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The Dog Crusoe and his Master

by R. M. Ballantyne · English · Gutenberg #21728 · 498,332 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Dog Crusoe and his Master

Author: R. M. Ballantyne


        
Release date: June 7, 2007 [eBook #21728]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/21728

Credits: Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DOG CRUSOE AND HIS MASTER ***




Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




THE DOG CRUSOE AND HIS MASTER, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE.



CHAPTER ONE.

THE BACKWOODS SETTLEMENT--CRUSOE'S PARENTAGE AND EARLY HISTORY--THE
AGONISING PAINS AND SORROWS OF HIS PUPPYHOOD, AND OTHER INTERESTING
MATTERS.

The dog Crusoe was once a pup.  Now do not, courteous reader, toss your
head contemptuously, and exclaim, "Of course he was; I could have told
_you_ that."  You know very well that you have often seen a man above
six feet high, broad and powerful as a lion, with a bronzed shaggy
visage and the stern glance of an eagle, of whom you have said, or
thought, or heard others say, "It is scarcely possible to believe that
such a man was once a squalling baby."  If you had seen our hero in all
the strength and majesty of full-grown doghood, you would have
experienced a vague sort of surprise had we told you--as we now repeat--
that the dog Crusoe was once a pup--a soft, round, sprawling, squeaking
pup, as fat as a tallow candle, and as blind as a bat.

But we draw particular attention to the fact of Crusoe's having once
been a pup, because in connection with the days of his puppyhood there
hangs a tale.  This peculiar dog may thus be said to have had two
tails--one in connection with his body, the other with his career.  This
tale, though short, is very harrowing, and, as it is intimately
connected with Crusoe's subsequent history, we will relate it here.  But
before doing so we must beg our reader to accompany us beyond the
civilised portions of the United States of America--beyond the frontier
settlements of the "far west," into those wild prairies which are
watered by the great Missouri river--the Father of Waters--and his
numerous tributaries.

Here dwell the Pawnees, the Sioux, the Delawares, the Crows, the
Blackfeet, and many other tribes of Red Indians, who are gradually
retreating step by step towards the Rocky Mountains as the advancing
white man cuts down their trees and ploughs up their prairies.  Here,
too, dwell the wild horse and the wild ass, the deer, the buffalo, and
the badger; all, men and brutes alike, wild as the power of untamed and
ungovernable passion can make them, and free as the wind that sweeps
over their mighty plains.

There is a romantic and exquisitely beautiful spot on the banks of one
of the tributaries above referred to--a long stretch of mingled woodland
and meadow, with a magnificent lake lying like a gem in its green
bosom--which goes by the name of the Mustang Valley.  This remote vale,
even at the present day, is but thinly peopled by white men, and is
still a frontier settlement round which the wolf and the bear prowl
curiously, and from which the startled deer bounds terrified away.  At
the period of which we write the valley had just been taken possession
of by several families of squatters, who, tired of the turmoil and the
squabbles of the then frontier settlements, had pushed boldly into the
far west to seek a new home for themselves, where they could have "elbow
room," regardless alike of the dangers they might encounter in unknown
lands and of the Red-skins who dwelt there.

The squatters were well armed with axes, rifles, and ammunition.  Most
of the women were used to dangers and alarms, and placed implicit
reliance in the power of their fathers, husbands, and brothers to
protect them--and well they might, for a bolder set of stalwart men than
these backwoodsmen never trod the wilderness.  Each had been trained to
the use of the rifle and the axe from infancy, and many of them had
spent so much of their lives in the woods, that they were more than a
match for the Indian in his own peculiar pursuits of hunting and war.
When the squatters first issued from the woods bordering the valley, an
immense herd of wild horses or mustangs were browsing on the plain.
These no sooner beheld the cavalcade of white men, than, uttering a wild
neigh, they tossed their flowing manes in the breeze and dashed away
like a whirlwind.  This incident procured the valley its name.

The newcomers gave one satisfied glance at their future home, and then
set to work to erect log huts forthwith.  Soon the axe was heard ringing
through the forests, and tree after tree fell to the ground, while the
occasional sharp ring of a rifle told that the hunters were catering
successfully for the camp.  In course of time the Mustang Valley began
to assume the aspect of a thriving settlement, with cottages and waving
fields clustered together in the midst of it.

Of course the savages soon found it out, and paid it occasional visits.
These dark-skinned tenants of the woods brought furs of wild animals
with them, which they exchanged with the white men for knives, and
beads, and baubles and trinkets of brass and tin.  But they hated the
"Pale-faces" with bitter hatred, because their encroachments had at this
time materially curtailed the extent of their hunting grounds, and
nothing but the numbers and known courage of the squatters prevented
these savages from butchering and scalping them all.

The leader of this band of pioneers was a Major Hope, a gentleman whose
love for nature in its wildest aspects determined him to exchange
barrack life for a life in the woods.  The major was a first-rate shot,
a bold, fearless man, and an enthusiastic naturalist.  He was past the
prime of life, and, being a bachelor, was unencumbered with a family.
His first act on reaching the site of the new settlement was to commence
the erection of a block-house, to which the people might retire in case
of a general attack by the Indians.

In this block-house Major Hope took up his abode as the guardian of the
settlement,--and here the dog Crusoe was born; here he sprawled in the
early morn of life; here he leaped, and yelped, and wagged his shaggy
tail in the excessive glee of puppyhood, and from the wooden portals of
this block-house he bounded forth to the chase in all the fire, and
strength, and majesty of full-grown doghood.

Crusoe's father and mother were magnificent Newfoundlanders.  There was
no doubt as to their being of the genuine breed, for Major Hope had
received them as a parting gift from a brother officer, who had brought
them both from Newfoundland itself.  The father's name was Crusoe; the
mother's name was Fan.  Why the father had been so called no one could
tell.  The man from whom Major Hope's friend had obtained the pair was a
poor, illiterate fisherman, who had never heard of the celebrated
"Robinson" in all his life.  All he knew was that Fan had been named
after his own wife.  As for Crusoe, he had got him from a friend, who
had got him from another friend, whose cousin had received him as a
marriage gift from a friend of _his_; and that each had said to the
other that the dog's name was "Crusoe," without reasons being asked or
given on either side.  On arriving at New York the major's friend, as we
have said, made him a present of the dogs.  Not being much of a dog
fancier, he soon tired of old Crusoe, and gave him away to a gentleman,
who took him down to Florida, and that was the end of him.  He was never
heard of more.

When Crusoe, junior, was born, he was born, of course, without a name.
That was given to him afterwards in honour of his father.  He was also
born in company with a brother and two sisters, all of whom drowned
themselves accidentally, in the first month of their existence, by
falling into the river which flowed past the block-house,--a calamity
which occurred, doubtless, in consequence of their having gone out
without their mother's leave.  Little Crusoe was with his brother and
sisters at the time, and fell in along with them, but was saved from
sharing their fate by his mother, who, seeing what had happened, dashed
with an agonised howl into the water, and, seizing him in her mouth,
brought him ashore in a half-drowned condition.  She afterwards brought
the others ashore one by one, but the poor little things were dead.

And now we come to the harrowing part of our tale, for the proper
understanding of which the foregoing dissertation was needful.

One beautiful afternoon, in that charming season of the American year
called the Indian summer, there came a family of Sioux Indians to the
Mustang Valley, and pitched their tent close to the block-house.  A
young hunter stood leaning against the gate-post of the palisades,
watching the movements of the Indians, who, having just finished a long
"palaver" or "talk" with Major Hope, were now in the act of preparing
supper.  A fire had been kindled on the green sward in front of the
tent, and above it stood a tripod, from which depended a large tin
camp-kettle.  Over this hung an ill-favoured Indian woman, or squaw,
who, besides attending to the contents of the pot, bestowed sundry cuffs
and kicks upon her little child, which sat near to her playing with
several Indian curs that gambolled round the fire.  The master of the
family and his two sons reclined on buffalo robes, smoking their stone
pipes or calumets in silence.  There was nothing peculiar in their
appearance.  Their faces were neither dignified nor coarse in
expression, but wore an aspect of stupid apathy, which formed a striking
contrast to the countenance of the young hunter, who seemed an amused
spectator of their proceedings.

The youth referred to was very unlike, in many respects, to what we are
accustomed to suppose a backwoods hunter should be.  He did not possess
that quiet gravity and staid demeanour which often characterise these
men.  True, he was tall and strongly made, but no one would have called
him stalwart, and his frame indicated grace and agility rather than
strength.  But the point about him which rendered him different from his
companions was his bounding, irrepressible flow of spirits, strangely
coupled with an intense love of solitary wandering in the woods.  None
seemed so well fitted for social enjoyment as he; none laughed so
heartily, or expressed such glee in his mischief-loving eye; yet for
days together he went off alone into the forest, and wandered where his
fancy led him, as grave and silent as an Indian warrior.

After all, there was nothing mysterious in this.  The boy followed
implicitly the dictates of nature within him.  He was amiable,
straightforward, sanguine, and intensely _earnest_.  When he laughed he
let it out, as sailors have it, "with a will."  When there was good
cause to be grave, no power on earth could make him smile.  We have
called him boy, but in truth he was about that uncertain period of life
when a youth is said to be neither a man nor a boy.  His face was
good-looking (_every_ earnest, candid face is) and masculine; his hair
was reddish-brown, and his eye bright blue.  He was costumed in the
deerskin cap, leggings, moccasins, and leathern shirt common to the
western hunter.

"You seem tickled wi' the Injuns, Dick Varley," said a man who at that
moment issued from the block-house.

"That's just what I am, Joe Blunt," replied the youth, turning with a
broad grin to his companion.

"Have a care, lad; do not laugh at 'em too much.  They soon take
offence; an' them Red-skins never forgive."

"But I'm only laughing at the baby," returned the youth, pointing to the
child, which, with a mixture of boldness and timidity, was playing with
a pup, wrinkling up its fat visage into a smile when its playmate rushed
away in sport, and opening wide its jet-black eyes in grave anxiety as
the pup returned at full gallop.

"It 'ud make an owl laugh," continued young Varley, "to see such a queer
pictur' o' itself."

He paused suddenly, and a dark frown covered his face as he saw the
Indian woman stoop quickly down, catch the pup by its hind-leg with one
hand, seize a heavy piece of wood with the other, and strike it several
violent blows on the throat.  Without taking the trouble to kill the
poor animal outright, the savage then held its still writhing body over
the fire in order to singe off the hair before putting it into the pot
to be cooked.

The cruel act drew young Varley's attention more closely to the pup, and
it flashed across his mind that this could be no other than young
Crusoe, which neither he nor his companion had before seen, although
they had often heard others speak of and describe it.

Had the little creature been one of the unfortunate Indian curs, the two
hunters would probably have turned from the sickening sight with
disgust, feeling that, however much they might dislike such cruelty, it
would be of no use attempting to interfere with Indian usages.  But the
instant the idea that it was Crusoe occurred to Varley he uttered a yell
of anger, and sprang towards the woman with a bound that caused the
three Indians to leap to their feet and grasp their tomahawks.

Blunt did not move from the gate, but threw forward his rifle with a
careless motion, but an expressive glance, that caused the Indians to
resume their seats and pipes with an emphatic "Wah!" of disgust at
having been startled out of their propriety by a trifle, while Dick
Varley snatched poor Crusoe from his dangerous and painful position,
scowled angrily in the woman's face, and, turning on his heel, walked up
to the house, holding the pup tenderly in his arms.

Joe Blunt gazed after his friend with a grave, solemn expression of
countenance till he disappeared; then he looked at the ground and shook
his head.

Joe was one of the regular out-and-out backwoods hunters, both in
appearance and in fact--broad, tall, massive, lion-like,--gifted with
the hunting, stalking, running, and trail--following powers of the
savage, and with a superabundance of the shooting and fighting powers,
the daring and dash of the Anglo-Saxon.  He was grave, too seldom
smiled, and rarely laughed.  His expression almost at all times was a
compound of seriousness and good-humour.  With the rifle he was a good,
steady shot; but by no means a "crack" one.  _His_ ball never failed to
_hit_, but it often failed to kill.

After meditating a few seconds, Joe Blunt again shook his head, and
muttered to himself; "The boy's bold enough, but he's too reckless for a
hunter.  There was no need for that yell, now--none at all."

Having uttered this sagacious remark, he threw his rifle into the hollow
of his left arm, turned round, and strode off with a long, slow step
towards his own cottage.

Blunt was an American by birth, but of Irish extraction, and to an
attentive ear there was a faint echo of the _brogue_ in his tone, which
seemed to have been handed down to him as a threadbare and almost
worn-out heirloom.

Poor Crusoe was singed almost naked.  His wretched tail seemed little
better than a piece of wire filed off to a point, and he vented his
misery in piteous squeaks as the sympathetic Varley confided him
tenderly to the care of his mother.  How Fan managed to cure him no one
can tell, but cure him she did, for, in the course of a few weeks,
Crusoe was as well, and sleek, and fat as ever.



CHAPTER TWO.

A SHOOTING MATCH AND ITS CONSEQUENCES--NEW FRIENDS INTRODUCED TO THE
READER--CRUSOE AND HIS MOTHER CHANGE MASTERS.

Shortly after the incident narrated in the last chapter, the squatters
of the Mustang Valley lost their leader.  Major Hope suddenly announced
his intention of quitting the settlement, and returning to the civilised
world.  Private matters, he said, required his presence there--matters
which he did not choose to speak of but which would prevent his
returning again to reside among them.  Go he must, and, being a man of
determination, go he did; but before going he distributed all his goods
and chattels among the settlers.  He even gave away his rifle, and Fan,
and Crusoe.  These last, however, he resolved should go together; and as
they were well worth having, he announced that he would give them to the
best shot in the valley.  He stipulated that the winner should escort
him to the nearest settlement eastward, after which he might return with
the rifle on his shoulder.

Accordingly, a long level piece of ground on the river's bank, with a
perpendicular cliff at the end of it, was selected as the shooting
ground, and, on the appointed day, at the appointed hour, the
competitors began to assemble.

"Well, lad, first as usual," exclaimed Joe Blunt, as he reached the
ground and found Dick Varley there before him.

"I've bin here more than an hour lookin' for a new kind o' flower that
Jack Morgan told me he'd seen.  And I've found it too.  Look here; did
you ever see one like it before?"

Blunt leaned his rifle against a tree, and carefully examined the
flower.

"Why, yes, I've seed a-many o' them up about the Rocky Mountains, but
never one here-away.  It seems to have gone lost itself.  The last I
seed, if I remimber rightly, wos near the head-waters o' the Yellowstone
River, it wos--jest where I shot a grizzly bar."

"Was that the bar that gave you the wipe on the cheek?" asked Varley,
forgetting the flower in his interest about the bear.

"It was.  I put six balls in that bar's carcase, and stuck my knife into
its heart ten times afore it gave out; an' it nearly ripped the shirt
off my back afore I was done with it."

"I would give my rifle to get a chance at a grizzly!" exclaimed Varley,
with a sudden burst of enthusiasm.

"Whoever got it wouldn't have much to brag of," remarked a burly young
backwoodsman, as he joined them.

His remark was true, for poor Dick's weapon was but a sorry affair.  It
missed fire, and it hung fire, and even when it did fire it remained a
matter of doubt in its owner's mind whether the slight deviations from
the direct line made by his bullets were the result of _his_ or _its_
bad shooting.

Further comment upon it was checked by the arrival of a dozen or more
hunters on the scene of action.  They were a sturdy set of bronzed,
bold, fearless men, and one felt, on looking at them, that they would
prove more than a match for several hundreds of Indians in open fight.
A few minutes after, the major himself came on the ground with the prize
rifle on his shoulder, and Fan and Crusoe at his heels--the latter
tumbling, scrambling, and yelping after its mother, fat and clumsy, and
happy as possible, having evidently quite forgotten that it had been
nearly roasted alive only a few weeks before.

Immediately all eyes were on the rifle, and its merits were discussed
with animation.

And well did it deserve discussion, for such a piece had never before
been seen on the western frontier.  It was shorter in the barrel and
larger in the bore than the weapons chiefly in vogue at that time, and,
besides being of beautiful workmanship, was silver-mounted.  But the
grand peculiarity about it, and that which afterwards rendered it the
mystery of mysteries to the savages, was, that it had two sets of
locks--one percussion, the other flint--so that, when caps failed, by
taking off the one set of locks and affixing the others, it was
converted into a flint-rifle.  The major, however, took care never to
run short of caps, so that the flint locks were merely held as a reserve
in case of need.

