of the game."

"They'll wait till they think it's safe afore they come agin. Now light up the fires, boy."

While I had the horses harnessed, I had hauled a supply of pitch-wood and other fuel for this purpose, and had prepared two heaps, one on each side of the block house, in readiness to apply the match. I lighted them, and the combustible wood blazed up, and cast a red glare upon all the clearing. Kit Cruncher's calculation was fully justified, and we were satisfied that no Indian could approach the Castle without our knowledge, if we only kept a vigilant watch.

Again we gathered around the coffined form of old Matt. Mr. Mellowtone knelt at the head of the grave, and we followed his example. He prayed fervently and solemnly for both Kit and me, and I wept anew when he recounted the virtues of the deceased. I forgot that there were any Indians within a thousand miles of me, as I recalled the kindness of him who was now lying cold and silent before me.

Mr. Mellowtone finished the prayer, and we lowered the rude coffin into the grave. Not one of us spoke a word, and there was no sound to be heard but the crackling of the fires, and the sobs I tried in vain to repress. I was unutterably sad and lonely. I felt that no one on the broad earth could take the place of Matt, and be to me what he had been. The current of existence seemed to have come to a sudden stop, and in my thought I could not make it move again.

My companions filled up the grave, and I watched the operation with a swelling heart. I saw them place the sods on the mound they had heaped up, and more than before I realized that I was never again to behold the face from which had beamed upon me, for ten long years, so much of love and joy. I thought of the old man pressing me as a little child to his heart on the banks of the Missouri, when he had saved me from the cold and the waters. I considered the days, months, and years of care and devotion he had bestowed upon me—upon me, who had not a single natural claim upon his love.

"Come, boy, don't stand there any longer," said Kit Cruncher, calling to me from the vicinity of the block house. "You may git shot."

I turned, and found that my companions had left me alone. I joined them, and with an effort repressed the flowing tears. I tried to realize that I was still living, and that there was a future before me.

"I know you feel bad, boy; but 'tain't no use to cry," said Kit. "We'll take good care on you."

"Matt has been very good to me," I replied.

"That's truer'n you know on, boy. Many's the time he sot up all night with you when you was sick, and held you in his arms all day. I've been twenty miles to the fort in the dead o' winter myself to git some medicine for you. If Matt hed been a woman, he moughtn't have nussed you any better."

"I'm very grateful to him, and to you."

"I know you be, boy. You took good care of old Matt when he was down with the rheumatiz. You've been a good boy, and I don't blame you much for cryin' now the old man's dead and gone. I think we will have sunthin' to eat now."

I went to the Castle, and prepared a supper of fried bacon and johnny-cake, which I carried to the block house. My companions ate as though life had no sorrows; but we had all worked very hard in the construction of our fortress, and the circumstances did not favor the development of much fine sentiment. I carried the supper things back to the Castle, washed the dishes, gave the pigs their supper, watered and fed the horses, and then returned to the block house. Kit had brought an armful of hay from the barn, and some blankets from the house, with which he had prepared sleeping accommodations for two of the party. Mr. Mellowtone was walking up and down between the two fires, smoking his pipe, and doing duty as sentinel.

"Now, boy, you kin turn in and sleep," said Kit. "Mr. Mell'ton kin sleep too, and I will keep an eye on the Injuns. 'Pears like they won't come when they finds we are all ready for 'em."

"I'm not sleepy, Kit," I replied; "but I'm rather tired."

"You mought turn in and rest, then," replied Kit, as he left the block house.

Mr. Mellowtone, relieved by the old hunter, soon joined me. I lay down on the hay, and covered myself with a blanket. My friend sat down on the ground and smoked his pipe. I could not sleep. Old Matt was in my mind all the time. I continued to see him fall before the bullet of the savage, and I still saw him lying silent and motionless on the ground.

"I think the Indians will be shy about coming here again," said Mr. Mellowtone, after I had rolled about on my bed for a time; and I think he spoke to turn my thoughts away from the engrossing subject which burdened me.

"I wish they had not come at all. They have made it a sad day for me," I replied, bitterly.

"You mustn't take it too hardly, Phil Farringford."

"How can I help it?"

"It is not strange that you weep; but you are young, and your spirits are buoyant. You will feel better in a few days."

"What is to become of me now?" I asked. "Old Matt is gone, and I need stay here no longer."

"Why not? You can carry on Matt's farm, with the help of Kit and me. You have done most of the work for the last year, and you can get along as well in the future as you have in the past."

"Shall I live here alone?"

"Of course you may do as you please. You are your own master now, as not many boys of your age are. But it is rather early now to consider a matter of so much importance."

"What should I do if the Indians came upon me?"

"You would defend yourself, as you do now. But the Indians will be taken care of. As soon as we can send word up to the fort, the officer in charge will detail a force to punish them for what they have done, and secure our safety in the future. I have been in this vicinity for five years, and this is the first time I have known any serious difficulty with the savages."

Mr. Mellowtone smoked his pipe out, and then lay down by my side. In a few moments he dropped asleep. I was very tired after the severe labor of the day, and I had been up most of the preceding night. Nature at last asserted her claim, and I slept.

When I awoke, the sun was shining in through the loopholes of the block house. Kit Cruncher lay by my side, still fast asleep. I realized that the Indians had not made an assault during the night. I rose carefully, stepped over the long gaunt form of the stalwart hunter, and left the fortress. Mr. Mellowtone was walking up and down, with his pipe in his mouth, between the expiring embers of the fires, which had been permitted to go out at daylight.

"Why didn't you call me, and let me take my turn on the watch, Mr. Mellowtone?" I asked, after the sentinel had given me a pleasant greeting.

"Kit told me not to call you, and I did not intend to do so, Phil Farringford. You are a boy, and you need sleep."

"I'm willing to do my share of the watching."

"You shall take your turn to-night. We can do nothing to-day but eat and sleep. If you will give us some breakfast, we shall be ready for it."

"I will—right off. Have you seen anything of the Indians?"

"No; not one of them has ventured into the clearing. Being ready for them is more than half the battle. I doubt whether they trouble us again at present. We have taught them a lesson they will not soon forget."

"Yes; and they have taught us one which we shall not soon forget," I added, glancing at the mound over the grave of Matt Rockwood.

I went to the Castle, made a fire, and while the kettle was boiling I attended to the horses. I cooked some fish and potatoes, and we breakfasted between the block house and the forest. All day long we watched and waited for the coming of the savages; but we heard nothing of them. At night I took the first watch, and walked around the Castle, keeping up the fires, till I was so sleepy I could hardly keep my eyes open; and then, as a matter of prudence rather than comfort, I called Kit.

[ ]

CHAPTER VIII.

IN WHICH PHIL SEES THE FIRST YOUNG LADY HE EVER SAW.

We were rather tired of this life of inactivity after a couple of days. We watched for Indians, but none came; and, on the third day after the death of Matt Rockwood, Kit declared his intention to take a tramp into the woods in the direction of his own cabin. If he found any Indians he would return; but he was satisfied that the party who had made the attack expended all their provisions, and were obliged to retire to obtain more.

"I shall be atween you and the Injuns all the time, boy," said he.

"I am not afraid, Kit; and I'm very grateful to you for what you have done for me—and for Matt," I replied, walking with him towards the brook.

"Matt and I was good friends; but all that's passed and gone. I shall come back in a few days—sooner ef there's any Injuns round. Good by, boy."

He walked across the brook on one of the stringers, and disappeared in the forest. Mr. Mellowtone was also impatient to depart. He had been away from his home on the island for several days. In the afternoon, as Kit did not return, we concluded the enemy had retired, and my friend embarked in his barge for home; but he promised to return before night. I was alone then, and I walked about the farm thinking of Matt. Whichever way I turned, there was always something to remind me of him.

I could not help considering my prospects for the future. I had concluded to carry on the farm that season, though I did not like the idea of living all alone. Mr. Mellowtone said nothing about taking up his residence with me, though I had suggested the idea to him. I knew that he was fond of solitude for a large portion of his time. He was too much enamoured of his island to leave it. Kit's habits would not permit him to settle down and dwell in a house, for though he had a cabin, he did not live in it except in the winter. If I carried on the farm, I must do it alone, though I should doubtless receive frequent visits from my neighbors.

I walked about the farm thinking what I should do the coming season, and I laid out work enough to keep me well employed till the coming of the autumn. I intended to plant ten acres in corn, potatoes, and vegetables. Fortunately the soil was easily worked, and I had no doubt of my ability to perform the labor, with the aid of the horses and the implements at my command. I walked till I had arranged my plans, and then went into the Castle to consider them further.

My thoughts wandered away from the practical duties of the farm to the past. I recalled the scene on the banks of the Missouri, where Matt had folded me in his arms by the bivouac fire. He was not my real father, though he had done all a parent could do for me. I had had a real father and mother, who probably believed, if they were saved from the calamity, that I had perished. The subject was full of interest to me. Perhaps my parents had been saved, and still lived. Matt had told me that one half of the people on board the Farringford had been picked up by the steamer that passed the next morning.

The more I thought of this subject, the more curious and anxious I became. I glanced at a large chest, which stood near the head of the bed. It contained all the valuables of Matt, and he always kept it locked. I had never known him to open it, except when he had sold a lot of wood, and wished to put away the money. Although he never said anything about it, I thought he did not wish me to see what the chest contained. He kept it locked, it seemed to me, to prevent me from opening it, for there was no other person who was likely to meddle with it. I respected his wishes, though he never expressed them, and refrained even from looking at him when he opened the chest. There must be money in it; but that was of no use to me, except when the trading steamers came along.

I was sure that it was not to keep me from meddling with the money that my patriarchal friend locked the chest. There was something in it, I fancied, which was connected with the mystery of my parentage. Though it did not occur to me then, I have thought since that Matt Rockwood did very wrong in not trying to ascertain who my father and mother were. Even Kit Cruncher had insisted upon his doing this; but after he had loved me and cared for me, he could not permit me to be taken from him. I could forgive him because of his tenderness and affection for me; but even these could not justify his conduct.

I rose from the bench on which I was seated, and walked across the room to the chest. It was locked; but where was the key? Old Matt had always carried it in his pocket, and I concluded that it had been buried with him. Had it been in my possession I should have opened the chest; but I had not the courage to break it open. I resumed my seat on the bench, and the mystery of my parentage seemed to become awful and oppressive. Why could I not know whether my father, or mother, or both, were alive or dead? But all was dark to me, and I could not penetrate the veil which hung between me and those who had given me being.

