CHAPTER VII.

DOWN THE RIVER.

The vision as told by the field-glass could but inspire both Old Ruff and Harry Northend with the liveliest hope and enthusiasm.

Again and again they looked through the instrument, although the first glance had shown them Little Rifle’s identity beyond all question.

Her size and dress, and general appearance, so distinct from that of the Blackfeet by which she was surrounded, made it impossible to mistake her. The trapper was almost equally positive, that the form immediately next to her was that of the chief Maquesa—although in this, his conclusion was hardly based upon what the glass revealed, but upon his own knowledge and previous supposition of the Indian’s part in the abduction of the girl.

Passing the telescope back to Harry, the two instantly resumed their pursuit of the canoes, the mottled grizzly following them with the same dog-like fondness and obedience, now and then lumbering out of sight, but never for any length of time.

The hopeful enthusiasm of the two friends was somewhat modified by the fact that the afternoon was almost gone, and the Blackfeet appeared to be paddling with greater speed than they had used heretofore.

Unless they came ashore to encamp for the night, there was indeed little probability of their being overtaken. Old Robsart, who had horses at the fort, was more than once inclined to procure them for use in the pursuit. He would not have hesitated to do so, had the Blackfeet themselves been mounted, or had he believed there was any prospect of his being permitted to choose his own route.

But his purpose was to keep close upon the trail of Maquesa, in case he should secure it, and this could only be done by traveling afoot or by using a boat.

A good many miles still intervened between where they stood and the kenyon of the river, and nothing just now would have been more welcome than a canoe, with which he could not only proceed much faster, but which would also give the legs of himself and Harry a good rest—a desirable thing, so far at least as the latter was concerned.

Believing there was good prospect of finding one, he kept close to the river, on the alert, cautioning the boy to do the same. The latter was afraid that by this means they would become hopelessly separated from the bear, but the old man showed his confidence in the sagacity of the creature, by declaring that he would not permit himself to be lost by such means.

As they came down from their elevated position, they naturally lost sight of the canoes, and Harry could hardly repress his impatience lest they should fail altogether in finding them again; but the trapper, as he moved on with his long, loping strides, seemed as cool and confident of the issue as if he were only making a round of his traps.

The nature of the ground compelled them to leave the river at intervals, but never long enough to make them feel that there was any danger of their passing on beyond the Blackfeet without discovering them.

The sun went down, and twilight told of the coming of darkness, but still, although our friends were close upon the margin of the swiftly flowing stream, nothing was to be seen either of the canoes or of their camp-fire.

Despite the excitement that had kept up the spirits of Harry, it was impossible that he should maintain this gait without growing weary. He felt that he could not maintain it much longer, but still he hurried forward, determined not to give up so long as he could keep his legs, and prevent himself from falling behind his tireless companion.

“Helloa! here it is!” suddenly exclaimed Old Ruff, as he abruptly halted. “Just the thing I’ve been looking fur all the arternoon. Now, my boy, you can rest them pegs of yourn, fur I know they can’t stand this sort of thing much longer.”

As he spoke, he stooped down, and lifted from the ground directly before him, one of those small, delicately framed Indian canoes, which are intended to carry but a single person, but which, in case of emergency, are capable of floating a couple.

Glad enough was the boy to ensconce himself in the stern, where, nestling down in as comfortable a position as he could assume, he felt that he could remain a week at least, before he would long to indulge in pedestrianism again.

Robsart flung him the heavy Indian blanket, which he always carried with him when on his travels, and told him to rest while he could, for there was no telling how long the opportunity would be his, and then taking the long, flat paddle in hand, he made ready to turn to the best account the chance that was given him.

Speckled Beauty stood on the edge of the shore as they pushed off, and gave utterance to a whine or rather growl like the mastiff, who is begging his master to take him along. The trapper replied in a language which, if not understood by Harry Northend, seemed to be comprehended by the brute—who instantly began following them down-stream, until he was hid by the intervening gloom.

“He won’t give it up so,” laughed Old Ruff, “but I’ll warrant you when we land, he’ll be close by and won’t wait long afore showing himself.”

The trapper felt the need of haste, and he now used the paddle with all the power and skill of which he was master. The current was quite rapid, the stream being narrow and deep, and the light canoe seemed to speed over the surface like a swallow.