"Now, lads," cried Major Hope, stepping up to the point whence they were
to shoot, "remember the terms.  He who first drives the nail obtains the
rifle, Fan, and her pup, and accompanies me to the nearest settlements.
Each man shoots with his own gun, and draws lots for the chance."

"Agreed," cried the men.

"Well, then, wipe your guns and draw lots.  Henri will fix the nail.
Here it is."

The individual who stepped, or rather plunged forward to receive the
nail was a rare and remarkable specimen of mankind.  Like his comrades,
he was half a farmer and half a hunter.  Like them, too, he was clad in
deerskin, and was tall and strong--nay, more, he was gigantic.  But,
unlike them, he was clumsy, awkward, loose-jointed, and a bad shot.
Nevertheless Henri was an immense favourite in the settlement, for his
good-humour knew no bounds.  No one ever saw him frown.  Even when
fighting with the savages, as he was sometimes compelled to do in
self-defence, he went at them with a sort of jovial rage that was almost
laughable.  Inconsiderate recklessness was one of his chief
characteristics, so that his comrades were rather afraid of him on the
war-trail or in the hunt, where caution, and frequently _soundless_
motion, were essential to success or safety.  But when Henri had a
comrade at his side to check him he was safe enough, being humble-minded
and obedient.  Men used to say he must have been born under a lucky
star, for, notwithstanding his natural inaptitude for all sorts of
backwoods life, he managed to scramble through everything with safety,
often with success, and sometimes with credit.

To see Henri stalk a deer was worth a long day's journey.  Joe Blunt
used to say he was "all jints together, from the top of his head to the
sole of his moccasin."  He threw his immense form into the most
inconceivable contortions, and slowly wound his way, sometimes on hands
and knees, sometimes flat, through bush and brake, as if there was not a
bone in his body, and without the slightest noise.  This sort of work
was so much against his plunging nature, that he took long to learn it,
but when, through hard practice and the loss of many a fine deer, he
came at length to break himself in to it, he gradually progressed to
perfection, and ultimately became the best stalker in the valley.  This,
and this alone, enabled him to procure game, for, being short-sighted,
he could hit nothing beyond fifty yards, except a buffalo or a barn
door.

Yet that same lithe body, which seemed as though totally unhinged, could
no more be bent, when the muscles were strung, than an iron post.  No
one wrestled with Henri unless he wished to have his back broken.  Few
could equal and none could beat him at running or leaping except Dick
Varley.  When Henri ran a race even Joe Blunt laughed outright, for arms
and legs went like independent flails.  When he leaped, he hurled
himself into space with a degree of violence that seemed to insure a
somersault--yet he always came down with a crash on his feet.  Plunging
was Henri's forte.  He generally lounged about the settlement, when
unoccupied, with his hands behind his back, apparently in a reverie, and
when called on to act, he seemed to fancy he must have lost time, and
could only make up for it by _plunging_.  This habit got him into many
awkward scrapes, but his herculean power as often got him out of them.
He was a French-Canadian, and a particularly bad speaker of the English
language.

We offer no apology for this elaborate introduction of Henri, for he was
as good-hearted a fellow as ever lived, and deserves special notice.

But to return.  The sort of rifle practice called "driving the nail," by
which this match was to be decided, was, and we believe still is, common
among the hunters of the far west.  It consisted in this,--an ordinary
large-headed nail was driven a short way into a plank or a tree, and the
hunters, standing at a distance of fifty yards or so, fired at it until
they succeeded in driving it home.  On the present occasion the major
resolved to test their shooting by making the distance seventy yards.

Some of the older men shook their heads.

"It's too far," said one; "ye might as well try to snuff the nose o' a
mosquito."

"Jim Scraggs is the only man as'll hit that," said another.

The man referred to was a long, lank, lantern-jawed fellow with a
cross-grained expression of countenance.  He used the long, heavy,
Kentucky rifle, which, from the ball being little larger than a pea, was
called a pea-rifle.  Jim was no favourite, and had been named Scraggs by
his companions on account of his appearance.

In a few minutes the lots were drawn, and the shooting began.  Each
hunter wiped out the barrel of his piece with his ramrod as he stepped
forward; then, placing a ball in the palm of his left hand, he drew the
stopper of his powder-horn with his teeth, and poured out as much powder
as sufficed to cover the bullet.  This was the regular _measure_ among
them.  Little time was lost in firing, for these men did not "hang" on
their aim.  The point of the rifle was slowly raised to the object, and,
the instant the sight covered it, the ball sped to its mark.  In a few
minutes the nail was encircled by bullet-holes, scarcely two of which
were more than an inch distant from the mark, and one--fired by Joe
Blunt--entered the tree close beside it.

"Ah, Joe!" said the major, "I thought you would have carried off the
prize."

"So did not I, sir," returned Blunt, with a shake of his head.  "Had it
a-bin a half-dollar at a hundred yards, I'd ha' done better, but I never
_could_ hit the nail.  It's too small to _see_."

"That's cos ye've got no eyes," remarked Jim Scraggs, with a sneer, as
he stepped forward.

All tongues were now hushed, for the expected champion was about to
fire.  The sharp crack of the rifle was followed by a shout, for Jim had
hit the nail-head on the edge, and part of the bullet stuck to it.

"That wins if there's no better," said the major, scarce able to conceal
his disappointment.  "Who comes next?"

To this question Henri answered by stepping up to the line, straddling
his legs, and executing preliminary movements with his rifle, that
seemed to indicate an intention on his part to throw the weapon bodily
at the mark.  He was received with a shout of mingled laughter and
applause.  After gazing steadily at the mark for a few seconds, a broad
grin overspread his countenance, and, looking round at his companions,
he said--"Ha! mes boys, I cannot behold de nail at all!"

"Can ye `behold' the _tree_?" shouted a voice, when the laugh that
followed this announcement had somewhat abated.

"Oh! oui," replied Henri quite coolly; "I can see _him_, an' a goot
small bit of de forest beyond."

"Fire at it, then.  If ye hit the tree ye desarve the rifle--leastwise
ye ought to get the pup."

Henri grinned again, and fired instantly, without taking aim.

The shot was followed by an exclamation of surprise, for the bullet was
found close beside the nail!

"It's more be good luck than good shootin'," remarked Jim Scraggs.

"Possiblement," answered Henri modestly, as he retreated to the rear and
wiped out his rifle; "mais I have kill most of my deer by dat same goot
luck."

"Bravo!  Henri," said Major Hope as he passed; "you _deserve_ to win,
anyhow.  Who's next?"

"Dick Varley," cried several voices; "where's Varley?  Come on,
youngster, an' take yer shot."

The youth came forward with evident reluctance.  "It's of no manner o'
use," he whispered to Joe Blunt as he passed, "I can't depend on my old
gun."

"Never give in," whispered Blunt encouragingly.  Poor Varley's want of
confidence in his rifle was merited, for, on pulling the trigger, the
faithless lock missed fire.

"Lend him another gun," cried several voices.  "'Gainst rules laid down
by Major Hope," said Scraggs.

"Well, so it is; try again."

Varley did try again, and so successfully, too, that the ball hit the
nail on the head, leaving a portion of the lead sticking to its edge.

Of course this was greeted with a cheer, and a loud dispute began as to
which was the better shot of the two.

"There are others to shoot yet," cried the major.  "Make way.  Look
out."

The men fell back, and the few hunters who had not yet fired took their
shots, but without coming nearer the mark.

It was now agreed that Jim Scraggs and Dick Varley, being the two best
shots, should try over again; and it was also agreed that Dick should
have the use of Blunt's rifle.  Lots were again drawn for the first
shot, and it fell to Dick, who immediately stepped out, aimed somewhat
hastily, and fired.

"Hit again!" shouted those who had run forward to examine the mark.
"_Half_ the bullet cut off by the nail-head!"

Some of the more enthusiastic of Dick's friends cheered lustily, but the
most of the hunters were grave and silent, for they knew Jim's powers,
and felt that he would certainly do his best.  Jim now stepped up to the
line, and, looking earnestly at the mark, threw forward his rifle.

At that moment our friend Crusoe--tired of tormenting his mother--
waddled stupidly and innocently into the midst of the crowd of men, and,
in so doing, received Henri's heel and the full weight of his
elephantine body on its fore-paw.  The horrible and electric yell that
instantly issued from his agonised throat could only be compared, as Joe
Blunt expressed it, "to the last dyin' screech o' a bustin' steam
biler!"  We cannot say that the effect was startling, for these
backwoodsmen had been born and bred in the midst of alarms, and were so
used to them that a "bustin' steam biler" itself, unless it had blown
them fairly off their legs, would not have startled them.  But the
effect, such as it was, was sufficient to disconcert the aim of Jim
Scraggs, who fired at the same instant, and missed the nail by a
hair's-breadth.

Turning round in towering wrath, Scraggs aimed a kick at the poor pup,
which, had it taken effect, would certainly have terminated the innocent
existence of that remarkable dog on the spot, but quick as lightning
Henri interposed the butt of his rifle, and Jim's shin met it with a
violence that caused him to howl with rage and pain.

"Oh! pardon me, broder," cried Henri, shrinking back, with the drollest
expression of mingled pity and glee.

Jim's discretion, on this occasion, was superior to his valour; he
turned away with a coarse expression of anger and left the ground.

Meanwhile the major handed the silver rifle to young Varley.  "It
couldn't have fallen into better hands," he said.  "You'll do it credit,
lad, I know that full well, and let me assure you it will never play you
false.  Only keep it clean, don't overcharge it, aim true, and it will
never miss the mark."

While the hunters crowded round Dick to congratulate him and examine the
piece, he stood with a mingled feeling of bashfulness and delight at his
unexpected good fortune.  Recovering himself suddenly he seized his old
rifle, and, dropping quietly to the outskirts of the crowd, while the
men were still busy handling and discussing the merits of the prize,
went up, unobserved, to a boy of about thirteen years of age, and
touched him on the shoulder.

"Here, Marston, you know I often said ye should have the old rifle when
I was rich enough to get a new one.  Take it _now_, lad.  It's come to
ye sooner than either o' us expected."

"Dick," said the boy, grasping his friend's hand warmly, "yer true as
heart of oak.  It's good of 'ee, that's a fact."

"Not a bit, boy; it costs me nothin' to give away an old gun that I've
no use for, an's worth little, but it makes me right glad to have the
chance to do it."

Marston had longed for a rifle ever since he could walk, but his
prospects of obtaining one were very poor indeed at that time, and it is
a question whether he did not at that moment experience as much joy in
handling the old piece as his friend felt in shouldering the prize.

A difficulty now occurred which had not before been thought of.  This
was no less than the absolute refusal of Dick Varley's canine property
to follow him.  Fan had no idea of changing masters without her consent
being asked, or her inclination being consulted.

"You'll have to tie her up for a while, I fear," said the major.

"No fear," answered the youth.  "Dog natur's like human natur'!"

Saying this he seized Crusoe by the neck, stuffed him comfortably into
the bosom of his hunting shirt, and walked rapidly away with the prize
rifle on his shoulder.

Fan had not bargained for this.  She stood irresolute, gazing now to the
right and now to the left, as the major retired in one direction and
Dick with Crusoe in another.  Suddenly Crusoe, who, although comfortable
in body, was ill at ease in spirit, gave utterance to a melancholy howl.
The mother's love instantly prevailed.  For one moment she pricked up
her ears at the sound, and then, lowering them, trotted quietly after
her new master, and followed him to his cottage on the margin of the
lake.



CHAPTER THREE.

SPECULATIVE REMARKS WITH WHICH THE READER MAY OR MAY NOT AGREE--AN OLD
WOMAN--HOPES AND WISHES COMMINGLED WITH HARD FACTS--THE DOG CRUSOE'S
EDUCATION BEGUN.

It is pleasant to look upon a serene, quiet, humble face.  On such a
face did Richard Varley look every night when he entered his mother's
cottage.  Mrs Varley was a widow, and she had followed the fortunes of
her brother, Daniel Hood, ever since the death of her husband.  Love for
her only brother induced her to forsake the peaceful village of
Maryland, and enter upon the wild life of a backwoods settlement.
Dick's mother was thin, and old, and wrinkled, but her face was stamped
with a species of beauty which _never_ fades--the beauty of a loving
look.  Ah! the brow of snow and the peach-bloom cheek may snare the
heart of man for a time, but the _loving look_ alone can forge that
adamantine chain that time, age, eternity, shall never break.

Mistake us not, reader, and bear with us if we attempt to analyse this
look which characterised Mrs Varley.  A rare diamond is worth stopping
to glance at, even when one is in a hurry!  The brightest jewel in the
human heart is worth a thought or two!  By a _loving look_, we do not
mean a look of love bestowed on a beloved object.  That is common
enough, and thankful should we be that it is so common in a world that's
over-full of hatred.  Still less do we mean that smile and look of
intense affection with which some people--good people too--greet friends
and foe alike, and by which effort to work out their _beau ideal_ of the
expression of Christian love, they do signally damage their cause, by
saddening the serious and repelling the gay.  Much less do we mean that
_perpetual_ smile of good-will which argues more of personal comfort and
self-love than anything else.  No, the loving look we speak of is as
often grave as gay.  Its character depends very much on the face through
which it beams.  And it cannot be counterfeited.  Its _ring_ defies
imitation.  Like the clouded sun of April, it can pierce through tears
of sorrow; like the noontide sun of summer, it can blaze in warm smiles;
like the northern lights of winter, it can gleam in depths of woe--but
it is always the same, modified, doubtless, and rendered more or less
patent to others, according to the natural amiability of him or her who
bestows it.  No one can put it on.  Still less can any one put it off.
Its range is universal; it embraces all mankind, though, _of course_, it
is intensified on a few favoured objects; its seat is in the depths of a
renewed heart, and its foundation lies in love to God.

Young Varley's mother lived in a cottage which was of the smallest
possible dimensions consistent with comfort.  It was made of logs, as,
indeed, were all the other cottages in the valley.  The door was in the
centre, and a passage from it to the back of the dwelling divided it
into two rooms.  One of these was subdivided by a thin partition, the
inner room being Mrs Varley's bedroom, the outer Dick's.  Daniel Hood's
dormitory was a corner of the kitchen, which apartment served also as a
parlour.

The rooms were lighted by two windows, one on each side of the door,
which gave to the house the appearance of having a nose and two eyes.
Houses of this kind have literally got a sort of _expression_ on--if we
may use the word--their countenances.  _Square_ windows give the
appearance of easy-going placidity; _longish_ ones, that of surprise.
Mrs Varley's was a surprised cottage, and this was in keeping with the
scene in which it stood, for the clear lake in front, studded with
islands, and the distant hills beyond, composed a scene so surprisingly
beautiful that it never failed to call forth an expression of astonished
admiration from every new visitor to the Mustang Valley.

"My boy," exclaimed Mrs Varley, as her son entered the cottage with a
bound, "why so hurried to-day?  Deary me! where got you the grand gun?"

"Won it, mother!"

"Won it, my son?"

"Ay, won it, mother.  Druve the nail _almost_, and would ha' druve it
_altogether_ had I bin more used to Joe Blunt's rifle."

Mrs Varley's heart beat high, and her face flushed with pride as she
gazed at her son, who laid the rifle on the table for her inspection,
while he rattled off an animated and somewhat disjointed account of the
match.

"Deary me! now that was good; that was cliver.  But what's that scraping
at the door?"

"Oh! that's Fan; I forgot her.  Here! here!  Fan!  Come in, good dog,"
he cried rising and opening the door.

Fan entered and stopped short, evidently uncomfortable.

"My boy, what do ye with the major's dog?"

"Won her too, mother!"

"Won her, my son?"

"Ay, won her, and the pup too; see, here it is!" and he plucked Crusoe
from his bosom.

Crusoe, having found his position to be one of great comfort, had fallen
into a profound slumber, and on being thus unceremoniously awakened, he
gave forth a yelp of discontent that brought Fan in a state of frantic
sympathy to his side.

"There you are, Fan, take it to a corner and make yourself at home.  Ay,
that's right, mother, give her somethin' to eat; she's hungry, I know by
the look o' her eye."

