“Confound him!” he growled, “I wish that that Yankee that dyed him up, had made him die himself or had took him along with him; fur Maquesa isn’t goin’ to be cotched nappin’ ag’in. Howsomever, if rowin’s the word, I’m in!”
Roused to action, he strode rapidly back to where the canoe was concealed, and pulling it from its concealment, seated himself in it, and shoved out from shore, paying no heed to Speckled Beauty, who lingered on shore, expecting an affectionate farewell.
Reaching the center of the current, he permitted his boat to float with it for a short time, while he listened.
No sound of paddling reached his ear—naught but the soft flow of the river, and the soughing of the night-wind.
But for all that he knew the Blackfeet were paddling swiftly down the river. They were simply using due caution in the handling of their paddles, so as not to afford him the clew that had already guided him so far.
When he resumed the use of the paddle, the impetus of the boat aroused Harry, who, rousing up, looked around for a moment in bewilderment. Then, recalling his situation, he muttered:
“Paddling yet, Uncle Ruff. It was last night, it seems to me, that I went asleep, so that you must have kept it up for twenty-four hours. Don’t you feel a little stiff in the joints?”
“I think I would if I had been paddling as long as all that, but I think you’re a little ahead of the right number—say an hour or two.”
“But what about the Indians? What about Little Rifle? Have you seen nothing of her? Have we lost all trace of Maquesa and his men?”
And then the trapper proceeded to tell, in his characteristic manner, all that had happened since his young friend had closed his eyes in slumber.
As may be supposed, Harry listened with the most absorbing interest. It was aggravating to reflect that they had been thus nigh Little Rifle, without opening any communication, and with the only result of placing matters in a much more favorable light than before; but such was the irresistible fact.
All this time the man was busy at the paddle, occasionally pausing to tell whether he could catch any sound from those ahead, but failing as yet to do so.
“How easy it would be for them to land,” said Harry, in a cautious voice, “and allow us to pass them in the gloom, and so get entirely off the track.”
“They could do it, I allow,” replied the hunter, “but they won’t. Maquesa is aiming for t’other side the mountains, whar his village is, and he won’t stop ’g’in, for any time, till he gets thar, as he thinks he’s got a sure thing of it.”
Notwithstanding the confident tone of the trapper, it began to look as if the supposition made by the lad was correct; for as the night passed, not the slightest sound of paddles in front or rear could be heard. The rising of the moon made the course of the river visible for a greater distance, but the eye roamed along the stream and bank in vain.
All night long old Robsart continued at work with the paddle, passing from side to side, halting, listening and watching, and Harry assisted him to the best of his ability, but it resulted in naught.
The scene now changes to the western slope of the Cascade Range.
The spot is hundreds of miles from where we last saw Old Ruff Robsart and Harry Northend. Long days and nights have passed since then, and during that time these two, who have become deeply attached to each other, have followed the river to its kenyon in the mountains, and taking advantage of a pass well known to the trapper, they have safely worked their way through the immense snowy chain, and are now upon the western slope, facing the Pacific.
It was a daring feat for these two to attempt, and many a time and oft they have been in the most imminent peril of their lives. Snow, biting arctic winds, fierce Indians, savage wild beasts and hunger—these were the enemies that man and boy were compelled to encounter again and again, and only the matchless skill of the great bear-tamer, his coolness and self-possession under all circumstances, his wonderful knowledge of the mountain solitudes and fastnesses, and the superb physical condition of both, enabled them to come forth from this tremendous labyrinth of snow-crowned peaks, roaring kenyons, dizzying ravines, gorges and chasms, not merely in as good condition as they entered, but (notably in the case of the lad) stronger, more rugged and better prepared to face the remaining difficulties to be overcome.
Although, as we have stated above, many days have passed since Maquesa and his little party gave them the slip on the river, yet despite the most determined exertions upon the part of the trapper, the trail had never been recovered.
Maquesa was one of the most cunning of a proverbially cunning race, and the lesson taught him by the sudden appearance of the mottled grizzly had not been taught in vain. He knew at once that his old adversary and friend was after him and his charge, and he “sloped” in such a decidedly French style that his pursuer with all his remarkable skill had not again caught sight or sound of him.
