THE REVELATION OF MAQUESA.
The interference, this time, came in the shape of Old Ruff Robsart
himself, who strode forward out of the gloom, and advancing straight to
the chief, extended his hand, and said:
“How do you do, Maquesa? I have been huntin’ fur yer for a long time.”
The Blackfoot returned the salutation with every appearance of
cordiality, much to the surprise of the other two red-skins, who were
hardly prepared for the exhibition of any thing like friendship between
a white man and one of their race.
Having paid his respects to him, the trapper turned to his young friend
with one of his huge grins, that moved his beard clean back to his ears.
“I don’t s’pose you war lookin’ fur me; but the way on it was—while I
was huntin’ round fur that Injin village that had strayed off somewhar
and got lost, I found thar was a little clump of lodges closer by, and I
made up my mind to pay them a visit fust. Wal, I was trampin’ ’long when
I heard your gun go off, and purty soon I heard it go agin, and then I
knowed you war in some row, so I struck a bee-line fur you, and here I
is. Hello!” he exclaimed, noticing the bodies of the two wild animals
for the first time, “that war the trouble, eh? And as sure as I’m alive,
thar’s old Speckled Beauty gone under at last. Tell me how it all came
about.”
As the Blackfeet showed no disposition to interfere, or prevent this
conversation, Harry related, as briefly as possible what the reader has
already learned of his adventure with the strange animal, from whose
clutches he was hardly saved by the timely coming to his assistance of
the tame grizzly bear.
“He always war a plucky critter,” said the mountaineer, when the recital
was finished, and speaking us though he had no particular regrets at his
death; “I thought that ever since the time when he war a cub, and come
mighty near chawin’ me up; but what sort of critter was it that he lit
on?” he asked, as he walked forward to examine it.
The trapper poked the carcass with his foot and gun, for some minutes,
stooping down and peering at it with no little curiosity. Finally he
seemed to give up the conundrum as past his ability.
“See here, Maquesa,” said he, turning to the chief, “you was born and
raised in the woods. Come and tell me what sort of a critter this is.”
The Blackfoot thus appealed to walked forward, and made the same
examination as did his white friend, but seemingly with very little more
success.
“Hooh!” he grunted, “he no bear—he debbel!”
“P’r’aps he is,” was the comment of Old Ruff, as he walked back and
resumed his seat, “but I didn’t know the Old Boy was killed as easy as
that.”
This piece of badinage being finished, the party arranged themselves for
more serious business. The two red-skins, who had acted the part of
dummies thus far, lit their pipes and stretched out in a lazy posture
upon the ground, ready and willing to wait their master’s orders, no
matter how long they might be deferred.
Maquesa and Old Ruff seated themselves near each other, and Harry
assumed a position where he could be certain of hearing every word that
passed between them. Great, therefore, was his disappointment, when they
began talking, to find that it was in the Blackfoot tongue!
“Confound it!” he exclaimed, desperately, “if I had known that _that_
was the trick they were going to play, I would have learned the
gibberish myself.”
But there seemed to be no help for it, and he concluded to take the
matter philosophically. So he gathered his blanket about him, and,
nestling down by the rocks, went to sleep.
It was well he did so, for thereby he escaped a weary waiting. Maquesa
and Robsart must have entered into the discussion of political
questions, for, although it was not very late in the evening when they
began, yet they never finished until nearly daylight.
Finally there seemed to be no more for either to say, and the Blackfoot
rose, shook the hand of the trapper, in token of amity, and then
speaking to his warriors, they too arose, and the three moved off in the
gloom and were seen no more.
The fire had burned very low, the two speakers paying no heed to it in
the earnestness of their conversation. The old hunter cast on a few more
sticks, and then rising and yawning he looked off at the sky.
It was still dark, but in the east were signs of the coming sun. His
experienced eye told him that day was close at hand.
“Skulp me!” he growled, “ef I thought our confab had lasted as long as
that. Thar’s the younker curled up and snoozin’ like a sensible chap. I
seen him curl down here thinkin’ he was goin’ to hear every word and
l’arn a good deal; but I nipped that by opening the ball in Blackfoot
rigmarole, ’cause I knowed thar war some things which it wouldn’t do fur
him to hear just yit. He’ll l’arn it all in good time, and bein’ it’s so
late I guess thar ain’t no use in my layin’ down. I grabbed a couple of
salmon out of an eddy in the water, down yender, and dressed ’em, and
laid ’em away ’mong the leaves, ’cause thar wasn’t ’nough for these red
varmints, and they kin catch thar fish as well as me. I’ll get ’em and
cook ’em for breakfast, and I guess when they begin to smoke and fry,
and he gets a sniff, he’ll wake.”
