It was an easy matter for the trapper to reconnoiter the camp of a foe at night, and he moved leisurely along until he reached a point from which he was afforded the best view possible of the congregated Blackfeet.
The latter had brought a haunch of venison with them, which was being cooked over the fire, most of the Indians moving hither and thither, while one or two were lazily stretched out upon the ground, smoking their pipes.
Upon a fallen tree, near the blaze, sat Little Rifle. Her head was bent, and an Indian blanket was gathered about her, so that her face could not be seen by the trapper, although he stood directly in front of her.
But it needed not the sight of the beautiful little weapon lying at her feet, for the old man to identify her. If he was enabled to do so when half a mile distant, there was no mistaking now, when no more than a hundred feet separated.
After watching her intently for a minute or two, in the hope that she would raise her eyes, the trapper turned his gaze upon Maquesa, who, lounging at her feet, was looking up in her face and talking. Old Ruff could catch the mumble of his voice now and then, when there was a lull in the racket made by the others, and he could see from his manner that he was deeply in earnest about something, though unable to catch a syllable that he uttered.
“I think I know what that means,” growled the hunter, as he fairly glared upon the red-skin. “I was afeard of it. Ef it hadn’t been fur that desprit fight that me and Maquesa had, and the consequent love atween us, I’d put a bullet spang through him, from whar I stand, though I s’pose the red-skin does mean well enough—”
At this moment the watcher heard a crackling off to the right, and turning his head, he saw, to his dismay, Speckled Beauty, the gorgeous grizzly bear, emerge from the gloom, and without a moment’s hesitation, walk directly toward the camp-fire.
Robsart would have prevented this had it been possible; but he had forgotten all about the animal for the time, and he could not have signaled to him, or crossed his path, without betraying himself to the group of savages. So, with no little chagrin, he stood where he was and watched the antics of his pet.
Speckled Beauty, coming to the camp-fire under the impression that it was kindled by his friends, and descrying Little Rifle, had turned his steps toward her, as the best he could do under the circumstances.
The moment he came within the circle of light, there was a furious uproar, and nearly every red-skin sprung for his rifle. Maquesa leaped to his feet, greatly startled by this tumult; but before any one could discharge their pieces, he recognized the brute and forbade them firing.