While I was thinking, I heard the whistle of a steamer, frequently repeated, indicating that she wanted a supply of wood. I hastened to the stable, and mounted Cracker, for the landing-place was a mile from the Castle. By the time the boat had made fast to the tree, which served as a mooring-stake, I reached the wood-yard. We had one hundred cords of cotton-wood piled up in readiness for sale.

"Hallo, Phil Rockwood," said the captain, crossing the gang-plank to the shore. "Where is your father?"

"He is dead, sir," I replied, gloomily enough, for the scene reminded me very strongly of Matt, and this was the first time I had been called upon to make a bargain myself.

"Dead! I am sorry for that. When did he die?" added the captain, with an appearance of real regret.

"He was shot by the Indians four days ago."

"Shot! Well, that's too bad."

"I wish you would tell the commander of the fort above all about it."

"I will, certainly. But what do you ask for wood?"

"Matt Rockwood said he must have four dollars a cord now, for we have to haul it farther than we used to," I replied.

"That's rather high."

But I stuck to the price which Matt had fixed, and the captain finally agreed to it, though it was more than we had ever charged before. We measured off twenty cords, and the deck hands of the steamer began to carry it on board. While they were thus engaged, I told the captain all about our difficulty with the Indians, and he was confident that the commandant of the fort would send a force to chastise them.

While the boat was wooding up, the passengers went on shore, and walked in the woods to vary the monotony of the tedious voyage. Among them I observed a young lady of twelve or thirteen, the first I had ever seen in my life of the white race. I gazed at her with curiosity and interest, as she walked up the cart path towards the castle. She was alone, for the other passengers took the road on the bank of the brook. She was very prettily dressed, and the sight of her gave me a new sensation. I saw two ladies, but they were watching the labors of the deck hands, and did not leave the steamer.

"You have some passengers, captain," said I, wishing to introduce the subject, so that I could inquire about the young lady.

"A few, but it is rather too early in the season for them. Mine is the first boat this year," he replied.

"Where are these ladies going?"

"They are going to Oregon—Portland, I believe."

"Who is that young lady?" I asked.

"She is the daughter of one of the ladies on deck, and a very pretty girl she is, too. Her name is Ella Gracewood."

The hands had nearly finished loading the wood, and the captain ordered the bell to be rung and the whistle to be blown, in order to call back his passengers, who were wandering about on shore. He paid me eighty dollars in gold for the wood; for in this wild region we used only hard coin, and did not believe in banks hundreds or thousands of miles distant. I took the money, and with a portion of it purchased a barrel of flour, a keg of sugar, a quantity of ground coffee, and some other supplies needed at the Castle. The steamer hauled in her plank, and casting off her hawser, renewed her long voyage up the river. Mounting Cracker, I rode back to the Castle, and harnessed both horses to the wagon, in order to haul up the stores I had purchased.

While I was thus employed, I saw the young lady, who had landed from the steamer, walking very deliberately across the field from the forest, to which she had extended her promenade. In her hand she carried some of the little flowers which blossomed in the grass. Occasionally she held them to her nose, and seemed to enjoy their fragrance very much. I drove my horses down the slope, and intercepted her as she reached the road. I knew she had made a serious mistake in not returning before; but she, as yet, had no suspicion that the steamer had departed. I hauled in my horses, but she was not disposed to take any notice of me.

I may say now, fifteen years after, that I was not a dandy, and my appearance was not calculated to make an impression upon a young lady. I wore coarse gray pants, "fearfully and wonderfully made," besides being fearfully soiled with grease and dirt, the legs of which were stuffed into the tops of my boots, after the fashion of our backwoods locality. Above these I wore a hunting-frock, made of a yellow blanket, with a belt around my waist. My cap was of buffalo hide, and shaped like a gallon tin-kettle. My frock was dirty, greasy, and ragged, for I wore it while cooking, taking care of the pigs and horses, and in doing other dirty work about the house and barn.

I thought the young lady did not like my appearance, for she seemed to be very timid, and perhaps thought I was a brigand. I was near enough to see that she was very pretty, even according to the standard of later years, though I had no means of making a comparison at that time.

Though I pulled in my horses, she only glanced at me, and resumed her walk towards the landing, apparently determined to avoid me. I was rather vexed at this treatment, for I wished to invite her to ride down to the river. I knew nothing about the shyness and reserve of young ladies in civilized life. I drove on once more, and she stepped out of the road to permit the team to pass. She glanced at me again, and I saw that she was not angry with me. I stopped the horses, and then I ventured to speak to her.

[ ]

CHAPTER IX.

IN WHICH PHIL HAS A VISITOR AT THE CASTLE.

"Won't you ride?" I asked, as the young lady stepped out of the road to allow my team to pass.

"No, I thank you," she answered, with a smile and a blush.

I did not then understand the absurdity of the invitation I extended to her. The wagon was simply a platform on wheels, with stakes. It had been built by old Matt, though the wheels had been brought from some town hundreds of miles down the river. It was the only vehicle on the place, and was used for carting wood and hay, and for all the purposes of the farm. It was not a suitable chariot for a civilized young lady, dressed as prettily as Miss Gracewood was.

"Did you know that the steamer you came in had gone?" I added.

"Gone!" exclaimed she, with a start, and an expression of utter despair.

"She left half an hour ago."

"What shall I do!" cried she, so troubled that I felt very bad myself. "The steamer cannot have gone without me."

"She went more than half an hour ago," I added. "I suppose they thought you were on board."

"O, dear! what shall I do!"

"She will come back after you when they find you have been left behind."

"Do you think they will?"

"To be sure they will."

"Why did she go so soon? They have always stopped three or four hours in a place."

"I suppose the boat had more business to do at other landings than here. She only stopped here for wood. She whistled and rang her bell half an hour before she started. Didn't you hear the whistle?"

"I did hear it, but not the bell, which I supposed was the signal to call the passengers. It was such a pretty place in the forest that I enjoyed it very much, and I did not think of such a thing as the steamer starting for several hours. The boat whistles so much that I am used to it, and don't heed it. What will become of me!"

Phil and Ella.
Page 95.

"I don't think you need trouble yourself much about it. The steamer will come back as soon as they miss you," I continued, very much moved when I saw the tears starting in her eyes.

"I'm afraid they won't miss me."

"Why, certainly they will," I protested, earnestly. "Won't you ride down to the landing?"

She glanced at the dirty wagon. She appeared to be tired after her long walk, and the invitation was a temptation to her; but the character of the vehicle did not please her. I had put a clean box on the wagon to contain the small stores I had purchased.

"You can sit on this," I added, pointing to the box.

"I don't think I can get into the wagon."

I jumped upon the ground, and placed the box near the vehicle, so that she could use it as a step. I did not understand the rules of gallantry well enough to offer to assist her when she really needed no assistance. She stepped upon the box, and, grasping one of the stakes, easily mounted the platform. I placed the box in the middle of the wagon, and she seated herself. I drove slowly to the landing-place, so that the motion of the rude vehicle might not disturb her.

"I am afraid they won't come back to-night," said she, as she strained her eyes in gazing up the river.

"Your friends on board would compel the captain to return; but he is a very good man, and I think he will be willing."

"But they may not miss me. There are very few passengers on board, and I have a state-room all to myself. I have been in it half the time, reading, and they may think I am there."

"There will be another steamer along in a few days, and you can go in her."

"In a few days!" repeated she. "What can I do for two or three days?"

"There's Mr. Mellowtone," I interposed, pointing to the pretty barge of my friend, who was returning to the Castle, as he had promised to do.

"And who is Mr. Mellowtone?" inquired my fair companion.

I explained who he was: and by the time I had finished my description, we arrived at the landing.

"There is no steamer to be seen," said Miss Ella, sadly.

"But she will come back, I am sure, even if she has gone a hundred miles, when they discover your absence," I replied.

"I wish I could think so."

"You may depend upon it."

"It is almost dark now."

"The steamers run by night as well as by day, in this part of the river, when the water is as high as it is now."

She walked down to the bank of the river, and continued to gaze earnestly up the stream, while I employed myself in loading my goods. I did not think, when I bought the barrel of flour, that I was now alone, and two hundred pounds was more than I could lift from the ground to the body of the wagon. But in the backwoods every person is necessarily full of expedients. Taking a shovel from the shanty, which Matt had built as a shelter in stormy weather, I dug a couple of trenches into the slope of the hill, corresponding to the wheels, and then backed the wagon into them, until I had a height of less than a foot to overcome. Using a couple of sticks as skids, I easily rolled the barrel of flour upon the vehicle. After loading the other articles, I was ready to return to the Castle.

Miss Ella stood on the bank of the river, still watching for the steamer. It did not come, and I invited her to return with me. She was chilled with the cool air of the evening, and reluctantly consented. I made a seat for her on the wagon, and assured her I should hear the whistle of the steamer when she returned.

"I am afraid she will not return," said she again, very gloomily.

"Of course she will. I doubt whether she will go any farther to-night than the fort, about twenty miles farther up the river," I replied. "Your friends must have discovered your absence by this time."

"No," she replied, shaking her head, "they will think I am in my state-room."

"Your mother is on board, I heard the captain say."

"She is, and my aunt."

"I am sure your mother will discover your absence. She will want to see you before you go to bed."

"No."

I had no experience of domestic life among civilized people, but I had read in books, lent to me by Mr. Mellowtone, that parents and children were very affectionate. In the stories, little girls always kissed their mothers, and said "good night" after they repeated their prayers. I thought it would be very strange if Ella's mother did not discover her absence till the next day. The young lady was very sad, and shook her head with so much significance, that I was afraid her mother was not kind to her, though I could hardly conceive of such a thing.

"Do you live here all alone?" she asked, after a silence of a few moments, as though she wished to turn my attention away from a disagreeable subject.

"I am all alone now, though it is only four days since the old man with whom I lived was killed by the Indians."

"By the Indians!" exclaimed Miss Ella, with a look of terror.

