“Yes, there are the Indians,” he added, as, perched in the tree, he gazed long and searchingly on the scene; “they are there, though my eye can not see them, for those _signs_ are too plain for any one to mistake.” Reasoning upon his knowledge of red-men, he concluded that one of those marauding bands of Blackfeet, that are still encountered in the Far West, had halted here for a few days to engage in hunting, and most probably in salmon-fishing; for, as is well known, the Columbia and its tributaries abound with this fish, which is eagerly sought by both white and red men. The danger to be feared was, that these Indians, hunting and fishing in the vicinity, would discover signs of the proximity of the two trappers and hunters, and, to use a common expression, would “go for them.” As bad luck would have it, also, they were directly between the present trapping-grounds of Old Ruff and Little Rifle, and those to which they had concluded to move their traps. Consequently, they would be pretty certain to encounter “Indian” in uncomfortable profusion, wheresoever they might choose to locate. The lad, from his perch in the top of the oak, looked down upon the scene for fully a half-hour, in the expectation of seeing some movement upon the part of the Blackfeet. All that time the thin, light-colored smoke crept up through the funnel-like opening, but not a solitary red-skin showed himself. “It must be that they are off on a hunt,” concluded Little Rifle, as his patience at last gave out; “and if they have left their squaws behind, they are asleep. Anyway, I must learn more about them.” And acting upon this resolve, he descended the tree and struck off in a direct line toward the river. He knew well enough that if he should return to the old hunter with no more knowledge than he now possessed, he would be chided for performing only a part of his duty, his maxim being that a reconnoissance that was incomplete was worse than none at all, as it created all manner of doubt and distrust, without suggesting the remedy. The intervening distance was traversed without difficulty, Little Rifle not forgetting to exercise great care in his movements, as always became a person in the presence of danger. The point where he struck the stream was without any wood at all, but was lined with broken, jagged and irregular rocks, among which he managed to pick his way without exposing himself to any suspicious eye that might be on the alert upon the opposite side. He had kept his bearings so well that he found himself directly opposite the three lodges, which were thus scarcely a hundred yards distant, and in the best view he could possibly desire. “They must be a sleepy set over there,” he concluded, as he ensconced himself in a position to keep ward and watch; “that is, if any one is there, for I don’t think a soul has stirred outside since I first saw them. Hello!”