"Deary me, Dick," said Mrs Varley, who now proceeded to spread the
youth's mid-day meal before him, "did ye drive the nail three times?"

"No, only once, and that not parfetly.  Brought 'em all down at one
shot--rifle, Fan, an' pup!"

"Well, well, now that was cliver; but--" Here the old woman paused and
looked grave.

"But what, mother?"

"You'll be wantin' to go off to the mountains now, I fear me, boy."

"Wantin' _now_!" exclaimed the youth earnestly; "I'm _always_ wantin'.
I've bin wantin' ever since I could walk; but I won't go till you let
me, mother, that I won't!"  And he struck the table with his fist so
forcibly that the platters rung again.

"You're a good boy, Dick; but you're too young yit to ventur' among the
Red-skins."

"An' yit, if I don't ventur' young, I'd better not ventur' at all.  You
know, mother dear, I don't want to leave you; but I was born to be a
hunter, and everybody in them parts is a hunter, and I can't hunt in the
kitchen you know, mother!"

At this point the conversation was interrupted by a sound that caused
young Varley to spring up and seize his rifle, and Fan to show her teeth
and growl.

"Hist! mother; that's like horses' hoofs," he whispered, opening the
door and gazing intently in the direction whence the sound came.

Louder and louder it came, until an opening in the forest showed the
advancing cavalcade to be a party of white men.  In another moment they
were in full view--a band of about thirty horsemen, clad in the leathern
costume, and armed with the long rifle of the far west.  Some wore
portions of the gaudy Indian dress which gave to them a brilliant,
dashing look.  They came on straight for the block-house, and saluted
the Varleys with a jovial cheer as they swept past at full speed.  Dick
returned the cheer with compound interest, and calling out, "They're
trappers, mother, I'll be back in an hour," bounded off like a deer
through the woods, taking a short cut in order to reach the block-house
before them.  He succeeded, for, just as he arrived at the house, the
cavalcade wheeled round the bend in the river, dashed up the slope, and
came to a sudden halt on the green.  Vaulting from their foaming steeds
they tied them to the stockades of the little fortress, which they
entered in a body.

Hot haste was in every motion of these men.  They were trappers, they
said, on their way to the Rocky Mountains to hunt and trade furs.  But
one of their number had been treacherously murdered and scalped by a
Pawnee chief, and they resolved to revenge his death by an attack on one
of the Pawnee villages.  They would teach these "red reptiles" to
respect white men, they would, come of it what might; and they had
turned aside here to procure an additional supply of powder and lead.

In vain did the major endeavour to dissuade these reckless men from
their purpose.  They scoffed at the idea of returning good for evil, and
insisted on being supplied.  The log hut was a store as well as a place
of defence, and as they offered to pay for it there was no refusing
their request--at least so the major thought.  The ammunition was
therefore given to them, and in half an hour they were away again at
full gallop over the plains on their mission of vengeance.  "Vengeance
is Mine, I will repay, saith the Lord."  But these men knew not what God
said, because they never read His Word, and did not own His sway.

Young Varley's enthusiasm was considerably damped when he learned the
errand on which the trappers were bent.  From that time forward he gave
up all desire to visit the mountains in company with such men, but he
still retained an intense longing to roam at large among their rocky
fastnesses, and gallop out upon the wide prairies.

Meanwhile he dutifully tended his mother's cattle and sheep, and
contented himself with an occasional deer-hunt in the neighbouring
forests.  He devoted himself also to the training of his dog Crusoe--an
operation which at first cost him many a deep sigh.

Every one has heard of the sagacity and almost reasoning capabilities of
the Newfoundland dog.  Indeed, some have even gone the length of saying
that what is called instinct in these animals is neither more nor less
than reason.  And, in truth, many of the noble, heroic, and sagacious
deeds that have actually been performed by Newfoundland dogs incline us
almost to believe that, like man, they are gifted with reasoning powers.

But every one does not know the trouble and patience that is required in
order to get a juvenile dog to understand what its master means when he
is endeavouring to instruct it.

Crusoe's first lesson was an interesting, but not a very successful one.
We may remark here that Dick Varley had presented Fan to his mother to
be her watch-dog, resolving to devote all his powers to the training of
the pup.  We may also remark, in reference to Crusoe's appearance (and
we did not remark it sooner, chiefly because up to this period in his
eventful history he was little better than a ball of fat and hair), that
his coat was mingled jet-black and pure white, and remarkably glossy,
curly, and thick.

A week after the shooting match Crusoe's education began.  Having fed
him for that period with his own hand, in order to gain his affection,
Dick took him out one sunny forenoon to the margin of the lake to give
him his first lesson.

And here again we must pause to remark that, although a dog's heart is
generally gained in the first instance through his mouth, yet, after it
is thoroughly gained, his affection is noble and disinterested.  He can
scarcely be driven from his master's side by blows, and even when thus
harshly repelled is always ready, on the shortest notice and with the
slightest encouragement, to make it up again.

Well, Dick Varley began by calling out, "Crusoe!  Crusoe! come here,
pup."

Of course Crusoe knew his name by this time, for it had been so often
used as a prelude to his meals, that he naturally expected a feed
whenever he heard it.  This portal to his brain had already been open
for some days; but all the other doors were fast locked, and it required
a great deal of careful picking to open them.

"Now, Crusoe, come here."

Crusoe bounded clumsily to his master's side, cocked his ears, and
wagged his tail--so far his education was perfect.  We say he bounded
_clumsily_, for it must be remembered that he was still a very young
pup, with soft, flabby muscles.

"Now, I'm goin' to begin yer edication, pup; think o' that."

Whether Crusoe thought of that or not we cannot say, but he looked up in
his master's face as he spoke, cocked his ears very high, and turned his
head slowly to one side, until it could not turn any further in that
direction; then he turned it as much to the other side, whereat his
master burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, and Crusoe
immediately began barking vociferously.

"Come, come," said Dick, suddenly checking his mirth, "we mustn't play,
pup, we must work."

Drawing a leathern mitten from his belt, the youth held it to Crusoe's
nose, and then threw it a yard away, at the same time exclaiming in a
loud, distinct tone, "_Fetch it_."

Crusoe entered at once into the spirit of this part of his training; he
dashed gleefully at the mitten, and proceeded to worry it with intense
gratification.  As for "_Fetch it_," he neither understood the words nor
cared a straw about them.

Dick Varley rose immediately, and rescuing the mitten, resumed his seat
on a rock.

"Come here, Crusoe," he repeated.

"Oh! certainly, by all means," said Crusoe--no! he didn't exactly _say_
it, but really he _looked_ these words so evidently, that we think it
right to let them stand as they are written.  If he could have finished
the sentence he would certainly have said, "Go on with that game over
again, old boy; it's quite to my taste--the jolliest thing in life, I
assure you!"  At least, if we may not positively assert that he would
have said that, no one else can absolutely affirm that he wouldn't.

Well, Dick Varley did do it over again, and Crusoe worried the mitten
over again--utterly regardless of "_Fetch it_."

Then they did it again, and again, and again, but without the slightest
apparent advancement in the path of canine knowledge,--and then they
went home.

During all this trying operation Dick Varley never once betrayed the
slightest feeling of irritability or impatience.  He did not expect
success at first; he was not, therefore, disappointed at failure.

Next day he had him out again--and the next--and the next--and the next
again, with the like unfavourable result.  In short, it seemed at last
as if Crusoe's mind had been deeply imbued with the idea that he had
been born expressly for the purpose of worrying that mitten, and he
meant to fulfil his destiny to the letter.

Young Varley had taken several small pieces of meat in his pocket each
day, with the intention of rewarding Crusoe when he should at length be
prevailed on to fetch the mitten, but as Crusoe was not aware of the
treat that awaited him, of course the mitten never was "fetched."

At last Dick Varley saw that this system would never do, so he changed
his tactics, and the next morning gave Crusoe no breakfast, but took him
out at the usual hour to go through his lesson.  This new course of
conduct seemed to perplex Crusoe not a little, for on his way down to
the beach he paused frequently and looked back at the cottage, and then
expressively up at his master's face.  But the master was inexorable; he
went on and Crusoe followed, for _true_ love had now taken possession of
the pup's young heart, and he preferred his master's company to food.

Varley now began by letting the learner smell a piece of meat which he
eagerly sought to devour, but was prevented, to his immense disgust.
Then the mitten was thrown as heretofore, and Crusoe made a few steps
towards it, but being in no mood for play he turned back.

"_Fetch it_," said the teacher.

"I won't," replied the learner mutely, by means of that expressive
sign--_not doing it_.

Hereupon Dick Varley rose, took up the mitten, and put it into the pup's
mouth.  Then, retiring a couple of yards, he held out the piece of meat
and said, "_Fetch it_."

Crusoe instantly spat out the glove and bounded towards the meat--once
more to be disappointed.

This was done a second time, and Crusoe came forward _with the mitten in
his mouth_.  It seemed as if it had been done accidentally, for he
dropped it before coming quite up.  If so it was a fortunate accident,
for it served as the tiny fulcrum on which to place the point of that
mighty lever which was destined ere long to raise him to the pinnacle of
canine erudition.  Dick Varley immediately lavished upon him the
tenderest caresses and gave him a lump of meat.  But he quickly tried it
again lest he should lose the lesson.  The dog evidently felt that if he
did not fetch that mitten he should have no meat or caresses.  In order,
however, to make sure that there was no mistake, Dick laid the mitten
down beside the pup, instead of putting it into his mouth, and, retiring
a few paces, cried, "_Fetch it_."

Crusoe looked uncertain for a moment, then he _picked up_ the mitten and
laid it at his master's feet.  The lesson was learned at last!  Dick
Varley tumbled all the meat out of his pocket on the ground, and, while
Crusoe made a hearty breakfast, he sat down on a rock and whistled with
glee at having fairly picked the lock, and opened _another_ door into
one of the many chambers of his dog's intellect!



CHAPTER FOUR.

OUR HERO ENLARGED UPON--GRUMPS.

Two years passed away--the Mustang Valley settlement advanced
prosperously, despite one or two attacks made upon it by the savages,
who were, however, firmly repelled; Dick Varley had now become a man,
and his pup Crusoe had become a full-grown dog.  The "silver rifle," as
Dick's weapon had come to be named, was well-known among the hunters and
the Red-skins of the border-lands, and in Dick's hands its bullets were
as deadly as its owner's eye was quick and true.

Crusoe's education, too, had been completed.  Faithfully and patiently
had his young master trained his mind, until he fitted him to be a meet
companion in the hunt.  To "carry" and "fetch" were now but trifling
portions of the dog's accomplishments.  He could dive a fathom deep in
the lake and bring up any article that might have been dropped or thrown
in.  His swimming powers were marvellous, and so powerful were his
muscles, that he seemed to spurn the water while passing through it,
with his broad chest high out of the curling wave, at a speed that
neither man nor beast could keep up with for a moment.  His intellect
now was sharp and quick as a needle; he never required a second bidding.
When Dick went out hunting he used frequently to drop a mitten or a
powder-horn unknown to the dog, and, after walking miles away from it,
would stop short and look down into the mild, gentle face of his
companion.

"Crusoe," he said, in the same quiet tones with which he would have
addressed a human friend, "I've dropped my mitten, go fetch it, pup."
Dick continued to call it "pup" from habit.

One glance of intelligence passed from Crusoe's eye, and in a moment he
was away at full gallop; nor did he rest until the lost article was
lying at his master's feet.  Dick was loath to try how far back on his
track Crusoe would run if desired.  He had often gone back five and six
miles at a stretch; but his powers did not stop here.  He could carry
articles back to the spot from which they had been taken and leave them
there.  He could head the game that his master was pursuing and turn it
back; and he would guard any object he was desired to "watch" with
unflinching constancy.  But it would occupy too much space and time to
enumerate all Crusoe's qualities and powers.  His biography will unfold
them.

In personal appearance he was majestic, having grown to an immense size
even for a Newfoundland.  Had his visage been at all wolfish in
character, his aspect would have been terrible.  But he possessed in an
eminent degree that mild, humble expression of face peculiar to his
race.  When roused or excited, and especially when bounding through the
forest with the chase in view, he was absolutely magnificent.  At other
times his gait was slow, and he seemed to prefer a _quiet_ walk with
Dick Varley to anything else under the sun.  But when Dick was inclined
to be boisterous Crusoe's tail and ears rose at a moment's notice, and
he was ready for _anything_.  Moreover, he obeyed commands instantly and
implicitly.  In this respect he put to shame most of the _boys_ of the
settlement, who were by no means famed for their habits of prompt
obedience.

Crusoe's eye was constantly watching the face of his master.  When Dick
said "Go" he went, when he said "Come" he came.  If he had been in the
midst of an excited bound at the throat of a stag, and Dick had called
out, "Down, Crusoe," he would have sunk to the earth like a stone.  No
doubt it took many months of training to bring the dog to this state of
perfection; but Dick accomplished it by patience, perseverance, and
_love_.

Besides all this, Crusoe could speak!  He spoke by means of the dog's
dumb alphabet in a way that defies description.  He conversed, so to
speak, with his extremities--his head and his tail.  But his eyes, his
soft brown eyes, were the chief medium of communication.  If ever the
language of the eyes was carried to perfection, it was exhibited in the
person of Crusoe.  But, indeed, it would be difficult to say which part
of his expressive face expressed most.  The cocked ears of expectation;
the drooped ears of sorrow; the bright, full eye of joy; the half-closed
eye of contentment; and the frowning eye of indignation accompanied with
a slight, a very slight, pucker of the nose and a gleam of dazzling
ivory--ha! no enemy ever saw this last piece of canine language without
a full appreciation of what it meant.  Then as to the tail--the
modulations of meaning in the varied wag of that expressive member!  Oh!
it's useless to attempt description.  Mortal man cannot conceive of the
delicate shades of sentiment expressible by a dog's tail, unless he has
studied the subject--the wag, the waggle, the cock, the droop, the
slope, the wriggle!  Away with description--it is impotent and valueless
here!

As we have said, Crusoe was meek and mild.  He had been bitten, on the
sly, by half the ill-natured curs in the settlement, and had only shown
his teeth in return.  He had no enmities--though several enemies--and he
had a thousand friends, particularly among the ranks of the weak and the
persecuted, whom he always protected and avenged when opportunity
offered.  A single instance of this kind will serve to show his
character.

One day Dick and Crusoe were sitting on a rock beside the lake--the same
identical rock near which, when a pup, the latter had received his first
lesson.  They were conversing as usual, for Dick had elicited such a
fund of intelligence from the dog's mind, and had injected such wealth
of wisdom into it, that he felt convinced it understood every word he
said.

"This is capital weather, Crusoe; ain't it pup?"

Crusoe made a motion with his head which was quite as significant as a
nod.

"Ha! my pup, I wish that you and I might go and have a slap at the
grizzly bars and a look at the Rocky Mountains.  Wouldn't it be nuts,
pup?"

Crusoe looked dubious.

"What, you don't agree with me!  Now, tell me, pup, wouldn't ye like to
grip a bar?"

Still Crusoe looked dubious, but made a gentle motion with his tail, as
though he would have said, "I've seen neither Rocky Mountains nor
grizzly bars, and know nothin' about 'em, but I'm open to conviction."

"You're a brave pup," rejoined Dick, stroking the dog's huge head
affectionately.  "I wouldn't give you for ten times your weight in
golden dollars--if there be sich things."

Crusoe made no reply whatever to this.  He regarded it as a truism
unworthy of notice; he evidently felt that a comparison between love and
dollars was preposterous.

At this point in the conversation a little dog with a lame leg hobbled
to the edge of the rocks in front of the spot where Dick was seated, and
looked down into the water, which was deep there.  Whether it did so for
the purpose of admiring its very plain visage in the liquid mirror, or
finding out what was going on among the fish, we cannot say, as it never
told us; but at that moment a big, clumsy, savage-looking dog rushed out
from the neighbouring thicket and began to worry it.

"Punish him, Crusoe," said Dick quickly.

Crusoe made one bound that a lion might have been proud of, and seizing
the aggressor by the back, lifted him off his legs and held him,
howling, in the air--at the same time casting a look towards his master
for further instructions.

"Pitch him in," said Dick, making a sign with his hand.

