In the morning Fred Wilder set out to seek for the trail of his
companions; but, after a long and careful search, he was unable to find
it, and he abandoned the quest in despair. As he had seen or heard
nothing of the Blackfeet, he concluded that they had given up the
pursuit, and had returned to their village.
The disappearance of the Blackfoot and Flora Robinette was not
incomprehensible to him, for it was very likely that he had lost the
trail; but he could not help fearing that it was to be attributed to
some other cause. It was possible that White Shield had been troubled
in conscience concerning the manner in which he had left his tribe, and
that he might have gone back to meet the pursuers, hoping to make peace
with them by delivering Flora to Good Ax. It was possible, also, that
he might have taken a fancy to the fair prize, and that he might have
determined to secure her for himself, thus cheating his white brother,
as well as his tribe.
Fred Wilder’s manly heart made him reject these unworthy suspicions as
fast as they arose in his mind. He could not believe that the Indian,
who had sworn brotherhood to him, and who had so thoroughly proved
his friendship, would so easily turn traitor. In fact, he felt sure
that he could trust him, whatever appearances might be against him.
The probability was, Wilder thought, that he had lost their trail,
which must lead direct to Mr. Robinette’s rendezvous. Still, it seemed
strange that they had not waited for him, or tried to find him, as he
supposed they might easily have done.
Stifling his fears as well as he could, he rode toward the south,
shaping his course for the rendezvous, where he hoped to find his
missing companions.
It was a long journey, and there was not a little peril connected with
it; but, by the use of vigilance and caution, he contrived to keep
clear of any predatory bands of Indians, and the end of two weeks found
him on a stream which he believed to be one of the head branches of
Green River.
The sun was nearly on the meridian when he was riding along the
pleasant stream, in the shade of the cottonwoods and willows,
meditating on his vagrant life, and wondering whether he would ever
settle down and become a quiet and steady citizen. Thoughts of dinner
were also in his mind, and were further provoked by the sight of a thin
column of blue smoke, curling up above the tree-tops before him. He
stopped at once, with a true woodman’s caution, and speculated upon the
smoke and its cause.
He thought that he could not be far from the rendezvous, and it was not
likely that there would be any hostile Indians so near a large assembly
of white men. It was more probable that some hunters had chosen the
spot for the purpose of enjoying their noon meal. Wilder was willing
enough to join them; but he thought it best to use caution, as he could
not be certain whether he was to meet friends or enemies.
He dismounted, tethered his horses, and quietly picked his way through
the undergrowth toward the smoke. He was soon near enough to perceive
two white men seated by the remains of a fire. Near them was the
carcass of an antelope, from which they had made their meal. Both men
were smoking, and a flask that lay between them denoted that they were
not destitute of another creature comfort much prized in the wilderness.
Wilder was about to step forward and join them, when he was stopped by
an exclamation that one of them made. He heard Flora Robinette’s name,
used in a manner that strongly attracted his attention, and made him
anxious to hear more of the conversation.
Crawling up closer, and concealing himself behind the trunk of a large
cottonwood, he looked and listened. He knew both of the men, one of
whom was Martin Laurie, Mr. Robinette’s agent, and the other was Jacob
Farnsworth, also one of the trader’s employés.
“You think, then, that you can find the girl?” asked Farnsworth.
“I am pretty certain of that,” replied the Scotchman.
“What will you do with her when you get her?”
“It seems to me, my friend, that you are becoming inquisitive.”
“I suppose I am; but it is a matter that concerns me a little.”
“How so?”
“Look here, Martin Laurie. You might as well be open and
straight-forward; for I know you as well as you know yourself. You
expect to rescue the girl, and to have the fingering of old Robinette’s
money.”
“You may think what you please about it. Suppose that what you say were
true, how would it affect you?”
“More than you may think. I might hinder or help you as I chose. You
don’t want to tell me your plans; but you will have to do it. The
Scotch are very keen; but they are no sharper than the Yankees. I can
tell you that you will never touch the old man’s money-bags, unless
you change your plans.”
“You are only trying to pump me, Jake Farnsworth.”
“I am not. I am speaking for your own interest. I know what I am
saying; for I have the will.”
“The will! What will?”
“Paul Robinette’s will.”
“The deuce! I didn’t know that he left a will.”
“I have one copy, and the other copy is in St. Louis.”
“What does it say?”
