CHAPTER VIII.

“SPECKLED BEAUTY” IN CAMP.

The old hunter kept his canoe motionless in the current until he was certain that every one of the Blackfeet had left their boats, and had pulled them up on the shore, beyond danger of being swept away by the current.

Even then he waited until no doubt could remain of their intention to kindle a fire and to make a prolonged halt. As soon as he caught the first twinkle of their camp-fire, he shot his boat swiftly to the bank, and stepping softly out, drew the prow clean up out of the water, beneath some overhanging bushes, where it could not be seen by any one who might accidentally pass near.

Not the slightest movement indicated that there was any danger of awakening on the part of the lad, and confident that there was not, he only paused long enough to gather the bushes a little more compactly about the boat, so as to make the concealment as perfect as possible.

Old Ruff then, with rifle in hand, straightened up and looked off in the darkness, turning his gaze up instead of down the river.

“I don’t hear any thing of Speckled Beauty,” he mused; “but I s’pose I’ve traveled a little too fast in the darkness for him to keep track of us all the way; but he’ll be along arter awhile.”

With this confident conclusion, he moved off in the direction of the camp-fire, which was now burning brightly and cheerily, and the bustle and activity of the red-skins about the blaze made the scene interesting if not cheerful to the ordinary looker-on.

It was an easy matter for the trapper to reconnoiter the camp of a foe at night, and he moved leisurely along until he reached a point from which he was afforded the best view possible of the congregated Blackfeet.

The latter had brought a haunch of venison with them, which was being cooked over the fire, most of the Indians moving hither and thither, while one or two were lazily stretched out upon the ground, smoking their pipes.

Upon a fallen tree, near the blaze, sat Little Rifle. Her head was bent, and an Indian blanket was gathered about her, so that her face could not be seen by the trapper, although he stood directly in front of her.

But it needed not the sight of the beautiful little weapon lying at her feet, for the old man to identify her. If he was enabled to do so when half a mile distant, there was no mistaking now, when no more than a hundred feet separated.

After watching her intently for a minute or two, in the hope that she would raise her eyes, the trapper turned his gaze upon Maquesa, who, lounging at her feet, was looking up in her face and talking. Old Ruff could catch the mumble of his voice now and then, when there was a lull in the racket made by the others, and he could see from his manner that he was deeply in earnest about something, though unable to catch a syllable that he uttered.

“I think I know what that means,” growled the hunter, as he fairly glared upon the red-skin. “I was afeard of it. Ef it hadn’t been fur that desprit fight that me and Maquesa had, and the consequent love atween us, I’d put a bullet _spang_ through him, from whar I stand, though I s’pose the red-skin does mean well enough—”

At this moment the watcher heard a crackling off to the right, and turning his head, he saw, to his dismay, Speckled Beauty, the gorgeous grizzly bear, emerge from the gloom, and without a moment’s hesitation, walk directly toward the camp-fire.

Robsart would have prevented this had it been possible; but he had forgotten all about the animal for the time, and he could not have signaled to him, or crossed his path, without betraying himself to the group of savages. So, with no little chagrin, he stood where he was and watched the antics of his pet.

Speckled Beauty, coming to the camp-fire under the impression that it was kindled by his friends, and descrying Little Rifle, had turned his steps toward her, as the best he could do under the circumstances.

The moment he came within the circle of light, there was a furious uproar, and nearly every red-skin sprung for his rifle. Maquesa leaped to his feet, greatly startled by this tumult; but before any one could discharge their pieces, he recognized the brute and forbade them firing.

Little Rifle also raised her head for an instant, looked steadily at the bear, and then, without changing her position, looked down again, drawing the blanket about her shoulders, and seemingly indifferent to what was going on about her.

The tumult and confusion created by the Blackfeet alarmed Speckled Beauty, and caused him to pause in his walk toward the girl. He glared at the red-skins, and then apparently scenting danger in the sight of so many guns, turned squarely about and lumbered off in the darkness again.

“He’s done all the mischief he can, out thar,” growled Old Ruff, impatiently, “and now he’ll nose around till he finds the Yankee or me, and make every thing ten times worse.”

He began to suspect that he had made a blunder in bringing the curiosity along; for Maquesa, knowing to whom he belonged, would be very apt to suspect that his master was somewhere in the neighborhood, and placed thus upon his guard, the labor that Robsart had laid out for himself, would be increased ten-fold.