Crusoe turned and quietly dropped the dog into the lake.  Having
regarded his struggles there for a few moments with grave severity of
countenance, he walked slowly back and sat down beside his master.

The little dog made good its retreat as fast as three legs would carry
it, and the surly dog, having swam ashore, retired sulkily, with his
tail very much between his legs.

Little wonder, then, that Crusoe was beloved by great and small among
the well-disposed of the canine tribes of the Mustang Valley.

But Crusoe was not a mere machine.  When not actively engaged in Dick
Varley's service, he busied himself with private little matters of his
own.  He undertook modest little excursions into the woods or along the
margin of the lake, sometimes alone, but more frequently with a little
friend whose whole heart and being seemed to be swallowed up in
admiration of his big companion.  Whether Crusoe botanised or geologised
on these excursions we will not venture to say.  Assuredly he seemed as
though he did both, for he poked his nose into every bush and tuft of
moss, and turned over the stones, and dug holes in the ground--and, in
short, if he did not understand these sciences, he behaved very much as
if he did.  Certainly he knew as much about them as many of the human
species do.

In these walks he never took the slightest notice of Grumps (that was
the little dog's name), but Grumps made up for this by taking excessive
notice of _him_.  When Crusoe stopped, Grumps stopped and sat down to
look at him.  When Crusoe trotted on, Grumps trotted on too.  When
Crusoe examined a bush Grumps sat down to watch him, and when he dug a
hole Grumps looked into it to see what was there.  Grumps never helped
him; his sole delight was in looking on.  They didn't converse much,
these two dogs.  To be in each other's company seemed to be happiness
enough--at least Grumps thought so.

There was one point at which Grumps stopped short, however, and ceased
to follow his friend; and that was when he rushed headlong into the lake
and disported himself for an hour at a time in its cool waters.  Crusoe
was, both by nature and training, a splendid water-dog.  Grumps, on the
contrary, held water in abhorrence, so he sat on the shores of the lake
disconsolate when his friend was bathing, and waited till he came out.
The only time when Grumps was thoroughly nonplussed, was when Dick
Varley's whistle sounded faintly in the far distance.  Then Crusoe would
prick up his ears, and stretch out at full gallop, clearing ditch, and
fence, and brake with his strong elastic bound, and leaving Grumps to
patter after him as fast as his four-inch legs would carry him.  Poor
Grumps usually arrived at the village, to find both dog and master gone,
and would betake himself to his own dwelling, there to lie down and
sleep, and dream, perchance, of rambles and gambols with his gigantic
friend.



CHAPTER FIVE.

A MISSION OF PEACE--UNEXPECTED JOYS--DICK AND CRUSOE SET OFF FOR THE
LAND OF THE RED-SKINS, AND MEET WITH ADVENTURES BY THE WAY AS A MATTER
OF COURSE--NIGHT IN THE WILD WOODS.

One day the inhabitants of Mustang Valley were thrown into considerable
excitement by the arrival of an officer of the United States army and a
small escort of cavalry.  They went direct to the block-house, which,
since Major Hope's departure, had become the residence of Joe Blunt--
that worthy having, by general consent, been deemed the fittest man in
the settlement to fill the major's place.

Soon it began to be noised abroad that the strangers had been sent by
Government to endeavour to bring about, if possible, a more friendly
state of feeling between the whites and the Indians, by means of
presents, and promises, and fair speeches.

The party remained all night in the block-house, and ere long it was
reported that Joe Blunt had been requested, and had consented, to be the
leader and chief of a party of three men who should visit the
neighbouring tribes of Indians, to the west and north of the valley, as
Government agents.  Joe's knowledge of two or three different Indian
dialects, and his well-known sagacity, rendered him a most fitting
messenger on such an errand.  It was also whispered that Joe was to have
the choosing of his comrades in this mission, and many were the opinions
expressed and guesses made as to who would be chosen.

That same evening Dick Varley was sitting in his mother's kitchen
cleaning his rifle; his mother was preparing supper and talking quietly
about the obstinacy of a particular hen that had taken to laying her
eggs in places where they could not be found; Fan was coiled up in a
corner sound asleep, and Crusoe was sitting at one side of the fire
looking on at things in general.

"I wonder," remarked Mrs Varley, as she spread the table with a pure
white napkin; "I wonder what the sodgers are doin' wi' Joe Blunt."

As often happens when an individual is mentioned, the worthy referred to
opened the door at that moment and stepped into the room.

"Good-e'en t'ye, dame," said the stout hunter, doffing his cap, and
resting his rifle in a corner, while Dick rose and placed a chair for
him.

"The same to you, Master Blunt," answered the widow; "you've jist comed
in good time for a cut o' venison."

"Thanks, mistress, I s'pose we're beholden to the silver rifle for
that."

"To the hand that aimed it, rather," suggested the widow.

"Nay, then, say raither to the dog that turned it," said Dick Varley.
"But for Crusoe that buck would ha' bin couched in the woods this
night."

"Oh! if it comes to that," retorted Joe, "I'd lay it to the door o' Fan,
for if she'd niver bin born nother would Crusoe.  But it's good an'
tender meat, whativer ways ye got it.  Howsiver, I've other things to
talk about jist now.  Them sodgers that are eatin' buffalo tongues up at
the block-house as if they'd niver ate meat before, and didn't hope to
eat agin for a twelve-month--"

"Ay, what o' them?" interrupted Mrs Varley; "I've bin wonderin' what
was their errand."

"Of coorse ye wos, Dame Varley; and I've comed here a' purpis to tell
ye.  They want me to go to the Red-skins to make peace between them and
us; and they've brought a lot o' goods to make them presents withal,--
beads, an' knives, an' lookin'-glasses, an vermilion paint, an'
sich-like, jist as much as'll be a light load for one horse--for, ye
see, nothin' can be done wi' the Red-skins without gifts."

"'Tis a blessed mission," said the widow, "I wish it may succeed.  D'ye
think ye'll go?"

"Go? ay, that will I."

"I only wish they'd made the offer to me," said Dick with a sigh.

"An' so they do make the offer, lad.  They've gin me leave to choose the
two men I'm to take with me, and I've comed straight to ask _you_.  Ay
or no, for we must up an' away by break o' day to-morrow."

Mrs Varley started.  "So soon?" she said, with a look of anxiety.

"Ay; the Pawnees are at the Yellow Creek jist at this time, but I've
heer'd they're 'bout to break up camp an' away west; so we'll need to
use haste."

"May I go, mother?" asked Dick, with a look of anxiety.

There was evidently a conflict in the widow's breast, but it quickly
ceased.

"Yes, my boy," she said in her own low, quiet voice, "an' God go with
ye.  I knew the time must come soon, an' I thank Him that your first
visit to the Red-skins will be on an errand o' peace.  `Blessed are the
peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.'"

Dick grasped his mother's hand and pressed it to his cheek in silence.
At the same moment Crusoe, seeing that the deeper feelings of his master
were touched, and deeming it his duty to sympathise, rose up and thrust
his nose against him.

"Ah! pup," cried the young man hastily, "you must go too.  Of course
Crusoe goes, Joe Blunt?"

"Hum!  I don't know that.  There's no dependin' on a dog to keep his
tongue quiet in times o' danger."

"Believe me," exclaimed Dick, flashing with enthusiasm, "Crusoe's more
trustworthy than I am myself.  If ye can trust the master yer safe to
trust the pup."

"Well, lad, ye may be right.  We'll take him."

"Thanks, Joe.  And who else goes with us?"

"I've bin castin' that in my mind for some time, an' I've fixed to take
Henri.  He's not the safest man in the valley, but he's the truest,
that's a fact.  And now, younker, get yer horse an' rifle ready, and
come to the block-house at daybreak to-morrow.  Good luck to ye,
mistress, till we meet agin."

Joe Blunt rose, and taking up his rifle,--without which he scarcely ever
moved a foot from his own door,--left the cottage with rapid strides.

"My son," said Mrs Varley, kissing Dick's cheek as he resumed his seat,
"put this in the little pocket I made for it in your hunting shirt."

She handed him a small pocket Bible.

"Dear mother," he said, as he placed the book carefully within the
breast of his coat, "the Red-skin that takes that from me must take my
scalp first.  But don't fear for me.  You've often said the Lord would
protect me.  So He will, mother, for sure it's an errand o' peace!"

"Ay, that's it, that's it," murmured the widow in a half-soliloquy.

Dick Varley spent that night in converse with his mother, and next
morning at daybreak he was at the place of meeting mounted on his sturdy
little horse, with the "silver rifle" on his shoulder, and Crusoe by his
side.

"That's right, lad, that's right.  Nothin' like keepin' yer time," said
Joe, as he led out a pack-horse from the gate of the block-house, while
his own charger was held ready saddled by a man named Daniel Brand, who
had been appointed to the charge of the block-house in his absence.

"Where's Henri?--oh! here he comes," exclaimed Dick, as the hunter
referred to came thundering up the slope at a charge, on a horse that
resembled its rider in size, and not a little in clumsiness of
appearance.

"Ah! mes boy.  Him is a goot one to go," cried Henri, remarking Dick's
smile as he pulled up.  "No hoss on de plain can beat dis one,
surement."

"Now then, Henri, lend a hand to fix this pack, we've no time to
palaver."

By this time they were joined by several of the soldiers and a few
hunters who had come to see them start.

"Remember, Joe," cried one, "if you don't come back in three months
we'll all come out in a band to seek you."

"If we don't come back in less than that time, what's left o' us won't
be worth seekin' for," said Joe, tightening the girth of his saddle.

"Put a bit in yer own mouth, Henri," cried another, as the Canadian
arranged his steed's bridle; "ye'll need it more than yer horse when ye
git 'mong the red reptiles."

"Vraiment, if mon mout' needs one bit yours will need one padlock."

"Now, lads, mount!" cried Joe Blunt as he vaulted into the saddle.

Dick Varley sprang lightly on his horse, and Henri made a rush at his
steed and hurled his huge frame across its back with a violence that
_ought_ to have brought it to the ground; but the tall, raw-boned,
broad-chested roan was accustomed to the eccentricities of its master,
and stood the shock bravely.  Being appointed to lead the pack-horse,
Henri seized its halter; then the three cavaliers shook their reins,
and, waving their hands to their comrades, they sprang into the woods at
full gallop, and laid their course for the "far west."

For some time they galloped side by side in silence, each occupied with
his own thoughts, Crusoe keeping close beside his master's horse.  The
two elder hunters evidently ruminated on the object of their mission and
the prospects of success, for their countenances were grave and their
eyes cast on the ground.  Dick Varley, too, thought upon the Red-men,
but his musings were deeply tinged with the bright hues of a _first_
adventure.  The mountains, the plains, the Indians, the bears, the
buffaloes, and a thousand other objects, danced wildly before his mind's
eye, and his blood careered through his veins and flushed his forehead
as he thought of what he should see and do, and felt the elastic vigour
of youth respond in sympathy to the light spring of his active little
steed.  He was a lover of nature, too, and his flashing eyes glanced
observantly from side to side as they swept along,--sometimes through
glades of forest trees; sometimes through belts of more open ground and
shrubbery; anon by the margin of a stream, or along the shores of a
little lake, and often over short stretches of flowering prairie-land,--
while the firm, elastic turf sent up a muffled sound from the tramp of
their mettlesome chargers.  It was a scene of wild, luxuriant beauty,
that might almost (one could fancy) have drawn involuntary homage to its
bountiful Creator from the lips even of an infidel.

After a time Joe Blunt reined up, and they proceeded at an easy ambling
pace.  Joe and his friend Henri were so used to these beautiful scenes
that they had long ceased to be _enthusiastically_ affected by them,
though they never ceased to delight in them.

"I hope," said Joe, "that them sodgers 'll go their ways soon.  I've no
notion o' them chaps when they're left at a place wi' nothin' to do but
whittle sticks."

"Why, Joe!" exclaimed Dick Varley in a tone of surprise, "I thought you
were admirin' the beautiful face o' nature all this time, and yer only
thinkin' about the sodgers.  Now, that's strange!"

"Not so strange after all, lad," answered Joe.  "When a man's used to a
thing he gits to admire an' enjoy it without speakin' much about it.
But it _is_ true, boy, that mankind gits in coorse o' time to think
little o' the blissins he's used to."

"Oui, c'est _vrai_!" murmured Henri emphatically.

"Well, Joe Blunt, it may be so; but I'm thankful _I'm_ not used to this
sort o' thing yet," exclaimed Varley.  "Let's have another gallop--so
ho! come along, Crusoe!" shouted the youth, as he shook his reins, and
flew over a long stretch of prairie on which at that moment they
entered.

Joe smiled as he followed his enthusiastic companion, but after a short
run he pulled up.

"Hold on, youngster," he cried, "ye must larn to do as yer bid, lad;
it's trouble enough to be among wild Injuns and wild buffaloes, as I
hope soon to be, without havin' wild comrades to look after."

Dick laughed and reined in his panting horse.  "I'll be as obedient as
Crusoe," he said, "and no one can beat him."

"Besides," continued Joe, "the horses won't travel far if we begin by
runnin' all the wind out o' them."

"Wah!" exclaimed Henri, as the led horse became restive; "I think we
must give to him de pack-hoss for to lead, eh!"

"Not a bad notion, Henri.  We'll make that the penalty of runnin' off
again; so look out, Master Dick."

"I'm down," replied Dick with a modest air, "obedient as a baby, and
won't run off again--till--the next time.  By the way, Joe, how many
days' provisions did ye bring?"

"Two.  That's 'nough to carry us to the Great Prairie, which is three
weeks distant from this; our own good rifles must make up the
difference, and keep us when we git there."

"And s'pose we neither find deer nor buffalo," suggested Dick.

"I s'pose we'll have to starve."

"Dat is cumfer'able to tink upon," remarked Henri.

"More comfortable to think o' than to undergo," said Dick, "but I s'pose
there's little chance o' that."

"Well, not much," replied Joe Blunt, patting his horse's neck; "but d'ye
see, lad, ye niver can count for sartin on anythin'.  The deer and
buffalo ought to be thick in them plains at this time--and when the
buffalo _are_ thick they covers the plains till ye can hardly see the
end o' them; but, ye see, sometimes the rascally Red-skins takes it into
their heads to burn the prairies, and sometimes ye find the place that
should ha' bin black wi' buffalo, black as a coal wi' fire for miles an'
miles on end.  At other times the Red-skins go huntin' in 'ticlar
places, and sweeps them clean o' every hoof that don't git away.
Sometimes, too, the animals seems to take a scunner at a place and keeps
out o' the way.  But one way or another men gin'rally manage to scramble
through."

"Look yonder, Joe," exclaimed Dick, pointing to the summit of a distant
ridge, where a small black object was seen moving against the sky,
"that's a deer, ain't it?"

Joe shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed earnestly at the object in
question.  "Yer right, boy; and by good luck we've got the wind of him.
Cut in an' take your chance now.  There's a long strip o' wood as'll let
ye git close to him."

Before the sentence was well finished, Dick and Crusoe were off at full
gallop.  For a few hundred yards they coursed along the bottom of a
hollow; then turning to the right they entered the strip of wood, and in
a few minutes gained the edge of it.  Here Dick dismounted.

"You can't help me here, Crusoe.  Stay where you are, pup, and hold my
horse."

Crusoe seized the end of the line, which was fastened to the horse's
nose, in his mouth, and lay down on a hillock of moss, submissively
placing his chin on his fore-paws, and watching his master as he stepped
noiselessly through the wood.  In a few minutes Dick emerged from among
the trees, and, creeping from bush to bush, succeeded in getting to
within six hundred yards of the deer, which was a beautiful little
antelope.  Beyond the bush behind which he now crouched all was bare
open ground, without a shrub or hillock large enough to conceal the
hunter.  There was a slight undulation in the ground, however, which
enabled him to advance about fifty yards further, by means of lying down
quite flat and working himself forward like a serpent.  Further than
this he could not move without being seen by the antelope, which browsed
on the ridge before him in fancied security.  The distance was too great
even for a long shot, but Dick knew of a weak point in this little
creature's nature which enabled him to accomplish his purpose--a weak
point which it shares in common with animals of a higher order,--namely,
curiosity.

