Read Ebook: Old Ruff the Trapper; or The Young Fur-Hunters by Ellis Edward Sylvester

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Ebook has 773 lines and 40112 words, and 16 pages

"I was thinkin' of that 'ere glass of yourn. I've seen 'em at the fort and down at Fr'isco, and of course knowed what they war used for, and yet I was always such a fool that I never knowed enough to bring 'em 'long with me. You can see how mighty handy a telescope would be on the perarie, where you could tell the varmints a long time before they could see you. Hold on to that tight, for I've an idee that it's going to be of some use to us."

"I think there is little danger of my losing it, for you know I carried it over the falls with me, where I lost nearly every thing except that and my life. But, Robsart, didn't I hear you say that you knew this Indian chief, Maquesa, who had charge of Little Rifle in her earlier years?"

"Yes," replied the trapper, "I knowed him several years ago, on the other side of the Cascade Range. I never met him on this side, and that 'ere puzzled me a little. You see when I picked up the little pet, it was on this side the range, and some distance further north, and it seems that here is whar I orter find the old rip."

"His tribe is on both sides, so that mystery may not be a very deep one after all. But, how is it that he comes to be an acquaintance of yours? Do you class him as a friendly Indian?" asked Harry, naturally enough deeply interested in any matter that bore any relation to Little Rifle.

"It was rather qu'ar," replied the grizzled old hunter, as he recalled some reminiscence. "I was going down one of the forks of Willamette River, just over the mountain. I was just then hunting bears, and didn't understand 'em as well as I do now. One arternoon I spied a feller full as big as Old Adams' Samson. I seen him come down to the edge of the river and start to swim across, and I put out in a canoe to head him off. I wanted to drive him back among the rocks on the side whar he was leavin', as I had a smashin' big trap set there, that I thought would hold him--but the critter wouldn't turn, and when I got a little too close with my boat he just give it a slap with his paw, and away it went all to shivers, and me heels over head.

"I wa'n't much afraid of the varmint in the water, as I knowed I could dodge him, but I was thundering mad 'cause I lost my gun, cap and one of my moccasins, and the bear wouldn't turn back for me arter all. So I had to paddle ashore and when I got thar, with nothing but my knife, who should I see pop out from behind the rocks but a Blackfoot. He let drive his tomahawk, just to let me know he was coming, and when I dodged that he came with his knife, leaving his gun somewhar behind him.

"Wal, you can make up your mind that thar was some music about then. We had just the same weapons, and we sailed in, cutting and slashin' each other like a couple of wild-cats. Wal, he war a little the toughest varmint I ever got hold on. We clawed awhile, and then I knocked his knife out of his hand, and dropped mine at the same time. Arter that we kept it up in Yankee Sullivan style, until we both got so tired that we couldn't strike a blow hard enough to make a musketer wink.

"I didn't know as the Indians ever showed such chivalry as that," said Harry; "it sounds like a romance to hear that you met as such bitter enemies, and then parted such friends."

"I've run afoul of him several times, when he had a pack of warriors at his back, and could have raised my ha'r as easy as say so, but he never offered to do any thing of the kind. And now think," continued the bear-tamer, in a voice of inexpressible disgust, "that at that time I war looking up something that could give me a clew to the little pet that I had found, and that I hadn't 'nough sense to ax Maquesa a single word, when he could talk English purty well, and was the very man of all others that could have answered my questions. You see I found the gal on this side the mountains and met him on t'other, and so it never got through my thick skull that that all might be, and so I've gone on ever since without l'arning a single thing, till you come down here and told me."

"Then your first proceeding, I suppose, will be to seek out Maquesa, in case we fail to find any trace of Little Rifle before."

"But hang it!" exclaimed old Robsart, "whar shall I go to find him? I haven't seen him for two, three years, and don't know whether he's alive or dead, or whether he's within ten or five hundred miles, and who shall I ax? It'll just be my luck to go tramping over Californy, Washington and Oregon for the next ten years."

"But can't you inquire of such Indians as you see?"

The old trapper indulged in a hearty laugh.

"One Blackfoot in a thousand can talk English, and you'd have to catch 'em and tie 'em up afore you could get an answer out of 'em."

"Provided she is a captive among the Indians, we have an almost hopeless task before us," said Harry, somewhat dispirited by the sweeping declaration of the trapper, who instantly added:

"But I don't think she is in the hands of the varmints; we've got a different kind of work to do than that, and here we are close to the place where you camped."

Picking their way through the ravine, they speedily stood upon the very spot where the last glimpse of Little Rifle had been given Harry Northend. Old Ruff paused, and placing his feet upon the dead ashes of the camp-fire, looked with a keen, searching glance about him. He was apparently examining the minutest objects, determined that not the slightest clew should escape his scrutiny.

"Have you found out any thing?" asked Harry, when he saw that he was through.

"Not a blamed thing," was the reply; "stand whar you are for a time, till I take a look at the ground."

This, the young lad supposed was the real test of the whole business, and he watched the actions of the old trapper, with an interest which it would be impossible to describe.

"I find tracks of yourn and hern here," he said, straightening up after a long search, "but that snow has played the mischief. It fell arter she left, so as to hide her trail."

"But it has melted again."

"And that don't help any; its melting has just shet out the prints of her moccasins, so that there is no use in trying to look for 'em. This s'arch has got to be made on general principles."

The general principles of the hunter meant that, without seeking to follow, and find their friend by means of palpable evidence that she had left behind her, it only remained for them to reason out or conjecture, as to the course she had taken, and to pursue that.

He gave it as his belief now that the nearest stream, of size, had been used by her, and that a portion of her flight had been made upon that.

This meant that the hunt was to be an indefinite one, and like a prudent man, Old Ruff resolved to make his arrangements, so that if necessary, he could continue it for several months. He meant to go into this business to win.

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, ca?ons 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 aegis, 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 ca?ons 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.

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