ted, 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 th