I repeated the story of the attack of the Indians; but I did not wish to alarm her, and refrained from saying that we expected another visit from them soon. I had heard nothing from Kit Cruncher since he departed, and I concluded that there was no present danger. My fair companion sympathized with me in the loss I had sustained, and asked me a great many questions in regard to my life in the woods. I told her how I happened to be there, and I think she forgot all about herself for the time, she was so interested in my eventful career.

We arrived at the Castle, and I found a good fire blazing in the room, but I did not see Mr. Mellowtone, though he had lighted it. I conducted Miss Gracewood into our rude house, and gave her a seat before the fire. Unhitching my horses, I went to the barn with them. While I was feeding them for the night, Mr. Mellowtone came in.

"I have been out into the woods," said he; "but I see no signs of any Indians."

"I don't think there are any very near us," I replied. "If there were, Kit Cruncher would return, and let us know of their approach. I have some company in the Castle, Mr. Mellowtone."

"Company?"

"Yes; a young lady."

"Is it possible!"

"She was left by the steamer. She had been to walk in the forest, and did not heed the whistle."

"This is not a very good place for ladies. We are liable to receive a visit from the Indians at any time."

"Don't say anything to her about it. It would only frighten her, and she is uncomfortable enough now," I suggested, as I led the way towards the house.

"Stop a minute, Phil Farringford," interposed Mr. Mellowtone. "I think I will not see your visitor."

"Not see her!" I exclaimed, astonished that one who had hardly seen a lady for years should desire to avoid one, especially a young lady of twelve.

"No; I think not."

"But she is young, and very pretty."

"So much the worse. It would revive old associations in my mind which are not pleasant. I will tell you more about that another time. But the steamer will return for the young lady—will it not?"

"Of course it will; but she thinks her friends in the boat will not discover her absence before morning, for she occupied a state-room alone."

"If the boat comes in the night, we shall hear her whistle. You and I can sleep in the block house, and your visitor can have the Castle all to herself."

"Very well."

"Now go and attend to her wants, and I will smoke my pipe in the field. It would not be polite to smoke in the presence of a lady," continued Mr. Mellowtone, as he left me.

He disappeared behind the building, leaving the aroma of his pipe after him. I thought his conduct was very strange; but then I had always regarded him as a singular man. He had never gone to the landing when a steamer arrived. If he wanted any stores, or wished to send to St. Louis for anything, he always commissioned Matt or me to do his business for him. He had never whispered a word in my hearing in regard to his past history, though he took a great interest in me.

I went into the Castle, and found that Miss Ella was as comfortable as the circumstances would permit. I put some pitch wood on the fire, which made the room light enough to enable one to read in any part of it. I prepared some supper, of which she ate very sparingly, though when, like an accomplished housekeeper, I apologized for the fare, she declared that it was very good.

I had to unload the wagon; but the barrel of flour was still too much for me, and I asked Mr. Mellowtone to help me, and he came to the front of the Castle for that purpose. I lighted a pitch-wood torch, and went out. Miss Ella followed me, and insisted upon holding the torch, when I began to thrust one end of it into the ground.

Mr. Mellowtone could not help seeing her; and when I was ready to roll down the barrel of flour on the skids, I saw that he was gazing at her very intently.

"What is this young lady's name, Phil Farringford?" he asked, in a low tone.

"Ella Gracewood," I replied.

"My daughter!" exclaimed he, with deep emotion, as he sprang towards her.

[ ]

CHAPTER X.

IN WHICH PHIL VISITS PARADISE, AND FIRES AT AN INDIAN.

Ella raised the torch, and gazed earnestly into the face of Mr. Mellowtone.

"Father!" exclaimed she, springing into his arms.

I took the torch from her hand, utterly confounded by the scene. I could not see how Mr. Mellowtone could be the father of Miss Gracewood, for I knew enough of the customs of society to be aware that the daughter bore the parent's name. They wept and sobbed in each other's arms, and I was so touched that I could not help crying, too.

"You are but little changed, Ella," said the father. "Only a little taller."

He stepped back and gazed at her, as if to note the change which time had wrought in her.

"And you don't look any older than when we parted; how well I remember it!" replied Ella, her pretty face lighted up with joy. "Only your clothes are different."

Mr. Mellowtone wore the costume of the woods—a blue hunting-shirt, or frock, over pants stuffed into the tops of his boots, with a felt hat.

"I suppose, if I wore my black clothes, you would see no change at all in me," replied the father. "But I will help you unload your flour, Phil Farringford."

"I am in no hurry," I answered.

"Let us do it at once."

I handed the torch to Ella again, and we rolled the heavy barrel to the ground.

"How funny it looks to see you doing such work, father!" said she, laughing.

"But I am my own cook and my own servant. I chop my own wood, and shoot my own dinner. You shall go to my island home to-morrow, and I think we shall be very happy there."

"You needn't do anything more, Mr. Mellowtone," I interposed, when he was going to help unload the rest of the goods. "You can go into the house, and talk with your daughter."

"Why do you call him Mr. Mellowtone?" asked Ella. "That is not his name."

"It is the name by which I am known here in the forest," added he.

"But your name is Henry Gracewood."

"And you may call me so, Phil Farringford, in future," said Mr. Mellowtone. "My own name sounds strange to me now. I changed it to escape impertinent questions which might possibly be put to me."

Father and daughter entered the Castle, and seated themselves before the blazing fire. I rolled the barrel of flour into the store-room, between the house and the barn. Disposing of the rest of the articles I had bought in their proper places, my work was finished for the night.

"I will go to the block house now, Mr. Gracewood," I remarked, not wishing to intrude myself upon the happy father and child in the Castle.

"No, Phil Farringford," replied he; "I shall have no secrets from you after this, for you have learned enough to make you desire to know more."

"I don't wish to intrude, sir."

"Sit down, Phil Farringford. Now Matt Rockwood is gone, I shall regard you both as my children," continued Mr. Gracewood, with more sprightliness than I had ever seen him exhibit before.

I put some more pitch wood on the fire, and seated myself opposite the father and daughter, where I could see the glowing faces of both.

"Now, Ella, tell me how you happen to be so far from St. Louis," said Mr. Gracewood.

"We were going to Portland, Oregon. Mr. Sparkley failed in business, and lost all his property," replied she.

"Mr. Sparkley is my brother-in-law, Phil," added Mr. Gracewood. "And you are going with him, Ella?"

"Yes; Mr. Sparkley has a good chance to go into business there."

"Is your—is your mother with him?" asked Mr. Gracewood, with some embarrassment.

"She is."

I was not a little puzzled by what I heard. My good friend spoke of the mother of Ella, and I knew that she was his daughter. The mother, therefore, was his wife, as I reasoned out the problem; but I could not understand how he happened to be living in the backwoods, away from her and his child. Mr. Gracewood was silent for a time, and I began to realize that there was something unpleasant in his family relations, though the matter was incomprehensible to me.

"I suppose your mother does not speak very kindly of me," said the father, at last, with considerable emotion.

"I never heard her speak an unkind word of you, father," replied Ella, promptly; and at the same time her eyes filled with tears.

"I am glad to hear that."

"It is true, father," added the daughter, wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Don't cry, Ella; all may yet be well. Perhaps I was to blame, in part."

"You will see mother when she comes back in the steamer—won't you, father?" pleaded she.

"She may not wish to see me."

"I know she will be glad to see you."

Mr. Gracewood was moody and agitated again. I saw that he was struggling with his feelings, and I hoped that the gentle words of his daughter would lead to a reconciliation. She seemed like an angel of peace to me, as she threw oil upon the troubled waters. But I felt like an intruder in such a scene, and I left the Castle on the pretence of attending to the horses. I did not return, feeling that I was not needed in such an interview. I made up a bed in the block house, and was about to turn in, when Mr. Gracewood joined me. He told me he had attended to all the wants of his daughter, and that she would sleep in the Castle.

"I know you were astonished at what you heard, Phil Farringford," said he, as we lay down in the block house.

"I was, sir, and I felt very bad when your daughter wept."

"I am afraid, from what Ella says, that I am quite as much to blame as her mother. Indeed, I had begun to think before that the fault was not all on her side. When my father died, he left a handsome fortune, which was divided between my brother and myself. I was educated at one of the best colleges in the west, and intended to study the profession of law; but the death of my father placed sufficient wealth in my possession to enable me to live in luxury without any exertion. I was married, and for a few years lived very happily.

"I had always been very fond of fishing and hunting, and while in college I spent all my vacations in camp, on the prairie or in the forest. After I was graduated, I used to devote two or three months of the year to these pursuits. When I was married, I was not willing to forego this luxury,—for such it was to me,—and without going into the painful details, this subject became a source of difference between us. I thought my wife was unreasonable, and she thought the same of me. Six years ago she told me, if I went on my usual excursion, she would leave me, never to return. I could not believe she was in earnest. I had reduced the period of my absence to six weeks, and when I returned found my house closed. Mrs. Gracewood was at the residence of her brother, Mr. Sparkley. I sent her a note, informing her of my return.

"She wrote me in reply, that if I would promise to abandon my annual hunting trip, or take her with me, she would come back. I replied that I would travel with her wherever she desired to go, and at any time except in June and July, and that a woman was out of place in a camp of hunters. She positively refused to return or to see me on any other than her own conditions. I met Ella every week at my own house, where she came in charge of a servant. Neither of us would yield, and life was misery to me. The next spring I placed all my property in the hands of my brother, with instructions to pay my wife an annuity of three thousand dollars a year, and made a will in favor of my child.

"I had been to this region before, and hunted upon the island where I now live. To me it was a paradise, and I determined to spend the rest of my days there. I felt that I had been robbed of all the joys of existence in the love of my wife and child. Taking the materials for my house, furniture, a piano, and my library, with a plentiful supply of stores, I came up the river in a steamer, and have lived here ever since."

"But didn't you wish to see your daughter?" I asked.

"Very much; but I was afraid that the sight of her would break down my resolution, and induce me to yield the point for which I had contended. A kind Providence seems to have sent my child to me, to open and warm my heart."

"Do you still think you were right?" I asked.

"I do; my annual hunt was life and strength to me for the whole year. I thought my wife's objections were unkind and unreasonable; but I believe now, since I have seen Ella, that my manner was not conciliatory; that I was arbitrary in my refusal. Perhaps, if I had been kind and gentle, and taken the pains to convince her that my health required the recreation, she would have withdrawn her objections. Quarrels, Phil Farringford, oftener result from the manner of the persons concerned than from irreconcilable differences."

