CHAPTER XIV.

A STARTLING SHOT.

With light hearts and buoyant spirits the lads made their way forward. Little Rifle, understanding precisely their situation, led the way without doubt or hesitation, and in the course of an hour began ascending the ridge, from which he had just made his survey of the Indian lodges and the river.

By the time that they had reached the top of the ridge, the lads were thoroughly worn out, and concluded to encamp and wait for daylight.

After considerable search, Little Rifle discovered a suitable hiding-place among the rocks, into which they crawled, and almost instantly dropped into a deep slumber, and when the glad sun came up over the mountains, Harry opened his eyes. As he turned his head to greet his companion, no Little Rifle was to be seen! The displaced bowlders showed that he had gone out. But whither?

Crawling cautiously out from his lodgings, Harry discovered a small, bubbling spring of cool, fresh water, from which he took a refreshing draught, concluding that he had taken occasion to reconnoiter, and would shortly put in an appearance.

“I hope he has gone off to scare up a breakfast,” he mused, as he sat down by the spring, “for I’m hungry enough to eat a raw Blackfoot-- Helloa!”

He heard the crackling of undergrowth, and there, scarcely twenty feet distant, he saw one of the finest and plumpest of antelopes, coming toward the spring, evidently for the purpose of obtaining his “morning bitters.”

“Oh dear,” gasped the boy, as he fixed his eyes upon him, “if I only had my gun! I wonder if I can’t get near enough to knife him?”

The instant he moved, the delicate, graceful animal halted, threw back its head, and fixing it steadily upon him for a single second, wheeled about and made an affrighted plunge backward.

“There goes my breakfast,” growled the lad, “and I never had a meal travel so fast in all my life. Ha! what’s up now? He must have hit his toe against something!”

This exclamation was caused by the sudden tumbling of the animal, who, rolling all over in a heap, struggled up again, then fell, and then lay still.

The crack of a rifle, that now reached the ears of the boy, explained all; the animal had scarcely ceased his struggles, when Little Rifle emerged from the bushes.

“Bully for you!” shouted Harry, dashing forward the instant he saw him. “Don’t throw away his hoofs and horns, for I’m hungry enough to eat them too.”

“While I’m getting some slices ready, do you kindle a fire, Harry, and I’ll soon give you one of the best meals of your life.”

“Don’t be too long about it,” said the boy, as he flew about to obey the request. “I think I can hold out about half an hour longer, and then I’ll be ready to begin on you.”

It required but a few minutes to gather a quantity of wood; but the hungry lad was in such impatient haste that he lost a great deal of time in starting a fire after it was ready. He succeeded at last, by which time Little Rifle had two large, tender slices, from the choicest part of the animal, dressed and ready for the coals.

Only a few minutes were required to prepare both, and then the lads made a meal, whose luscious richness can be understood only by those that have been placed in similar circumstances. As they crunched through the tender, juicy steaks, they could only roll their eyes at each other, without attempting to give expression to their enjoyment. Occasionally Harry indulged in a groan or sigh of happiness--but that was all.

Little Rifle had gauged the capacities of both, with no inconsiderable skill, and when his friend had made away with the last morsel, despite his loud predictions at the beginning of the meal, he was obliged to confess himself fully satisfied.

“I thought I could hold more than that,” he said, looking wistfully at the remains of the animal, “but, alas! for human ambition. Another mouthful and I would explode.”

As there was no cause for remaining longer where they were, they made ready to move on again toward old Robsart’s head-quarters, where Harry expected to obtain a rifle and start upon his return to the fort.

“Do you notice that clump of bushes over there?” asked Little Rifle, touching his arm and pointing to some scrubby shrubbery, but a short distance away.

“Yes; what of it? Is there another antelope there?”

“There is something, for I have noticed a movement, once or twice, while we were eating. Look out! there is an Indian and he is going to fire!”

And, grasping the shoulder of the lad, he sprung to one side, dragging him with him. At the same instant there was a flash and a sharp report, as the bullet whizzed toward them!

