“Hurrah!” sang out Bill Stevens; “I know’d I was right. It’s Hugh Robison, on the little mare. We’re friends, too, so come along this way, and take care you don’t stumble over us. What in thunder are you doin’ here?”
“I should know that voice,” responded Hugh, for it was he; “if I am not mistaken, it is Bill Stevens, and I am glad enough to meet you. But be careful how you talk, for I am not sure but that there is half-a-score of Blackfeet after me. It has been a touch and go.”
“Let ’em come—cuss ’em. We let about twenty on ’em keep their scalps to-night of pure marcy; but ef we get another chance, they’ll hev to look out. Now can you tell the number of the Indians, and how they are occupied?—in fact, give us all the information possible, as well as your opinion about the success we will probably meet with.”
“By making a bold stroke we might succeed in carrying off my father, but as I have just had a conversation with him, I can look at the matter more rationally than you would think. There are twenty-nine of the Blackfeet, besides Tom Rutter, who is as good as three more. The whole camp is alarmed, and it’s my opinion that we wouldn’t stand a chance with them. My father says that he thinks they are acting from a motive, in carrying him off, and he has hopes of escaping without having recourse to violence. If it were not for Adele, he would feel perfectly at ease.”
“How in thunder did you see him, Hugh? If he war in their hands, it ’ud be next to impossible for a prairie-dog to git in to him without bein’ shot, let alone you, who, meanin’ no disrespect, never had any experience of scoutin’.”
“To tell the truth, it was none of the easiest, but Jake and myself followed the trail all day, and then, when night came, he crawled in on them, and found out how the land lay. I could not stand it, to know that father was so near, and I not to be able to speak to him, so I made him give me the directions, and I struck for the place. I had not much trouble getting in, but it was a near thing with me getting away again; and, as I have not heard anything of Parsons, I’m afraid he has got into difficulty.”
“Never mind him. Just you keep cool, and as dry as possible, and by day-break we’ll be on the trail; git ’em startled, and there is no such thing as calming ’em down.”
The rain still beat down on the party of six, but their heavy blankets were sufficient to shield their ammunition, as well as their persons, from its power, and, though the time hung dully on their hands, morning light soon arrived, the darkness and the rain being driven away very nearly at the same time.
As Hugh Robison had stated, the Indian encampment was in a beautiful state of confusion, the different braves being greatly surprised at the sudden attack—for attack they at first supposed the presence of Hugh and his companion to be. Tom Rutter was the first to understand the true state of affairs. It took but little reflection to show him that Parsons, with one other, constituted the whole force of the invaders. He came to this conclusion from the fact that he had seen the two together but a few hours before, that, if there had been more than one trapper, they would have given a more substantial proof of their presence, and, finally, that the young man would be just the person to make a desperate attempt to rescue his father and sister.