Finding that the trail was irrecoverably lost, the trapper gave up the attempt entirely, and believing that Maquesa’s ultimate destination was a village upon the other side of the Cascade, he made his way through by the shortest and most expeditious route, intending, if possible, to head him off.
That curiously colored bear seemed to have given up as hopeless the attempt to keep up with the two, as they slowly worked their way through the vast mountain-chain, and he had not been seen since their encampment several nights before in the pass.
Harry was alone in a glen where he had kindled a fire secure from the observation of any and all who did not pass too close. He had learned a great deal since he and his friend had left the river, and there was little danger of his committing the rash mistake that had marked his first essay in hunting a party of Blackfeet Indians.
Old Robsart carefully noted the rapid improvement of the lad, and he had come to trust him far more than he would have done a week before.
Harry was sitting alone with his blanket thrown over his shoulders, for there was a chilliness in the air that seemed to come from the snowy mountains on the east. His rifle was between his knees, and he sat upon a bowlder looking down in the embers, thinking and speculating upon the future.
“Here we are on the other side of the mountains from Fort Abercombie,” he thought, “and who shall tell whether we are ever to see Little Rifle again. Old Ruff seems to lose no heart, and yet he is silent and thoughtful, and I think he must feel at times as though all hope was about over. He has taken the telescope and gone off to hunt a Blackfoot village. I went yesterday with him to find the village where Maquesa reigned a few years ago; and when we got there, not a sign of a lodge was to be seen.”
Such was the fact. Confident of discovering the chief, the trapper in company with the lad had made his way directly to the spot where he and a portion of his people had had their homes for years; but only to find, that, like the Bedouins of the desert, that they had departed—months before—no one could tell, and there was no means of learning, whither.
This was a damper, and for a time he was completely nonplused. But, declaring his belief that the village was somewhere in the neighborhood, he had returned, and from an elevated point, carefully surveyed the vast area that was spread before him toward the Pacific.
Finally he had detected the appearance of an Indian town many miles to the west and south; and, as Harry had been constantly on the watch and tramp for several days, it was arranged that he should go into camp in a secure spot and await the return of the trapper, who expected to put his own powers of endurance to the severest test.
He had no misgivings in doing this, as there were no signs of the immediate presence of Indians, and, as for wild animals, they were to be met with at all times, and he had an abundance of ammunition, with which to defend himself.
Harry was also furnished with enough meat, cooked and prepared, to last several days—it having been their prudent custom, when among the mountains, to guard against any emergency in the way of food, by carrying at all times a supply with them.
The lad had secured a comfortable little nook in which the fire was kindled, and had gathered enough fuel, as he supposed, to last until daylight.
“It is strange,” he continued, as he sat gazing absently into the fire, “that Robsart makes no explanation of the reason why Little Rifle deserted me on that night. I shall never ask him again if I never learn; I have puzzled my brains over it a hundred times, but all to no use.
“And now, if he fails to find Maquesa, what is to be done? Among these thousands of miles of wilderness, ten thousand Blackfeet may hide for their lifetime, and no one can find them. But for that mishap of the bear, it might have been ended long ago. Now the chief has been warned of what is afoot, and he is too sharp to be caught—”
He paused suddenly in his meditations, as he heard the sound of something moving near him, and looking up, caught the outlines of some huge dark animal as it moved back out of the range of the fire.
There was nothing particularly alarming in this, as he had become accustomed to such creatures; but, as he sat alone, miles from any friend, in a mournful reverie, it was a rather startling awaking, and he caught up and cocked his rifle, as though he expected a charge from it.
His second thought was that it was “Speckled Beauty,” still faithful to his friends; but the action of the brute proved the contrary, as he remained in the background.
Harry caught the phosphorescent glare of his eyes, and heard a deep, guttural growl, which proved that if he belonged to the bear species, he was not the one which had been so well trained by Adams, and so skillfully but unprofitably ornamented by the Yankee speculator.
The young man was somewhat loth to fire his gun, as the trapper had cautioned him never to do so unless compelled, as the report was frequently more dangerous to the one discharging it than the bullet was to the one at whom it was aimed.
