Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by
FRANK STARR & CO.,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.

CONTENTS

I “Give Us Your Hand on That” 9

II Doubt and Perplexity 14

III The Reds 20

IV Between Two Fires 25

V A Wonderful Animal 30

VI What the Telescope Revealed 35

VII Down the River 40

VIII “Speckled Beauty” in Camp 45

IX Through the Cascade Range 50

X A Brute’s Sacrifice 55

XI Unwelcome Visitors 60

XII The Revelation of Maquesa 66

XIII Counterplotting 71

XIV Down the Columbia 76

XV The Sea Trail 79

XVI The Wind That Blew No Good 81

XVII What of the Night? 85

XVIII Waiting for the End 87

XIX The Leap for Life 92

XX Conclusion 95

OLD RUFF, THE TRAPPER;
OR,
THE YOUNG FUR-HUNTERS.

---

CHAPTER I.
“GIVE US YOUR HAND ON THAT.”

Young Harry Northend remained by his lonely camp-fire in the wilderness, long after the dull, dismal day had dawned, in the hope that Little Rifle, his promised bride of the wilderness, as he loved to look upon her, would return.[1]

Now and then he ventured to call to her, although he well knew the risk he incurred in doing so; for he had learned by his previous experience that the dreaded Blackfeet Indians were to be expected at any time, when beyond gun-shot of the fort.

The snow had stopped falling, but it lay to the depth of several inches upon the ground, and seemed to have extended over a wide area of country. He walked round and round the camp several times, searching for the imprint of her delicate moccasin; but the keenest search he could make failed to reveal the slightest trace of her footsteps.

This proved, that whatever might be the cause of her disappearance, it had operated before the fall of the snow—so that, at the least, she had already been absent several hours.

But whither had she gone? What was the cause of her disappearing so suddenly? Had she departed alone and unattended, or was some one else concerned in it?

These were questions which, without exaggeration, it is safe to say, the lad asked himself a hundred times, and which still remained unanswered.

There was but one conjecture that he could make, which seemed to bear the least shadow of reason, and that was that she had voluntarily returned to the lodge of her guardian and friend, old Ruff Robsart, the old mountaineer and hunter—not with the intention of remaining there, but with the purpose of consulting with him before taking the all-important step which she had decided to take, in leaving that Oregon wilderness.

“It is no great distance there,” he mused, as he turned this thought over in his mind, “and seeing me asleep in the early part of the evening, she may have thought she could go and return before I would awake; for she can traverse these woods as well in the dark as in the daytime, and she might easily have made such a journey, but I suppose old Robsart has kept her, and I must go there after her.”

Settling down to this conclusion, he decided first to go on to the fort, as he could make the distance in a few hours. He had been absent several days, and his return would set at rest any uneasiness that his friends might feel, and possibly avert the awkward consequences of a search for him by several of the hunters at the post.

Accordingly, when he had made up his mind that it was useless to wait any longer by the camp-fire, he slung his rifle over his shoulder, and started at a brisk walk for his headquarters at Fort Abercrombie, which was safely reached within a couple of hours after.

He found every thing here as when he had left, a few days before, and after partaking of breakfast, and remaining a short time, he started on his return to the lodge of Old Ruff, on the Columbia river, below. On the route, he visited the scene of their encampment in the ravine, the night before, thinking it barely possible that Little Rifle had visited it during her absence, but there were no indications of her having done so, and he resumed his walk in an eastward direction.

Harry set great value by his field telescope, which he constantly bore with him, and whenever he reached a point a little more elevated than usual, he acted like a General who was reconnoitering a hostile territory—making as careful a survey as was possible, in the limited time which his impatience would permit him to use.

Scarcely once did the glass fail to show him the presence of Indians. They seemed to be here, there and everywhere in this part of Oregon, and the adjoining territory of Washington. Indeed, more than once he paused and scrutinized more closely his immediate surroundings, for it seemed that there must be more still nearer him; but happily he seemed to be free from that danger, and he took care to conceal his trail as much as possible, by using rocks and flinty surfaces, wherever he could turn them to account.

