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

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The wish of Little Rifle was gratified. He had stood but a minute, when a mass of tall grass swayed to one side, and, at the same instant, he saw the prow of a birch canoe stealing as insidiously along as a panther approaches its prey.

“Just what I thought!” exclaimed the lad. “It is one of those Blackfeet, that Old Ruff says will follow a man a thousand miles to get his scalp. I’ll bet he is after mine.”

Whoever occupied the canoe—friend or foe—showed that he was aware of the scrutiny to which he was subjected; for the boat, which up to this time had progressed with unvarying steadiness, now abruptly stood still.

This attempt to remove suspicion was too evident for the lad to mistake it; and with a tact which proved not only his remarkable training, but his native keenness, he took advantage of the “situation,” with scarcely a second’s pause.

Picking up his trap, he wheeled half-way round, and walked directly on among the undergrowth and rocks, and almost immediately vanished from view. His action was precisely that of one who was satisfied that nothing was wrong, and who had resumed the quiet tenor of his way.