I went to sleep, but I think it was a long night to Mr. Gracewood. When I waked he had left the block house; but I found him with Ella, at sunrise, on the bank of the river. He had called her up, and was going to start at that early hour for Paradise, as he called his island. He invited me to go up as soon as I could, declaring that there was no danger from the Indians so long as Kit did not return. I was sorry to lose my pretty visitor so soon; but she was as impatient to see the home of her father as he was to have her do so.

Mr. Gracewood and Ella leave for the Island.
Page 114.

I watched the beautiful boat as Mr. Gracewood pulled up the stream; but I trembled when I considered the danger of losing my neighbors, for Ella would not think of remaining long in such a lonely region. I took care of the horses, and turned them out to feed on the new grass, believing that they would be better able to take care of themselves in my absence if the Indians visited the clearing. After breakfast, I walked down to the landing, where I had a boat, as starting from there would save me the labor of paddling a mile against the current. I soon reached the island, and landed upon the lower end. I had taken my rifle with me, so as to bring down any game I happened to see.

As I walked up the slope of the hill, I discovered in the water, on the north side of the island, a couple of Indian dugouts. I was alarmed, and hastened with all speed to the house of my good friend. I heard the music of his piano, and was assured that the Indians had not yet done any mischief. I went up to the door, which was wide open. Mr. Gracewood sat at the instrument, with his pipe in his mouth, inspired by the melody he was producing. At the same instant I perceived the head of an Indian at a window behind the pianist. I saw him raise a rifle, as if to take aim. As quick as my own thoughts, I elevated my own piece and fired.

[ ]

CHAPTER XI.

IN WHICH PHIL ENGAGES IN THE PURSUIT OF THE INDIANS.

The shot which I fired was instantly followed by a fierce and savage yell. Until this moment the invaders had been creeping like cats up to the house, and Mr. Gracewood and Ella had no suspicion of their presence. In coming up the river I had crossed to the opposite side by a diagonal course, partly to shorten the distance, and partly to avoid a strong current, which swept in close to the shore above the mouth of Fish Creek. The Indians must have been making the passage at the same time; but the island was between them and me, so that I could not see them.

They belonged to the same band that had attacked us at the Castle. The fact that they had their dugouts with them assured me they had come down Crooked River, the next stream above the Fish, on our side of the Missouri. I concluded that they intended to renew the attack upon the Castle, and had come in their boats so that they could approach on the water side of the farm. They knew Mr. Gracewood very well, and meant to plunder him first, for his share in the occurrences of the last week.

I could form no idea of the number of Indians on the island. I judged that there were but few, for I could see only two dugouts on the bank of the river. The savage at whom I had fired was in the act of stealing in at the window. He had but just raised his head, and was the only one I could see. His companions were near him, however, as I soon learned from the yell they uttered.

Mr. Gracewood's house was large enough to contain two rooms below, and two sleeping apartments in the attic. The front room, on the south side of the building, was nearly half filled by a Chickering's grand piano—a magnificent instrument, which was the joy and solace of the recluse in his self-imposed exile. I had often sat for hours, while he played upon it, listening to the wonderful melody he produced. He was an enthusiast in music, and when he played he seemed to be inspired. Almost invariably his pipe was in his mouth when seated at the instrument, and I supposed his two joys afforded him a double rapture. I used to think, if it had been my case, I could have dispensed with the pipe, for it seemed like adding gall to honey.

The grand piano was a powerful instrument, and I had heard its tones before I landed, and I listened to them with pleasure until my attention was attracted by the sight of the dugouts. The front door was open, and Mr. Gracewood glanced at me as I appeared at the door, but he did not suspend his rapturous occupation. Behind him stood Ella, enjoying the music; and both were totally unconscious of the deadly peril that menaced them. At the same instant I discovered the head of the Indian. He had evidently surveyed the interior of the room before, and he did not see me. I fired, and he dropped. His companions yelled, and Ella uttered a scream of terror. She was beside herself with fear, and apparently thinking the house was full of Indians, she rushed out at the open door as I entered. Mr. Gracewood seized his rifle, and a revolver which hung on the wall.

I loaded my piece without delay, and followed the recluse out of the house. I heard him fire before I overtook him. The plan of the savages failed as soon as they were discovered, for they were too cowardly to stand up before the rifles of the white man. As I hastened after Mr. Gracewood, I glanced at the outside of the window through which I had fired at the Indian. I supposed I had killed him, but his body was not there. A terrible scream from Ella, followed by a cry of anguish from her father, startled me at this moment, and I ran with all speed in the direction from which the sounds came. Passing beyond the house, I discovered four Indians in full retreat. Two of them were dragging the shrieking Ella over the ground towards the point on the river where the dugout lay. My blood ran cold with horror as I realized that they had captured the fair girl.

The poor child, in her terror, had run away from the house to escape the savages, who, she supposed, were in it, but only to encounter them where we could not prevent her capture. The agony of her father was fearful. He groaned in the heaviness of his soul. We could not fire upon the Indians without danger of hitting Ella, whom her captors cunningly used to protect their own bodies from our bullets.

Mr. Gracewood ran, but his limbs seemed to be partially paralyzed by the agony of his soul. It was but a short distance to the river, and before we could overtake the Indians they had dragged their prisoner into one of the dugouts, and pushed off from the shore. I passed the poor father, but reached the bank of the river too late to be of any service to Ella. There were two Indians in each boat. They had gone but a few rods before a bullet whistled near my head, and I retreated to the shelter of a tree until Mr. Gracewood joined me.

Ella carried off Captive.
Page 119.

"Heaven be merciful to me and to her!" groaned he, pressing both hands upon his throbbing head. "What shall we do, Phil Farringford? Tell me, for I am beside myself."

"Let us take your barge and follow them."

At that moment the shrill whistle of a steamer echoed over the island. The sound came from up the river, and I was satisfied that it was the boat in which Ella had been a passenger, returning for her.

"It will be a sad moment to her mother when she hears what has become of Ella," groaned Mr. Gracewood.

"Let us get into your boat as quick as possible, and meet the steamer as she comes down," said I.

We ran to the landing-place at the lower end of the island, and embarked in the barge. Mr. Gracewood rowed with all his might up the stream.

"Do you see the dugouts, Phil Farringford?" he asked, after he had pulled to the upper end of the island.

"I can just see them. They are making for Crooked River."

"Do you see the steamer?"

"She is not in sight yet."

The mouth of Crooked River was half a mile above Paradise Island. Its head waters were in the Indian country, but the most of its course was through a more level region than that through which the two branches of the Fish flowed, though the mouths of the two were not more than a couple of miles apart. Crooked River was, therefore, practicable for boats, while there were frequent rapids in Fish Creek and its tributaries.

"There's the steamer," said I, after we had gone a short distance farther.

"And where are the dugouts?"

"They have gone into Crooked River."

"Can the people in the steamer see them?" asked the anxious father.

"No," I replied, sadly.

Mr. Gracewood continued to pull with all his might, and in silence, till we came within hail of the steamer.

"Hold on!" I shouted, making violent gestures with my arms.

The captain immediately recognized me, and the wheels of the steamer stopped. Mr. Gracewood pulled the barge up to the steamer, and we went on board.

"Where is the young lady we left at your wood-yard?" demanded the captain, very much excited, as I stepped on deck.

"She was captured by the Indians less than an hour ago," I replied, breathless with emotion. "They have taken her up into Crooked River. Do put your boat about and chase them."

"Captured by the Indians!" exclaimed the captain, aghast at the intelligence.

"Will you put about, and follow them, captain?" interposed Mr. Gracewood.

"He is Ella's father," I added.

"I am," said he.

The captain directed the pilot to start the steamer, and head her up the river, as we dragged the barge on deck.

"But we can't go up these small streams," he added.

"The Indians cannot have gone far, and the water is deep for several miles," replied Mr. Gracewood.

"I will do the best I can. We have a detachment of troops which I am to land at your yard, Phil," continued the captain.

"I'm glad to hear that. The Indians will give us no peace until they have been punished for the mischief they have done."

"Did you say this gentleman was Ella's father?" asked the captain, pointing to Mr. Gracewood, who had gone to the bow of the boat, and was on the lookout for the Indians.

I told him all that had transpired since we met the evening before, including the capture of Ella.

"If he is Ella's father, his wife is on board," said the captain. "I suppose I must tell her what has happened to her daughter; but I don't like to do it."

As he left me to perform this unpleasant duty, I saw two ladies and three gentlemen, two of them officers, coming down the steps from the boiler deck. I inferred that one of these ladies was the mother of Ella. She had evidently received an intimation that something had occurred to her daughter, for she was very much disturbed.

"What has happened, Captain Davis? Where is Ella?" she demanded, in broken tones.

"I am sorry to say that the news is not as pleasant as I could wish," replied the captain.

"Where is she?" cried Mrs. Gracewood.

"Her father is here, and——"

"Her father!" exclaimed the anxious mother.

Mr. Gracewood, whose attention was attracted by the sound of her voice, came up to the group, and was instantly recognized by his wife.

"O, Henry!" gasped she. "Forgive me!"

"Nay, I ask to be forgiven," he replied, choking with emotion.

Without any explanation or terms whatever, the reconciliation seemed to be perfect.

"This must be a sad meeting, Emily, for I fear that Ella is lost to us."

"Where is she?" demanded Mrs. Gracewood.

"In the hands of the Indians," replied the suffering father.

"O, mercy! mercy!" groaned the poor mother. "They will kill her!"

"Let us hope not," replied Mr. Gracewood, struggling to repress his emotions.

But this intelligence was too heavy for the strength of the poor lady, and she was borne fainting up the stairs to the saloon. Mr. Gracewood assisted in this duty, and I was left to give the military officers the information they needed. The steamer had already entered Crooked River, and a leadman was calling out the depth of water.

"There they are!" I cried, when the boat turned a sharp bend in the river, as I discovered the two dugouts paddling up the stream.

"We will make short work of them," replied Lieutenant Pope, who was in command of the detachment of soldiers sent down for our relief.

The Indians saw the steamer, and immediately made for the shore, where they landed.

[ ]

CHAPTER XII.

IN WHICH PHIL TAKES DELIBERATE AIM AT ONE OF THE CAPTORS OF ELLA.