In this fashion he finally reached a ridge, upon which Little Rifle had slain an antelope, on the preceding day. Here he made another survey of the territory, in every direction, wondering all the time whether any of the numerous “signs” which he encountered indicated the presence of Little Rifle; for despite the theory into which he had settled, he could not free himself of the doubt that, after all, he might have failed in his supposition.

This naturally increased his eagerness to hurry forward, and end the suspense as soon as possible; and so, lingering but a short time upon the ridge, he descended the eastern slope, and carefully following the route taken the morning before, being compelled on his way to ford several streams, he succeeded in reaching his destination at last.

It was very near the hour of noon when he did so, and the mild warm sun had completely dissipated the snow that had fallen the previous night. Here and there the leaves were wet, and on the shady side of a rock he occasionally detected a white tuft of the cold feathery snow, but it may be said, that if unaware of the fact, no one would have believed what a fierce flurry had occurred but a few hours before.

As Harry entered the ravine, in which the odd, fantastic home of old Robsart was located, while gathering peltries, he found his heart beating violently and his face flushing, as is the case when one walks forward to hear his doom pronounced by the stern and inflexible judge.

“Suppose she has not returned,” he repeated to himself, “what will he say? What will he do? What will I do?”

The next moment the little compact dwelling-house—if such it may be termed—was in sight, and before the entrance he saw the old mountaineer, engaged in cleaning the skins of several animals, preparatory to stretching them out on sticks in the sun to prepare them for packing.

He merely glanced up as he heard him coming, and then, without speaking or making any salutation, continued his work. Harry advanced resolutely forward, and, determined to know the worst at once, said:

“Good-day, Uncle Ruff. Has Little Rifle returned?”

The trapper, seemingly suspecting that something was wrong, suddenly started and looked up with a sharp, inquiring glance. Next moment came his answer, too clear and direct for any mistake:

“I haven’t sot eyes on him sense you and him went away yesterday.”

“Then Heaven only knows what has become of her!” exclaimed Harry, in the very wretchedness of despair, as he sat down upon a log and covered his face with his hands. “She went away in the night, and I can not tell why it was she left.”

The sharp-eared trapper noticed the peculiar way in which the lad referred to Little Rifle, and, ceasing his work and walking to where he was seated, he demanded:

“What do you mean, younker, by calling Little Rifle her? What are yer thinking ’bout?”

It had not been the intention of Harry Northend to reveal the revelations of last night in this fashion; indeed he had not settled in his mind that he was going to reveal it at all; but now, as he had given the all-important hint in his ill-guarded speech, there was nothing left for him to do except to make a clean breast of it.

And this was done. He told the story from beginning to end, even to the declaration of love that he had made to Little Rifle, and her partial confession of the same; he referred particularly to her tender regard for Uncle Ruff, and her determination to consult him before leaving the wilderness for a civilized life, which declaration caused him to believe that she had absented herself for that purpose. He related, too, their conversation and plans regarding the future, especially the project he had framed of her being taken in charge by his father and educated.

Harry saw from the first that Robsart was to be the main character in rescuing Little Rifle; that scarcely any thing could be done without his assistance, and so he told the whole truth, keeping back nothing that came into his mind.

And it was a wise thing upon his part. Old Ruff had liked the lad from the first, and his rather annoying surveillance of him during the preceding day was merely an attempt to satisfy himself as to whether the lad suspected any thing of the secret of the sex of his protege. Such was his course toward any one who was accidentally thrown into their company, and his greater regard for his charge, naturally made him willing to see any one depart after he had spent a little time with them.

But what a tale was it that the lad told him! Here was a clew, or a partial one, to the very mystery which he had vainly sought to unravel for a dozen years.