Little Rifle, experienced in the dangers of a hunter’s life, was not caught with an unloaded gun. The thin puff of smoke had hardly begun to curl up from the clump of bushes when his rifle was at his shoulder, and he sent the return bullet crashing among the leaves and twigs. At the same moment both sprung to cover.

“You haven’t any gun,” said Little Rifle to his friend, “so keep your head out of sight, and if I haven’t peppered that red-skin I’ll do so next time.”

“Maybe there are several of them,” ventured his friend.

“No,” replied the young trapper, “if there were they’d have fired when they had the chance. Keep your head down, Harry!”

“I hear him groaning and moaning,” persisted Harry. “You must hear it, too. Let’s go forward, for you’ve wounded the poor wretch.”

“Pooh! The Blackfoot isn’t hurt at all, and he is making those noises on purpose to draw us out. I beseech you, Harry, to keep quiet.”

But now Little Rifle did the very thing against which he had so earnestly cautioned his friend. Looking steadily over the face of the rock for a moment, a strange expression lit up his face, and he slowly rose to his feet, until his whole body above his knees was in full view of their hidden foe.

“Well, I declare if it doesn’t beat every thing!” exclaimed Little Rifle, more to himself than any one else, “I thought it was an Indian all the time.”

As Harry rose to his feet he saw the explanation of this soliloquy. From behind the all-important clump of bushes came a large, bushy-whiskered white man, clad in hunter’s costume, and apparently in the best of humor.

The hunter, shaking all over with laughter, extended his broad palm as he came up and closed it around the small hand of Little Rifle, who, after exchanging a word or two with him, turned and introduced him to Harry as his Uncle Robsart.

“Glad to see you, younker,” exclaimed the hairy old hunter, as he gave Harry a hearty shake of the hand. “Scared you a little, I s’pose. I see’d you chawin’ antelope, and I thought I’d wake you up a little.”

Little Rifle acquainted the trapper with the principal facts of their meeting and the subsequent adventures. He listened with great interest, especially to their adventure in and escape from the cavern.

“That’s the place I went into, a couple of years ago,” Old Ruff said, “and come mighty nigh getting lost the same as you. But, I didn’t see nothin’ of that hole in the top, nor didn’t diskiver any signs of them other chaps being in thar. You didn’t get a fair look at them?”

“No; luckily they didn’t get a fair look at us. They cleared out before we came out to look around, and we didn’t stay to make their acquaintance.”

“What do you s’pose they war doing underground?” asked Old Ruff, in a significant tone.

The lads replied that they had not the remotest idea.

“Thar’s gold in that cavern, boys, and that’s what them chaps war in thar for. I don’t s’pose they own any more of Oregon than we do, and sometime I’ll go into that big cellar and take a look around ag’in. Mebbe I might git my claws onto some of the yaller stuff. Afore you go back to the fort, Harry, we’ll take a look ’round, and see what chance thar is for a spec; but if it happens that we don’t get the time to do it, why you can come down ag’in from the fort and we’ll fix it then, sure. If there’s gold thar _you_ shall have your chance in, lad.”

Harry now became aware of something which he could not understand, and which caused him no little uneasiness. He found that Old Ruff was covertly watching him, as though he held some kind of a suspicion, regarding his presence so far away from the fort. Once or twice, when he hastily raised his eyes, he saw the keen orbs of the trapper fixed upon him, with a sharp, penetrating glance.

More than once, Harry was tempted to ask the meaning of this; but he noted that Old Ruff took particular pains to conceal his surveillance, and this made him fearful of offending him.

There was a change too--though comparatively slight--in the deportment of Little Rifle. Now that they were reinforced by the shaggy old trapper, he appeared desirous of withdrawing into the background, and forcing the hunter to take his place in the familiar confidence with Harry.

When the latter addressed or approached him, he manifested a singular coyness--his face flushed with embarrassment, while he frequently permitted his gaze to drop to the ground or turned his head away altogether.

Outwardly old Robsart was all friendship, and was in his best mood. He recounted many of his adventures in catching and taming bears, for which, as is well known, he had a great passion.

Before resuming their journey homeward, Old Ruff resolved upon an observation from the top of the ridge.

Accordingly all three made their way to the crest. Harry produced his telescope, and a very careful reconnoissance followed.