"What is your name, young man?" said Lieutenant Pope to me.

"Phil Farringford, sir."

"Are you acquainted with the country in this vicinity?"

"Yes, sir; I have been over it many times."

"Then you can act as a guide," added the officer, who had collected his force on the forward deck, in readiness to disembark them.

Presently the steamer reached the point at which the Indians had landed. The dugouts were hauled up on the shore; but we could see nothing of the savages, who had disappeared in the forest, half a mile from the stream, where the land began to rise.

"Can we make a landing here?" asked the captain.

"You can," I replied.

"Do so, captain," added Lieutenant Pope.

"I wouldn't land here," I interposed.

"Why not?"

"This boat can go three miles up the river, sure, and perhaps five. The Indians must travel up stream in order to escape you. If you go up two miles farther, you can head them off."

"Keep her a-going, captain," added the officer.

"Two or three miles east of us is Big Fish Creek. The Indians can't get across below us without swimming."

"Then we shall have them between these two streams."

"Of course it is possible for them to get across the Big Fish, but it won't be very easy, unless they get rid of their prisoner."

"How far is it across the country to the creek?" asked the lieutenant.

"About three miles here. Crooked River twists round in a half circle."

"You may be gone a week, Lieutenant Pope," interposed the captain. "I can't wait here a great while."

"You need not wait an hour after you have landed my force," replied the officer. "But you must take my stores down to the landing at the wood-yard. I will send a sergeant and ten men to take charge of them."

The campaign, it appeared, was to be commenced at this point, and I was to guide the soldiers to the Indian village north of our settlement. Mr. Gracewood soon appeared on the forward deck, and the plan was explained to him. His wife was a little better, and he was anxious to join in the pursuit of the savages. I tried to prevail upon him to go down to the landing with the soldiers; but he was resolute, and declared that he would follow the Indians till he recovered his daughter.

"One of us should go down with the soldiers, and take care of Mrs. Gracewood; for I suppose she no longer thinks of going to Oregon," I said.

"Why will you not go, Phil Farringford?" he replied.

"I am to act as the guide for the soldiers who pursue the Indians."

"I will guide them," added Mr. Gracewood.

"Either of you," interposed the lieutenant.

I was anxious to go with the soldiers myself, and to have a hand in capturing the miscreants who had carried off Ella; but her father had a stronger claim upon this duty, and I yielded. Two miles above the point where we had passed the dugouts, the steamer made a landing. After I had explained to Lieutenant Pope the nature of the country, and the localities of the streams, he decided to take only half his force with him, and to send the other half to the landing, with instructions to march up the Little Fish towards the Indian village. The two detachments would come together on the river before reaching their final destination.

The soldiers who were to pursue the Indians landed, and the steamer started again. It was about noon when we reached the landing at the Castle. The captain, who had been detained so long by the events narrated that he was impatient to be on his voyage up the river again, hurried the soldiers on shore. Mrs. Gracewood bade adieu to her brother and his wife, who proceeded on their long journey. It was hard to leave without knowing the fate of poor Ella, but the circumstances were imperative. I conducted Mrs. Gracewood to the shore, and the steamer departed.

The poor mother was in a state bordering on frenzy. Her anxiety and suspense were hardly endurable. I went up to the Castle, caught the horses, harnessed them to the wagon, and conveyed her and her trunks to the house. In the mean time the soldiers had marched up to the clearing, and decided to pitch their tents near the block house, for they were not to start for the upper country till the next morning, lest the Indians should be alarmed before the other force could reach the place of meeting.

The troops hauled their tents and provision to the camp ground with my team; and the scene at the clearing was vastly more lively than I had ever before seen there. Mrs. Gracewood could not stay in the Castle, and she joined me in the field. I said all that I could to comfort and console her. I know not how many times she asked me whether I thought the savages would kill her daughter. I did not believe they would.

"Why should they, Mrs. Gracewood?" I reasoned. "They know very well that such a murder would bring a terrible vengeance upon them. Before this time they have seen that the soldiers are on their track."

"Why should they carry her off, then?" asked the poor mother, wiping away the tears that so frequently blinded her.

"As a prisoner, alive and well, she may be of great value to her captors. They may procure a large ransom for her, or they may protect themselves by having her in their power. To kill her would bring nothing but disaster to them."

"But they will at least abuse her."

"They may compel her to travel too fast for her strength, for the soldiers will keep them moving at a rapid rate. Wasn't it very singular that she was left behind last night?" I asked, wishing to change the current of her thoughts a little, if possible.

"It seems strange now. I did not think of such a thing as that she was not on the steamer. I supposed she was in her state-room reading till evening. Her room was lighted, as usual; and when I retired, as the light seemed to assure me she was there, I thought I would not disturb her. The steamer stopped at the fort. She did not appear at breakfast, and I went to her room. I was frightened when I saw that it had not been occupied, and I ran to the captain. Inquiry proved that she had not been seen since we left this landing. I was told that people lived here, and that she would not suffer. As soon as the freight was unloaded, the steamer returned."

While I was talking with her, the shrill screaming of a steamboat whistle assured me I had another customer for wood. Slinging my rifle over my shoulder,—for in these troublous times it was not safe to go unarmed,—I rode old Firefly down to the landing. I sold twenty cords of cotton-wood, and put eighty dollars into my pocket. I told the captain all the news, while the hands were loading the fuel; and the steamer went on her winding way up the river. In a short time she disappeared beyond the bend. I was about to mount my horse, and return to the Castle, when I discovered a dugout in the distance cautiously stealing down the great river, under the shadow of the bank. It contained two Indians; but I was thrilled with excitement when I discovered a young lady seated between them.

It was Ella Gracewood.

I was in a clump of trees, where I had fastened Firefly, and the savages could not see me. I unslung my rifle, and satisfied myself that it was in condition for use. Breathless with interest and anxiety, I watched the dugout. I realized that the Indians had doubled on the soldiers in pursuit of them by returning to their boats, and coming down Crooked River. They evidently intended to ascend the Fish River. Aware that the troops were in hot pursuit of them, I could understand that their only solicitude was to escape with their prisoner, whose presence was a sort of guarantee of their own safety.

I hardly dared to breathe, lest the savages should discover me. I crouched behind a bush, and watched the progress of the enemy, as they rounded the point, and paddled up the Fish River. I could not make up my mind what to do. If I went up to the camp to inform the soldiers of what I had seen, I should lose sight of the dugout. I expected every moment to see the other two Indians come round the point in the second dugout, but they did not appear.

As the savages ascended the stream, I crawled out of my hiding-place. Mr. Gracewood's barge had been left at the lauding by the steamer, and I launched it as the dugout disappeared beyond a bend in the creek. I rowed with the utmost caution up the stream, fearful that the quick ear of the Indians might detect the sound of the oars. I took the precaution to muffle the oars, using an old coat I found in the boat for the purpose. At the bend where I had lost sight of the enemy, I held the barge by an overhanging branch, until I had satisfied myself that it was safe to proceed. The dugout was not in sight, and I continued to pull up the stream, pausing at every turn to take an observation.

As it was not safe for me to go forward while the dugout could be seen, I had not obtained another view of it when I reached the junction of the Big and Little Fish Creeks. As the soldiers were between the former and Crooked River, I knew the fugitives would not take that branch, and I confidently pulled up the Little Fish. Two miles above the junction the rapids commenced, and boats could go no farther in this direction. Unfortunately the stream was too straight to suit my purpose, and seeing the dugout half a mile ahead of me, I landed, and determined to walk in the path on the bank of the creek.

The trees enabled me to keep out of sight, and I quickened my pace, so as to lessen the distance between myself and the enemy. As they made but slow progress against the current, I was soon as near them as I dared to go. In this manner I crept along the path till the dugout arrived at the rapids. The Indians landed, and compelled Ella to do so. I could not see her face, but I judged that she had in some degree become reconciled to her situation.

The place where the fugitives landed was at the mouth of the little brook up which Mr. Gracewood and I had followed the horse thieves. The rapids were just above the mouth of this stream, and the locality was my favorite fishing-ground. I supposed the savages would follow the path on the bank of the creek, which led to the Indian village; but instead of doing so, they struck into the woods by the route the horse thieves had taken. I walked up to the mouth of the brook; but I knew the Indians could go but a short distance in the direction they had chosen. It was nearly sundown, and I concluded that they intended to encamp for the night. I had about decided to return to the Castle, and procure the assistance of the soldiers, when I heard one of the Indians approaching. Concealing myself behind a tree, I waited to observe his movements.

He went to the river, embarked in the dugout, and pushing out into the middle of the stream, commenced fishing, not fifty yards from me. I could not resist the temptation to open the battle, and taking deliberate aim at the Indian with my rifle, I fired.

[ ]

CHAPTER XIII.

IN WHICH PHIL AND HIS COMPANION ARRIVE AT THE CABIN OF KIT CRUNCHER.

If I had considered the matter a moment longer, probably I should not have had the courage to open the battle; for, if I failed to hit the Indian, my situation would become desperate, and with an empty rifle in my hand, I could only depend upon my legs for safety, while the savages would be able to escape with their prize before the soldiers could be brought up.

Fortunately for me, I did not miss my aim. My bullet evidently passed through the brain of the savage, for he threw up his arms, and dropped over into the bottom of the dugout. His fall disturbed the boat, and detached it from the overhanging branch by which he had secured it, to enable him to fish. The current whirled it around, and carried it down the river.

Though I could not rid myself of a certain sensation of horror, when I found that I had actually taken a human life, I was well satisfied with what I had done. My frame trembled with emotion and excitement as I hastened to load my rifle again. I expected that the sound of the shot would bring the other Indian to the spot, and I nervously awaited his approach; but he did not appear. As the first Indian had come to the creek to obtain food, his companion doubtless supposed he had fired at some game. The wind wafted the smell of smoke to me, and I surmised that the savage at the camp was preparing to cook the fish or game which the other was to obtain.

The sun went down, and it began to be dark in the shades of the forest. I had become composed and resolute again, after waiting half an hour for the coming of the other redskin. I had arrived at the conclusion that it was not worth while to return to the Castle for the soldiers. I was sure that the Indian at the camp fire would soon come down to the creek to ascertain what had become of his companion. To prevent him from stumbling upon me, I retreated a little farther from the stream into the forest. I could not be mistaken in my calculation, which was soon verified by the sound of footsteps in the direction of the Indian camp.

