And so abruptly had all this been done, that Old Ruff had no suspicion until he saw the evidence before his eyes.
“That’s it!” he exclaimed, in his anger. “Maquesa is sharp-witted, and if he’d been a fool, he’d knowed what the sign of Speckled Beauty was. He has tramped a good many miles of the woods alone, but I don’t s’pose he’s been see’d by any one who knows him, that they haven’t made up thar minds that I was close by. That’s jist what the chief has understood, and he and his varmints has slipped off ag’in.”
He stood a moment, fairly gnashing his teeth in his chagrin, and feeling any thing but particularly friendly toward the bear that had been the cause of the mishap.
“Confound him!” he growled, “I wish that that Yankee that dyed him up, had made him die himself or had took him along with him; fur Maquesa isn’t goin’ to be cotched nappin’ ag’in. Howsomever, if rowin’s the word, I’m in!”
Roused to action, he strode rapidly back to where the canoe was concealed, and pulling it from its concealment, seated himself in it, and shoved out from shore, paying no heed to Speckled Beauty, who lingered on shore, expecting an affectionate farewell.
Reaching the center of the current, he permitted his boat to float with it for a short time, while he listened.
No sound of paddling reached his ear—naught but the soft flow of the river, and the soughing of the night-wind.
But for all that he knew the Blackfeet were paddling swiftly down the river. They were simply using due caution in the handling of their paddles, so as not to afford him the clew that had already guided him so far.
When he resumed the use of the paddle, the impetus of the boat aroused Harry, who, rousing up, looked around for a moment in bewilderment. Then, recalling his situation, he muttered:
“Paddling yet, Uncle Ruff. It was last night, it seems to me, that I went asleep, so that you must have kept it up for twenty-four hours. Don’t you feel a little stiff in the joints?”