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.