He had learned her true name—the name of her father—the fact that she had no mother living, and the name of the chief in whose charge she had been placed, and that a few years ago would have been sufficient for him to have learned all, for he knew her earliest protector, Maquesa, the Blackfoot, very well, and had encountered him more than once, without suspecting that he ever had any thing to do with the little waif, which was taken from a lodge far up in the country.

“Now, Uncle Ruff,” said Harry, after he had completed the narration, “I have told you every thing I know, and I have come to you for help. How do you feel about it?”

The old, hairy-faced bear-tamer stretched out his broad, horny palm and grasped that of the lad with a warm and almost crushing grip.

“I liked you the fust time I seen you, and you’ve come to me in such a squar’ fashion that I like you more than ever—so give us your hand on it.

“Heaven only knows what has become of Little Rifle—I don’t; but we do know that she is somewhar above ground, and you and me are going to diskiver her—so give us your hand on it.

“I’ve been puzzling my head fur the last six months to try and lay out some course to take with that little pet of mine but it was mighty hard to fix on any thing. As I see’d her growing up without civilized ways, I felt I warn’t doing right, but I kept putting things off, ’cause I didn’t know what I orter to do. Of course it war my place to take her into the settlements somewhar and give her a fair start: that I could see plain enough, but the trouble war that I hadn’t any of the sort of acquaintances that I wanted to put her among. You can see she’s purty, and she’s getting purtier every week, and the fear that haunted me was that if I took her down to Fr’isco or Sacramento, or some of them other places, she might be ruined, and I’d rather keep her here till she died, than to feel that I’d had any thing to do in bringing about that sort of business.

“But the plan that you’ve got up, in that smart head of yours, is jist the thing, and Providence put it there! Nothin’ on airth could have pleased me more; if the little pet war only here I’d give a war-whoop and dance. We’re going to set out to find her, and we’re going to find her, and when she’s found she’s going East with you and your father, and when you both get old enough she’s going to be your wife, and I’m going to be your grandmother—no your grandaddy I mean—so give us your hand on it ag’in!”

CHAPTER II.
DOUBT AND PERPLEXITY.

Thus the compact was sealed, and Harry Northend already felt a renewal of hope at this hearty manifestation of confidence in him by the man who was to be the all-important auxiliary in the work of searching out his lost bride of the wilderness.

But he was naturally desirous of hearing from the experienced trapper and mountaineer his theory to account for the mysterious disappearance of Little Rifle, as they both preferred to call her in preference to the new and correct name of Hagar. As yet he had offered no conjecture, and indeed so far as Harry could perceive had not even given it a thought. He now ventured to ask the question.

“It was the ’arthquake!” was the astounding reply.

But for the seriousness of the occasion, and the perfect solemness of the bear-tamer’s manner, Harry would have taken this as a specimen of his waggery, but it was any thing but that, and the lad stared in blank amazement.

“Don’t you know what I mean?” asked the old hunter, observing his wonderment.

“I haven’t the remotest idea,” was the reply.

“Wal, you know what an ’arthquake is, don’t you? I s’pose you’ve read about ’em, hain’t you?”

“Of course I have; every school-boy has read of terrible earthquakes, but what do you mean by saying that the loss of Little Rifle has been caused by such a thing as that?”

“I s’pose you slept so healthy last night that you didn’t hear it, nor know nothing ’bout it; but just afore the snow begun fallin’, the ground shook; I felt the old lodge of mine rock like a cradle, and I made a dive out-doors so sudden-like that I hit my head ag’in the log thar and split it, so it’s almost sp’iled. I knowed the ’arth was off on a waltz, and I done a little dancing, too.”

“How strange that I knew nothing of it,” exclaimed the awed lad; “I never even suspected such a thing could have happened, although I heard them say something at the fort about an earthquake, and I have heard it said that they have felt a shock once or twice in California, but I hardly thought it could be real. But how, Uncle Ruff, could that have caused Little Rifle to leave?”

“Wal, you see it must have took something extronnery to get her away from you and me—nothin’ else would have done it, and I think an ’arthquake is about the most extronnery thing that could have come—so it must have been that.”

