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 stealth that showed he was on the alert for danger, let it come in whatsoever form it chose. A casual glance at the boy would have led one to pronounce him about fifteen or sixteen years of age. He was prepossessing and handsome to a remarkable degree. The cheeks glowed with the hue of health, the rose-tint being as fine as that of the sea-shell; the features were almost classical in their regularity; the teeth small and clear as pearls, the eyes large and lustrous, and the hair dark and wavy, but cut quite short. The hands and feet were small and shapely, and a certain careless grace of movement, shown even in his cautious gait, proved that “Little Rifle,” as the lad was called, possessed a rare activity, and an extraordinary command of his bodily powers. His dress was thoroughly backwoods in every respect, consisting of the buck-skin leggings rather gaudily fringed and ornamented, the moccasins embroidered with beads, the skirt descending to the knees, and clasped at the waist by a broad belt, into which was thrust a knife, the horn handle only being visible. Within the bosom of the skirt, and out of sight, was a small revolver, intended only to be used when necessity compelled it. A string passing over one and under the other shoulder, sustained a powder-flask and bullet-pouch; but there was no game-bag visible, for the reason that the game the hunters bring down in that latitude can not be carried very conveniently, especially when the hunter is a boy in his teens. In the left hand Little Rifle carried a beaver-trap, while a small, silver-mounted rifle rested upon his right shoulder, and was held in place by his other hand. The day was drawing to a close, and there was a mellowed subdued quiet resting upon wood and stream that made the hour and the place one of the most attractive imaginable. The branch of the Columbia, at this point, flowed quite swiftly but with a steady, unruffled sweep, that was in perfect keeping with silence and solitude. The banks on either hand were varied by rock, wood and prairie, the country itself being of the most romantic nature.