DOUBT AND PERPLEXITY.
Thus the compact was sealed, and Harry Northend already felt a renewal
of hope at this hearty manifestation of confidence in him by the man who
was to be the all-important auxiliary in the work of searching out his
lost bride of the wilderness.
But he was naturally desirous of hearing from the experienced trapper
and mountaineer his theory to account for the mysterious disappearance
of Little Rifle, as they both preferred to call her in preference to the
new and correct name of Hagar. As yet he had offered no conjecture, and
indeed so far as Harry could perceive had not even given it a thought.
He now ventured to ask the question.
“_It was the ’arthquake!_” was the astounding reply.
But for the seriousness of the occasion, and the perfect solemness of
the bear-tamer’s manner, Harry would have taken this as a specimen of
his waggery, but it was any thing but that, and the lad stared in blank
amazement.
“Don’t you know what I mean?” asked the old hunter, observing his
wonderment.
“I haven’t the remotest idea,” was the reply.
“Wal, you know what an ’arthquake is, don’t you? I s’pose you’ve read
about ’em, hain’t you?”
“Of course I have; every school-boy has read of terrible earthquakes,
but what do you mean by saying that the loss of Little Rifle has been
caused by such a thing as that?”
“I s’pose you slept so healthy last night that you didn’t hear it, nor
know nothing ’bout it; but just afore the snow begun fallin’, the ground
shook; I felt the old lodge of mine rock like a cradle, and I made a
dive out-doors so sudden-like that I hit my head ag’in the log thar and
split it, so it’s almost sp’iled. I knowed the ’arth was off on a waltz,
and I done a little dancing, too.”
“How strange that I knew nothing of it,” exclaimed the awed lad; “I
never even suspected such a thing could have happened, although I heard
them say something at the fort about an earthquake, and I have heard it
said that they have felt a shock once or twice in California, but I
hardly thought it could be real. But how, Uncle Ruff, could that have
caused Little Rifle to leave?”
“Wal, you see it must have took something extronnery to get her away
from you and me—nothin’ else would have done it, and I think an
’arthquake is about the most extronnery thing that could have come—so it
must have been _that_.”
“I can admit all that,” returned Harry, as much perplexed as ever, “but
still I can not see in what particular way the earthquake caused her to
desert us. You don’t mean that it caused her death?”
“No; I don’t believe it caused the death of _any_ one, and I don’t know
how it affected her; but here the whole thing is: Little Rifle is gone,
and it’s a mighty strange thing—her going. About as near as we can
figure thar’s a mighty big ’arthquake that come along ’bout that time—so
it’s just as plain as the nose on your face that the two are mixed.
’Zactly how it is I don’t pretend to say, but we’ll go up to your
camping-ground and cypher round and try and find out.”
This looked like “business,” and it was a great relief to Harry, who
chafed at the delay, feeling that every hour was lessening the chances
of discovering the lost one.
There was little cause for tardiness and the old trapper made none. When
he had finished the words just given, he threw his long, deadly rifle
over his shoulder, and moved with sweeping strides up the ravine, Harry
being obliged to keep up a sort of dog-trot to prevent himself from
falling in the rear. As he emerged into the more open country he cast a
hasty glance around, as if in obedience to an instinctive caution; but
nothing of an alarming nature was to be seen.
The lad judged from the manner of old Robsart that he was speculating in
his mind as to the probable cause of the disappearance of Little Rifle,
and so he did not vex him with questions which he knew he was unable to
answer.
“Do you know thar’s one thing that I think is mighty lucky?” said the
trapper, suddenly turning his head toward the lad, and speaking as if
the idea had been in his mind for some time.
“I don’t know what it is,” said the boy, “but I hope it is something
big, for we need it.”
“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.
“Wal, to make a long story short,” added the old fellow, with a grin,
“it turned out that me and Maquesa war exactly even matched. I wasn’t a
ha’r stronger than him, nor was he a ha’r stronger, and arter we laid
back and rested and kept it up fur three full hours, he got upon his
feet and said, ‘_White man is too much fur Maquesa_,’ and offered me his
hand. That rather took me down, but I shook his paw, and we parted. That
sorter made us friends you know, and I’ve met the old varmint three or
four times since, and he always acts as though he thought a mighty heap
of me.”
“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.