But Harry had to choose between the horns of a dilemma. If he did not give the brute his quietus, he would probably prowl around all night and keep him continually on the alert to save his own life. The probabilities, too, were that additional fuel would be required to keep the fire up to the requisite point, and in the end he would be obliged to kill the creature in self-defense.
“And such being the case,” he concluded, after turning the matter over in his mind, “I may as well dispose of my visitor at once.”
But the brute, although he was growling and nosing around the camp-fire, as though seeking an unguarded point where he could seize his prey, still remained too much in the background to afford the fair aim that was desirable.
Now and then the glassy glitter of its eyes could be discerned, but they flashed in and out of view before a fair aim could be settled upon, and the boy had no disposition to throw away a shot.
The agility displayed by the beast, as it appeared here and there in the gloom, caused Harry more than once to suspect that it was some other kind of creature than a bear, while its cat-like stealth of movement made him fearful that it would make some sudden, treacherous spring that would take him off his guard.
He sat with his gun at his shoulder, waiting for the coveted chance, when all at once it advanced into full view, and taking a quick aim, he fired.
There was a fearful snarling howl, and the brute made a tremendous bound directly backward in the gloom, that carried him entirely out of sight.
“There! it’s my opinion that that pill will have a good effect upon your system,” exclaimed Harry, as he proceeded to reload his piece. “I think it struck you somewhere about the head, and will make it ache, to say the least.”
He confidently expected to hear it roll over on the ground, clawing and clutching the earth in its death-struggles; but the howl and leap were succeeded by a profound silence.
“He has subsided without making any extra fuss,” was his conclusion, as he placed the cap upon the tube of his gun. “That is, perhaps, the plan most to be commended, for he might have rolled over in the fire and burned himself—”
A soft, stealthy movement just then caught the listening ear of Harry, and turning his gaze as quick as thought to the opposite side of the fire, he saw, to his amazement, the beast that he had just pronounced dead, stealing toward him on its belly.
The sight that met the eye of the young adventurer was enough to startle a man of stronger nerve. The animal was as black as midnight, quite large, with a long neck, and a snout that resembled that of a wolf or fox, only much larger and fiercer. Stretched out, as it stole along in the manner mentioned, it seemed unnaturally prolonged, while the almond-shaped eyes seemed to emit fire, as they were fixed with the most deadly intent upon the one who had already lodged a bullet in its body.
This horrid head and front were covered with blood, that trickled upon the ground, showing that if the shot had not killed, it had certainly inflicted a grievous wound. To what species the animal belonged, it was impossible to say; but most probably it was a cross of some kind, combining in itself the activity and fierceness of the panther, and the treacherous cunning of the wolf.
Whatever it was, it was bent upon the life of the boy, and would have had it in another moment but for its soft, gliding movement over the ground, which providentially revealed its approach before its sharp claws could be buried in his body.
This sudden and unexpected appearance of the wild beast caused Harry to fire without taking the careful aim that he would have done had the case been different; but he made sure that his rifle was pointed straight at the brute, and that the discharged bullet would be certain to enter his body.
And so it did, but missing the head, buried itself in the flesh somewhere along the back, the result being another serious wound and the maddening of the wild animal to such a degree that he became perfectly frantic in his rage.
Forgetting his habitual cunning and treachery, he rose to his feet, giving utterance to a savage growl, and with his head lowered, like a bull when about to use his horns, he advanced directly upon the lad.
The latter had no time to reload, and reading the deadly intent of his foe, he ran round to the opposite side of the fire, so as to interpose it between them. The brute, still glaring and growling, trotted after him.
It would not venture through the fire; but as it was more nimble of foot than the lad, he could gain nothing by this course.
Still, as it seemed to be the only thing that he could do, Harry threw down his gun and snatched up his blanket, and made a dash for liberty. His hope lay in the belief that the brute was so badly injured that he would soon become disabled, and that he would not venture as near the blaze as did his intended victim.
Disappointed in both of these respects, Harry made a hasty grab and caught up one of the burning embers of wood, which, as he walked backward, he whirled about his head as a guard to keep the brute away.
This was a partial success, as all animals naturally have a terror of fire, and the one in question fell back growling and glaring, as if deliberating with himself as to the best method of circumventing this obstacle.