“I can admit all that,” returned Harry, as much perplexed as ever, “but still I can not see in what particular way the earthquake caused her to desert us. You don’t mean that it caused her death?”

“No; I don’t believe it caused the death of any one, and I don’t know how it affected her; but here the whole thing is: Little Rifle is gone, and it’s a mighty strange thing—her going. About as near as we can figure thar’s a mighty big ’arthquake that come along ’bout that time—so it’s just as plain as the nose on your face that the two are mixed. ’Zactly how it is I don’t pretend to say, but we’ll go up to your camping-ground and cypher round and try and find out.”

This looked like “business,” and it was a great relief to Harry, who chafed at the delay, feeling that every hour was lessening the chances of discovering the lost one.

There was little cause for tardiness and the old trapper made none. When he had finished the words just given, he threw his long, deadly rifle over his shoulder, and moved with sweeping strides up the ravine, Harry being obliged to keep up a sort of dog-trot to prevent himself from falling in the rear. As he emerged into the more open country he cast a hasty glance around, as if in obedience to an instinctive caution; but nothing of an alarming nature was to be seen.

The lad judged from the manner of old Robsart that he was speculating in his mind as to the probable cause of the disappearance of Little Rifle, and so he did not vex him with questions which he knew he was unable to answer.

“Do you know thar’s one thing that I think is mighty lucky?” said the trapper, suddenly turning his head toward the lad, and speaking as if the idea had been in his mind for some time.

“I don’t know what it is,” said the boy, “but I hope it is something big, for we need it.”

“I was thinkin’ of that ’ere glass of yourn. I’ve seen ’em at the fort and down at Fr’isco, and of course knowed what they war used for, and yet I was always such a fool that I never knowed enough to bring ’em ’long with me. You can see how mighty handy a telescope would be on the perarie, where you could tell the varmints a long time before they could see you. Hold on to that tight, for I’ve an idee that it’s going to be of some use to us.”

“I think there is little danger of my losing it, for you know I carried it over the falls with me, where I lost nearly every thing except that and my life. But, Robsart, didn’t I hear you say that you knew this Indian chief, Maquesa, who had charge of Little Rifle in her earlier years?”

“Yes,” replied the trapper, “I knowed him several years ago, on the other side of the Cascade Range. I never met him on this side, and that ’ere puzzled me a little. You see when I picked up the little pet, it was on this side the range, and some distance further north, and it seems that here is whar I orter find the old rip.”

“His tribe is on both sides, so that mystery may not be a very deep one after all. But, how is it that he comes to be an acquaintance of yours? Do you class him as a friendly Indian?” asked Harry, naturally enough deeply interested in any matter that bore any relation to Little Rifle.

“It was rather qu’ar,” replied the grizzled old hunter, as he recalled some reminiscence. “I was going down one of the forks of Willamette River, just over the mountain. I was just then hunting bears, and didn’t understand ’em as well as I do now. One arternoon I spied a feller full as big as Old Adams’ Samson. I seen him come down to the edge of the river and start to swim across, and I put out in a canoe to head him off. I wanted to drive him back among the rocks on the side whar he was leavin’, as I had a smashin’ big trap set there, that I thought would hold him—but the critter wouldn’t turn, and when I got a little too close with my boat he just give it a slap with his paw, and away it went all to shivers, and me heels over head.

“I wa’n’t much afraid of the varmint in the water, as I knowed I could dodge him, but I was thundering mad ’cause I lost my gun, cap and one of my moccasins, and the bear wouldn’t turn back for me arter all. So I had to paddle ashore and when I got thar, with nothing but my knife, who should I see pop out from behind the rocks but a Blackfoot. He let drive his tomahawk, just to let me know he was coming, and when I dodged that he came with his knife, leaving his gun somewhar behind him.

