“Uncle Ruff,” said Harry, as a bright idea struck him, “isn’t there some way in which we can turn this bear to account? It seems to me that such a strange, wonderful-looking animal would scare any Indian out of his wits.”
“That’s what I’ve used him fur,” replied the bear-tamer. “These Blackfeet don’t know much about hair-dye and such stuff, though they can paint up their faces, and when they see Speckled Beauty they’re apt to think he’s something of a spirit. Ef he’ll only scare them as much as he does these younkers that go snoopin’ ’round Injin camps, they’ll never git over it, as long as they live.”
Harry could but “acknowledge the corn,” pleading as an excuse that any one unacquainted with Speckled Beauty could not look upon him without agitation.
Old Ruff then announced his intention of continuing the pursuit of these red-skins toward the Cascade Range, as he had strong reason to suspect that they would be joined by Maquesa before they advanced much further.
Harry was unable to understand what his reasons were for this persistent belief, but he knew he was too clear-headed to follow any phantom, and that there was good cause to expect tangible results from such a course.
But, there remained the trifling difficulty already alluded to. This course was taking them further and further away from the fort, and the old hunter could not consent that the lad should accompany him, until he had received the permission of his father.
This necessitated quite a detour, and the loss of much valuable time; but happily this necessity was averted by the unexpected appearance of Mr. Northend himself.
While the two were talking, they heard voices, and the next moment three men emerged to view. All were mounted upon horses, and one was a hunter and guide well known to old Robsart, who instantly went forward to greet him, while Harry hurried up to salute his parent.
Considerable time was passed before a full understanding all round was reached. Mr. Northend, under the guidance of Matt Muggs, a noted scout, was making a sort of tour with a friend through this part of Oregon, in the interests of the Missouri Fur Company, and was now on his way back to Fort Abercrombie, with the intention of soon leaving there for home by way of San Francisco.
It required considerable persuasion before he would give his consent for his son to go off on what he termed this “wild-goose expedition,” but he finally gave in, and, after some further exchange of friendly converse, and the acceptance of quite a sum of money upon the part of the boy, in order to defray all possible expenses, the two parties were about separating to go their respective ways, when old Robsart, noticing that the trio had come by a route that must have given them a view of the river, asked Matt whether he had seen any thing of a party of Blackfeet within the last hour.