I found my heart beating violently again, and I dreaded the necessity of shooting the savage almost as much as I did the consequences if I failed to do so. It was still light enough for me to see him distinctly when he made his appearance on the bank of the brook. I raised my rifle with the intention of firing the instant he stopped long enough to enable me to insure my aim, for I had not confidence enough to shoot while he was in motion. But I was so agitated that I was not in condition to do justice to my own skill. The savage walked rapidly to the bank of the creek, and halted, looking up and down in search of the dugout and his companion.

"Ugh!" grunted he, in order to express his dissatisfaction at the long absence of his associate, I suppose.

Then he shouted, and waited for a response from his absent friend; but he did not hold still long enough to enable me to cover his head with the muzzle of my piece. I was so excited by the consideration of the fatal consequences to me, and perhaps to Ella, if I failed to bring him down, that I had not pluck enough to fire. I had slain one man, and it was awful to think of killing another. I would have given all the gold in my pocket if Kit Cruncher had stood by my side at that instant, and relieved me of the fearful responsibility of the occasion.

Of course there was no response to the call of the Indian; and, after glancing all around him, he walked rapidly down the path on the bank of the creek in search of his lost mate. This movement on his part afforded me a new hope. As Ella had not come to the stream with her surviving captor, it was evident enough that he had left her at the camp fire, probably tied to a tree, or otherwise secured.

I waited till the Indian had disappeared, and then hastened in the direction of the camp. I did not take much pains to move without noise, for I concluded that the Indian would have his ear to the ground frequently, to obtain tidings of his missing associate. I ran with all the speed I could command. I found Ella fastened to a tree near the fire. Her hands were tied behind her, so that she was unable to help herself.

"O, Phil Farringford!" cried she, as I approached.

"Don't make any noise, Ella," I replied, cutting the cords which bound her. "Follow me, and be very careful."

"Where are the Indians?" she asked, in a whisper, her teeth chattering with terror and excitement.

"I have shot one, and the other is not far off."

I conducted my fair companion a short distance down the brook, and taking her in my arms, I bore her across the stream.

"Hark!" said I, as I placed her on the other side.

We listened, and I heard the Indian shouting for his companion. From the direction of the sound I concluded that he was near the mouth of the brook. Certainly he had retraced his steps from the point where he was when I started to rescue Ella. It was probable that he had heard my steps, but doubtless he supposed they were those of his missing mate. I had made considerable noise when I scrambled up the steep bank of the brook with my burden, which was immediately followed by his call.

"He has heard us," I whispered, preparing my rifle for use.

"What shall I do?" asked my trembling charge.

"Come with me. The brook is between him and us now, and I don't think he will hear our steps, if we move very carefully."

I took her by the hand and led her through the dark forest. I intended to proceed in an easterly direction till I came to Kit Cruncher's Brook, and then follow the path along its bank to the Castle. I paused occasionally to listen, but I heard no more shouting. The savage had probably gone back to his camp, and discovered that his prisoner was missing.

"We must hurry along as fast as we can, Ella," said I, finding that my companion was inclined to go very slowly.

"I am very tired, Phil."

"I am sorry, but we cannot waste our time. If that Indian can find where we crossed the brook, he will pursue us."

"How far must we go?"

"It is five miles to the Castle, but it is only two to Kit Cruncher's cabin."

"I am very faint, for I have eaten nothing since we breakfasted on the island very early this morning," added Ella.

"I think I can find something for you to eat when we get to Kit's cabin."

"But where is my father, Phil?" asked Ella. "I hope nothing has happened to him."

"Nothing has happened to him. He is with the soldiers who landed up Crooked River. Did you not see the troops?"

"I saw them when they landed, but not afterwards."

"Did the Indians use you badly?" I inquired.

"No; they only compelled me to walk when I was so tired that every step was painful."

"Where did you go after you left the dugouts?"

"I'm sure I don't know. We travelled till we came to another river."

"That was the Great Fish," I added.

"Two of the Indians left us then, and paddled across this river on a log. They had a talk before they separated, and they pointed often at me. I knew that it was about me."

"Where did you go then?" I asked, anxious, if possible, to ascertain the plan of the savages.

"We walked back again till we came to the edge of the forest, not far from the river. Here one of the Indians lay down on the ground, so that the soldiers could not see him, and crawled to the stream. The other led me through the woods towards the Missouri, two or three miles, I should think; at any rate, I was completely exhausted. At last we arrived at the great river, in sight of the island where my father lived."

Phil bearing Ella across the Ford.
Page 142.

"But where were the soldiers?" I asked.

"I suppose they were beating about the woods, looking for us. The Indian drove me down the steep bank of the river to the water-side. I was terribly frightened, and if my savage conductor had not held my arm I should have slipped down into the river. Here I was permitted to rest myself for an hour, and then the other Indian came in the boat."

"Did you see the steamer that went up the river this afternoon?"

"I did; and when the Indians heard the whistle, they ran the boat into a creek, and kept very quiet until she had passed. Then they paddled up the river by the wood-yard."

"I saw you when you went by, and followed in your father's barge," I added.

"Did you come all alone?"

"Yes; there are about thirty soldiers at the Castle; but I thought, if I went after them, I should lose sight of you, and so I came up alone. I have some good news for you, Ella."

"What is it?" she asked, faintly.

"Your father and mother met on board of the steamer, and are now good friends."

"I am so glad! But I do wish we could rest," she added.

"Sit down on this log, Ella," I replied, conducting her to a fallen tree. "I haven't heard anything from that Indian, and I don't believe he is on our track."

"O, I hope not; but I couldn't run if I saw him this instant."

"We ought to get back to the Castle to-night, if it is possible," I added.

"I don't believe I can walk so far."

"Your poor mother is suffering every moment. If she only knew you were safe, I would not go farther than Kit's cabin to-night."

After resting for half an hour, we resumed the weary tramp through the woods, and at last reached the brook on the other side of which was the hunter's log hut. There was a light in it, which assured me Kit was at home. I carried Ella over the stream in my arms, and we approached the house. I took the precaution to reconnoitre the premises before I entered, for it was not impossible that some of the enemy had taken possession of the cabin; but through the open door I saw the tall hunter at work over the fire, evidently cooking his supper.

"How are you, Kit?" said I, leading my charge into his presence.

"Are you hyer, Phil, boy!" exclaimed he. "Who's that with you?"

"It's Mr. Mellowtone's daughter."

"I never knowed he had a darter."

As briefly as possible, I told Kit what had occurred since he left the clearing.

"I've jest kim in from the nor'ard," said he. "The Injuns is on the rampage. There's more'n a hund'ed on 'em not more'n a two hours' tramp up the Little Fish, and there's goin' to be more trouble. I was goin' down to the Castle as soon as I'd eat my supper. I ain't sartin there ain't some redskins 'tween hyer and the clearing. Leastwise, I don't think it's safe to go down by the brook path."

I was surprised and annoyed at his last remark; and Kit, after putting another slice of bacon in the pan over the fire, proceeded to explain the ground of his fears.

[ ]

CHAPTER XIV.

IN WHICH PHIL ROWS THE BARGE UP THE BIG FISH RIVER.

If there were any Indians between the Castle and Kit Cruncher's cabin, we were certainly between two fires, and it was necessary that something should be done very soon.

"What makes you think there are Indians below us, Kit?" I asked.

"I'll tell you, boy," replied the patriarchal hunter, as he turned a slice of bacon in the pan. "I've seen Injun tracks p'inted that way."

"Where did you see them?"

"Over on the Little Fish. It has rained hard sence I went up the river, and the tracks I see was new ones."

"Were they above or below the lower rapids?"

"Above, boy. I struck across the country above the swamp, and hit my brook near the spring where it starts. Two Injuns had come down, I know."

"Well, Kit, those were the two who crossed the Big Fish on a log—two of the four who went to the island this morning and captured Miss Gracewood. The other two came around by the river in the dugout, and camped near the lower rapids. In my opinion, they had agreed to meet there."

"Most like it is as you say, boy. I'm glad it's no wus. But 'tain't safe for the gal to stay hyer. There'll be a hund'ed Injuns down hyer to-morrow, mebbe as arly as daylight. I cal'late them two that come over this mornin' is doggin' round the Castle now."

"If they are, they have found a camp of soldiers there, and not a very good chance to plunder the place."

Kit Cruncher placed the frying-pan, in which the great slices of bacon had been cooked, upon a chest, with a basket of crackers. Ella ate heartily of the meat, for it was very good, in spite of the homely manner in which it was served. We finished the meal without any interruption from Indians or others. The poor girl declared that she felt very much refreshed and strengthened, and was able to walk again.

"Now we are ready for a start," said Kit, when he had put his house in order.

"How far is it through the woods to the Little Fish, Kit?" I asked.

"Across hyer 'tain't more'n a mile."

"Then I think we had better go that way," I added. "I left Mr. Gracewood's boat not far from the place where the two rivers join, and we can go down in that."

"Very well, boy; but I cal'late there's three Injuns atween us and the Castle somewhar. But 'tain't no matter; if they show theirselves, my rifle will make quick work on 'em."

We crossed the brook, and struck into the woods on the other side. Ella walked by my side, holding my hand, while Kit led the way through the gloomy forest.

"Where do you suppose my father is now, Phil?" asked the poor girl.

"With the soldiers."

"But where are the soldiers?"

"They are in the woods beyond the Big Fish, I suppose. They must have scoured the woods down to the Missouri before dark. I have no means of knowing whether they were able to find any tracks of the fugitives to assist them; if not, they have been very much puzzled."

"And all this time my poor father thinks I am in the hands of the Indians, and fears that I have been killed or abused," added Ella.

"I am very sorry; but I do not see that we can do anything to-night to relieve his anxiety."

"No, Phil, I see that you cannot. You have been very brave and noble, and very kind to me, and I shall remember you with gratitude as long as I live."

"I don't ask for anything better than to serve you," I replied. "In the morning the troops at the Castle will start, and I have no doubt they will communicate with those beyond the Big Fish in the course of the day."

"I do wish father were here. I am afraid he will expose himself to the Indians, or wear himself out, he is so anxious for me."

"We will do the best we can to let him know that you are safe. Perhaps Kit and I will try to find him, as soon as we have conducted you to the Castle, and relieved the anxiety of your poor mother."