This was the mischief that undoubtedly had been already committed; but fearful that Harry Northend would also betray his position, when suddenly aroused from his slumber by the snout of the bear, thrust against his face, the trapper cautiously withdrew from his advanced position, and circling around, came to the river-bank, a short distance above where he had left the boat.

He was none too soon, for at the same instant he saw the outlines of the dark, cumbrous body of his pet bear, which gave a growl of pleasure, as he recognized his master, and hurried forward to receive his caress.

It was not withheld, the bulky brute cavorting and tumbling about his master, with the playful affection of a kitten. It took fully a half-hour before he could be quieted down into any thing like tractability, during all of which Harry was sound asleep, and happily unconscious of what was going on so near him.

It was the wish of the bear-tamer to prevent the lad from being awakened, and when he had shown the bear where he was, and permitted him to nose around for a short time, he concluded that the danger was past, and impressing upon the sagacious brute the importance of remaining where he was, he returned to his reconnoissance of the camp.

Here another surprise and a bitter disappointment awaited him. The huge fire was burning as brightly as ever, but not an Indian was to be seen!

As silently as shadows, they had launched their canoes again, and floated away in the gloom of the night!

And so abruptly had all this been done, that Old Ruff had no suspicion until he saw the evidence before his eyes.

“That’s it!” he exclaimed, in his anger. “Maquesa is sharp-witted, and if he’d been a fool, he’d knowed what the sign of Speckled Beauty was. He has tramped a good many miles of the woods alone, but I don’t s’pose he’s been see’d by any one who knows him, that they haven’t made up thar minds that I was close by. That’s jist what the chief has understood, and he and his varmints has slipped off ag’in.”

He stood a moment, fairly gnashing his teeth in his chagrin, and feeling any thing but particularly friendly toward the bear that had been the cause of the mishap.

“Confound him!” he growled, “I wish that that Yankee that dyed him up, had made him die himself or had took him along with him; fur Maquesa isn’t goin’ to be cotched nappin’ ag’in. Howsomever, if rowin’s the word, I’m in!”

Roused to action, he strode rapidly back to where the canoe was concealed, and pulling it from its concealment, seated himself in it, and shoved out from shore, paying no heed to Speckled Beauty, who lingered on shore, expecting an affectionate farewell.

Reaching the center of the current, he permitted his boat to float with it for a short time, while he listened.

No sound of paddling reached his ear—naught but the soft flow of the river, and the soughing of the night-wind.

But for all that he knew the Blackfeet were paddling swiftly down the river. They were simply using due caution in the handling of their paddles, so as not to afford _him_ the clew that had already guided him so far.

When he resumed the use of the paddle, the impetus of the boat aroused Harry, who, rousing up, looked around for a moment in bewilderment. Then, recalling his situation, he muttered:

“Paddling yet, Uncle Ruff. It was last night, it seems to me, that I went asleep, so that you must have kept it up for twenty-four hours. Don’t you feel a little stiff in the joints?”

“I think I would if I had been paddling as long as all that, but I think you’re a little ahead of the right number—say an hour or two.”

“But what about the Indians? What about Little Rifle? Have you seen nothing of her? Have we lost all trace of Maquesa and his men?”

And then the trapper proceeded to tell, in his characteristic manner, all that had happened since his young friend had closed his eyes in slumber.

As may be supposed, Harry listened with the most absorbing interest. It was aggravating to reflect that they had been thus nigh Little Rifle, without opening any communication, and with the only result of placing matters in a much more favorable light than before; but such was the irresistible fact.

All this time the man was busy at the paddle, occasionally pausing to tell whether he could catch any sound from those ahead, but failing as yet to do so.

“How easy it would be for them to land,” said Harry, in a cautious voice, “and allow us to pass them in the gloom, and so get entirely off the track.”

“They could do it, I allow,” replied the hunter, “but they won’t. Maquesa is aiming for t’other side the mountains, whar his village is, and he won’t stop ’g’in, for any time, till he gets thar, as he thinks he’s got a sure thing of it.”

Notwithstanding the confident tone of the trapper, it began to look as if the supposition made by the lad was correct; for as the night passed, not the slightest sound of paddles in front or rear could be heard. The rising of the moon made the course of the river visible for a greater distance, but the eye roamed along the stream and bank in vain.

All night long old Robsart continued at work with the paddle, passing from side to side, halting, listening and watching, and Harry assisted him to the best of his ability, but it resulted in naught.