Here and there he could trace the winding course of the streams, starting on their long journey to the far-away Mexican Gulf. In many cases these streams would be visible for the better part of a mile, and then would be hidden from view by the rocks and woods that interposed—only for a time, however, as they soon shot into sight again, white with bubbles and foam, into which they had been beaten on their furious, plunging way through the gorges. In two places these torrents disappeared into deep, narrow kenyons, above which hung a mist, that threw back a faint prismatic reflection in the bright morning sunlight.
And so the vision extended, the streams diminishing to tiny silver threads, the woods and rocks melting into a dim, smoky haze, until far away toward the magnificent snow-crowned Cascade Range, which to the imaginative boy seemed the wall that shut him in from the world.
“Beyond that lies my future,” he muttered, giving utterance to his romantic imaginings; “when shall some one come to lead me through that gate? Must it be Old Ruff himself who is to start me upon that road, of whose end I can not dream? Away up yonder, on the slope of that mountain-chain, nestles the little fort, that was built many long years ago by the Hudson Bay Company, and there I have spent much of my time, receiving instruction from the kind-hearted men there. I wonder whether any of them ever suspected—’sh!”
He paused suddenly, and placed his finger to his lips, as if to shut back from his own ears the words he came so near uttering. With a deep flush upon his handsome face, he glanced furtively around, as though affrighted, lest the wind should have carried it to some ears.
“I must be careful,” he added, in a whisper, with the same startled look; “they say that trees and rocks have ears. No one knows that secret but old Robsart, and he would sooner be shot and scalped than reveal it. I can not see the fort,” he continued, looking so far as his vision would permit over the vast area of country that intervened, “but I could make my way to it in the night time. Yonder is the river that I am to reconnoiter, and yonder are the falls, where Old Ruff suspects are Indians—and yonder are the Indians, too!”
CHAPTER VI.
THE STRANGE CANOE.
Little Rifle uttered this exclamation in the voice of one who is certain of what he says, as well he might be; for, as he fixed his eyes upon the swiftly-flowing stream, as it swept onward toward the thunderous falls, his vision also roved along the bank toward its source, far up in the mountains.
The stream was a little less than a mile from where he stood, and quite a distance above the falls alluded to, were visible three Indian lodges. They stood upon an open piece of land, immediately back of which were rocks and ravines, and were close to the edge of the river, flowing by their very base. They were of the usual character, made of barks and skins, supported upon poles that were stacked like muskets, the lower ends being a dozen feet apart, while they interlocked at the top, where an open space was left.
From the top of one of these lodges issued a thin, shadowy column of smoke, so faint and vapory that it could only be seen when the eye was directed fairly toward it.
This was the only evidence or sign of life that met the gaze of the boy, and it seemed rather to add to the loneliness of the immense solitude spread out before his eyes. The smoke showed that there was some one, out of sight, in one of the lodges, at least; but in the distance, the river had a solemn, quiet flow, and the roar of the waterfall below, mellowed and subdued by the distance, was in perfect keeping with the scene.