He disappeared for a short time, and when he returned he carried two
large spotted fish in his hand. They were plump and luscious, and all
prepared for the coals.
The fire, having been burning and smoldering for so many hours, was in
the best condition possible. The coals were raked out into a glowing
bed, free from dirt and ashes, and the two fish laid thereon.
Instantly scorching crisp, they gave out a smoke and savor enough to
drive a hungry person frantic. The trapper carefully watched and turned
them for several minutes, by which time they were thoroughly prepared
for the palate.
By this time it was fairly light, and Harry not having awaked, Old Ruff
having lifted one of the hot, smoking fish upon some fresh green leaves,
and, kneeling softly beside the lad, held the morsel so that the odor
was sure to reach the nostrils.
One good sniff was enough. The boy moved uneasily, flung the blanket
from his shoulders, opened his eyes, and called out:
“Quick! give me something to eat before I starve!”
“All right, you shall have it,” replied Old Ruff, “only sit up like a
Christian and eat it.”
A few minutes sufficed to make matters clear, and as Harry began to eat
the tempting fish he looked around for the Blackfeet, and seeing them
not, made inquiry.
“That ’ere Maquesa is the cunningest varmint I ever run afoul of,” said
the trapper, after answering the question; “of course he knowed that I
was arter him, ever since that night Speckled Beauty walked into camp
and told him so. He never stopped to see me, but he just tramped ahead,
and arter fixing things to suit him, he then turned ’bout to meet me. He
must have seen us when I left you yesterday, and, waitin’ till I had got
out of sight, he went in to plague you a little, for the old greaser
ain’t above a joke now and then.”
“But he showed no disposition to hurt me,” said Harry.
“’Cause I come up in time to sp’ile thar game, but ef I’d stayed away a
couple of hours longer they’d put you through a course of sprouts, and
made you b’l’eve sartin you war goin’ to be skulped and burnt at the
stake. That was all them varmints come fur—just for the sake of having a
little fun out of you.”
“Then I’m very glad you put in an appearance when you did, for I don’t
fancy these red-skins, and I don’t understand all the little tricks
they’re up to. If they had begun that business I’d been certain they
were in dead earnest, and would have done my best to use my gun or rifle
upon them, and then I suppose the fun would have turned to dead
earnest.”
“You may bet on that; _that_ ain’t the kind of fun they fancy, and them
other two chaps with him are a couple of bloody dogs that would have
been glad of the chance to split your head open.”
“But what about Little Rifle?” asked Harry, unable longer to conceal his
impatience. “I noticed that you talked Indian, so you must have given
Maquesa a chance to do most of the talking.”
“He speaks English purty well, but of course it ain’t like his own
woshy-boshy, so I steered ahead in _that_.”
“And what did you learn?”
“It was a mighty strange story that he told,” said the trapper,
seriously, “and it’s nothin’ more nor less than this. He said that a
couple of moons ago, he l’arned that the little gal that had been left
in his charge was the Little Rifle that I had, and so he came across the
mountains arter her.”
“How was it that he found out?” asked Harry. “Who could have told him
the secret, when, at that time, even you and Little Rifle herself did
not know it?”
“That’s the question I put to him, and he wouldn’t answer, but I don’t
b’l’eve any one told him, but that he thought it out for himself. Of
course it took him a long time, for he has known for a good many years
that Little Rifle has been with me, but the old chap has got brains
enough to cipher out a thing like that, without any help.”
“How does his story correspond with that told by the slip of paper?”
“’Zactly; he says the babe was left in his charge by a great white man,
who thought all the world of him, and that he seen him write something
on a slip of paper, and put it in the handle of the gun. He and his
squaw took it to their lodge on the other side the mountains, and war
keepin’ it thar. They often left it alone, and it happened at one of
these times that I slipped in and went away with it, and I’ve had it
ever since.”
“Then it was Maquesa who succeeded in getting her away from us. Did he
tell you why it was that she came to leave me so willingly?”
“No; he didn’t tell me that, ’cause thar warn’t no need of it. I knowed
it already.”
Harry had hoped to catch the trapper off his guard, and secure the
coveted answer, but Robsart saw through the trick in time to escape.
“But what is he doing with Little Rifle? Why does he keep her?”
“He says he hasn’t got her at all—that he hasn’t seen her for several
days—and that he never expects to see her again.”