“Wal, you can make up your mind that thar was some music about then. We had just the same weapons, and we sailed in, cutting and slashin’ each other like a couple of wild-cats. Wal, he war a little the toughest varmint I ever got hold on. We clawed awhile, and then I knocked his knife out of his hand, and dropped mine at the same time. Arter that we kept it up in Yankee Sullivan style, until we both got so tired that we couldn’t strike a blow hard enough to make a musketer wink.

“Wal, to make a long story short,” added the old fellow, with a grin, “it turned out that me and Maquesa war exactly even matched. I wasn’t a ha’r stronger than him, nor was he a ha’r stronger, and arter we laid back and rested and kept it up fur three full hours, he got upon his feet and said, ‘White man is too much fur Maquesa,’ and offered me his hand. That rather took me down, but I shook his paw, and we parted. That sorter made us friends you know, and I’ve met the old varmint three or four times since, and he always acts as though he thought a mighty heap of me.”

“I didn’t know as the Indians ever showed such chivalry as that,” said Harry; “it sounds like a romance to hear that you met as such bitter enemies, and then parted such friends.”

“I’ve run afoul of him several times, when he had a pack of warriors at his back, and could have raised my ha’r as easy as say so, but he never offered to do any thing of the kind. And now think,” continued the bear-tamer, in a voice of inexpressible disgust, “that at that time I war looking up something that could give me a clew to the little pet that I had found, and that I hadn’t ’nough sense to ax Maquesa a single word, when he could talk English purty well, and was the very man of all others that could have answered my questions. You see I found the gal on this side the mountains and met him on t’other, and so it never got through my thick skull that that all might be, and so I’ve gone on ever since without l’arning a single thing, till you come down here and told me.”

“Then your first proceeding, I suppose, will be to seek out Maquesa, in case we fail to find any trace of Little Rifle before.”

“But hang it!” exclaimed old Robsart, “whar shall I go to find him? I haven’t seen him for two, three years, and don’t know whether he’s alive or dead, or whether he’s within ten or five hundred miles, and who shall I ax? It’ll just be my luck to go tramping over Californy, Washington and Oregon for the next ten years.”

“But can’t you inquire of such Indians as you see?”

The old trapper indulged in a hearty laugh.

“One Blackfoot in a thousand can talk English, and you’d have to catch ’em and tie ’em up afore you could get an answer out of ’em.”

“Provided she is a captive among the Indians, we have an almost hopeless task before us,” said Harry, somewhat dispirited by the sweeping declaration of the trapper, who instantly added:

“But I don’t think she is in the hands of the varmints; we’ve got a different kind of work to do than that, and here we are close to the place where you camped.”

Picking their way through the ravine, they speedily stood upon the very spot where the last glimpse of Little Rifle had been given Harry Northend. Old Ruff paused, and placing his feet upon the dead ashes of the camp-fire, looked with a keen, searching glance about him. He was apparently examining the minutest objects, determined that not the slightest clew should escape his scrutiny.

“Have you found out any thing?” asked Harry, when he saw that he was through.

“Not a blamed thing,” was the reply; “stand whar you are for a time, till I take a look at the ground.”

This, the young lad supposed was the real test of the whole business, and he watched the actions of the old trapper, with an interest which it would be impossible to describe.

“I find tracks of yourn and hern here,” he said, straightening up after a long search, “but that snow has played the mischief. It fell arter she left, so as to hide her trail.”

“But it has melted again.”

“And that don’t help any; its melting has just shet out the prints of her moccasins, so that there is no use in trying to look for ’em. This s’arch has got to be made on general principles.”

The general principles of the hunter meant that, without seeking to follow, and find their friend by means of palpable evidence that she had left behind her, it only remained for them to reason out or conjecture, as to the course she had taken, and to pursue that.

He gave it as his belief now that the nearest stream, of size, had been used by her, and that a portion of her flight had been made upon that.

This meant that the hunt was to be an indefinite one, and like a prudent man, Old Ruff resolved to make his arrangements, so that if necessary, he could continue it for several months. He meant to go into this business to win.

CHAPTER III.
THE REDS.

