“I will now go and attend to the horses;” said Earth; “Oloompa, you open the old woman's traps, and see if you can't git a bite of something for supper.” There was no reply, and Earth went out, leaving Rolfe and Oloompa lounging in and about the cabin. They had no disposition to converse, and wandered about for a time, thinking of the past, the present, and the future. It was nearly night, when Earth, having finished his task, returned to the lodge; upon entering, he found Rolfe lying on some skins which he had spread out, and absorbed in the deepest thought; while Oloompa, having drawn up a small bench near to the images, was in silence gazing on them, and reading them over and over again. Earth was touched by the attitudes assumed by each, for both indicated great feeling, with a perfect disregard of worldly matters. There were no preparations for supper, and not even a fire had been kindled. Seeing this, he observed familiarly, “Come boys, come, stir about;” then, turning to Oloompa, “Can Oloompa now read more than he has told us?”
“They have carried her to the camp of the Prophet;” answered Oloompa. His voice faltered a little as he said so, and he turned away.
Earth said no more to them, but proceeded to kindle a fire, and looking up the chimney, discovered that it had been converted into a smoke house, and was well supplied with bear meat and venison. This, to him, was a matter of no surprise; it being a common custom with the Indians, and also with the whites who reside along the frontiers. Taking down the piece which most pleased his fancy, his rude supper was soon prepared, and discussed with a gusto only known to those whose appetites are sharpened by a healthy exercise. Rolfe and Oloompa seemed not inclined to eat, and Earth, actuated by one of the many idiosyncrasies which ever characterized him, viewed it as a compulsory act on their part, requiring him to eat their shares. So one would judge from his observations—“Come, boys, I am mighty tired, I wish you would help me through with it.” Then, continuing his laborious duty for a few moments more—“Well, I do believe you all mean to kill me.” Nobody replied, he continued—“There is no back out about me; I wish old Jupe was alive—she wouldn't see me suffer in this sort of way;”—still eating,—“I have begun it now, and I will go through with it, if it puts a joint out of place.”
“Oh! Earth,” said Rolfe, “how can you be talking so at such a time;—come, go to sleep and be quiet.”
“Hush, Rolfe; you had better come and take a bite yourself; it will do you more good than grieving a month. Now you won't feel half as well as I will in the morning.” There was no reply, all conversation ceased, and a few hours after Rolfe and Oloompa were hushed in sleep or in troubled dreams, and that Earth slept, there could be no doubt, from a certain peculiar noise that was heard soon after he retired to rest. With the first light of morning the hunters mounted, and Oloompa, striking off into the direction indicated by the images, and likewise by the foot-prints which he had discovered the evening before, led the way. Having taken his course, he proceeded as nearly as practicable in a straight line, holding no intercourse with the hunters, and examining the ground closely as he moved along. Rolfe and Earth followed on, and trusted implicitly to his guidance.
It was now near the middle of the day, and nothing had occurred to the hunters to prove whether they were on the right track or not; they had seen no sign or mark, which indicated that the party had moved forward in that direction, but were still journeying, as they had been for hours, through a wild and pathless forest, when Oloompa stopped and waited their coming up. He had reached a small stream which it was necessary to cross, in order to continue on in the direction in which he had set out; and which the party he was pursuing must have crossed, unless he himself had been grossly deceived. When the hunters came up he stated this, and upon consultation, they deemed it wisest to dismount and let their horses graze, while they endeavoured to satisfy themselves whether they had crossed or not. Oloompa told them his belief that they had crossed, and most probably within a mile of where they then were. He also cheered the hunters, by telling them that he had seen distinct traces of their having moved on in the direction in which they had come; and taking one end of the stream, he requested the hunters to go down the other, and by examining the bank see if they could find their foot-prints. The banks being soft and muddy, the indentations of their feet would be deep and easily discovered. If no trace could be found in going a mile, they were to return. Parting, they commenced their journey;—Sometime elapsed, and Rolfe and Earth were returning to their horses unsuccessful, when they heard the voice of Oloompa calling to them. Proceeding to him, he joyously pointed out what he had been searching for. The tracks were plain and deep; those of the women clearly marked, and easily distinguished from those of the men;—and with this, came cheerfulness to the whole party; Oloompa felt more confident, and Rolfe and Earth, seeing the great ingenuity exercised by him, began to believe that they would overtake them. Returning for their horses, they came back to where the party had crossed, and animated with hope, continued the pursuit. Oloompa, now, satisfied that he was on their trail, moved forward with more confidence, as did likewise the hunters, and several times would he stop and point out signs which indicated their path.