He showed no disposition to give up his scheme, but continued stealing forward inch by inch, as a cat is sometimes seen to do when about to leap upon its prey. Harry halted, expecting, of course, it would do the same. For a moment he thought it had, but, as he fixed his eyes upon it, he observed that it was still advancing, almost imperceptibly, but none the less surely, for all that.
“Confound him!” exclaimed Harry as he became conscious of this insidious movement. “I never heard of such a creature; if he wants a taste of fire, I’ll give it to him.”
The beast was now less than a dozen feet distant, when the boy took a step toward him and then dashed the blazing brand full in his face, muttering, as he did so:
“There! take that, if you want it.”
It was enough to daze and terrify any thing, and the brute, with a howl such as he gave when struck by the first bullet, recoiled on himself, reared on his hind-legs, and pawed madly as if to fight off the torch, which had struck his black head, and then glanced off in the darkness.
This bewilderment lasted but a second or two, when it moved toward the lad more determinedly than ever. The latter had made a snatch at a brand, but in his hurry it had slipped from his hand after he had risen to his feet, and retreated a step or two.
Before he could recover it, the brute was not only nearer to him than that, but had actually interposed between him and the fire!
Thus in a twinkling, as it were, the lad found that he had been totally disarmed—not only deprived of the use of his gun, through the denial of opportunity to reload it, but he was shut off from his dernier resort—the chance of using the fire to fight off the determined advance of his enemy.
Harry had now his blanket thrown over his left arm, and his hunting-knife at his waist; but he knew that if he was forced to a hand-to-hand fight with the furious beast, he would be torn to shreds before he could do any execution with his weapon. His case looked exceedingly desperate, for the snarling animal having intruded himself between him and the fire, was too knowing to permit him to recover his place again.
It was useless to attempt to flee, and Harry Northend stood his ground, looking down with a fascinated gaze upon the horrid-looking brute, as creeping along for a foot or two more, it began gathering its paws beneath its body, to make its leap.
With a courage born almost of despair, he saw all this and never stirred, standing like the bird that is charmed by the rattlesnake, that knows it sees certain death, but has neither the power nor the will to escape.
But it was not entirely thus with the lad. He possessed rare courage and pluck, and had decided his own course of action. It was a desperate resort, but it was all that remained to him, and he held his nerves with a will of iron until the critical moment was upon him.
It came with the next breath. There was a sudden quickening of the legs as they were gathered beneath the belly of the animal, and then it made its fearful leap.
For one instant the dark, panther-shaped body was visible in the air, and then, as Harry saw it descending upon him, he gave the blanket a flirt so as to throw it directly over the head of the snarling beast, leaping aside at the same instant, and making another attempt to recover his position by the fire.
He succeeded in doing this, although he fell upon his hands and knees, and before he could scramble to his feet again, the brute had pawed the blanket from his eyes, and glancing around for an instant, discovered where his slippery victim was.
There can be but little doubt of the ultimate result of this strange contest, for every advantage was upon the side of the beast, which gave no evidence of suffering the least exhaustion from the wounds it had received.
But at this critical juncture a third party appeared upon the scene, not in the shape of Old Ruff or an Indian, but in that of another wild brute.
As Harry rose to his feet, torch in hand, and stood confronting his enemy, he heard a growl from his right hand, and concluded that it was all over with him beyond a question, if he was to be called upon to combat two such enemies.
The wounded animal heard the ominous sound, and also turned his head, sending back a defiant growl, as if to warn all outside parties that there was to be no interference here.
The thunderous growl was still rumbling in the throat of the brute when Harry saw a huge dark body pass like an arrow through the air, coming down from the rock over his head, and speeding as straight and truly as if fired from the mouth of a giant columbiad, directly at the defiant beast, which was not given time to prepare for the charge.
The attacking brute landed directly upon the shoulder of the other, and at the same instant the two closed in a deadly, fearful encounter.
With the quickness of lightning the fight assumed the fiercest character, the two wild beasts going at each other with the determination to do or die. Snarling, growling, clawing, scratching, gouging, biting, snapping, tearing and rending, they rolled over and over upon the ground, the hair flying in every direction.
