“And what did you learn?”
“It was a mighty strange story that he told,” said the trapper, seriously, “and it’s nothin’ more nor less than this. He said that a couple of moons ago, he l’arned that the little gal that had been left in his charge was the Little Rifle that I had, and so he came across the mountains arter her.”
“How was it that he found out?” asked Harry. “Who could have told him the secret, when, at that time, even you and Little Rifle herself did not know it?”
“That’s the question I put to him, and he wouldn’t answer, but I don’t b’l’eve any one told him, but that he thought it out for himself. Of course it took him a long time, for he has known for a good many years that Little Rifle has been with me, but the old chap has got brains enough to cipher out a thing like that, without any help.”
“How does his story correspond with that told by the slip of paper?”
“’Zactly; he says the babe was left in his charge by a great white man, who thought all the world of him, and that he seen him write something on a slip of paper, and put it in the handle of the gun. He and his squaw took it to their lodge on the other side the mountains, and war keepin’ it thar. They often left it alone, and it happened at one of these times that I slipped in and went away with it, and I’ve had it ever since.”
“Then it was Maquesa who succeeded in getting her away from us. Did he tell you why it was that she came to leave me so willingly?”
“No; he didn’t tell me that, ’cause thar warn’t no need of it. I knowed it already.”
Harry had hoped to catch the trapper off his guard, and secure the coveted answer, but Robsart saw through the trick in time to escape.
“But what is he doing with Little Rifle? Why does he keep her?”