Читать книгу Little Rifle; or, The Young Fur Hunters онлайн

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“How far was that from here?”

“Hundreds of miles up along the Saskatchewan, on the trapping-grounds of the Hudson Bay Company. You see arter I got hold of you, I took such a fancy to you that I was afeard some of the red-skins would make a hunt fur you, so I emigrated, and come down into Oregon. Arter I got here, I felt troubled thinking maybe your parents or friends might be up in them parts. So I left you with some friends at Fort Abercrombie, and went up there to find out.”

“And learned nothing?”

“Nothing at all; I spent a month in trampin’ over the grounds. You know that part of the country isn’t very thick with white folks, and such as they be are hunters or trappers. I went to the forts, and every place, where I could find any of ’em, but never a word did I l’arn. When I fotched you away, I see’d that little rifle of yours hung up over your head, and knowin’ as it was meant for you, I fotched that too. I expected to l’arn something from that, ’cause you know thar ar’ two letters carved onto the stock—the letters ‘H. R.’, and I s’posed by that means I’d git some track of the owner—but it wa’n’t any use, and I give it up at last. But what I want to ask my pet, is whether you can’t call up any thing afore I come into the Injin lodge and took you away?”