"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 they trotted. They won't go far on them hosses to-day, for it's most night now."
"But if I'm going to do anything, it's time to be doing it," I suggested, impatiently.
"Keep cool, boy; 'tain't time to go yet," added the old man, lifting one leg painfully over the other with his hands. "About dark, them Injuns will camp for the night, and that'll be the time to take 'em."
"Very well; then I will go down and bring up my fish. I'm hungry, Matt," I added.
"So am I."
"While they are cooking, we will talk the matter over."
"Stop a minute, Phil," said Matt, as I started for the river. "There was a jug of fire-water in the barn. I left it there this arternoon. I used some on't to wash Firefly's leg where 'twas swelled up. Go into the barn, and see if it's there now."