3. 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.