The little antelope of the North American prairies is intensely curious
about everything that it does not quite understand, and will not rest
satisfied until it has endeavoured to clear up the mystery.  Availing
himself of this propensity, Dick did what both Indians and hunters are
accustomed to do on these occasions,--he put a piece of rag on the end
of his ramrod, and, keeping his person concealed and perfectly still,
waved this miniature flag in the air.  The antelope noticed it at once,
and, pricking up its ears, began to advance, timidly and slowly, step by
step, to see what remarkable phenomenon it could be.  In a few seconds
the flag was lowered, a sharp crack followed, and the antelope fell dead
upon the plain.

"Ha, boy! that's a good supper, anyhow," cried Joe, as he galloped up
and dismounted.

"Goot! dat is better nor dried meat," added Henri.  "Give him to me; I
will put him on my hoss, vich is strongar dan yourn.  But ver is your
hoss?"

"He'll be here in a minute," replied Dick, putting his fingers to his
mouth and giving forth a shrill whistle.

The instant Crusoe heard the sound he made a savage and apparently
uncalled-for dash at the horse's heels.  This wild act, so contrary to
the dog's gentle nature, was a mere piece of acting.  He knew that the
horse would not advance without getting a fright, so he gave him one in
this way which sent him off at a gallop.  Crusoe followed close at his
heels, so as to bring the line alongside of the nag's body, and thereby
prevent its getting entangled; but despite his best efforts the horse
got on one side of a tree and he on the other, so he wisely let go his
hold of the line, and waited till more open ground enabled him to catch
it again.  Then he hung heavily back, gradually checked the horse's
speed, and finally trotted him up to his master's side.

"'Tis a cliver cur, good sooth," exclaimed Joe Blunt in surprise.

"Ah, Joe! you haven't seen much of Crusoe yet.  He's as good as a man
any day.  I've done little else but train him for two years gone by, and
he can do most anything but shoot--he can't handle the rifle nohow."

"Ha! then, I tink perhaps hims could if he wos try," said Henri,
plunging on to his horse with a laugh, and arranging the carcase of the
antelope across the pommel of his saddle.

Thus they hunted and galloped, and trotted and ambled on through wood
and plain all day, until the sun began to descend below the tree-tops of
the bluffs on the west--then Joe Blunt looked about him for a place on
which to camp, and finally fixed on a spot under the shadow of a noble
birch by the margin of a little stream.  The carpet of grass on its
banks was soft like green velvet, and the rippling waters of the brook
were clear as crystal--very different from the muddy Missouri into which
it flowed.

While Dick Varley felled and cut up firewood, Henri unpacked the horses
and turned them loose to graze, and Joe kindled the fire and prepared
venison steaks and hot tea for supper.

In excursions of this kind it is customary to "hobble" the horses; that
is, to tie their fore-legs together, so that they cannot run either fast
or far, but are free enough to amble about with a clumsy sort of hop in
search of food.  This is deemed a sufficient check on their tendency to
roam, although some of the knowing horses sometimes learn to hop so fast
with their hobbles as to give their owners much trouble to recapture
them.  But when out in the prairies where Indians are known or supposed
to be in the neighbourhood, the horses are picketed by means of a pin or
stake attached to the ends of their long laryats, as well as hobbled--
for Indians deem it no disgrace to steal or tell lies, though they think
it disgraceful to be found out in doing either.  And so expert are these
dark-skinned natives of the western prairies, that they will creep into
the midst of an enemy's camp, cut the laryats and hobbles of several
horses, spring suddenly on their backs, and gallop away.

They not only steal from white men, but tribes that are at enmity steal
from each other, and the boldness with which they do this is most
remarkable.  When Indians are travelling in a country where enemies are
prowling, they guard their camps at night with jealous care.  The horses
in particular are both hobbled and picketed, and sentries are posted all
round the camp.  Yet, in spite of these precautions, hostile Indians
manage to elude the sentries, and creep into the camp.  When a thief
thus succeeds in effecting an entrance, his chief danger is past.  He
rises boldly to his feet, and, wrapping his blanket or buffalo robe
round him, he walks up and down as if he were a member of the tribe.  At
the same time he dexterously cuts the laryats of such horses as he
observes are not hobbled.  He dare not stoop to cut the hobbles, as the
action would be observed, and suspicion would be instantly aroused.  He
then leaps on the best horse he can find, and uttering a terrific
war-whoop darts away into the plains, driving the loosened horses before
him.

No such dark thieves were supposed to be near the camp under the
birch-tree, however, so Joe, and Dick, and Henri ate their supper in
comfort, and let their horses browse at will on the rich pasturage.

A bright ruddy fire was soon kindled, which created, as it were, a
little ball of light in the midst of surrounding darkness for the
special use of our hardy hunters.  Within this magic circle all was
warm, comfortable, and cheery.  Outside all was dark, and cold, and
dreary by contrast.

When the substantial part of supper was disposed of, tea and pipes were
introduced, and conversation began to flow.  Then the three saddles were
placed in a row; each hunter wrapped himself in his blanket, and,
pillowing his head on his saddle, stretched his feet towards the fire
and went to sleep, with his loaded rifle by his side and his
hunting-knife handy in his belt.  Crusoe mounted guard by stretching
himself out _couchant_ at Dick Varley's side.  The faithful dog slept
lightly and never moved all night, but had any one observed him closely
he would have seen that every fitful flame that burst from the sinking
fire, every unusual puff of wind, and every motion of the horses that
fed or rested hard by, had the effect of revealing a speck of glittering
white in Crusoe's watchful eye.



CHAPTER SIX.

THE GREAT PRAIRIES OF THE "FAR WEST"--A REMARKABLE COLONY DISCOVERED,
AND A MISERABLE NIGHT ENDURED.

Of all the hours of the night or day the hour that succeeds the dawn is
the purest, the most joyous and the best.  At least so think we; and so
think hundreds and thousands of the human family; and so thought Dick
Varley, as he sprung suddenly into a sitting posture next morning, and
threw his arms with an exulting feeling of delight round the neck of
Crusoe, who instantly sat up to greet him.

This was an unusual piece of enthusiasm on the part of Dick, but the dog
received it with marked satisfaction, rubbed his big hairy cheek against
that of his young master, and arose from his sedentary position in order
to afford free scope for the use of his tail.

"Ho!  Joe Blunt!  Henri!  Up, boys, up!  The sun will have the start o'
us.  I'll catch the nags."

So saying Dick bounded away into the woods with Crusoe gambolling
joyously at his heels.  Dick soon caught his own horse and Crusoe caught
Joe's.  Then the former mounted and quickly brought in the other two.

Returning to the camp he found everything packed and ready to strap on
the back of the pack-horse.

"That's the way to do it, lad," cried Joe.  "Here Henri, look alive and
git yer beast ready.  I do believe yer goin' to take another snooze!"

Henri was indeed, at that moment, indulging in a gigantic stretch and a
cavernous yawn, but he finished both hastily, and rushed at his poor
horse as if he intended to slay it on the spot.  He only threw the
saddle on its back, however, and then threw himself on the saddle.

"Now then, all ready?"

"Ay,--oui, yis!"

And away they went at full stretch again on their journey.

Thus day after day they travelled, and night after night they laid them
down to sleep under the trees of the forest, until at length they
reached the edge of the Great Prairie.

It was a great, a memorable day in the life of Dick Varley, that on
which he first beheld the prairie,--the vast boundless prairie.  He had
heard of it, talked of it, dreamed about it, but he had never,--no, he
had never realised it.  'Tis always thus.  Our conceptions of things
that we have not seen are almost invariably wrong.  Dick's eyes
glittered, and his heart swelled, and his cheeks flushed, and his breath
came thick and quick.

"There it is," he gasped, as the great rolling plain broke suddenly on
his enraptured gaze; "that's it--oh!--"

Dick uttered a yell that would have done credit to the fiercest chief of
the Pawnees, and, being unable to utter another word, he swung his cap
in the air and sprang like an arrow from a bow over the mighty ocean of
grass.  The sun had just risen to send a flood of golden glory over the
scene; the horses were fresh, so the elder hunters, gladdened by the
beauty of all around them, and inspired by the irresistible enthusiasm
of their young companion, gave the reins to the horses and flew after
him.  It was a glorious gallop, that first headlong dash over the
boundless prairie of the "far west!"

The prairies have often been compared, most justly, to the ocean.  There
is the same wide circle of space bounded on all sides by the horizon;
there is the same swell, or undulation, or succession of long low
unbroken waves that marks the ocean when it is calm; they are canopied
by the same pure sky, and swept by the same untrammelled breezes.  There
are islands, too--clumps of trees and willow-bushes,--which rise out of
this grassy ocean to break and relieve its uniformity; and these vary in
size and numbers as do the isles of ocean--being numerous in some
places, while in others they are so scarce that the traveller does not
meet one in a long day's journey.  Thousands of beautiful flowers decked
the green sward, and numbers of little birds hopped about among them.

"Now, lads," said Joe Blunt, reining up, "our troubles begin to-day."

"Our troubles! our joys, you mean!" exclaimed Dick Varley.

"P'raps I don't mean nothin' o' the sort," retorted Joe.  "Man wos never
intended to swaller his joys without a strong mixtur' o' troubles.  I
s'pose he couldn't stand 'em pure.  Ye see we've got to the prairie
now--"

"One blind hoss might see dat!" interrupted Henri.

"An' we may or may not diskiver buffalo.  An' water's scarce, too, so
we'll need to look out for it pretty sharp, I guess, else we'll lose our
horses, in which case we may as well give out at once.  Besides, there's
rattlesnakes about in sandy places--we'll ha' to look out for them; an'
there's badger holes--we'll need to look sharp for them lest the horses
put their feet in 'em; an' there's Injuns, who'll look out pretty sharp
for _us_ if they once get wind that we're in them parts."

"Oui, yis, mes boys, and there's rain, and tunder, and lightin'," added
Henri, pointing to a dark cloud which was seen rising on the horizon
ahead of them.

"It'll be rain," remarked Joe, "but there's no thunder in the air jist
now; we'll make for yonder clump o' bushes and lay by till it's past."

Turning a little to the right of the course they had been following, the
hunters galloped along one of the hollows between the prairie waves
before mentioned, in the direction of a clump of willows.  Before
reaching it however, they passed over a bleak and barren plain where
there was neither flower nor bird.  Here they were suddenly arrested by
a most extraordinary sight--at least it was so to Dick Varley, who had
never seen the like before.  This was a colony of what Joe called
"prairie-dogs."  On first beholding them Crusoe uttered a sort of half
growl, half bark of surprise, cocked his tail and ears, and instantly
prepared to charge, but he glanced up at his master first for
permission.  Observing that his finger and his look commanded "silence"
he dropped his tail at once and stepped to the rear.  He did not,
however, cease to regard the prairie-dogs with intense curiosity.

These remarkable little creatures have been egregiously misnamed by the
hunters of the west, for they bear not the slightest resemblance to
dogs, either in formation or habits.  They are, in fact, the marmot, and
in size are little larger than squirrels, which animals they resemble in
some degree.  They burrow under the light soil and throw it up in mounds
like moles.

Thousands of them were running about among their dwellings when Dick
first beheld them, but the moment they caught sight of the horsemen
rising over the ridge, they set up a tremendous hubbub of consternation;
each little beast instantly mounted guard on the top of his house and
prepared, as it were, to "receive cavalry."

The most ludicrous thing about them was, that although the most timid
and cowardly creatures in the world, they seemed the most impertinent
things that ever lived!  Knowing that their holes afforded them a
perfectly safe retreat they sat close beside them, and as the hunters
slowly approached, they elevated their heads, wagged their little tails,
showed their teeth, and chattered at them like monkeys.  The nearer they
came the more angry and furious did the prairie-dogs become, until Dick
Varley almost fell off his horse with suppressed laughter.  They let the
hunters come close up, waxing louder and louder in their wrath; but the
instant a hand was raised to throw a stone or point a gun, a thousand
little heads dived into a thousand holes, and a thousand little tails
wriggled for an instant in the air--then, a dead silence reigned over
the deserted scene.

"Bien, them's have dive into de bo'-els of de eart'," said Henri with a
broad grin.

Presently a thousand noses appeared, and nervously disappeared like the
wink of an eye.  Then they appeared again, and a thousand pairs of eyes
followed.  Instantly, like Jack in the box, they were all on the top of
their hillocks again, chattering and wagging their little tails as
vigorously as ever.  You could not say that you _saw_ them jump out of
their holes.  Suddenly, as if by magic, they _were_ out; then Dick
tossed up his arms, and, suddenly, as if by magic, they were gone!

Their number was incredible, and their cities were full of riotous
activity.  What their occupations were the hunters could not ascertain,
but it was perfectly evident that they visited a great deal and gossiped
tremendously, for they ran about from house to house, and sat chatting
in groups; but it was also observed that they never went far from their
own houses.  Each seemed to have a circle of acquaintance in the
immediate neighbourhood of his own residence, to which in case of sudden
danger he always fled.

But another thing about these prairie-dogs (perhaps, considering their
size, we should call them prairie-doggies), another thing about them, we
say, was that each doggie lived with an owl, or, more correctly, an owl
lived with each doggie!  This is such an extraordinary _fact_, that we
could scarce hope that men would believe us, were our statement not
supported by dozens of trustworthy travellers who have visited and
written about these regions.  The whole plain was covered with these
owls.  Each hole seemed to be the residence of an owl and a doggie, and
these incongruous couples lived together apparently in perfect harmony.

We have not been able to ascertain from travellers _why_ the owls have
gone to live with these doggies, so we beg humbly to offer our own
private opinion to the reader.  We assume, then, that owls find it
absolutely needful to have holes.  Probably prairie-owls cannot dig
holes for themselves.  Having discovered, however, a race of little
creatures that could, they very likely determined to take forcible
possession of the holes made by them.  Finding, no doubt, that, when
they did so, the doggies were too timid to object, and discovering,
moreover, that they were sweet, innocent little creatures, the owls
resolved to take them into partnership, and so the thing was settled--
that's how it came about, no doubt of it!

There is a report that rattlesnakes live in these holes also; but we
cannot certify our reader of the truth of this,--still it is well to be
acquainted with a report that is current among the men of the backwoods.
If it be true, we are of opinion that the doggie's family is the most
miscellaneous and remarkable on the face of--or, as Henri said, in the
bo'-els--of the earth.

Dick and his friends were so deeply absorbed in watching these curious
little creatures that they did not observe the rapid spread of the black
clouds over the sky.  _A_ few heavy drops of rain now warned them to
seek shelter, so wheeling round they dashed off at speed for the clump
of willows, which they gained just as the rain began to descend in
torrents.

"Now, lads, do it slick.  Off packs and saddles," cried Joe Blunt,
jumping from his horse.  "I'll make a hut for ye, right off."

"A hut, Joe! what sort o' hut can ye make here?" inquired Dick.

"Ye'll see, boy, in a minute."

"Ach! lend me hand here, Dick; de bockle am tight as de hosse's own
skin.  Ah! dere all right."

"Hallo! what's this?" exclaimed Dick, as Crusoe advanced with something
in his mouth.  "I declare, it's a bird of some sort."

"A prairie-hen," remarked Joe, as Crusoe laid the bird at Dick's feet;
"capital for supper."

"Ah! dat chien is superb! goot dog.  Come here, I vill clap you."

But Crusoe refused to be caressed.  Meanwhile, Joe and Dick formed a
sort of beehive-looking hut by bending down the stems of a tall bush and
thrusting their points into the ground.  Over this they threw the
largest buffalo robe, and placed another on the ground below it, on
which they laid their packs of goods.  These they further secured
against wet by placing several robes over them and a skin of parchment.
Then they sat down on this pile to rest and consider what should be done
next.

"'Tis a bad look out," said Joe, shaking his head.

"I fear it is," replied Dick in a melancholy tone.

Henri said nothing, but he sighed deeply on looking up at the sky, which
was now of a uniform watery grey, while black clouds drove athwart it.
The rain was pouring in torrents, and the wind began to sweep it in
broad sheets over the plains, and under their slight covering, so that
in a short time they were wet to the skin.  The horses stood meekly
beside them, with their tails and heads equally pendulous, and Crusoe
sat before his master, looking at him with an expression that seemed to
say, "Couldn't you put a stop to this if you were to try?"

"This'll never do.  I'll try to git up a fire," said Dick, jumping up in
desperation.

"Ye may save yerself the trouble," remarked Joe, drily--at least as
drily as was possible in the circumstances.