“Don’t you wish you knew? I will tell you, on condition that you will
give me a third of what you make by the operation. Your plans will
amount to nothing, unless you know what is in the will. You might go to
St. Louis, and examine the other copy; but your chances would be all
gone before you could get back. If you will come to terms I will tell
you what I know, and will help you with your plans. If you won’t, you
may as well load up your traps and quit the ground.”
“I will agree to what you say, if your information really causes me to
change my plans.”
“That is fair enough. I will guarantee that it will surprise you.”
“Very well. Out with it.”
“The will is a strange one, and perhaps there is a touch of hypo in it;
but I have no doubt that it would stand in the courts. In fact, it was
drawn by a lawyer, who ought to have known his business. It seems that
the old man was quite a monomaniac on the subject of being killed by
Indians. He had a presentiment that he would be scalped by them some
day, and the fear that his scalp would remain in their possession, and
be smoke-dried in their lodges, always preyed upon his mind.”
“It may have been second-sight, for he was killed and scalped after
escaping for so many years.”
“I know that; but listen to the arrangement he made by his will. He
divided his property into two equal portions, one of which is to be
given to the man who recovers his scalp from the Indians. The other
half is to be his daughter’s, on condition she marries the man who
recovers his scalp.”
Fred Wilder uttered an involuntary exclamation, and felt in the
breast-pocket of his hunting-shirt, to see whether the gray scalp was
secure.
“I thought I heard something,” said Farnsworth, looking around. “It
must have been one of our horses. If she refuses to marry that man, she
will get but the income of her share during life, and at her death it
will go to a charity in St. Louis.”
“Suppose the scalp should not be recovered.”
“Then that share is to go to the same charity. You can judge, now,
whether the will changes your plans.”
“I must confess that it will change them considerably. It will be of
more importance to me to secure the scalp than the girl. It is a queer
will. The old man must have been crazy.”
“His head was clear enough, as you well know, and we need make no
question about the will. If you can recover the scalp, the girl will be
obliged to marry you, or she will get nothing from the property worth
speaking of. The two halves, put together, would make a right handsome
pile.”
“They would, indeed, and I could afford to give you a share. I must
secure both the scalp and the girl. I see no objection that Miss Flora
could have to marrying me. I have always been considered a proper man.”
“Proper enough, no doubt; but young ladies have strange fancies
sometimes. Where do you expect to find her?”
“Among the Crows.”
“That is strange.”
“Rather strange, I admit, but none the less true. Pap Byers, who was
one of the party when we were attacked, picked up a Crow blanket and a
Crow moccasin after the fight, and he was sure that they were Crows who
stampeded us.”
“But the Crows never molest white people.”
“Very seldom, it is true; but this may have been a party of young
braves who were returning from an expedition which had not resulted
to suit them, and they may have wanted to carry home a few horses or
scalps, thinking that they would not be found out. War-parties dislike
to return empty-handed.”
“That is true, and you are probably right in supposing that the
assailants were Crows. If so, they have the scalp and Miss Flora. But
how will you get them?”
“George Benning wanted to go in search of the young lady, and I let him
take Pap Byers and Sam Glass and a green young Irishman. If they found
her, they were to bring her to the rendezvous; but I have neither seen
nor heard any thing of them.”
“Perhaps they have been rubbed out.”
“It is very likely. They were afoot, and their first movement would
have been to steal some horses from the Indians. That might have
brought them into trouble.”
“If Benning is out of the way, it will be all the better for you, as I
have heard that he was getting fond of Miss Flora, and he is, or was, a
likely young fellow.”
“It would pain me greatly to hear of his death.”
“None of your hypocrisy, Martin Laurie. We know each other too well for
that. What do you mean to do now?”
“I can do nothing until after the next rendezvous, in August. Then I
shall go up among the Crows, and have no doubt that I shall be able
to trade with them for both the girl and the scalp, giving them to
understand that they shall not be troubled about that little affair.”
“Very well. I will keep your counsel, and will help you all I can. We
had better be getting back to camp, before they send out a party to
search for us. Shall we take the rest of this antelope?”
“It is not worth while. We will leave that much for the wolves.”
The two men mounted their horses, and rode down the stream. Fred Wilder
waited until they were out of sight, when he also mounted, and followed
them slowly, reflecting on what he had heard.
He soon reached the camp, where he saw both Laurie and Farnsworth,
together with a number of trappers and friendly Indians; but he kept
his own counsel, saying nothing of his late adventures, or of Flora
Robinette or the gray scalp.