Harry Northend stood transfixed, for the time, by the terrible scene before him. The fight was of that furious nature which showed that it would never terminate until one or both were dead, and that the consummation was sure to take place very speedily.
And reflecting that whichever party was the victor would be certain to turn upon him, the young hunter was too prudent to throw away the opportunity thus providentially placed in his hands, and he hurriedly caught up his rifle and began reloading it, with the intention of taking a position from which he could watch the fight, and when it should terminate, could lodge a bullet in the brain of the victor and leave himself master of the situation.
The act of loading his weapon naturally drew away his attention from the combatants for the time; but when he had placed the percussion upon the tube, he turned his gaze upon the struggling beasts again.
Just then they rolled closer to the fire than they were before, and were consequently brought into closer view, and as the lad withdrew from beyond their reach, and looked down upon them, he saw, with feelings that may be imagined, that the one making the attack was his old friend and acquaintance, “Speckled Beauty.”
One look at his hide, now crimsoned with a deeper dye than the art of the showman could give it, showed this, and the whilom resentment that he had felt for the mishap caused by him, was now turned to gratitude and admiration for the part he was playing in his defense.
“Fight away, my friend!” he exclaimed. “Neither Old Ruff nor I shall ever say or think ill of you again, for you meant well, and but for your coming now, I should have been in your place. Good luck to you, and I will give you what help I can.”
His purpose now was to lodge another bullet in the other beast in such a way as to “lay him out,” and leave Speckled Beauty the master, for it looked as if he had undertaken a job which he was unable to carry through, his foe showing not only the greatest tenacity of life, but also displaying a strength and activity almost incredible.
The mottled bear possessed enormous strength, but in quickness of movement he was far inferior to his foe, whose long, sharp claws, were tearing and pounding at his vitals with blows like the piston-rod of a steam engine; but the Beauty was game, and he stuck to his antagonist to the last, never intending to give up the fight so long as the strength remained to continue it.
Harry held his rifle cocked for several minutes, waiting and unable to get the chance to fire; for the two rolled over so rapidly—first one under and then on top again, that he was fearful he might wound his friend instead of his enemy.
Leaping back and forth around the two dark bodies, now upon one side and then upon the other, and once or twice narrowly escaping being thrown beneath them, with the blood and hair flying all over his clothes—Harry at last saw his chance.
There was a momentary lull in the fight, the bear was under, and the head of the other was in full view. Quick as thought the muzzle of the rifle was thrust into his ear, and the trigger pulled.
The shot told, and the bullet went crashing and tearing through the skull and brain of the beast, who lay motionless for a moment, and then with a spasmodic quiver rolled over upon the ground without a spark of life in his body.
“My poor, brave friend,” said Harry, bending over the grizzly bear, “you have done me a service for which I can never pay you.”
He stooped lower and looked more closely at him. The animal never stirred. A groan of anguish escaped him, and it was his last. Speckled Beauty was as dead as his foe!
As Harry looked upon the dead body of his brute friend, he could but feel saddened and pitiful. It had followed him and Robsart for hundreds of miles, in obedience to that emotion of affection, which is a characteristic of the entire animal creation, and now it had given up its life to save him, who for days past had felt little but resentment toward it, for the mistake it had unwittingly made.
But little time was given the lad for indulgence in the finer emotions of his nature; for, while he stood leaning on his rifle, and looking down upon the mangled carcass, his ear, trained to unusual acuteness, detected the approach of something else, and he immediately raised his weapon and stood on the defensive.
“Another of those brutes,” he thought, “but there is no Speckled Beauty to help me this time, and I can not throw away a shot— Helloa!”
Well might he start with alarm, for just then the figure of an Indian warrior came out of the gloom, and walked directly toward him. Harry turned his head to see what chance there was to dart back in the darkness upon that side, but only to encounter two other red-skins fully as near as the first!
He felt that he was fairly caught, and he could do nothing but submit to the inevitable with the best grace possible under the circumstances.
The two red-skins halted but a few feet distant, and remained standing and motionless, as if to shut off any attempt to escape, while they left to the third the part of chief actor and spokesman in the business.
