CHAPTER XIII.

COUNTERPLOTTING.

Harry Northend sat astounded and stupefied at the answer of Old Ruff, and when he had partly regained his self-poise he repeated the words.

“Maquesa says he has not seen her for several days, and never expects to see her again. Is that what the chief said?”

“Them’s almost his words ’zactly—leastways, that’s ’zactly what he meant.”

“In the name of Heaven, what does he mean?”

“He says that he has met the father of Little Rifle—that he met him a couple of weeks ago, and that it was on his account he came through the mountains arter her. Her father waited somewhere for him—down toward the Willamette, I b’l’eve, at one of the forts. Thar Maquesa met him, and thar he turned over Little Rifle to him, and both have started for Astoria, whar they’re going to take ship for San Francisco.”

Here was a revelation indeed, and for several minutes Harry sat with open mouth, hardly able to realize all that had been said. Before he could make any comment the trapper added, in a significant tone:

“That’s a big story to tell, and it may all be true, but somehow or other I think old Maquesa was lying to me, and tryin’ to throw me off the right track.”

“What is it you suspect, Uncle Ruff?”

“I don’t know as I kin tell ’zactly,” he answered, with a puzzled air as he scratched his head, “but he let drop one or two things that made me think he was very anxious to get you and me off to Astoria, where we’d be out of his way.”

“You think, then, that that part of his story was a fabrication?”

“Yes; I don’t believe Little Rifle has started for Astoria; but thar’s some truth, too, in what the varmint said.”

“And how much?”

“That’s hard to tell; but I s’pect he has met the father of Little Rifle, or else, when he went away a good many years ago, the man promised to come back ag’in, and the time being ’bout up, Maquesa has started off to hunt up his little gal for him.”

“That does not seem probable to me,” said Harry, after a moment’s thought. “No man would go away or remain away voluntarily for years, knowing that his only daughter was among a tribe of barbarous savages. No father could willingly leave a child to grow up among them, as your theory would make Mr. Ravenna do.”

“I guess you’re right,” replied the trapper. “I didn’t think of all that, but I kin see the reason in it now. It must be, then, that Maquesa is waiting to see the father, and wishes to get us out the way until arter he delivers her up.”

“That seems very likely,” said Harry; “there is reason and consistency in all that.”

“Arter he turns the gal over to the father, then I s’pose he don’t care, and we kin tramp and hunt all we’re a mind to.”

“Why does he wish us to go to Astoria?”

“Thar ar’ ships sailin’ from thar to Fr’isco. The smart dog thinks when we git thar, that we’ll just hear of some vessel goin’ down the coast, and will be sartin the father and gal have gone, and we’ll start arter ’em. That’ll put us out of the way for a couple of months, you see, and that’ll give the old coon plenty time to get through with his part of the business, and when we come back mad and tearing, what’ll he care?”

“You suspect, then, that Little Rifle is still in the hands of Maquesa?”

“That’s what I think. As long as he was on the go with her, he didn’t mind how hard we follered arter, for he could dodge us all the time; but now he’s settled down for a while, and it’ll take ’bout all his time to watch the gal, without watchin’ us too.”

“And Little Rifle is probably at Maquesa’s village close at hand?”

“I shouldn’t wonder, and of course I’m going to find out afore I make a fair start for Fr’isco. I ain’t quite ’nough fool to start off on such a hunt without something more than the word of Maquesa.”

“But you know how cunning he is, Uncle Ruff; he will be on the watch for us, and it will be hard for you to reconnoiter the village without his discovering it; and that will show him that we don’t believe what he has told us.”

“He’s beat me up to this time,” replied the trapper, with a grin, “but if he beats me now, I’ll leave the woods and mountains, and open an oyster saloon in Fr’isco. But come! do you see how high the sun is? Let’s be off.”

Harry noticed that as they moved away the old man headed for the Columbia river, which lay off to the south-west, and to reach which by the present route, would carry them entirely out of the way of the Indian village in which Maquesa ruled and reigned.

The trapper explained by saying that his intention was to “fool” the chief into the belief that he had given his words full credence, and was really on his way for the little trading-post at the head of the Columbia.

“He’s very kind—oncommonly so,” he added; “he told me where I could find one of his canoes, which he said was a mighty good thing to shoot the Dalles with. We’ll take it, and p’r’aps use it for that.”