"We marched very cautiously through the woods, and with our rifles in our hands ready for instant use. In a short time, under the skilful lead of the hunter, we reached the river; but I had left the barge a mile farther down the stream.

"I am not sure that we shall find the barge where I left it, Kit," said I, as we took the path on the bank of the Little Fish.

"Most like you won't, boy. That Injun that went down to look for t'other mought have took it."

"What will you do, then?" asked Ella.

"We shall be obliged to walk another mile, to the landing-place."

My trembling companion was constantly in fear of an attack from the savages, or that a shot from them would hit her, or some other one of the party. I said all I could to comfort and assure her; but the circumstances were so novel to her that she could not be reconciled to them. As I was not without fear myself, I could not take the matter so coolly as Kit did. But the old hunter, steady and brave as he was in peril, was a prudent man, and not at all disposed to be reckless. He knew that an Indian bullet could kill him, as well as another man, and he had none of that affectation of courage which so often belies the boaster and the reckless man.

"Hyer's your barge," said Kit, ahead of us, when we had gone less than half a mile down the stream.

"So it is; but I did not leave it here," I replied, as I glanced at the boat.

"That Injun has come up stream in it, and left it hyer. Most like he ain't fur from hyer."

I assisted Ella into the barge. Kit seated himself in the bow, and I took the oars.

"Fotch her over under the further shore, boy," said Kit, as I pushed off the boat. "Keep as fur as you kin from danger allus."

The old hunter's suggestion was certainly a good one, as was fully demonstrated only a few minutes later. I pulled the barge to the other side of the river; but we had gone only a few rods before the crack of a rifle, followed by a whizzing bullet, assured us the enemy were at hand. The barge was painted white, and was a shining mark in the night for the savages to fire at.

"O, mercy!" cried Ella.

"Did it hit you?" I asked, alarmed by her cry.

"No, no—but——"

"Don't make any noise, then."

"Run the barge ashore hyer, boy," said Kit Cruncher, quietly.

I obeyed instantly; but another shot followed the first one, though, fortunately, neither of them did any harm.

"Let the gal go ashore," added Kit.

I understood his plan, and assisted Ella to land.

"Run up the bank into the woods, and get behind a tree," I said to her, as a third shot came across the river.

But the Indians were firing blindly in the dark, and though the last bullet hit the boat, we were still safe. Kit stepped on the shore, and we dragged the boat out of the water. The hunter paused on the bank of the river, and gazed across in the direction from which the shots came.

"There's three on 'em over thyer," said Kit. "The shots was too near together to come out of one barrel. Haul the barge up the bank afore they hev time to load up agin."

The barge was light, and we had no difficulty in taking it up the bank into the woods. For the present we were safe; but it was certain that there were three savages on the bank of the river, and between us and the Castle. We had, luckily, escaped injury so far, and Kit was not the man to lead us into any unnecessary peril. We were now on the tongue of land between the Big and the Little Fish Rivers, and only a short distance above their junction. At the point where we landed it was less than a quarter of a mile from one river to the other.

"We can't go down Fish River to-night," said I, when we had pulled the boat up the bank.

"Not without resk, boy," replied Kit.

"What shall we do?" asked the frightened Ella.

"Don't be skeered, little gal," interposed Kit, in a tone more tender than he was in the habit of using. "You are as safe hyer as you'd be in your marm's lap."

"Can't the savages come over here?" she inquired.

"'Pears like they can't; leastwise, not without swimming, and we kin stop 'em faster'n they kin come over. Rifle-balls travels fast," answered Kit, sagely. "But I don't reckon they'll want to come over hyer."

"Do you suppose they know there are soldiers at the clearing?" I asked.

"I don't reckon they do. They mought know it, and they mought not; but from what you say, I cal'late they hain't had time to go down and see."

"Perhaps they intended to go there to-night," I suggested.

"It mought be."

"I think they were looking for something to eat first. I believe the two Indians who came across the river on the log were to meet the other two at the camp on the brook where I went. They knew they could get plenty of fish there. After I shot one of the party at the camp, the remaining one must have come across the other two. They will keep between us and the Castle."

"Most like they've been lookin' for the gal all the evenin'," added Kit.

"It seems to me, if they knew the soldiers were at the clearing, they would not stay here."

"'Tain't much use to guess at these things. You mought as well shoot at nothin' in the dark. We can't go down Fish River to-night; that's all that's sartin."

"That is very true."

"And I cannot see my mother to-night, then," said Ella.

"I dunno, little gal; 'pears like you can't; but mebbe you kin see your father," replied Kit. "And it mought be you kin see both. I dunno. We must be keerful. Better not see 'em till to-morrer 'n not see 'em at all."

"What do you mean by seeing her father tonight, Kit?" I inquired, afraid that he was kindling vain hopes in the mind of the suffering maiden.

"I'll tell you, boy. Ef, as you say, them soldiers is rampagin' over the country 'tween the Fish and Crooked River, we mought find 'em afore mornin'. We kin kerry this boat over to the Big Fish, and land on t'other side on't."

"That's a capital plan, Kit, and our safest course," I replied.

We wasted no time in debating a question on which we were perfectly agreed. We carried the light barge across the tongue of land, and launched it in the Big Fish. Our party embarked, and I pulled up the river. I realized that it would not be an easy matter to find the soldiers, for they would not kindle any camp fire, which would betray their presence to the savages.

I pulled vigorously, for half an hour, against the current; and we were satisfied that the three Indians had not crossed the river, for we were not again annoyed by them. As the barge approached the rapids, beyond which we could not go by water, we heard a noise on the shore.

"Who goes there?" shouted a soldier.

"Friends," I replied.

"Advance, friends, and give the countersign."

We had no countersign, but I immediately ran the boat ashore, and we landed.

[ ]

CHAPTER XV.

IN WHICH PHIL AND HIS COMPANIONS START FOR THE CASTLE.

"Who are you?" demanded the soldier who had hailed the boat, probably astonished to find himself answered in plain English.

"Friends," I replied.

"What is your name?"

"Phil Farringford."

"You are the boy that came on board the steamer this morning?"

"I am; have you seen any Indians to-day?"

"Not an Indian."

"You didn't go where they were," I added.

"We have been beating about the woods all day; but the Indians who captured the girl have dodged us."

"Then you haven't recovered her yet?"

"No."

"I have; and here she is," I continued; helping Ella out of the boat, and up the bank of the river.

By this time half a dozen soldiers had gathered on the shore, with their blankets on their arms. When they understood that the young lady had been recovered from the Indians, they gave an involuntary cheer.

"Where is my father?" asked Ella, anxiously.

"I suppose he is with Lieutenant Pope," replied Corporal Flint, who was the spokesman of the party. "The headquarters are about a mile up the river."

"I must go to him at once," added Ella, nervously.

"You shall, miss. The hunt's up now, and we needn't stay here any longer," continued the corporal. "We are divided into three squads, and posted on the river to keep the Indians from crossing."

"There hasn't been an Indian on this neck for six hours," I added; and I proceeded to inform the corporal in what manner the Indians had made their escape.

"They are cunning," said he. "They know the country better than we do."

"Whar's the cap'n?" demanded Kit, who had been engaged in hauling the barge out of the water, and concealing it in the bushes.

"Who are you?" replied Corporal Flint, as the tall hunter loomed up before him.

"I don't reckon it makes any matter who I am; but I want to see the cap'n, and show him whar the redskins is."

"Lieutenant Pope commands the troops, and he will be very glad to know where the redskins are."

"My father is with him; do let us make haste," said Ella, dragging me by the hand in the direction of the next post of the soldiers.

"We will escort you, miss," added the corporal, ordering his squad to march.

Our walk was enlivened by the frequent challenge of the sentinels posted along the bank of the river. One half of the troops were watching the stream, while the other half slept. In a short time we reached the bivouac of the commanding officer. As we approached, I recognized the form of Mr. Gracewood, who was walking back and forth near the party asleep on the ground.

"Here she is, Mr. Gracewood!" I shouted, while the soldiers were going through their military forms, for they were very precise in all these matters.

The unhappy father halted, and Ella dragged me towards him, impatient to heal the wounded heart. He seemed to be unable to comprehend the meaning of my words; but as soon as he saw her in the gloom of the forest, he rushed forward and clasped her in his arms. I heard them sob in each other's embrace, and while the tears started in my own eyes, I had an all-sufficient reward for the peril and labor I had incurred in restoring her.

"Why, Ella, I can hardly believe it is you," said he, his voice tremulous with emotion.

"It is I, father," she replied, clinging to him convulsively. "I am so happy!"

"Are you safe? Are you hurt? Did they injure you?"

"No, father I have been awfully frightened, but I am not hurt. You don't say a word to Phil. He saved me."

"Phil Farringford!"

"Yes, father."

"My dear boy, you have saved me from a misery you cannot understand," said the glad parent, grasping my hand.

"I am very glad to do something for you, after you have done so much for me, sir."

"But how was it? Tell me about it. Where did you find her?" asked Mr. Gracewood.

"I congratulate you, sir," said Lieutenant Pope, approaching the spot, having learned the substance of the story from Corporal Flint.

"I am the happiest man in the world," added Mr. Gracewood, with enthusiasm. "Phil Farringford is a hero! Now let us know where you found her."

"Here's Kit Cruncher, too," I added, unwilling that my stalwart ally should be ignored.

Mr. Gracewood shook hands with Kit, who was duly introduced to the lieutenant.

"I'm hyer, Mr. Mell'ton, or Mr. Greasewood—if that's your name."

"Gracewood," interposed the happy Ella.

"Jest so; Greasewood—that's what I say. I'm hyer, and I want to tell the cap'n whar the redskins is; but I don't reckon my story'll spile while Phil tells you about the gal. Go on, boy; wag your tongue as fast as you wagged your legs to-day."

"I've had rather a long tramp to-day, and I'll sit down and rest while we talk," I answered, availing myself of a log.

I related minutely all the circumstances of the recapture of Ella, and gave her explanation of the plan by which the Indians had escaped from the soldiers.

"I never thought of those dugouts," said the lieutenant. "We have not been near the river to-day."