However, Dick did try, but he failed signally.  Everything was soaked
and saturated.  There were no large trees; most of the bushes were
green, and the dead ones were soaked.  The coverings were slobbery; the
skins they sat on were slobbery; the earth itself was slobbery; so Dick
threw his blanket (which was also slobbery) round his shoulders, and sat
down beside his companions to grin and bear it.  As for Joe and Henri,
they were old hands, and accustomed to such circumstances.  From the
first they had resigned themselves to their fate, and wrapping their wet
blankets round them sat down, side by side, wisely to endure the evils
that they could not cure.

There is an old rhyme, by whom composed we know not--and it matters
little--which runs thus--

  "For every evil under the sun
  There is a remedy--or there's none.
  If there is--try and find it;
  If there isn't--never mind it!"

There is deep wisdom here in small compass.  The principle involved
deserves to be heartily recommended.  Dick never heard of the lines, but
he knew the principle well; so he began to "never mind it," by sitting
down beside his companions and whistling vociferously.  As the wind
rendered this a difficult feat he took to singing instead.  After that
he said, "Let's eat a bite, Joe, and then go to bed."

"Be all means," said Joe, who produced a mass of dried deer's meat from
a wallet.

"It's cold grub," said Dick, "and tough."

But the hunters' teeth were sharp and strong, so they ate a hearty
supper and washed it down with a drink of rain water collected from a
pool on the top of their hut.  They now tried to sleep, for the night
was advancing, and it was so dark that they could scarce see their hands
when held up before their faces.  They sat back to back, and thus, in
the form of a tripod, began to snooze.  Joe's and Henri's seasoned
frames would have remained stiff as posts till morning; but Dick's body
was young and pliant, so he hadn't been asleep a few seconds when he
fell forward into the mud and effectually awakened the others.  Joe gave
a grunt, and Henri exclaimed, "Hah!" but Dick was too sleepy and
miserable to say anything.  Crusoe, however, rose up to show his
sympathy, and laid his wet head on his master's knee as he resumed his
place.  This catastrophe happened three times in the space of an hour,
and by the third time they were all wakened up so thoroughly that they
gave up the attempt to sleep, and amused each other by recounting their
hunting experiences and telling stories.  So engrossed did they become
that day broke sooner than they had expected--and just in proportion as
the grey light of dawn rose higher into the eastern sky did the spirits
of these weary men rise within their soaking bodies.



CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE "WALLERING" PECULIARITIES OF BUFFALO BULLS--THE FIRST BUFFALO HUNT
AND ITS CONSEQUENCES--CRUSOE COMES TO THE RESCUE--PAWNEES DISCOVERED--A
MONSTER BUFFALO HUNT--JOE ACTS THE PART OF AMBASSADOR.

Fortunately the day that succeeded the dreary night described in the
last chapter was warm and magnificent.  The sun rose in a blaze of
splendour and filled the atmosphere with steam from the moist earth.

The unfortunates in the wet camp were not slow to avail themselves of
his cheering rays.  They hung up everything on the bushes to dry, and by
dint of extreme patience and cutting out the comparatively dry hearts of
several pieces of wood, they lighted a fire and boiled some rain water,
which was soon converted into soup.  This, and the exercise necessary
for the performance of these several duties, warmed and partially dried
them, so that when they once more mounted their steeds and rode away
they were in a state of comparative comfort and in excellent spirits.
The only annoyance was the clouds of mosquitoes and large flies that
assailed men and horses whenever they checked their speed.

"I tell ye wot it is," said Joe Blunt, one fine morning about a week
after they had begun to cross the prairie, "it's my 'pinion that we'll
come on buffaloes soon.  Them tracks are fresh, an' yonder's one o'
their wallers that's bin used not long agone."

"I'll go have a look at it," cried Dick, trotting away as he spoke.

Everything in these vast prairies was new to Dick Varley, and he was
kept in a constant state of excitement during the first week or two of
his journey.  It is true he was quite familiar with the names and habits
of all the animals that dwelt there, for many a time and oft had he
listened to the "yarns" of the hunters and trappers of the Mustang
Valley, when they returned laden with rich furs from their periodical
hunting expeditions.  But this knowledge of his only served to whet his
curiosity and his desire to _see_ the denizens of the prairies with his
own eyes, and now that his wish was accomplished, it greatly increased
the pleasures of his journey.

Dick had just reached the "wallow" referred to by Joe Blunt, and had
reined up his steed to observe it leisurely, when a faint hissing sound
reached his ear.  Looking quickly back he observed his two companions
crouching on the necks of their horses, and slowly descending into a
hollow of the prairie in front of them, as if they wished to bring the
rising ground between them and some object in advance.  Dick instantly
followed their example and was soon at their heels.

"Ye needn't look at the waller," whispered Joe, "for a' t'other side o'
the ridge there's a bull _wallerin'_."

"Ye don't mean it!" exclaimed Dick, as they all dismounted and picketed
their horses to the plain.

"Oui," said Henri, tumbling off his horse, while a broad grin overspread
his good-natured countenance; "it is one fact!  One buffalo bull be
wollerin' like a enormerous hog.  Also, dere be t'ousands o' buffaloes
farder on."

"Can ye trust yer dog keepin' back?" inquired Joe, with a dubious glance
at Crusoe.

"Trust him!  Ay, I wish I was as sure o' myself."

"Look to your primin', then, an' we'll have tongues and marrow-bones for
supper to-night, I'se warrant.  Hist! down on yer knees, and go softly.
We might ha' run them down on horseback, but its bad to wind yer beasts
on a trip like this, if ye can help it; an' it's about as easy to stalk
them.  Leastways, we'll try.  Lift yer head slowly, Dick, an' don't show
more nor the half o't above the ridge."

Dick elevated his head as directed, and the scene that met his view was
indeed well calculated to send an electric shock to the heart of an
ardent sportsman.  The vast plain beyond was absolutely blackened with
countless herds of buffaloes, which were browsing on the rich grass.
They were still so far distant that their bellowing, and the trampling
of their myriad hoofs, only reached the hunters like a faint murmur on
the breeze.  In the immediate foreground, however, there was a group of
about half a dozen buffalo cows feeding quietly, and in the midst of
them an enormous old bull was enjoying himself in his wallow.  The
animals, towards which our hunters now crept with murderous intent, are
the fiercest and the most ponderous of the ruminating inhabitants of the
western wilderness.  The name of buffalo, however, is not correct.  The
animal is the _bison_, and bears no resemblance whatever to the buffalo
proper; but as the hunters of the far west--and, indeed, travellers
generally, have adopted the misnomer, we bow to the authority of custom
and adopt it too.

Buffaloes roam in countless thousands all over the North American
prairies, from the Hudson's Bay territories, north of Canada, to the
shores of the Gulf of Mexico.

The advance of white men to the west has driven them to the prairies
between the Missouri and the Rocky Mountains, and has somewhat
diminished their numbers; but even thus diminished, they are still
innumerable in the more distant plains.  Their colour is dark brown, but
it varies a good deal with the seasons.  The hair or fur, from its great
length in winter and spring and exposure to the weather, turns quite
light; but when the winter coat is shed off the new growth is a
beautiful dark brown, almost approaching to jet-black.  In form the
buffalo somewhat resembles the ox, but its head and shoulders are much
larger, and are covered with a profusion of long shaggy hair, which adds
greatly to the fierce aspect of the animal.  It has a large hump on the
shoulder, and its fore-quarters are much larger, in proportion, than the
hindquarters.  The horns are short and thick; the hoofs are cloven, and
the tail is short, with a tuft of hair at the extremity.

It is scarcely possible to conceive a wilder or more ferocious and
terrible monster than a buffalo bull.  He often grows to the enormous
weight of two thousand pounds.  His lion-like mane falls in shaggy
confusion quite over his head and shoulders, down to the ground.  When
he is wounded he becomes imbued with the spirit of a tiger; he stamps,
bellows, roars, and foams forth his rage with glaring eyes and steaming
nostrils; and charges furiously at man and horse with utter
recklessness.  Fortunately, however, he is not naturally pugnacious, and
can be easily thrown into a sudden panic.  Moreover, the peculiar
position of his eye renders this creature not so terrible as he would
otherwise be to the hunter.  Owing to the stiff structure of the neck,
and the sunken, downward-looking eyeball, the buffalo cannot, without an
effort, see beyond the direct line of vision presented to the habitual
carriage of his head.  When, therefore, he is wounded, and charges, he
does so in a straight line, so that his pursuer can leap easily out of
his way.  The pace of the buffalo is clumsy, and _apparently_ slow, yet,
when chased, he dashes away over the plains in blind blundering terror,
at a rate that leaves all but good horses far behind.  He cannot keep
the pace up, however, and is usually soon overtaken.  Were the buffalo
capable of the same alert and agile motions of head and eye peculiar to
the deer or wild horse, in addition to his "bovine rage," he would be
the most formidable brute on earth.  There is no object, perhaps, so
terrible as the headlong advance of a herd of these animals when
thoroughly aroused by terror.  They care not for their necks.  All
danger in front is forgotten, or not seen, in the terror of that from
which they fly.  No thundering cataract is more tremendously
irresistible than the black bellowing torrent which sometimes pours
through the narrow defiles of the Rocky Mountains, or sweeps like a
roaring flood over the trembling plains.

The wallowing, to which we have referred, is a luxury usually indulged
in during the hot months of summer, when the buffaloes are tormented by
flies, and heat, and drought.  At this season they seek the low grounds
in the prairies where there is a little stagnant water lying amongst the
grass, and the ground underneath, being saturated, is soft.  The leader
of the herd, a shaggy old bull, usually takes upon himself to prepare
the wallow.

It was a rugged monster of the largest size that did so on the present
occasion, to the intense delight of Dick Varley, who begged Joe to lie
still and watch the operation before trying to shoot one of the buffalo
cows.  Joe consented with a nod, and the four spectators--for Crusoe was
as much taken up with the proceedings as any of them--crouched in the
grass, and looked on.

Coming up to the swampy spot the old bull gave a grunt of satisfaction,
and, going down on one knee, plunged his short thick horns into the mud,
tore it up, and cast it aside.  Having repeated this several times he
plunged his head in, and brought it forth saturated with dirty water,
and bedaubed with lumps of mud, through which his fierce eyes gazed,
with a ludicrous expression of astonishment, straight in the direction
of the hunters, as if he meant to say, "I've done it that time, and no
mistake!"  The other buffaloes seemed to think so too, for they came up
and looked, on with an expression that seemed to say, "Well done, old
fellow; try that again!"

The old fellow did try it again, and again, and again, plunging, and
ramming, and tearing up the earth, until he formed an excavation large
enough to contain his huge body.  In this bath he laid himself
comfortably down, and began to roll and wallow about until he mixed up a
trough full of thin soft mud, which completely covered him.  When he
came out of the hole there was scarcely an atom of his former self
visible!

The coat of mud thus put on by bulls is usually permitted by them to
dry, and is not finally got rid of until long after, when oft-repeated
rollings on the grass and washings by rain at length clear it away.

When the old bull vacated this delectable bath, another bull, scarcely,
if at all, less ferocious-looking, stepped forward to take his turn, but
he was interrupted by a volley from the hunters, which scattered the
animals right and left, and sent the mighty herds in the distance flying
over the prairie in wild terror.  The very turmoil of their own mad
flight added to their panic, and the continuous thunder of their hoofs
was heard until the last of them disappeared on the horizon.  The family
party which had been fired at, however, did not escape so well.  Joe's
rifle wounded a fat young cow, and Dick Varley brought it down.  Henri
had done his best, but, as the animals were too far distant for his
limited vision, he missed the cow he fired at and hit the young bull
whose bath had been interrupted.  The others scattered and fled.

"Well done, Dick," exclaimed Joe Blunt, as they all ran up to the cow
that had fallen.  "Your first shot at the buffalo was a good 'un.  Come
now an I'll show ye how to cut it up an' carry off the titbits."

"Ah! mon dear ole bull," exclaimed Henri, gazing after the animal which
he had wounded, and which was now limping slowly away.  "You is not
worth goin' after.  Varewell,--adieu."

"He'll be tough enough, I warrant," said Joe, "an' we've more meat here
nor we can lift."

"But wouldn't it be as well to put the poor brute out o' pain?"
suggested Dick.

"Oh, he'll die soon enough," replied Joe, tucking up his sleeves and
drawing his long hunting-knife.

Dick, however, was not satisfied with this way of looking at it.  Saying
that he would be back in a few minutes he re-loaded his rifle, and
calling Crusoe to his side, walked quickly after the wounded bull, which
was now hid from view in a hollow of the plain.

In a few minutes he came in sight of it, and ran forward with his rifle
in readiness.

"Down, Crusoe," he whispered; "wait for me here."

Crusoe crouched in the grass instantly, and Dick advanced.  As he came
on, the bull observed him, and turned round bellowing with rage and pain
to receive him.  The aspect of the brute on a near view was so terrible,
that Dick involuntarily stopped too, and gazed with a mingled feeling of
wonder and awe, while it bristled with passion, and blood-streaked foam
dropped from its open jaws, and its eyes glared furiously.  Seeing that
Dick did not advance, the bull charged him with a terrific roar; but the
youth had firm nerves, and although the rush of such a savage creature
at full speed was calculated to try the courage of any man, especially
one who had never seen a buffalo bull before, Dick did not lose presence
of mind.  He remembered the many stories he had listened to of this very
thing that was now happening, so, crushing down his excitement as well
as he could, he cocked his rifle and awaited the charge.  He knew that
it was of no use to fire at the head of the advancing foe, as the
thickness of the skull, together with the matted hair on the forehead,
rendered it impervious to a bullet.

When the bull was within a yard of him he leaped lightly to one side and
it passed.  Just as it did so, Dick aimed at its heart and fired, but
his knowledge of the creature's anatomy was not yet correct.  The ball
entered the shoulder too high, and the bull, checking himself as well as
he could in his headlong rush, turned round and made at Dick again.

The failure coupled with the excitement proved too much for Dick; he
could not resist discharging his second barrel at the brute's head as it
came on.  He might as well have fired at a brick wall; it shook its
shaggy front, and with a hideous bellow thundered forward.  Again Dick
sprang to one side, but in doing so a tuft of grass or a stone caught
his foot, and he fell heavily to the ground.

Up to this point Crusoe's admirable training had nailed him to the spot
where he had been left, although the twitching of every fibre in his
body and a low continuous whine showed how gladly he would have hailed
permission to join in the combat; but the instant he saw his master down
and the buffalo turning to charge again, he sprang forward with a roar
that would have done credit to his bovine enemy, and seized him by the
nose.  So vigorous was the rush that he well-nigh pulled the bull down
on its side.  One toss of its head, however, sent Crusoe high into the
air, but it accomplished this feat at the expense of its nose, which was
torn and lacerated by the dog's teeth.

Scarcely had Crusoe touched the ground, which he did with a sounding
thump, than he sprang up and flew at his adversary again.  This time,
however, he adopted the plan of barking furiously and biting by rapid
yet terrible snaps as he found opportunity, thus keeping the bull
entirely engrossed, and affording Dick an opportunity of re-loading his
rifle, which he was not slow to do.  Dick then stepped close up, and,
while the two combatants were roaring in each other's face; he shot the
buffalo through the heart.  It fell to the earth with a deep groan.

Crusoe's rage instantly vanished on beholding this, and he seemed to be
filled with tumultuous joy at his master's escape, for he gambolled
round him, and whined and fawned upon him in a manner that could not be
misunderstood.

"Good dog; thank'ee, my pup," said Dick, patting Crusoe's head as he
stooped to brush the dust from his leggings; "I don't know what would
ha' become o' me but for your help, Crusoe."

Crusoe turned his head a little to one side, wagged his tail, and looked
at Dick with an expression that said quite plainly, "I'd die for you, I
would--not once, or twice, but ten times, fifty times if need be--and
that not merely to save your life, but even to please you."

There is no doubt whatever that Crusoe felt something of this sort.  The
love of a Newfoundland dog to its master is beyond calculation or
expression.  He who once gains such love carries the dog's life in his
hand.  But let him who reads note well, and remember, that there is only
one coin that can purchase such love, and that is _kindness_; the coin,
too, must be genuine.  Kindness merely _expressed_ will not do, it must
be _felt_.

