"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.
IN WHICH PHIL LOSES AN OLD AND VALUED FRIEND.
Kit Cruncher was about six feet and a half high, and it was necessary that he should bow his head when he entered even the humble log cabin of Matt Rockwood. He wore a cap made of skins, so tall that it seemed to add another foot to his height. It was ornamented with the long, bushy tail of a fox, which dangled on one side like the tassels from the cap of a hussar. His beard, gray and massive, was more than a foot long, and gave him a patriarchal aspect. His pants were stuffed in the legs of his long boots, and he wore a kind of hunting frock, which reached nearly to his knees. He was lean and lank, but, annealed in the hardships of backwoods life, he was wiry and sinewy. He was about fifty years old, though his gray hair and beard alone appeared to betray his age. He was from the south; a fine specimen of the real Kentucky hunter--"half horse and half alligator."
There was a kind of stern dignity in his countenance that always awed me, though I knew that Kit had a kind heart, and was only terrible to those who injured him or his friends. He lived by hunting and trapping, and always had a large supply of peltries to dispose of whenever a trading steamer came up the Missouri.
"How's yer bones, Matt?" said he, dropping the butt of his long rifle upon the earthen floor of our cabin.
"Poorly, Kit, poorly," replied Matt. "I'm about did for in this world. I can shoot no more, and couldn't hit the moon at ten paces."
"That's bad; 'cause 'pears like some shootin' must be did. There's a squad o' redskins up above me, and I cal'late they mean mischief, if they begin by stealin' your hosses. We'll git out into natur'," said Kit, as he left the house, followed by the rest of the party.