The first proceeding of old Robsart was to cache—that is bury—his peltries so that they would be safe from molestation from Indians and meddlers, and he could return in his own good time and remove them.

Then he made the round of his traps, and sprung them all, carefully concealing them where they, too, could be found when he should require them, after which he was ready to take up the work.

Having failed entirely in discovering any traces of the means by which Little Rifle had disappeared, the trapper was now disposed to believe that the Blackfeet had had something to do with it, and that his search must be made partly among them.

“You know she is purty cute,” he added, “but the smartest man in these parts is likely to run his head in trouble any time, and she may have done it afore she knowed. I s’pose you want to jine me in this excursion?”

Harry, as a matter of course, declared that he did, and the trapper added:

“Wal, we’ll work up toward the fort, for you’ll have to see the old gentleman, so that if you’re gone a month or two, he’ll know where you ar’, and won’t blame me for keepin’ away so long.”

This was all prudent, and the lad had no wish to make any objection to the arrangement. They shouldered their rifles, and turning their faces toward the Cascade Range, started on what was destined to prove the most memorable venture of their lives.

The old hunter having announced his theory of Little Rifle’s disappearance, it behooved them both to maintain as sharp a scrutiny as possible upon the different parties of Blackfeet that were in the neighborhood.

“I can tell you,” he muttered, with a compressing of the lips that attested his earnestness, “if the varmints have got the gal, they’ve got to keep a mighty close watch on her or she’ll give ’em the slip. Let her have a few hundred yards the start, and old Maquesa himself couldn’t catch her. She can run like an antelope, and knows how to dodge and double on herself and hide her own trail, so that a bloodhound would give up the hunt in disgust, and go to watchin’ sheep for the rest of his life.”

“But in this case, it seems to me she would have taken every pains to make her footprints visible, knowing that we would be on the hunt for her.”

“How could she know that?” asked the old man, in return; “it ain’t likely that she got into trouble till she war a good ways off from camp, and it wouldn’t be till then that she would think of such a thing. Yonder is a purty high hill, and we’ll climb up to the top of that, and take a look around.”

The elevation alluded to was considerably out of their way, lying more to the southward; but, as there was a prospect that it might be of some use to them, they made all haste toward it.

It was very much of the nature of the ridge where Little Rifle and Harry had made their morning meal on the previous day, except that it was higher, and consequently the view was much more extensive.

When at last they reached the top, the boy was charmed with the scenery spread out before him. It was indeed one of the finest views with which he had been favored since coming to the North-west.

Looking to the east, he saw hundreds of square miles of forest, prairie, ravines, gorges and mountain-peaks spread out before him, crossed in every direction by rivers, creeks, torrents, cañons and waterfalls, while the deep emerald tinge of the vegetation, as seen in the spring and early summer, gave a soft splendor to the whole scene that never could have been equaled at any other season of the year.

This view was much the same to the north and south, while in the west it was backed up by that vast snowy range, whose peaks, in many places, were hid from sight among the very clouds.

The same alternation of forest, ravine and prairie encountered the eye in this view, and the soft, mellow haze that enfolded the distant Cascade Range, gave the landscape a peculiarly American appearance, such as rarely meets the eye of the traveler in other parts of the world.

The majestic loneliness of the vast solitude was deepened and made more impressive by the faint view of Fort Abercrombie in the distance. It was many miles away, standing in a small elevated clearing. The stockades by which it was surrounded, and the compact log building itself, resembled some tiny toy, as they were revealed to the eye.

From a tall flag-staff the Stars and Stripes floated in the breeze, and the naked eye was just able to detect the evolutions of the banner as it folded in and out, stretching for an instant to full length, and then flapping about the staff again.

It was a sight to kindle the heart of the patriot, as he looked upon this most beautiful emblem of his country floating to the breeze in this far-away wilderness, proclaiming to all the protection they could find beneath its ægis, and that while they trod this vast domain, it could be with the consciousness that they were still upon the soil of their own dear native land, although perhaps thousands of miles from the spot of their birth.

