“It would be hard for me to guess where mine is,” laughed Harry, with a half-quizzical look at the falls, which were now close at hand. “As a paddle, it wasn’t much of a success, and I don’t think it fared much better than the canoe.” “We have a spare rifle or two at the cabin, and I shall be glad to present you with one. In fact you have a claim to one of them, for it belonged to the Blackfoot that you shot this morning and looks like a good piece; though it is of the regular size.” “And so was the one I lost. Father bought me a couple of boys’ guns in St. Louis, and I lost one in the Yellowstone, when I was watching to get a crack at some wild-fowl.” “What became of the other?” “I kept that till we had left the Yellowstone, and were well on our way over the mountains. I got tired of carrying it slung over my shoulder, where there wasn’t any chance of getting a crack at any thing like game--so I had it strapped to the back of a mule, and he took it into his head one day to roll over without waiting for his load to be unstrapped. When he had finished, my gun was in seven different pieces. Then I took an ordinary rifle, such as the men carry, and have gotten along with that ever since.” “Yonder is mine,” said Little Rifle, pointing to where his weapon lay; “wait here until I return, and you can examine it for yourself.” With these words, the lad bounded forward like a chamois, and picking up his piece, brought it back to Harry, who took it into his hand to examine it. “A splendid gun,” was his comment, as he turned it over and over in his hand; “but, hello! what does this mean? There are two letters, ‘_H. R._’, engraven on the stock.” “They were there when Old Ruff found it. Neither of us know what they mean.” “They must be the initials of the man who owned the gun. No doubt he was your father; I see his surname begins with _R._, but I don’t suppose it can be Rifle, like yours.” “No; hardly that,” replied the boy, compelled to laugh at the manner of his companion. “There must be thousands of names that begin in the same way, so those letters have been of no help at all to us.” “Not at present, but when I go back to the fort, I’m going to set out to find who you are, and where you came from, and I’m never going to go back East until I do learn.” As Little Rifle heard these words, the longing, strange yearning came to him, and he could not avoid asking himself the question, whether this friend was not the instrument sent by Heaven to introduce him into the world, and to unlock the mystery that shrouded his history. His declaration of what he intended to do, stirred Little Rifle’s hopes, and as he looked furtively at the boy, he saw his lips compressed and his eyes flashing, in a way that proved how deeply in earnest he was. “I would be glad,” said Little Rifle, with a sigh, “to have you clear up the doubt that covers the past, but I do not believe there is any chance of success.”