CHAPTER XV.

THE SEA TRAIL.

Although, as we have said, the day was drawing to a close when our friends landed in Astoria, they lost no time in making search for Little Rifle and her father, directing their steps, naturally enough, to the old tavern which stands back some distance from the river.

“_Thar they ar’ now!_” suddenly exclaimed Old Robsart.

“Where? where?” asked Harry, starting and looking about in great excitement.

“Thar! don’t you see ’em? I mean them two red-skins that fotched ’em here! They’re Blackfeet, both of ’em; they’re the very varmints we’ve been lookin’ fur.”

As he spoke he pointed out two Indians seated upon the ground, with a bottle of whisky between them. Sure enough they were the very men that had brought down Ravenna and his daughter from the Blackfoot village. Having been well paid for their work they had purchased a few gaudy ornaments at the fort, and were now fast drinking themselves dead drunk upon the red-man’s great enemy, “fire-water.”

Indeed they were so far gone now, that there was very little to be got out of them, and Old Ruff would have succeeded no better than he did with the sailors up the river, had he not snatched their whisky-bottle away from them, and sworn that they should not have it again, until they answered him every question.

After a half-hour’s hard work, he learned that they had reached Astoria on the preceding day with their charge, that they had seen them sail away in a “much big canoe” toward the great lake, as they supposed, on a trip to some happy hunting-ground.

At the tavern or inn, more definite information was gained. They learned that Mr. Ravenna had arrived there in a ship from San Francisco, several weeks before, and remaining only a day, had hired a couple of hunters to take him up the river to meet some Indian chief. On the preceding day he had returned, in a canoe under the charge of the two Blackfeet, and having with him, what seemed a boy, attired in Indian dress. He was very quiet, had scarcely anything to say, and very little was seen of him.

They had taken passage on this same morning for San Francisco, in the same vessel that had brought the father there, and by this time were fairly out to sea, on their way thither.

This was to the point, as were the query and answer as to when another boat left the port for the same destination. The captain of the schooner Albatross was sitting in the bar-room at the time, and replied that he should weigh anchor at sunrise on the morrow, when the tide would be in and the bar could be passed without trouble.

Could he take a couple of passengers who would pay him well for the accommodation?

Certainly; any thing in the way of business, and to please the gentlemen.

But just here, the trapper called Harry aside and conveyed the unexpected startling information that he had decided to go no further.

“What’s the use?” he said, by way of explanation. “I can’t be of no further help to you; all you’ve got to do, is to go on board the Albatross, and squat down and wait till she lands you in Fr’isco. When you git there you kin hunt out the little gal as well without as you kin with me. I must look after them furs and peltries of mine, and when I go back I’ll stop at Fort Abercombie, and tell your old man that you’re all right, and you know that’ll be a great satisfaction to him. You’re on the right track now, and thar ain’t no Blackfeet in the way to make any bother. You’ve got plain sailin’, and like ’nough you’ll git into Fr’isco as soon as the other boat does. Leastways you’ll have no trouble to find the little critter, and when you do, give her my love, and tell her I’ll be down that way purty soon, to see her, or I’ll foller her wherever she goes. Don’t you see, younker, that that’s the true plan and the best one?”

Harry could not help seeing the force of what the trapper said, and he admitted it; but as he had not the least thought of such a proceeding upon his part, it required some time for him to feel perfectly resigned to it.

The agreement was made that Old Ruff should remain over night with Harry at the inn and then start on his return to the beaver runs beyond the Cascade Range, while he should move down the coast toward San Francisco.

And with this understanding the parties retired at a late hour.

The arrangement was carried out almost to the letter, as the trapper left the inn at an early hour, bidding Harry an affectionate farewell, with the confident hope that they would soon meet again.

It was nearly noon when the Albatross crossed the bar at the mouth of the river, ten miles further down, and placed herself fairly on the Pacific ocean.

As soon as the sloop was fairly out to sea, and sailing northward, Harry gave himself up to the enjoyment of the scene. Walking to the prow, he took a station where he was not likely to be in the way and feasted upon the view, which was a novel and deeply interesting one to him.