As Harry turned again and looked fully in the face of the latter, it struck him that he had seen him before. He was tall and well-formed, with a gaudily-colored blanket covering his shoulders, and which thrown partly back from his front, showed a large hunting knife at his girdle. In his left hand he carried a rifle, while the right left free was extended in greeting toward the lad.
“How you do, white pappoose?” he asked with a grim smile, and a perfection of accent that amazed the boy.
The latter could do nothing less than accept the proffered hand, although he did so with no little misgiving, fearing that it was only a prelude to some treachery upon his part.
But the Indian relinquished it the next moment, and then seemed disposed to act the part of an attorney conducting a cross-examination.
“Where you come from?” he demanded.
“From the fort, the other side of the mountains,” replied the boy, extending his hand toward the north-east in which direction the frontier post lay.
“You come all alone—come away here—nobody with you?”
“Nobody is with me now excepting you and your warriors,” said Harry.
“You come alone—who bring white pappoose from fort, away ’cross mountain?”
“The great hunter has been my guide and companion all the way.”
“Which his name?”
The lad hesitated a moment, not knowing whether it was prudent or not to use deception under the circumstances, but his questioner manifested some impatience at the attempt already made to parry his queries, and he concluded it best to reply truthfully.
“He is known as Old Ruff the mountaineer, although he has been more in the trapping business lately; there lies one of the animals that he tamed to be his dog.”
He noticed a slight manifestation of surprise upon the part of the Indian as he made this reply, and just then the impression came with renewed force that he had seen him before. Where could it be? Ah! now he recalled. He was one of the Blackfeet that he and Old Ruff had seen in the canoe, when scrutinizing Little Rifle through the field-glass.
Could it be Maquesa? was the next question that came to the mind of Harry, when he took occasion at the same instant to throw a sidelong glance at the other two, in the hope that possibly he could recognize one of them as the chief.
But the scrutiny through the glass had not been complete enough to enable him to do this. He believed that all three of his visitors had been in the canoes at that time, but whether either of them was the Blackfoot for whom he and the old hunter had been so persistently searching for many days, and for whom the trapper was hunting this very moment, whether he was one of the three, he could only conjecture.
When the red-skin received the reply recorded, he was silent a moment or two, looking sharply down in the face of the boy, who felt somewhat embarrassed by the keen scrutiny.
“Where he be now?” he asked, lowering his voice, but keeping his eyes fixed upon him.
“He is gone—he went away to-day—he is down yonder at the foot of the mountain somewhere.”
“Why he go—why he leave white pappoose all alone for big bear to eat him up?”
Harry became uneasy under these pointed questions—the object of which he could not divine. He was unwilling to be more explicit in his replies, until he could be certain of what the result of such a revelation was likely to be. So he rather ingeniously took up the appellation the Indian had applied to him, resenting it with an assumption of indignation.
“Why do you call me a pappoose?” he demanded, straightening up. “I am no more a babe than are your warriors. I am a hunter and a man!”
This grandiloquent reply caused a very perceptible grin upon the faces of all three Blackfeet, who seemed to admire the spirit of the lad; but it did not divert the leader from the “line” of questioning which he had laid out.
“Where old hunter go—why he leave little brave white man?”
“He has gone off on a hunt, and when he gets through, I suppose he will return.”
Such a reply as this, it would seem, ought to have satisfied any ordinary mortal, and it would have done so, but for the fact that the red-skin was unquestionably upon the scent of something, and most probably knew a great deal more than he pretended.
“What he look for—big bear or big Injin?”
“He is looking for Maquesa, the great Blackfoot chief,” replied Harry, feeling there was no avoiding the issue; “he and I have been hunting for him for weeks, but have not been able to see him. Old Ruff thought to find him in his village, where he met him a long time ago, but the village is gone, and he knows not where he is.”
“Why he look for big Injin chief?”
“Because he stole Little Rifle, and has run away with him,” answered Harry, purposely using the masculine reference.
At this the Indian flared up, and replied in a quick, angry voice.
“You lie! Ruff steal pappoose from Maquesa—Maquesa take pappoose back from him.”
That solved the question that had been puzzling Harry during the last few minutes. He knew now that he was talking to Maquesa himself.