The feeling of desolation and loneliness which came upon one when he looked for the first time upon this immense landscape of silence was made still greater by the faint signs of the presence of human beings that were here and there discernible. The very insignificance and paucity of their number, as compared with the enormous extent of territory, was what made the contrast the more impressive.

Several miles to the south, a thin blue column of smoke indicated the camp-fire of some party; further to the north, a similar sign showed where another company were gathered, and between and around these two little halting-places for human beings, stretched mile after mile and league after league of unbroken wilderness, in which crouched the bloody minded Blackfoot and the savage bear.

Of some such a nature as this were the emotions of Harry Northend, as he stood on the elevation and permitted his eyes to wander off in the direction of the great Cascade Range. Young, romantic and imaginative, the grand scene produced a powerful impression upon him, and he stood for several minutes, forgetful of the grief and anxiety of heart that had been his when he made his way to this point. His soul was filled with solemnity and awe, such as come over it in the presence of the Infinite, and at that moment he felt a pride in the thought that this was a portion of his country, and a devout thankfulness that God had thus far protected him from the dangers and perils that threaten all who venture into these wilds.

But if the old mountaineer possessed any poetry in his nature, he had too much on his mind to give any heed to it at present. Perhaps his familiarity with the sublime scenery of the grandest portion of our continent had dulled the edge of his appreciation, or it may be that his mind was so intent on discovering something tangible by which to continue his hunt for Little Rifle, that he had no room for any other thought but be that as it may, his feelings were very different from those of the lad beside him, as with the field glass in his hand, he carefully roved over the immense expanse of vision, on the look-out for some sign that might tell him something of the loved and lost one.

It was successively turned toward the two camp fires which we have mentioned, but the survey of neither was very satisfactory. He learned nothing that could afford him any grounds for hope, and he withdrew his attention from them, and pointed the instrument to a broad stream of water that flowed westward and southward, until it was hid among the cañons of the Snowy Range, from which it finally made its way, and continued onward toward the great Pacific.

On every foot of all that sinuous line of the distant water-course had Ruff tramped and trapped; over all these hills had he ranged in his forty years of hill and hunting-life, and, after Little Rifle came to his lodge, often had the blithe, beautiful child been his companion in these deeply-enjoyed wanderings.

Carefully his eye roved along the banks of this stream, wherever they were visible, while the broad silver current did not escape his survey.

Harry, who had recovered in a degree from the awe that had accompanied his first view, now watched the countenance and actions of the old trapper. He remarked his slow, steady shifting of the glass from point to point, until, as his view ranged along the river for a time, it suddenly paused, and he gave a slight start.

The lad took this as an indication that his friend had discovered something, at last, and he was right in his supposition.

Harry carefully avoided speaking, while he saw the trapper thus engaged, knowing that he would make known, in his own good time, whatever discovery might reward his search.

After awhile he handed the glass to the lad, and, pointing toward the point at which he had been directing it, said:

“Take a squint out that way and tell me whether you can’t see nothin’, or whether you can’t see any thing.”

Harry gladly did as requested, and, as soon as he had the instrument directed toward the proper point, he saw a party of half a dozen Indians, who appeared to have just effected a landing, as a couple of canoes could be seen lying against the bank. Their motions indicated that they had halted to kindle a fire, most probably for the purpose of preparing a meal.

After watching them a few minutes, the boy stated this to the trapper, who said:

“That’s the idee; you’re right; them canoes show that the varmints are on the travel. Most likely they’ve come from t’other side the mountains and are going back ag’in.”

“Perhaps they’re the same ones whose lodges I saw the other day, and from whom I had such a narrow escape.”

“Like enough, and it’s my opine that they’ve had something to do with the taking off of little pet.”

Harry started and stared at the hunter in amazement.

“Can it be possible? She is then a prisoner in their lands?”

“Mind I didn’t say that,” replied Old Ruff, in his cautious fashion, “but there be some things which I can’t tell you just now that make me think them varmints are mixed up in this business, some way or other, and it’ll pay to take a look around thar camp, even if we don’t l’arn nothin’.”