There was a chilliness in the air, and gathering the thick blanket about him, Harry lay back, too tired to sleep, but so utterly used up, that he wished the Blackfeet would keep up their rowing for several hours yet, so that by the time they halted, he would be in a better condition to do something. He was sure that he was useless for the present.

Although the old hunter said little, he understood the condition of the lad, and he hoped very much the same as he did. He let him alone, wishing that he would fall asleep, for he very justly mistrusted his ability to cope with the physical requirements before him.

The sky was clear, and the moon was not likely to rise until later. The trapper continued his powerful sweeps of the paddle, his purpose being to make the distance between himself and the Blackfeet as small as was prudent, when he could slacken his gait, and prolong the pursuit all through the night if necessary.

Fully five miles were passed in this manner, the stream frequently making such short curves that he held up, fearful that he might betray himself to his foes. As yet he had seen and heard nothing of them, when as he rounded a rocky headland, he abruptly paused and listened.

“Do you hear any thing, younker?” he asked, holding the paddle suspended in hand.

There was no answer, even after he had repeated the question.

“Poor chap, he’s asleep!” concluded the trapper, “and I’m glad of it. I shan’t wake him till I have to. He’s full of pluck and nerve, but he ain’t used to this business; he’s got to get older afore he kin stand it as well as me. I don’t know much ’bout such things, but I think he loves that gal, and she feels sorter the same toward him. I don’t know what he’d think if I’d tell him why she left his camp the other night. He’s got to find it out some time, and I won’t distress him by tellin’ him until I can’t put it off any longer. ’Sh!”

As he listened, he heard faintly but distinctly the sound of paddles. His experienced ear enabled him to tell that two canoes were only a short distance ahead, so there could be no reasonable doubt but that he was close in the rear of the Blackfeet party.

“I wonder ef they’re going to keep it up all night?” was the next thought of Old Ruff; “ef they are, I kin paddle as well as them, but then it ain’t going to give me much chance to get a word with Little Rifle, and it will sorter bother the brains of Speckled Beauty to keep the hang of things. But he’s smart, and has done ’cuter things than that, in his time.”

He did not forget to handle his own paddle with all the care possible, for the most awkward consequences might follow a discovery upon the part of Maquesa that some one was following him.

In the still, calm night, sound was conveyed some distance with wonderful distinctness. To the casual ear, the red-skins were no more than a hundred yards distant, but he knew that triple that breadth of water separated them, and he was enabled to judge also the exact speed with which they were progressing.

The trapper had no wish to lessen this space, and he took good care not to do so. His wish was that they would land, and give him a chance to bring things to an issue.

Once he was filled with misgiving, when, as he paused to listen, he was unable to catch the slightest sound of their paddles. He concluded at once that he had betrayed himself, and Maquesa had given the word for his warriors to halt until their pursuer should come up and place himself in their power.

Old Robsart was not the man to do this, and he halted, too, holding his paddle ready to send his boat back again with its arrow-like speed.

“Ef they want a race, I’m ready,” he concluded, “and I’ll make a present of my scalp to any red-skin kin cotch me in a fair canoe-chase.”

But it was apparently some other cause that had produced this temporary cessation in their paddling, for the next minute it was resumed with the same regular sweep as before.

The trapper permitted his boat to remain stationary until the distance had been greatly increased, when he resumed his pursuit, with a caution and silence that made it impossible for the trained and listening ear to detect his coming. He appreciated the position too keenly to make any mistake at such a critical time.

He did not speak again, but, lifting the paddle, pushed the shoulder of Harry vigorously; but he was in too sound a slumber to awake.

“Sleep on,” muttered Old Ruff, as he cautiously impelled the canoe. “You ain’t of any account now, and you’re safe till morning any way. If there’s any ticklish business to be done to-night, I’d rather have you asleep than awake. I left you up the river, and gave you orders not to stir; but you couldn’t wait till I come back, and ef the varmints hadn’t left jist when they did, you’d had us both in the ugliest scrape of our lives. I’ll pay him for that, yet,” added Old Ruff, with a shake of his head; “when I take younkers to train, they’ve got to obey orders. Ah! what does that mean?”

The Blackfeet ahead had ceased paddling again. Certain that they had heard nothing of him, old Robsart was naturally curious to know the cause, and he ceased, too, permitting his canoe to float with the current.

For several seconds every thing remained as silent as the tomb, and then he detected a sound which he understood too well.

“Good!” he growled, with a grin of delight. “The varmints have landed to go into camp, and now the fun will begin!”