After following him for days and weeks in vain, and when about ready to give up the search as hopeless, the chief had come forward from his hiding-place and shown himself.
The lad still felt himself in a dangerously delicate position, and he never longed so much for the presence of Old Ruff as he did now that he had discovered the identity of his interlocutor.
What was the object of these three men coming from the gloom and surrounding him in the manner that they had done? What did Maquesa mean by questioning him so closely? And what was their purpose regarding the boy whom they had so completely in their power?
These were the questions which the lad put to himself, and whose answers caused him no little trouble and anxiety.
Maquesa, upon making the foregoing reply, gave some signal to the other warriors, and all three seated themselves upon the ground, as if they had concluded to spend the night with him. Without waiting for an invitation, Harry followed suit, and he played the part of a host by drawing the cooked meat from beneath the stone, where he had hid it from prying animals, and offering it to his guests. But all declined accepting it, and he placed it back again.
As the chief remained silent for some time, Harry concluded to put some questions to him, on his own account, hoping to gain a little information, but somewhat distrustful of the result.
“Old Ruff found Little Rifle asleep, and no one was near; he thought the pappoose would die, and he brought it away to save its life.”
“Old Ruff tell big lie! Pappoose in lodge—Maquesa close by—he come back, no find pappoose; get mad—burn down his lodge, and den go ’way. One, two, t’ree, good many moons, and he neber see her—t’ink she dead; den he hear Old Hunter hab Little Rifle—Maquesa t’ink him de squaw pappoose, and he come ober mountain arter her—she go ’way wid him—Old Hunter try catch ’em, but he paddle too slow—can’t find Little Rifle—and neber see her again!”
It would be impossible to describe the intensity of interest with which Harry Northend listened to these broken utterances of the chief, and the closing declaration that Little Rifle would never be seen again brought him to his feet in the greatest excitement.
“Why do you say that Little Rifle will never be seen again? What have you done with her? Is she dead? What has become of her?”
Maquesa and the other Indians looked quietly at the excited lad, as if rather amused than otherwise at his flurry; but the chief showed no disposition to be as explicit in his replies as Harry himself had been. It was not until the question had been repeated that he answered:
“Little Rifle gone—Old Hunter and white pappoose neber see her ’gin!”
Had Harry Northend been certain that Maquesa had been the cause of the girl’s death, he would have sprung upon him as the mottled bear sprung upon the savage beast; but, by this time, he had managed to think a little, and his own common sense taught him that it was extremely improbable that the Blackfoot had done her any personal harm. Her history, as revealed by the slip of paper, pointed to a different conclusion altogether.
It was useless to attempt to question Maquesa, when he was not disposed to reply; but Harry took a different course, in the hope of reaching the truth in another way.
“Do you hunt for Big Hunter?”
The wily Blackfoot was fully authorized to grin, as he did, when he said:
“When Maquesa look for Big Hunter, Maquesa can find him!”
Suddenly the boy recalled the mystery which had puzzled him so long, and it seemed to him that the means of solving it might be now placed in his hands.
“Can you tell me, Maquesa, why it was that Little Rifle left me, as she did, and went away with you? You did not steal her, and why should she go without awaking from her sleep and saying good-by to me?”
The chief was about to answer this query fully and explicitly (a half-dozen words would have done it), when perverse fate interfered and closed his mouth again, with the all-important words upon his very tongue.
The interference, this time, came in the shape of Old Ruff Robsart himself, who strode forward out of the gloom, and advancing straight to the chief, extended his hand, and said:
“How do you do, Maquesa? I have been huntin’ fur yer for a long time.”
The Blackfoot returned the salutation with every appearance of cordiality, much to the surprise of the other two red-skins, who were hardly prepared for the exhibition of any thing like friendship between a white man and one of their race.
Having paid his respects to him, the trapper turned to his young friend with one of his huge grins, that moved his beard clean back to his ears.
