“I don’t know as I kin tell ’zactly,” he answered, with a puzzled air as he scratched his head, “but he let drop one or two things that made me think he was very anxious to get you and me off to Astoria, where we’d be out of his way.”
“You think, then, that that part of his story was a fabrication?”
“Yes; I don’t believe Little Rifle has started for Astoria; but thar’s some truth, too, in what the varmint said.”
“And how much?”
“That’s hard to tell; but I s’pect he has met the father of Little Rifle, or else, when he went away a good many years ago, the man promised to come back ag’in, and the time being ’bout up, Maquesa has started off to hunt up his little gal for him.”
“That does not seem probable to me,” said Harry, after a moment’s thought. “No man would go away or remain away voluntarily for years, knowing that his only daughter was among a tribe of barbarous savages. No father could willingly leave a child to grow up among them, as your theory would make Mr. Ravenna do.”
“I guess you’re right,” replied the trapper. “I didn’t think of all that, but I kin see the reason in it now. It must be, then, that Maquesa is waiting to see the father, and wishes to get us out the way until arter he delivers her up.”
“That seems very likely,” said Harry; “there is reason and consistency in all that.”
“Arter he turns the gal over to the father, then I s’pose he don’t care, and we kin tramp and hunt all we’re a mind to.”
“Why does he wish us to go to Astoria?”