It was late in the evening, when, still journeying along, Oloompa pointed out at a short distance before them, a thin smoke rising up from the remains of a declining fire. Thither they hurried, and there the party they were pursuing had encamped, and they could not have left it many hours before. Hope now increased, and Oloompa began to search out their path, setting out in the direction in which they had been journeying, and which he knew was the most direct route to the Prophet's camp. He closely examined the woods, yet no displaced leaves, no broken twig, no slight and but half formed foot-print, told that human beings had gone in that direction, and unsuccessful, he returned to the fire where the hunters still remained. His want of success, for a moment dampened their spirits, but that they had been there, no one could doubt, and with proper exertions, it was equally plain that their path could be traced;—for no attempt had been made by them to conceal their flight, for the reason that, having left secretly, they expected not to be pursued. But darkness was now gathering fast over the land, and by it all farther search prevented. So, unsaddling their horses, they obtained for them such provender as the place afforded, and kindling up the fire, prepared to pass the night. They were now southeast of Rainy Lake, and near the Great Portage which connects Lake of the Woods with Lake Superior. This Portage is merely a series of Lakes, some of them separated by narrow strips of land, but generally with small outlets leading from one to the other, and forming throughout the whole, a general chain of communication. Oloompa having failed to trace them in the direction in which he had expected, suggested to the hunters the probability of their having gone to the Great Portage, taken a canoe and crossed Lake Superior, where the Portage enters into it. He stated that this was practicable, and a feat often accomplished by the Indians, for that it was the narrowest part of the lake, and moreover, that there were two islands, which answered as good resting places, and which also subdivided the distance. This was another difficulty in the way of the hunters; if the party had gone to the lakes, they would perhaps lose all trace of them and have to give over the pursuit. Yet, to prevent it they could do nothing; they had already accomplished all that human nature was capable of, and though anticipating disappointment, they slept soundly from a consciousness that he had used every possible exertion. With morning, they again resumed the search; Oloompa found the direction in which they had departed, and told them they had gone to the Great Portage. He himself was now dejected, for he feared that they had already descended the Portage, and reached the lake; and changing his course, he conducted the hunters to where the Portage flows into the lake, intending, if they had not descended, to wait and intercept them.
It was the middle of the day, when Oloompa and the hunters reached the lake. Its broad surface, disturbed by a fresh breeze, lay glancing in the sun. The wind fanned their feverish and excited frames, and they stood alone on the shore, and looked abroad in silence on the vast surface before them, and the jutting promontories, and half concealed rocks against and over which the waves were dashing and fretting; and then the bold and high shore, which, robed in grandeur, overlooked the vast prospect before them. For a moment they stood in silence,—the scene occupied all their thoughts; then they began to search the shore and gaze upon the wide waste, to see if any freighted canoe was dancing over its waters. There was none,—not a sail, not a wide-spread blanket, greeted the eye;—no, not a sound broke upon the ears, but the hoarse dashing of the waves, as they washed up against the shore. And thus they stood,—and this was the end of their hazardous journey and exciting pursuit. None seemed disposed to speak, for there was only one hope remaining, and that was that they might not have descended the Portage,—to the mouth of which the distance was now nearly half a mile; and thither they proceeded. They had continued on but a short distance further, when darting out of the Portage into the lake, moved a canoe, with the speed of an arrow,—a blanket, spread out on either side, served for sails,—the wind was blowing fresh from the shore; not a paddle was seen, save one, which managed by a warrior at the stern, served the purpose of a rudder. It was filled with people. Rolfe and Earth turned to Oloompa, for the first glance had awakened their fears, and though the distance was so great they could see nothing distinctly, yet they felt as if she whom they sought was leaving them for ever. In Oloompa's countenance, they saw that their fears were too true,—his deep silence,—the fixed gaze with which he watched the canoe, and the dark shadows which passed over his face, spoke more plainly than words. After watching it for several minutes, he said:—“She is gone!—the fawn will be carried to the Prophet's camp, and Oloompa cannot help it.”
“Oloompa, can we do nothing?” said Rolfe.
“Nothing,” was the reply; and he again repeated, “She is gone!”