The river was still a goodly distance away, and it was a couple of hours before they reached it; but, so explicit had been the instructions of the Blackfoot, that scarcely fifteen minutes passed, after striking the stream, before the boat was found, and the two entered, and headed down-stream, Old Ruff paddling at a leisurely rate, like one who has a week of labor ahead.

Not until they had rounded a large bend in the river, did he make any reference to the Blackfoot who had sent them upon this errand. Then it was to inquire:

“Didn’t notice nothin’ ’ticular when we shoved off, younker?”

Harry replied in the negative, wondering to what he referred.

“Maquesa and another varmint were on t’other side the river, watchin’. I seen ’em, but they didn’t know it. You see, they wa’n’t sartin whar I meant to go, and that’s what they war after.”

“Then you are certain they have been deceived as to what you mean to do?”

“Ain’t sartin yet, and I don’t b’lieve he is. I’m paddlin’ mighty slow, as you have obsarved, ’cause I’m expecting he’ll take another squint. Ef he does, it will be from the top of that swell yender. He orter reached it by this time, ’cause we haven’t traveled fast. Jes’ turn your glass that way—as careless, like, you know, as you can—and see whether you can catch sight of any top-knots.”

The boy did as requested, and after a few seconds’ careful survey, he declared that he saw nothing suspicious. The swell alluded to was upon the right bank of the river, rising to a hight of a dozen feet or so, with no trees, but covered with long, luxuriant grass.

“Let me take it,” said Robsart to Harry, and turning it in the direction indicated, he held it motionless for considerable time, leaving the canoe to drift with the current.

“Don’t see nothin’ of him,” he said, still holding the instrument to his eye; “guess he thinks thar ain’t no use of his going to Astoria— Skulp me! ef I didn’t cotch a glimpse of his top-knot then. He’s a-layin’ flat, and raised his noddle jist high ’nough for me to see it through the grass. Now its down ag’in.”

Several times this was repeated, until the trapper, convinced that he was entirely alone, grew weary, and passing the telescope to his companion, resumed the paddle.

The Columbia, at this part of its course, was quite broad and winding, and by keeping close to the shore, Robsart managed his boat in such a way that, while he appeared to be at work all the time, he was in reality making little progress; for, as will be easily seen, every rod thus passed over, very likely would have to be tramped back, not once but twice again.

The experienced eye of the trapper was enabled to discover, almost to a certainty, the points from which the Blackfoot chief would make his observations, and after doubling another cape, he directed the glass to the suspicious point.

But a careful survey, repeated many times, failed to reveal any thing at all; and the conclusion was inevitable.

Maquesa had been satisfied in his own mind that his statements were fully credited, and that the two were on their way to the mouth of the Columbia. Consequently he had withdrawn from watching and following them.

Another result from all this was the conviction that the chief had been using deception, and that, in the words of Harry, they had not only overtaken Little Rifle, but had passed beyond her, and to find her again, they must turn about and retrace a goodly part of the distance.

Old Ruff Robsart, understanding the tricky nature of Maquesa as he did, dared not take any thing for granted, and although almost positive that he was no longer under surveillance, he kept up his semblance of journeying westward until the sun went down, and darkness wrapped the forest and stream in its sable mantle.

And then, as soon as assured that he was under the scrutiny of no prowling red-skin, he shot the canoe under the bank and leaped out.

Every thing had been arranged beforehand, so that no time was now lost in the exchange of words.

Harry was to remain where he was until his return, no matter if he was absent a month. This was to be a journey entirely on foot, and the trapper’s legs had enjoyed such a good rest that they felt capable of almost any thing. A run of a dozen miles would be no more than enough to give them a good stretching.

After springing ashore, he merely uttered a word of parting, and then whisked away like a shadow, leaving Harry Northend alone.

The latter made up his mind for a good long period of waiting, so he ran the canoe out a short distance into the stream, where he made the stern fast to a long, outreaching limb, and then, wrapping himself up in his blanket, went to sleep.

Nothing occurred to interrupt his sleep, and when he awoke, the stream was sparkling in the sunshine, and the cool, fresh morning air was crinkling the surface.

The next sensation of which he was aware was one of excessive hunger, and unfastening the boat, he paddled ashore and sprung out to go on a hunt after something.

Harry drew the canoe up the bank and entirely out of the water, remembering the caution that the trapper always took at such a time, not merely from any sudden rising of the current but to prevent its catching the eye of any foes who might pass up or down stream.

This done to his own satisfaction, he threw his rifle upon his shoulder and was just starting off upon his hunt, when the crackling of a branch told him that some one was approaching!