ed Cracker, for the landing-place was a mile from
the Castle. By the time the boat had made fast to the tree, which
served as a mooring-stake, I reached the wood-yard. We had one hundred
cords of cotton-wood piled up in readiness for sale.

"Hallo, Phil Rockwood," said the captain, crossing the gang-plank to
the shore. "Where is your father?"

"He is dead, sir," I replied, gloomily enough, for the scene reminded
me very strongly of Matt, and this was the first time I had been called
upon to make a bargain myself.

"Dead! I am sorry for that. When did he die?" added the captain, with
an appearance of real regret.

"He was shot by the Indians four days ago."

"Shot! Well, that's too bad."

"I wish you would tell the commander of the fort above all about it."

"I will, certainly. But what do you ask for wood?"

"Matt Rockwood said he must have four dollars a cord now, for we have
to haul it farther than we used to," I replied.

"That's rather high."

But I stuck to the price which Matt had fixed, and the captain finally
agreed to it, though it was more than we had ever charged before. We
measured off twenty cords, and the deck hands of the steamer began to
carry it on board. While they were thus engaged, I told the captain all
about our difficulty with the Indians, and he was confident that the
commandant of the fort would send a force to chastise them.

While the boat was wooding up, the passengers went on shore, and walked
in the woods to vary the monotony of the tedious voyage. Among them I
observed a young lady of twelve or thirteen, the first I had ever seen
in my life of the white race. I gazed at her with curiosity and
interest, as she walked up the cart path towards the castle. She was
alone, for the other passengers took the road on the bank of the brook.
She was very prettily dressed, and the sight of her gave me a new
sensation. I saw two ladies, but they were watching the labors of the
deck hands, and did not leave the steamer.

"You have some passengers, captain," said I, wishing to introduce the
subject, so that I could inquire about the young lady.

"A few, but it is rather too early in the season for them. Mine is the
first boat this year," he replied.

"Where are these ladies going?"

"They are going to Oregon--Portland, I believe."

"Who is that young lady?" I asked.

"She is the daughter of one of the ladies on deck, and a very pretty
girl she is, too. Her name is Ella Gracewood."