And with characteristic promptness, when he had fully settled in his mind upon the proper course to pursue, old Robsart started off at a rapid walk in the direction of the camp of hostile Blackfeet, determined, no matter at what risk, to learn whether there was any thing to be picked up among these savage foes.

CHAPTER IV.
BETWEEN TWO FIRES.

Two hours from the time of starting, Old Ruff and Harry Northend were within a hundred yards of the Blackfoot camp.

Fortunately for them, they halted in the midst of a dense growth of pines, where they had plenty of opportunity to maneuver and keep themselves invisible.

They were so close to the camp that the voices of the red-skins could be heard, and Harry even caught the smell of burning meat, proving that, as the trapper had said, they had come ashore for the purpose of preparing their meal. Such being the case, they were not likely to remain in camp for a very long time.

Robsart had brought the boy closer to this congregation of red-skins than was prudent, and he expressed regret at doing so, but the young fellow was so brave and eager that it was hard to refuse him such a request. But he was determined that he should not advance another step.

“Stay right here where you are,” he added, in an impressive whisper, “and keep mighty shady.”

It may be supposed that the lad scarcely needed these instructions, as his own sense would have taught him their importance.

Although he felt equal to the task of reconnoitering the camp himself, yet he dare not propose such a wild scheme to the old hunter, whose especial province it was to attend to such perilous enterprises himself.

Leaving the latter to carry out the dangerous reconnoissance upon which he had started, we must take the space to describe the strange adventure that befell the lad, who, it would seem, was placed in much the lesser peril.

His situation was interesting and exciting from its proximity to camp, as he could hear the jingle and mumble and guttural hum of the Blackfeet, as they gathered around the fire, eating and smoking in the very abandon of enjoyment.

“I don’t think there is much chance of Little Rifle being there,” mused Harry, when he found himself alone. “If she were among them we would have seen something of her with the telescope, but Old Ruff sees a chance or he wouldn’t have undertaken it.”

It was comparatively an easy matter for Harry to content himself for a short time, lying down among the bushes, listening to the noise of the red-skins; but, when a half-hour had passed, and the noise decreased, and he saw nothing of old Robsart, he began to feel impatient. He could not understand why it was that the old hunter should remain away so long, when he seemed to accomplish nothing thereby. It seemed to him that the red-skins had all gone asleep or taken their departure, and he and his friend were wasting valuable time.

But the half-hour was doubled and trebled, and then the lad made the exceedingly imprudent resolution to steal a little ways toward the camp—just far enough to get the slightest glimpse, and find out for himself the meaning of this strange silence and delay. He deemed it necessary only to crawl forward a short distance, confident that he could detect the presence of danger in time to withdraw, if indeed there was any possibility of encountering any such thing.

It was with some twitchings and misgivings that Harry began creeping forward, knowing that it was in direct violation of the commands of the old hunter, who would not be apt to look lightly upon such an offense should he discover it.

This caused him to hesitate a few minutes, but hearing and seeing nothing more, he began stealing forward on his hands and knees, advancing inch by inch, frequently pausing and listening, and peering round in the undergrowth, so as to guard against any danger stealing upon him from any direction.

Two or three times he was on the eve of retreating, and he looked furtively back over the course he had come—but the continued silence, and his impatience prevented, and he pressed on, until he judged that he had passed fully one-half the distance that intervened between him and his starting-point.

Thus far he had carried his rifle with him, and it had proved no little impediment, besides incurring the constant danger of being discharged from the hammer catching in some of the bushes and undergrowth.

The lad had now reached a point perilously near the Blackfoot camp, and although he could no longer hear any sounds of the savages, he felt that a dozen feet further must reveal them to him, and in all probability solve the question as to the delay of Robsart.

“I will lay my gun down,” he reflected, “so that I can crawl a few steps further, in perfect quiet, and with that much less risk of being discovered.”