“I don’t s’pose you war lookin’ fur me; but the way on it was—while I was huntin’ round fur that Injin village that had strayed off somewhar and got lost, I found thar was a little clump of lodges closer by, and I made up my mind to pay them a visit fust. Wal, I was trampin’ ’long when I heard your gun go off, and purty soon I heard it go agin, and then I knowed you war in some row, so I struck a bee-line fur you, and here I is. Hello!” he exclaimed, noticing the bodies of the two wild animals for the first time, “that war the trouble, eh? And as sure as I’m alive, thar’s old Speckled Beauty gone under at last. Tell me how it all came about.”
As the Blackfeet showed no disposition to interfere, or prevent this conversation, Harry related, as briefly as possible what the reader has already learned of his adventure with the strange animal, from whose clutches he was hardly saved by the timely coming to his assistance of the tame grizzly bear.
“He always war a plucky critter,” said the mountaineer, when the recital was finished, and speaking us though he had no particular regrets at his death; “I thought that ever since the time when he war a cub, and come mighty near chawin’ me up; but what sort of critter was it that he lit on?” he asked, as he walked forward to examine it.
The trapper poked the carcass with his foot and gun, for some minutes, stooping down and peering at it with no little curiosity. Finally he seemed to give up the conundrum as past his ability.
“See here, Maquesa,” said he, turning to the chief, “you was born and raised in the woods. Come and tell me what sort of a critter this is.”
The Blackfoot thus appealed to walked forward, and made the same examination as did his white friend, but seemingly with very little more success.
“Hooh!” he grunted, “he no bear—he debbel!”
“P’r’aps he is,” was the comment of Old Ruff, as he walked back and resumed his seat, “but I didn’t know the Old Boy was killed as easy as that.”
This piece of badinage being finished, the party arranged themselves for more serious business. The two red-skins, who had acted the part of dummies thus far, lit their pipes and stretched out in a lazy posture upon the ground, ready and willing to wait their master’s orders, no matter how long they might be deferred.
Maquesa and Old Ruff seated themselves near each other, and Harry assumed a position where he could be certain of hearing every word that passed between them. Great, therefore, was his disappointment, when they began talking, to find that it was in the Blackfoot tongue!
“Confound it!” he exclaimed, desperately, “if I had known that that was the trick they were going to play, I would have learned the gibberish myself.”
But there seemed to be no help for it, and he concluded to take the matter philosophically. So he gathered his blanket about him, and, nestling down by the rocks, went to sleep.
It was well he did so, for thereby he escaped a weary waiting. Maquesa and Robsart must have entered into the discussion of political questions, for, although it was not very late in the evening when they began, yet they never finished until nearly daylight.
Finally there seemed to be no more for either to say, and the Blackfoot rose, shook the hand of the trapper, in token of amity, and then speaking to his warriors, they too arose, and the three moved off in the gloom and were seen no more.
The fire had burned very low, the two speakers paying no heed to it in the earnestness of their conversation. The old hunter cast on a few more sticks, and then rising and yawning he looked off at the sky.
It was still dark, but in the east were signs of the coming sun. His experienced eye told him that day was close at hand.
“Skulp me!” he growled, “ef I thought our confab had lasted as long as that. Thar’s the younker curled up and snoozin’ like a sensible chap. I seen him curl down here thinkin’ he was goin’ to hear every word and l’arn a good deal; but I nipped that by opening the ball in Blackfoot rigmarole, ’cause I knowed thar war some things which it wouldn’t do fur him to hear just yit. He’ll l’arn it all in good time, and bein’ it’s so late I guess thar ain’t no use in my layin’ down. I grabbed a couple of salmon out of an eddy in the water, down yender, and dressed ’em, and laid ’em away ’mong the leaves, ’cause thar wasn’t ’nough for these red varmints, and they kin catch thar fish as well as me. I’ll get ’em and cook ’em for breakfast, and I guess when they begin to smoke and fry, and he gets a sniff, he’ll wake.”
He disappeared for a short time, and when he returned he carried two large spotted fish in his hand. They were plump and luscious, and all prepared for the coals.
The fire, having been burning and smoldering for so many hours, was in the best condition possible. The coals were raked out into a glowing bed, free from dirt and ashes, and the two fish laid thereon.
Instantly scorching crisp, they gave out a smoke and savor enough to drive a hungry person frantic. The trapper carefully watched and turned them for several minutes, by which time they were thoroughly prepared for the palate.