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.