They had now passed the last great bend in this majestic river, and had almost a due westerly course before them until they should reach the Pacific. Off to the north-east they could see the massive snow-covered peak of St. Helen’s, as it towered aloft for fully thirteen thousand feet. Shortly after they glided by the mouth of a considerable stream that put in from the north.
Just as the twilight descended upon wood and stream the canoe reached Astoria, and this portion of their journey was finished.
CHAPTER XV.
THE SEA TRAIL.
Although, as we have said, the day was drawing to a close when our friends landed in Astoria, they lost no time in making search for Little Rifle and her father, directing their steps, naturally enough, to the old tavern which stands back some distance from the river.
“Thar they ar’ now!” suddenly exclaimed Old Robsart.
“Where? where?” asked Harry, starting and looking about in great excitement.
“Thar! don’t you see ’em? I mean them two red-skins that fotched ’em here! They’re Blackfeet, both of ’em; they’re the very varmints we’ve been lookin’ fur.”
As he spoke he pointed out two Indians seated upon the ground, with a bottle of whisky between them. Sure enough they were the very men that had brought down Ravenna and his daughter from the Blackfoot village. Having been well paid for their work they had purchased a few gaudy ornaments at the fort, and were now fast drinking themselves dead drunk upon the red-man’s great enemy, “fire-water.”
Indeed they were so far gone now, that there was very little to be got out of them, and Old Ruff would have succeeded no better than he did with the sailors up the river, had he not snatched their whisky-bottle away from them, and sworn that they should not have it again, until they answered him every question.
After a half-hour’s hard work, he learned that they had reached Astoria on the preceding day with their charge, that they had seen them sail away in a “much big canoe” toward the great lake, as they supposed, on a trip to some happy hunting-ground.