"Hallo! boy, ye've bin i' the wars!" exclaimed Joe, raising himself from
his task as Dick and Crusoe returned.

"You look more like it than I do," retorted Dick, laughing.

This was true, for cutting up a buffalo carcase with no other instrument
than a large knife is no easy matter.  Yet western hunters and Indians
can do it without cleaver or saw, in a way that would surprise a
civilised butcher not a little.  Joe was covered with blood up to the
elbows.  His hair, happening to have a knack of getting into his eyes,
had been so often brushed off with bloody hands, that his whole visage
was speckled with gore, and his dress was by no means immaculate.

While Dick related his adventure, or _mis-adventure_ with the bull, Joe
and Henri completed the cutting out of the most delicate portions of the
buffalo, namely, the hump on its shoulder--which is a choice piece, much
finer than the best beef--and the tongue, and a few other parts.  The
tongues of buffaloes are superior to those of domestic cattle.  When all
was ready the meat was slung across the back of the pack-horse, and the
party, remounting their horses, continued their journey, having first
cleansed themselves as well as they could in the rather dirty waters of
an old wallow.

"See," said Henri, turning to Dick and pointing to a circular spot of
green as they rode along, "that is one old _dry_ waller."

"Ay," remarked Joe, "after the waller dries, it becomes a ring o'
greener grass than the rest o' the plain, as ye see.  'Tis said the
first hunters used to wonder greatly at these myster'ous circles, and
they invented all sorts o' stories to account for 'em.  Some said they
wos fairy-rings, but at last they comed to know they wos nothin' more
nor less than places where buffaloes wos used to waller in.  It's often
seemed to me that if we knowed the _raisons_ o' things we wouldn't be so
much puzzled wi' them as we are."

The truth of this last remark was so self-evident and incontrovertible
that it elicited no reply, and the three friends rode on for a
considerable time in silence.

It was now past noon, and they were thinking of calling a halt for a
short rest to the horses and a pipe to themselves, when Joe was heard to
give vent to one of those peculiar hisses that always accompanied either
a surprise or a caution.  In the present case it indicated both.

"What now, Joe?"

"Injuns!" ejaculated Joe.

"Eh! fat you say? ou is de?"

Crusoe at this moment uttered a low growl.  Ever since the day he had
been partially roasted he had maintained a rooted antipathy to Red-men.
Joe immediately dismounted, and placing his ear to the ground listened
intently.  It is a curious fact that by placing the ear close to the
ground sounds can be heard distinctly which could not be heard at all if
the listener were to maintain an erect position.

"They're arter the buffalo," said Joe, rising, "an' I think it's likely
they're a band o' Pawnees.  Listen an' ye'll hear their shouts quite
plain."

Dick and Henri immediately lay down and placed their ears to the ground.

"Now, me hear noting," said Henri, jumping up, "but me ear is like me
eyes; ver' short-sighted."

"I do hear something," said Dick as he got up, "but the beating o' my
own heart makes row enough to spoil my hearin'."

Joe Blunt smiled.  "Ah! lad, yer young an' yer blood's too hot yet, but
bide a bit; you'll cool down soon.  I wos like you once.  Now, lads,
what think ye we should do?"

"You know best, Joe."

"Oui, nodoubtedly."

"Then wot I advise is that we gallop to the broken sand hillocks ye see
yonder, get behind them an' take a peep at the Red-skins.  If they are
Pawnees we'll go up to them at once; if not, we'll hold a council o' war
on the spot."

Having arranged this they mounted and hastened towards the hillocks in
question, which they reached after ten minutes' gallop, at full stretch.
The sandy mounds afforded them concealment, and enabled them to watch
the proceedings of the savages in the plain below.  The scene was the
most curious and exciting that can be conceived.  The centre of the
plain before them was crowded with hundreds of buffaloes, which were
dashing about in the most frantic state of alarm.  To whatever point
they galloped they were met by yelling savages on horseback, who could
not have been fewer in numbers than a thousand--all being armed with
lance, bow, and quiver, and mounted on active little horses.  The
Indians had completely surrounded the herd of buffaloes, and were now
advancing steadily towards them, gradually narrowing the circle, and,
whenever the terrified animals endeavoured to break through the line,
they rushed to that particular spot in a body, and scared them back
again into the centre.

Thus they advanced until they closed in on their prey, and formed an
unbroken circle round them, whilst the poor brutes kept eddying and
surging to and fro in a confused mass, hooking and climbing upon each
other, and bellowing furiously.  Suddenly the horsemen made a rush, and
the work of destruction began.  The tremendous turmoil raised a cloud of
dust that obscured the field in some places, and hid it from our
hunters' view.  Some of the Indians galloped round and round the circle,
sending their arrows whizzing up to the feathers in the sides of the
fattest cows.  Others dashed fearlessly into the midst of the black
heaving mass, and, with their long lances, pierced dozens of them to the
heart.  In many instances the buffaloes, infuriated by wounds, turned
fiercely on their assailants and gored the horses to death, in which
cases the men had to trust to their nimble legs for safety.  Sometimes a
horse got jammed in the centre of the swaying mass, and could neither
advance nor retreat.  Then the savage rider leaped upon the buffaloes'
backs, and springing from one to another, like an acrobat, gained the
outer edge of the circle, not failing, however, in his strange flight,
to pierce with his lance several of the fattest of his stepping-stones
as he sped along.

A few of the herd succeeded in escaping from the blood and dust of this
desperate battle, and made off over the plains, but they were quickly
overtaken, and the lance or arrow brought them down on the green turf.
Many of the dismounted riders were chased by bulls, but they stepped
lightly to one side, and, as the animals passed, drove their arrows deep
into their sides.  Thus the tumultuous war went on, amid thundering
tread, and yell, and bellow, till the green plain was transformed into a
sea of blood and mire, and every buffalo of the herd was laid low.

It is not to be supposed that such reckless warfare is invariably waged
without damage to the savages.  Many were the wounds and bruises
received that day, and not a few bones were broken, but happily no lives
were lost.

"Now, lads, now's our time.  A bold and fearless look's the best at all
times.  Don't look as if ye doubted their friendship; and mind, wotever
ye do, don't use yer arms.  Follow me."

Saying this, Joe Blunt leaped on his horse, and, bounding over the ridge
at full speed, galloped headlong across the plain.

The savages observed the strangers instantly, and a loud yell announced
the fact as they assembled from all parts of the field brandishing their
bows and spears.  Joe's quick eye soon distinguished their chief,
towards whom he galloped, still at full speed, till within a yard or two
of his horse's head; then he reined up suddenly.  So rapidly did Joe and
his comrades approach, and so instantaneously did they pull up, that
their steeds were thrown almost on their haunches.

The Indian chief did not move a muscle.  He was a tall powerful savage,
almost naked, and mounted on a coal-black charger, which he sat with the
ease of a man accustomed to ride from infancy.  He was, indeed, a
splendid-looking savage, but his face wore a dark frown, for, although
he and his band had visited the settlements and trafficked with the
fur-traders on the Missouri, he did not love the "Pale-faces," whom he
regarded as intruders on the hunting grounds of his fathers, and the
peace that existed between them at that time was of a very fragile
character.  Indeed, it was deemed by the traders impossible to travel
through the Indian country at that period except in strong force, and it
was the very boldness of the present attempt that secured to our hunters
anything like a civil reception.

Joe, who could speak the Pawnee tongue fluently, began by explaining the
object of his visit, and spoke of the presents which he had brought for
the great chief; but it was evident that his words made little
impression.  As he discoursed to them the savages crowded round the
little party, and began to handle and examine their dresses and weapons
with a degree of rudeness that caused Joe considerable anxiety.

"Mahtawa believes that the heart of the Pale-face is true," said the
savage, when Joe paused, "but he does not choose to make peace.  The
Pale-faces are grasping.  They never rest.  They turn their eyes to the
great mountains, and say, `There we will stop.'  But even there they
will not stop.  They are never satisfied, Mahtawa knows them well."

This speech sank like a death-knell into the hearts of the hunters, for
they knew that if the savages refused to make peace, they would scalp
them all and appropriate their goods.  To make things worse, a
dark-visaged Indian suddenly caught hold of Henri's rifle, and, ere he
was aware, plucked it from his hand.  The blood rushed to the gigantic
hunter's forehead, and he was on the point of springing at the man, when
Joe said in a deep, quiet voice--

"Be still, Henri.  You will but hasten death."

At this moment there was a movement in the outskirts of the circle of
horsemen, and another chief rode into the midst of them.  He was
evidently higher in rank than Mahtawa, for he spoke authoritatively to
the crowd, and stepped in before him.  The hunters drew little comfort
from the appearance of his face, however, for it scowled upon them.  He
was not so powerful a man as Mahtawa, but he was more gracefully formed,
and had a more noble and commanding countenance.

"Have the Pale-faces no wigwams on the great river that they should come
to spy out the lands of the Pawnee?" he demanded.

"We have not come to spy your country," answered Joe, raising himself
proudly as he spoke, and taking off his cap.  "We have come with a
message from the great chief of the Pale-faces, who lives in the village
far beyond the great river where the sun rises.  He says, why should the
Pale-face and the Red-man fight?  They are brothers.  The same Manitou
[the Indian name for God] watches over both.  The Pale-faces have more
beads, and guns, and blankets, and knives, and vermilion than they
require; they wish to give some of these things for the skins and furs
which the Red-man does not know what to do with.  The great chief of the
Pale-faces has sent me to say, `Why should we fight? let us smoke the
pipe of peace!'"

At the mention of beads and blankets the face of the wily chief
brightened for a moment.  Then he said, sternly--

"The heart of the Pale-face is not true.  He has come here to trade for
himself.  San-it-sa-rish has eyes that can see--they are not shut.  Are
not these your goods?"  The chief pointed to the pack-horse as he spoke.

"Trappers do not take their goods into the heart of an enemy's camp,"
returned Joe; "San-it-sa-rish is wise and will understand this.  These
are gifts to the chief of the Pawnees.  There are more awaiting him when
the pipe of peace is smoked.  I have said,--What message shall we take
back to the great chief of the Pale-faces?"

San-it-sa-rish was evidently mollified.

"The hunting field is not the council tent," he said.  "The Pale-faces
will go with us to our village."

Of course Joe was only too glad to agree to this proposal, but he now
deemed it politic to display a little firmness.

"We cannot go till our rifle is restored.  It will not do to go back and
tell the great chief of the Pale-faces that the Pawnees are thieves."

The chief frowned angrily.

"The Pawnees are true--they are not thieves.  They choose to _look_ at
the rifle of the Pale-face.  It shall be returned."

The rifle was instantly restored, and then our hunters rode off with the
Indians towards their camp.  On the way they met hundreds of women and
children going to the scene of the great hunt, for it was their special
duty to cut up the meat and carry it into camp.  The men, considering
that they had done quite enough in killing it, returned to smoke and eat
away the fatigues of the chase.

As they rode along Dick Varley observed that some of the "braves," as
Indian warriors are styled, were eating pieces of the bloody livers of
the buffaloes in a raw state, at which he expressed not a little
disgust.

"Ah! boy, you're green yet," remarked Joe Blunt in an undertone.
"Mayhap ye'll be thankful to do that same yerself some day."

"Well, I'll not refuse to try when it is needful," said Dick with a
laugh; "meanwhile I'm content to see the Red-skins do it, Joe Blunt."



CHAPTER EIGHT.

DICK AND HIS FRIENDS VISIT THE INDIANS AND SEE MANY WONDERS--CRUSOE,
TOO, EXPERIENCES A FEW SURPRISES AND TEACHES INDIAN DOGS A LESSON--AN
INDIAN DANDY--A FOOT-RACE.

The Pawnee village, at which they soon arrived, was situated in the
midst of a most interesting and picturesque scene.

It occupied an extensive plain which sloped gently down to a creek, [In
America small rivers or riverlets are termed "creeks"] whose winding
course was marked by a broken line of wood, here and there interspersed
with a fine clump of trees, between the trunks of which the blue waters
of the lake sparkled in the distance.  Hundreds of tents or "lodges" of
buffalo skins covered the ground, and thousand of Indians--men, women,
and children--moved about the busy scene.  Some were sitting in their
lodges, lazily smoking their pipes.  But these were chiefly old and
infirm veterans, for all the young men had gone to the hunt which we
have just described.  The women were stooping over their fires, busily
preparing maize and meat for their husbands and brothers, while myriads
of little brown and naked children romped about everywhere, filling the
air with their yells and screams, which were only equalled, if not
surpassed, by the yelping dogs that seemed innumerable.

Far as the eye could reach were seen scattered herds of horses.  These
were tended by little boys who were totally destitute of clothing, and
who seemed to enjoy with infinite zest the pastime of shooting-practice
with little bows and arrows.  No wonder that these Indians become expert
bowmen.  There were urchins there, scarce two feet high, with round
bullets of bodies and short spindle-shanks, who could knock blackbirds
off the trees at every shot, and cut the heads of the taller flowers
with perfect certainty!  There was much need, too, for the utmost
proficiency they could attain, for the very existence of the Indian
tribes of the prairies depends on their success in hunting the buffalo.

There are hundreds and thousands of North American savages who would
undoubtedly perish and their tribes become extinct if the buffaloes were
to leave the prairies or die out.  Yet, although animals are absolutely
essential to their existence, they pursue and slay them with improvident
recklessness, sometimes killing hundreds of them merely for the sake of
the sport, the tongues, and the marrow-bones.  In the bloody hunt
described in the last chapter, however, the slaughter of so many was not
wanton, because the village that had to be supplied with food was large,
and, just previous to the hunt, they had been living on somewhat reduced
allowance.  Even the blackbirds, shot by the brown-bodied urchins before
mentioned, had been thankfully put into the pot.  Thus precarious is the
supply of food among the Red-men, who on one day are starving, and the
next are revelling in superabundance.

But to return to our story.  At one end of this village the creek sprang
over a ledge of rock in a low cascade and opened out into a beautiful
lake, the bosom of which was studded with small islands.  Here were
thousands of those smaller species of wild water-fowl which were either
too brave or too foolish to be scared away by the noise of the camp.
And here, too, dozens of children were sporting on the beach or paddling
about in their light bark canoes.

"Isn't it strange," remarked Dick to Henri, as they passed among the
tents towards the centre of the village, "isn't it strange that them
Injuns should be so fond o' fightin' when they've got all they can
want--a fine country, lots o' buffalo, an' as far as I can see, happy
homes?"

"Oui, it is remarkaibel, vraiment.  But dey do more love war to peace.
Dey loves to be excited, I s'pose."

"Humph!  One would think the hunt we seed a little agone would be
excitement enough.  But, I say, that must be the chief's tent, by the
look o't."

Dick was right; the horsemen pulled up and dismounted opposite the
principal chief's tent, which was a larger and more elegant structure
than the others.  Meanwhile an immense concourse of women, children, and
dogs gathered round the strangers, and, while the latter yelped their
dislike to white men, the former chattered continuously, as they
discussed the appearance of the strangers and their errand, which latter
soon became known.  An end was put to this by San-it-sa-rish desiring
the hunters to enter the tent, and spreading a buffalo robe for them to
sit on.  Two braves carried in their packs and then led away their
horses.

All this time Crusoe had kept as close as possible to his master's side,
feeling extremely uncomfortable in the midst of such a strange crowd,
the more especially that the ill-looking Indian curs gave him expressive
looks of hatred, and exhibited some desire to rush upon him in a body,
so that he had to keep a sharp look out all round him.  When, therefore,
Dick entered the tent Crusoe endeavoured to do so along with him, but he
was met by a blow on the nose from an old squaw, who scolded him in a
shrill voice and bade him begone.

Either our hero's knowledge of the Indian language was insufficient to
enable him to understand the order, or he had resolved not to obey it,
for instead of retreating he drew a deep gurgling breath, curled his
nose, and displayed a row of teeth that caused the old woman to draw
back in alarm.  Crusoe's was a forgiving spirit.  The instant that
opposition ceased he forgot the injury, and was meekly advancing when
Dick held up his finger.

"Go outside, pup, and wait."

Crusoe's tail drooped; with a deep sigh he turned and left the tent.  He
took up a position near the entrance, however, and sat down resignedly.
So meek, indeed, did the poor dog look, that six mangy-looking curs felt
their dastardly hearts emboldened to make a rush at him with boisterous
yells.