"Now, cap'n," interposed Kit Cruncher, "the Injuns from the nor'ard is on a rampage. More'n a hund'ed on 'em is camped on the head streams of the Little Fish, working down this way. They mean to wipe out all on us. They stole Matt's hosses, but we got 'em back. Then they kim down on us, and two or three on 'em got shot. Now the whole on 'em's comin' down."

"I will take care of them if you will show me where they are," added the officer.

"I'll do that. I ain't no milintry man, but I kin tell you how to fix them redskins. Them Injuns up thar has got hosses. They're go'n' to come down by the Little Fish. Phil tells me you sent a force to the Castle. Ef you take 'em in the rear with your men, by marchin' round across both the Fish rivers, the t'other kin take 'em in front, and atwixt the two you'll chaw 'em all up."

"Do you think we had better march to-night?" asked Lieutenant Pope, evidently impressed by the suggestion of the veteran hunter.

"No; that would spile the whole game. Let 'em kim down as fur's they will."

"But where are the three Indians who were engaged in the capture of Miss Gracewood?"

"They're doggin' round the clearin'; but I don't reckon they know any sogers is over thar yet."

"They will join the large force on the Little Fish, and inform them of our presence here."

"They mought do it; but a march of seven mile will fotch you to 'em. They'll start arly 'n the mornin'; and them three Injuns won't go up to their camp to-night, for they're as fur off from it as we are. Ef you start at sunrise, you kin git in behind 'em, crossin' both rivers in the forenoon."

Kit Cruncher was very clear in his views, and the commander of the troops saw the wisdom of his plan. The latter knew nothing of the country, and was dependent upon the information afforded by such men as Kit for the means of punishing the Indians when they violated their treaty obligations.

"As my daughter cannot go with you, we need remain here no longer," said Mr. Gracewood.

"But you can't get to the clearing to-night," replied Lieutenant Pope. "You may be intercepted by these strolling savages; and I cannot spare my men to escort you, for they may be obliged to march all day to-morrow."

"Where is my barge, Kit?" asked the anxious father.

"In the bushes down the river."

"We can carry it across the land to the Crooked River, and go down in that way. I am very anxious to join my wife, who is still suffering with anxiety for our child," added Mr. Gracewood.

"Very well; if you feel safe to leave the camp, I shall not object," continued the lieutenant. "My men shall carry your boat over to the river."

"Phil will go with me, and I don't think there is any danger."

"I should be glad to have you go, for I wish to send some orders to Lieutenant Jackson, commanding the men at the clearing."

"Exactly, cap'n," interposed Kit. "Send word for 'em to form a line atween the Little Fish and the pond. Phil kin show 'em whar it is."

Four men were sent to carry the barge across the country to Crooked River, and Kit explained to the officer the nature of the region where he suggested that the line of defence should be established. By the light of a match, the lieutenant wrote an order, which he gave to me, to be delivered to the officer in command of the detachment at the Castle. Bidding the lieutenant good night, we started for the river, attended by Kit, who was determined to see us safely embarked.

"I am afraid you are too tired to walk, Ella," said I, placing myself at her side.

"I am very tired, and I hope the distance is not long."

"Not less than two miles," I replied.

"I will try to do it," said she, with all the courage she could muster.

After going half the distance, we met the men who were carrying the boat. They had laid it on a couple of poles, and were bearing it on their shoulders. By this time poor Ella was almost fainting with exhaustion.

"We kin tote the gal in the boat," said Kit.

"She cannot sit on the keel of it," replied Mr. Gracewood; for the soldiers had placed it bottom upwards on the sticks.

"We kin turn it t'other side up," added Kit. "Drop that boat, sogers."

Night Journey through the Forest.
Page 169.

The men, who were full of sympathy for Ella, laid the boat upon the ground. Kit turned it over, and with the painter and another line, slung it to the poles right side up. Ella seated herself in the barge, and the soldiers lifted it up, placing the poles upon their shoulders. The march was resumed, and occasionally Kit and Mr. Gracewood relieved the men, so that it was not very hard work. We reached the river, and embarked.

"Take care of yourself. There'll be a big fight to-morrer, and the Injuns'll git squeezed."

"I will endeavor to take care of myself," I replied, as we pushed off.

Mr. Gracewood took the oars, and I was permitted to rest myself, after the severe fatigue and excitement of the day.

"Is there any danger now, father?" asked Ella.

"No, child, I don't think there is," replied Mr. Gracewood.

"Do you think there is, Phil?" she added, appealing to me.

"No; but I should like to know where those two dugouts are."

"According to your story, one of them has gone adrift, and the other is up this river," said Mr. Gracewood. "Is your rifle in order, Phil?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then keep a sharp lookout, Phil; and I think we shall be all right."

And we were all right till we reached a point near the mouth of Fish River, where I discovered a dugout moving out into the Missouri, and containing three men.

[ ]

CHAPTER XVI.

IN WHICH PHIL ARRIVES AT THE CASTLE.

Mr. Gracewood was not rowing at the time I discovered the dugout, for the swift current of the Missouri gave us sufficient headway, and the oars were only used to keep the boat from whirling. Poor Ella, worn out by the fatigues and perils of the day, had dropped asleep, her head resting upon my shoulder. I only raised my hand, and pointed out the position of the dugout. Mr. Gracewood understood me, and looked in the direction indicated.

The three Indians in the boat were doubtless the ones who had visited the island in the morning. I concluded that they had found the dugout in which I had shot the savage, and which had probably grounded somewhere in the shallow water. But the Indians were not coming towards us, and I judged from their movements that they did not see us. The dugout came into the great river, and then headed down the stream.

"Don't move," I whispered to Mr. Gracewood.

"But the current is carrying us upon them," he replied, his anxiety apparent in his tones.

"If you can work her farther in shore without making any noise, do so," I added.

In paddling the dugout the Indians all faced ahead, instead of astern as in rowing. We were under the shadow of the high bank of the river, which was covered with wood. Mr. Gracewood carefully worked the barge nearer to the bank, until I was able to grasp the branch of a tree which had fallen down as the earth caved off beneath its roots. I held it there, and in a moment more the dugout disappeared in the gloom.

"They are not looking for us," said Mr. Gracewood.

"No; but they have not come down here for nothing," I replied.

"What do you think they intend to do?"

"They fired at us as we were coming down the river. Possibly they followed us, and saw us go up the Big Fish. Perhaps they think now that there is no one at the Castle, and they can plunder it without opposition. They will soon discover their blunder."

"But Mrs. Gracewood is there."

"So are the soldiers."

"They may capture her if she is in the Castle, while the soldiers are encamped in the rear, not expecting an enemy on the river side."

"We need not stay here any longer," I added, letting go the branch, and permitting the current to carry the barge down the stream. "Don't make any noise with the oars, Mr. Gracewood."

"We must hurry forward and alarm the soldiers. They have no suspicion that there are any Indians within many miles of them."

"What's the matter, father?" cried Ella, waking with a start.

"Hush! Ella. Don't make any noise. We are safe, and there is no danger."

"What has happened?" she whispered, trembling with fear.

"Nothing has happened; but we saw three Indians go down the river. They did not discover us, and there is nothing to fear. Don't be alarmed."

The barge floated down to the mouth of the Fish, and Mr. Gracewood, using the oars very carefully, guided it to the landing, where we went on shore. I hastened up the rising ground to ascertain if there was any demonstration against the Castle. On the way, I heard old Firefly neigh; and then I remembered that I had left him there when I started to follow the Indians. The old fellow was very glad to see me, for he probably did not like to be excluded from his warm stable, and robbed of his supper.

I jumped upon his back, and rode down to the landing, where Mr. Gracewood was hauling up his boat. My appearance on horseback startled him and Ella, but the sound of my voice reassured them. I explained in what manner I happened to be mounted so speedily.

"I will ride up to the Castle, and see that the soldiers are on the lookout for those Indians," I added. "I will return with the wagon in a few minutes, and carry you to the house."

"And leave us here alone?" said Mr. Gracewood.

"Do you think there is any danger?" I inquired.

"Those Indians may land here and discover us. For myself I don't care; but I am afraid on account of Ella, who is too weak to run, how ever great the peril."

"I will take her on the horse with me if you like," I suggested.

"But you may meet the savages, and a bullet from the cunning foe might destroy all my hopes in this world."

"I will not leave you, then, sir; but I thought Ella was too feeble to walk another mile."

"I could not walk a mile," added she, faintly.

"What shall we do, then?" I asked.

"We will go a little way with you."

Ella had sat so long in the barge that her limbs were stiff, and she was unable to walk, even a short distance. Her father had lifted her out of the boat, and seated her on a log.

"I could do nothing if the Indians came upon me, with my child in this helpless condition. I will carry her in my arms a little way, and we will conceal ourselves in the bushes. Go as quick as you can, Phil Farringford," said the anxious father.

"I will not be absent long," I replied, as I urged Firefly forward.

The horse was anxious to reach his stable, and he galloped at the top of his speed. I kept a wary lookout for the savages, as I approached the Castle, but I saw none.

"Halt!" shouted a sentinel, placing himself in the road.

This vigilance on the part of the troops assured me the Castle was in no danger of a surprise, and I reined in my steed.

"Who goes there?" demanded the guard.

"Friend, in a tremendous hurry," I replied.

"Advance, friend in a tremendous hurry, and give the countersign."

"I have no countersign; but I am Phil Farringford."

"O, the young fellow that belongs here!"

"Yes; and by this time there are three Indians in a dugout in front of you. Stir up your men, and send two or three of them down towards the landing. Mr. Gracewood and his daughter are there, and the Indians may find them."

"Has the girl been found?"

"Yes; but I can't stop to talk. Wake up your officer."

I hurried Firefly to the barn, and dismounted.

"Who is it? What has happened?" asked Mrs. Gracewood, in trembling tones, as she came towards the stable.

"It's only Phil," I replied. "All right, Mrs. Gracewood."

"Where have you been? I was afraid the Indians had caught you."

"I have been after Ella."

"O, have you heard anything from her?" demanded she, choking with emotion.

"Yes, we have heard from her. She's all right," I answered, as I throw the harness upon Firefly.

"What do you mean? Don't deceive me, Phil."

"I won't, Mrs. Gracewood. You shall see her yourself in ten minutes."

"Where is she?" gasped the poor mother, apparently unable to believe the good news.

"She is down at the landing; but she is all worn out, and not able to move a step. I am going down with the wagon after her."

"Do you really mean so?"