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.