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[Illustration: 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_
This Book
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.
PAGE
CHAPTER I.
IN WHICH PHIL COMES HOME WITH PLENTY OF FISH. 11
CHAPTER II.
IN WHICH PHIL FINDS THE CAMP OF THE INDIANS. 21
CHAPTER III.
IN WHICH PHIL TAKES GOOD CARE OF THE HORSES. 32
CHAPTER IV.
IN WHICH PHIL LOSES AN OLD AND VALUED FRIEND. 42
CHAPTER V.
IN WHICH PHIL FOLLOWS KIT CRUNCHER. 53
CHAPTER VI.
IN WHICH PHIL ASSISTS IN THE BUILDING OF A BLOCK HOUSE. 63
CHAPTER VII.
IN WHICH PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS GUARD THE CASTLE. 74
CHAPTER VIII.
IN WHICH PHIL SEES THE FIRST YOUNG LADY HE EVER SAW. 85
CHAPTER IX.
IN WHICH PHIL HAS A VISITOR AT THE CASTLE. 95
CHAPTER X.
IN WHICH PHIL VISITS PARADISE, AND FIRES AT AN INDIAN. 106
CHAPTER XI.
IN WHICH PHIL ENGAGES IN THE PURSUIT OF THE INDIANS. 116
CHAPTER XII.
IN WHICH PHIL TAKES DELIBERATE AIM AT ONE OF THE
CAPTORS OF ELLA. 127
CHAPTER XIII.
IN WHICH PHIL AND HIS COMPANION ARRIVE AT THE CABIN
OF KIT CRUNCHER. 138
CHAPTER XIV.
IN WHICH PHIL ROWS THE BARGE UP THE BIG FISH RIVER. 149
CHAPTER XV.
IN WHICH PHIL AND HIS COMPANIONS START FOR THE CASTLE. 160
CHAPTER XVI.
IN WHICH PHIL ARRIVES AT THE CASTLE. 171
CHAPTER XVII.
IN WHICH PHIL CONDUCTS THE SOLDIERS TO THE LINE
OF DEFENCE. 182
CHAPTER XVIII.
IN WHICH PHIL FIGHTS THE INDIANS ON THE ISLAND. 193
CHAPTER XIX.
IN WHICH PHIL CONDUCTS THE RAFT TO THE LANDING,
AND MORGAN FIRES THE BIG GUN. 204
CHAPTER XX.
IN WHICH PHIL WITNESSES THE OPENING OF THE BATTLE
WITH THE INDIANS. 215
CHAPTER XXI.
IN WHICH PHIL SEES THE CONCLUSION OF THE WAR. 226
CHAPTER XXII.
IN WHICH PHIL UNDERTAKES A HEAVY JOB. 236
CHAPTER XXIII.
IN WHICH PHIL'S RECONSTRUCTION PLAN IS FULLY SET FORTH. 247
CHAPTER XXIV.
IN WHICH PHIL AND HIS FRIENDS EXAMINE THE CONTENTS
OF THE CHEST. 257
CHAPTER XXV.
IN WHICH PHIL ATTENDS TO THE AFFAIRS OF THE FARM. 268
CHAPTER XXVI.
IN WHICH PHIL, WITH HIS FORTUNE AS A FARMER, BIDS
FAREWELL TO FIELD AND FOREST. 278
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.