LITTLE RIFLE;
OR,
THE YOUNG FUR HUNTERS.
BY CAPT. “BRUIN” ADAMS,
AUTHOR OF THE FOLLOWING POCKET NOVELS:
No. 9. Lightning Jo. No. 78. Old Ruff, the Trapper.
NEW YORK:
BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,
98 WILLIAM STREET.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1873, by
FRANK STARR & CO.,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
LITTLE RIFLE,
THE BOY TRAPPER.
CHAPTER I.
ON THE UPPER COLUMBIA.
Along the shores of one of the branches of the Upper Columbia,a lad was making his way with a care and stealththat showed he was on the alert for danger, let it come inwhatsoever form it chose.
A casual glance at the boy would have led one to pronouncehim about fifteen or sixteen years of age. He wasprepossessing and handsome to a remarkable degree. Thecheeks glowed with the hue of health, the rose-tint being asfine as that of the sea-shell; the features were almost classicalin their regularity; the teeth small and clear as pearls, theeyes large and lustrous, and the hair dark and wavy, but cutquite short. The hands and feet were small and shapely, anda certain careless grace of movement, shown even in his cautiousgait, proved that “Little Rifle,” as the lad was called,possessed a rare activity, and an extraordinary command ofhis bodily powers.
His dress was thoroughly backwoods in every respect, consistingof the buck-skin leggings rather gaudily fringed andornamented, the moccasins embroidered with beads, the skirtdescending to the knees, and clasped at the waist by a broadbelt, into which was thrust a knife, the horn handle only beingvisible. Within the bosom of the skirt, and out of sight,was a small revolver, intended only to be used when necessitycompelled it. A string passing over one and under the othershoulder, sustained a powder-flask and bullet-pouch; butthere was no game-bag visible, for the reason that the gamethe hunters bring down in that latitude can not be carriedvery conveniently, especially when the hunter is a boy in histeens.
In the left hand Little Rifle carried a beaver-trap, while a[10]small, silver-mounted rifle rested upon his right shoulder, andwas held in place by his other hand.
The day was drawing to a close, and there was a mellowedsubdued quiet resting upon wood and stream that made thehour and the place one of the most attractive imaginable.The branch of the Columbia, at this point, flowed quite swiftlybut with a steady, unruffled sweep, that was in perfect keepingwith silence and solitude. The banks on either handwere varied by rock, wood and prairie, the country itself beingof the most romantic nature.
Looking off to the east and south, the eye caught a glimpseof distant mountain peaks, standing out white and clearagainst the blue horizon, like a snowy conical cloud, and theintervening stretch of country was broken by hills, ravines,gorges, wood, stream, rocks and prairie, in an interminablejungle, making a country that