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.