Little Rifle; or, The Young Fur Hunters

by Edward Sylvester Ellis

The instant Little Rifle discovered this gratifying fact, he began picking his way carefully along, closely followed by Harry.

When they had reached the center, they paused by a common instinct, feeling that they could not increase their chance of safety by going further; and here, as they stood side by side, they looked upon the scene with emotions of wonder, amazement and awe.

Above them, to a great height, the black, dripping rocks extended like the jagged irregular roof of some cavern, gradually making their way outward, until they formed the ledge over which the entire river swept in its resistless majesty.

It may be said indeed that they stood in a cavern, one side of which was composed of the wet, inky rocks, and the other was the volume of water, converging both in front and back of them, so that the open space resembled a cone in shape.

Looking upward the mighty mass of water had a deep emerald tinge, like melted glass, and through its translucent depth, the sunlight could only partially penetrate, so that they were enshrouded in a sort of misty twilight. To the left, as they picked their way along the ledge, this volume was white, foamy and impenetrable to the eye, and looking down, the boiling, tumbling, roaring, seething battle of the water was of such an appalling nature as to make the strongest man shiver and draw back with affright, as though he had caught a glimpse of the Plutonian regions.

For a few moments the lads forgot all about their danger from the Indians in the terror inspired by the stupendous scene, and they stood looking up, around and below them with feelings to which no adequate expression can be given. Then they looked in each other’s faces, and Harry spoke.

Little Rifle saw his lips move, and placed his ear to them. The boy shouted with all the strength of which he was capable, but, although their heads touched each other, the young trapper could not catch a syllable, and looking again in each other’s faces, they laughed and shook their heads, as an acknowledgment that their tongues were of no present use to them.

They were in a world where the language must be one of signs. Little Rifle looked beyond him and pointed to a dark, forbidding opening, which looked as if it were the entrance-way to some vast subterranean chamber; he moved carefully toward it, doubtless recalling something that Old Ruff had told him about his explorations in the same direction, and the truth of which he proposed to test.

Harry, instead of picking his way after him, remained standing where he was, until he saw that he had passed the most dangerous point. Then, concluding that it was best to find out whether there was any danger approaching from the Indians, he began retracing his steps to where he and his friend had landed upon their backs.

The moment he reached a point where he could gain a partial view of the outside, he halted, so as not to run too great a risk of being seen by any of their enemies.