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."