Crusoe did not rise.  He did not even condescend to turn his head toward
them, but he looked at them out of the corner of his dark eye,
wrinkled--very slightly--the skin of his nose, exhibited two beautiful
fangs, and gave utterance to a soft remark, that might be described as
quiet, deep-toned gargling.  It wasn't much, but it was more than enough
for the valiant six, who paused and snarled violently.

It was a peculiar trait of Crusoe's gentle nature, that, the moment any
danger ceased, he resumed his expression of nonchalant gravity.  The
expression on this occasion was misunderstood, however, and, as about
two dozen additional yelping dogs had joined the ranks of the enemy,
they advanced in close order to the attack.

Crusoe still sat quiet and kept his head high, but he _looked_ at them
again and exhibited four fangs for their inspection.  Among the pack
there was one Indian dog of large size--almost as large as Crusoe
himself--which kept well in the rear, and apparently urged the lesser
dogs on.  The little dogs didn't object, for little dogs are generally
the most pugnacious.  At this big dog Crusoe directed a pointed glance,
but said nothing.  Meanwhile a particularly small and vicious cur, with
a mere rag of a tail, crept round by the back of the tent, and, coming
upon Crusoe in the rear, snapped at his tail sharply, and then fled
shrieking with terror and surprise, no doubt, at its own temerity.

Crusoe did not bark; he seldom barked; he usually either said nothing,
or gave utterance to a prolonged roar of indignation of the most
terrible character with barks, as it were, mingled through it.  It
somewhat resembled that peculiar and well-known species of thunder, the
prolonged roll of which is marked at short intervals in its course by
cannon-like cracks.  It was a continuous, but, so to speak, _knotted_
roar.

On receiving the snap, Crusoe gave forth _the_ roar with a majesty and
power that scattered the pugnacious front rank of the enemy to the
winds.  Those that still remained, half stupefied, he leaped over with a
huge bound and alighted, fangs first, on the back of the big dog.  There
was one hideous yell, a muffled scramble of an instant's duration, and
the big dog lay dead upon the plain!

It was an awful thing to do; but Crusoe evidently felt that the peculiar
circumstances of the case required that an example should be made--and
to say truth, all things considered, we cannot blame him.  The news must
have been carried at once through the canine portion of the camp, for
Crusoe was never interfered with again after that.

Dick witnessed this little incident; but he observed that the Indian
chief cared not a straw about it, and as his dog returned quietly and
sat down in its old place, he took no notice of it either, but continued
to listen to the explanations which Joe gave to the chief, of the desire
of the Pale-faces to be friends with the Red-men.

Joe's eloquence would have done little for him on this occasion had his
hands been empty; but he followed it up by opening one of his packs, and
displaying the glittering contents before the equally glittering eyes of
the chief and his squaws.

"These," said Joe, "are the gifts that the great chief of the Pale-faces
sends to the great chief of the Pawnees, and he bids me say that there
are many more things in his stores which will be traded for skins with
the Red-men, when they visit him; and he also says that if the Pawnees
will not steal horses any more from the Pale-faces they shall receive
gifts of knives, and guns, and powder and blankets every year."

"_Wah_!" grunted the chief; "it is good.  The great chief is wise.  We
will smoke the pipe of peace."

The things that afforded so much satisfaction to San-it-sa-rish were the
veriest trifles.  Penny looking-glasses in yellow gilt tin frames, beads
of various colours, needles, cheap scissors, and knives, vermilion
paint, and coarse scarlet cloth, etcetera.  They were of priceless
value, however, in the estimation of the savages, who delighted to adorn
themselves with leggings made from the cloth, beautifully worked with
beads by their own ingenious women.  They were thankful, too, for knives
even of the commonest description, having none but bone ones of their
own; and they gloried in daubing their faces with intermingled streaks
of charcoal and vermilion.  To gaze at their visages, when thus treated,
in the little penny looking-glasses is their summit of delight!

Joe presented the chief with a portion of these coveted goods and tied
up the remainder.  We may remark here, that the only thing which
prevented the savages from taking possession of the whole at once,
without asking permission, was the promise of the annual gifts, which
they knew would not be forthcoming were any evil to befall the deputies
of the Pale-faces.  Nevertheless, it cost them a severe struggle to
restrain their hands on this occasion, and Joe and his companions felt
that they would have to play their part well in order to fulfil their
mission with safety and credit.

"The Pale-faces may go now and talk with the braves," said
San-it-sa-rish, after carefully examining everything that was given to
him; "a council will be called soon, and we will smoke the pipe of
peace."

Accepting this permission to retire, the hunters immediately left the
tent, and being now at liberty to do what they pleased, they amused
themselves by wandering about the village.

"He's a cute chap that," remarked Joe, with a sarcastic smile; "I don't
feel quite easy about gettin' away.  He'll bother the life out o' us to
get all the goods we've got, and, ye see, as we've other tribes to
visit, we must give away as little as we can here."

"Ha! you is right," said Henri; "dat fellow's eyes twinkle at de knives
and tings like two stars."

"Fire-flies, ye should say.  Stars are too soft an' beautiful to compare
to the eyes o' yon savage," said Dick, laughing.  "I wish we were well
away from them.  That rascal Mahtawa is an ugly customer."

"True, lad," returned Joe; "had _he_ bin the great chief our scalps had
bin dryin' in the smoke o' a Pawnee wigwam afore now.  What now, lad?"

Joe's question was put in consequence of a gleeful smile that overspread
the countenance of Dick Varley, who replied by pointing to a wigwam
towards which they were approaching.

"Oh! that's only a dandy," exclaimed Joe.  "There's lots o' them in
every Injun camp.  They're fit for nothin' but dress, poor contemptible
critters."

Joe accompanied his remark with a sneer, for of all pitiable objects, he
regarded an unmanly man as the most despicable.  He consented, however,
to sit down on a grassy bank and watch the proceedings of this Indian
dandy, who had just seated himself in front of his wigwam for the
purpose of making his toilet.

He began it by greasing his whole person carefully and smoothly over
with buffalo-fat, until he shone like a patent leather boot; then he
rubbed himself almost dry, leaving the skin sleek and glossy.  Having
proceeded thus far he took up a small mirror, a few inches in diameter,
which he or some other member of the tribe must have procured during one
of their few excursions to the trading forts of the Pale-faces, and
examined himself, as well as he could, in so limited a space.  Next, he
took a little vermilion from a small parcel and rubbed it over his face
until it presented the somewhat demoniac appearance of a fiery red.  He
also drew a broad red score along the crown of his head, which was
closely shaved, with the exception of the usual tuft or scalp-lock on
the top.  This scalp-lock stood bristling straight up a few inches, and
then curved over and hung down his back about two feet.  Immense care
and attention was bestowed on this lock.  He smoothed it, greased it,
and plaited it into the form of a pigtail.  Another application was here
made to the glass, and the result was evidently satisfactory, to judge
from the beaming smile that played on his features.  But, not content
with the general effect, he tried the effect of expression--frowned
portentously, scowled savagely, gaped hideously, and grinned horribly a
ghastly smile.

Then our dandy fitted into his ears, which were bored in several places,
sundry ornaments, such as rings, wampum, etcetera, and hung several
strings of beads round his neck.  Besides these he affixed one or two
ornaments to his arms, wrists, and ankles, and touched in a few effects
with vermilion on the shoulders and breast.  After this, and a few more
glances at the glass, he put on a pair of beautiful moccasins, which,
besides being richly wrought with beads, were soft as chamois leather,
and fitted his feet like gloves; a pair of leggings of scarlet cloth
were drawn on, attached to a waist-belt, and bound below the knee with
broad garters of variegated bead-work.

It was some time before this Adonis was quite satisfied with himself.
He re-touched the paint on his shoulders several times, and modified the
glare of that on his wide-mouthed, high-cheek-boned visage before he
could tear himself away; but at last he did so, and, throwing a large
piece of scarlet cloth over his shoulders, he thrust his looking-glass
under his belt, and proceeded to mount his palfrey, which was held in
readiness near to the tent door by one of his wives.  The horse was
really a fine animal, and seemed worthy of a more warlike master.  His
shoulders, too, were striped with red paint, and feathers were
intertwined with his mane and tail, while the bridle was decorated with
various jingling ornaments.

Vaulting upon his steed, with a large fan of wild goose and turkey
feathers in one hand, and a whip dangling at the wrist of the other,
this incomparable dandy sallied forth for a promenade--that being his
chief delight when there was no buffalo hunting to be done.  Other men
who were not dandies sharpened their knives, smoked, feasted, and mended
their spears and arrows at such seasons of leisure, or played at
athletic games.

"Let's follow my buck," said Joe Blunt.

"Oui.  Come 'long," replied Henri, striding after the rider at a pace
that almost compelled his comrades to run.

"Hold on!" cried Dick, laughing; "we don't want to keep him company.  A
distant view is quite enough o' sich a chap as that."

"Mais, you forgit, I cannot see far."

"So much the better," remarked Joe; "it's my opinion we've seen enough
o' him.  Ah! he's goin' to look on at the games.  Them's worth lookin'
at."

The games to which Joe referred were taking place on a green level plain
close to the creek, and a little above the waterfall before referred to.
Some of the Indians were horse-racing, some jumping, and others
wrestling; but the game which proved most attractive was throwing the
javelin, in which several of the young braves were engaged.

This game is played by two competitors, each armed with a dart, in an
arena about fifty yards long.  One of the players has a hoop of six
inches in diameter.  At a signal they start off on foot at full speed,
and on reaching the middle of the arena the Indian with the hoop rolls
it along before them, and each does his best to send a javelin through
the hoop before the other.  He who succeeds counts so many points--if
both miss, the nearest to the hoop is allowed to count, but not so much
as if he had "ringed" it.  The Indians are very fond of this game, and
will play at it under a broiling sun for hours together.  But a good
deal of the interest attaching to it is owing to the fact that they make
it a means of gambling.  Indians are inveterate gamblers, and will
sometimes go on until they lose horses, bows, blankets, robes, and, in
short, their whole personal property.  The consequences are, as might be
expected, that fierce and bloody quarrels sometimes arise in which life
is often lost.

"Try your hand at that," said Henri to Dick.

"By all means," cried Dick, handing his rifle to his friend, and
springing into the ring enthusiastically.

A general shout of applause greeted the Pale-face, who threw off his
coat and tightened his belt, while a young Indian presented him with a
dart.

"Now, see that ye do us credit, lad," said Joe.

"I'll try," answered Dick.

In a moment they were off.  The young Indian rolled away the hoop, and
Dick threw his dart with such vigour that it went deep into the ground,
but missed the hoop by a foot at least.  The young Indian's first dart
went through the centre.

"Ha!" exclaimed Joe Blunt to the Indians near him, "the lad's not used
to that game, try him at a race.  Bring out your best brave--he whose
bound is like the hunted deer."

We need scarcely remind the reader that Joe spoke in the Indian
language, and that the above is a correct rendering of the sense of what
he said.

The name of Tarwicadia, or the little chief, immediately passed from lip
to lip, and in a few minutes an Indian, a little below the medium size,
bounded into the arena with an indiarubber-like elasticity that caused a
shade of anxiety to pass over Joe's face.

"Ah, boy!" he whispered, "I'm afeared you'll find him a tough customer."

"That's just what I want," replied Dick.  "He's supple enough, but he
wants muscle in the thigh.  We'll make it a long heat."

"Right, lad, yer right."

Joe now proceeded to arrange the conditions of the race with the chiefs
around him.  It was fixed that the distance to be run should be a mile,
so that the race would be one of two miles, out and back.  Moreover, the
competitors were to run without any clothes, except a belt and a small
piece of cloth round the loins.  This to the Indians was nothing, for
they seldom wore more in warm weather, but Dick would have preferred to
keep on part of his dress.  The laws of the course, however, would not
permit of this, so he stripped and stood forth, the beau-ideal of a
well-formed, agile man.  He was greatly superior in size to his
antagonist, and more muscular, the savage being slender and extremely
lithe and springy.

"Hah!  I will run too," shouted Henri, bouncing forward with clumsy
energy, and throwing off his coat just as they were going to start.

The savages smiled at this unexpected burst and made no objection,
considering the thing in the light of a joke.

The signal was given, and away they went.  Oh! it would have done you
good to have seen the way in which Henri manoeuvred his limbs on this
celebrated occasion!  He went over the ground with huge elephantine
bounds, runs, and jumps.  He could not have been said to have one style
of running; he had a dozen styles, all of which came into play in the
course of half as many minutes.  The other two ran like the wind; yet,
although Henri _appeared_ to be going heavily over the ground, he kept
up with them to the turning point.  As for Dick, it became evident in
the first few minutes that he could outstrip his antagonist with ease,
and was hanging back a little all the time.  He shot ahead like an arrow
when they came about half-way back, and it was clear that the real
interest of the race was to lie in the competition between Henri and
Tarwicadia.

Before they were two-thirds of the way back, Dick walked in to the
winning point, and turned to watch the others.  Henri's wind was about
gone, for he exerted himself with such violence that he wasted half his
strength.  The Indian, on the contrary, was comparatively fresh, but he
was not so fleet as his antagonist, whose tremendous strides carried him
over the ground at an incredible pace.  On they came neck and neck, till
close on the score that marked the winning point.  Here the value of
enthusiasm came out strongly in the case of Henri.  He _felt_ that he
could not gain an inch on Tarwicadia to save his life; but, just as he
came up, he observed the anxious faces of his comrades and the
half-sneering countenances of the savages.  His heart thumped against
his ribs, every muscle thrilled with a gush of conflicting feelings, and
he _hurled_ himself over the score like a cannon shot, full six inches
ahead of the little chief!

But the thing did not by any means end here.  Tarwicadia pulled up the
instant he had passed.  Not so our Canadian.  Such a clumsy and colossal
frame was not to be checked in a moment.  The crowd of Indians opened up
to let him pass, but unfortunately a small tent that stood in the way
was not so obliging.  Into it he went, head-foremost, like a shell,
carried away the corner-post with his shoulder, and brought the whole
affair down about his own ears, and those of its inmates, among whom
were several children and two or three dogs.  It required some time to
extricate them all from the ruins, but when this was effected, it was
found that no serious damage had been done to life or limb!



CHAPTER NINE.

CRUSOE ACTS A CONSPICUOUS AND HUMANE PART--A FRIEND GAINED--A GREAT
FEAST.

When the foot-race was concluded, the three hunters hung about, looking
on at the various games for some time, and then strolled towards the
lake.

"Ye may be thankful yer neck's whole," said Joe, grinning, as Henri
rubbed his shoulder with a rueful look.  "An' we'll have to send that
Injun and his family a knife and some beads to make up for the fright
they got."

"Hah! an' fat is to be give to me for my broke shoulder?"

"Credit, man, credit," said Dick Varley, laughing.

"Credit! fat is dat?"

"Honour and glory, lad, and the praises of them savages."

"Ha! de praise? more probeebale de ill-vill of de rascale.  I seed dem
scowl at me not ver' pritty."

"That's true, Henri, but sich as it is it's all ye'll git."

"I vish," remarked Henri after a pause--"I vish I could git de vampum
belt de leetle chief had on.  It vas superb.  Fat place do vampums come
from?"

"They're shells--"

"Oui," interrupted Henri.  "I know _fat_ de is.  Dey is shells, and de
Injuns tink dem goot monish; mais, I ask you _fat place_ de come from."

"They are thought to be gathered on the shores o' the Pacific," said
Joe; "the Injuns on the west o' the Rocky Mountains picks them up and
exchanges them wi' the fellows here-away for horses and skins--so I'm
told."

At this moment there was a wild cry of terror heard a short distance
ahead of them.  Rushing forward they observed an Indian woman flying
frantically down the river's bank towards the waterfall, a hundred yards
above which an object was seen struggling in the water.

"'Tis her child," cried Joe, as the mother's frantic cry reached his
ear.  "It'll be over the fall in a minute!  Run, Dick, you're quickest."

They had all started forward at speed, but Dick and Crusoe were far
ahead, and abreast of the spot in a few seconds.

"Save it, pup," cried Dick, pointing to the child, which had been caught
in an eddy, and was for a few moments hovering on the edge of the stream
that rushed impetuously towards the fall.

The noble Newfoundland did not require to be told what to do.  It seems
a natural instinct in this sagacious species of dog to save man or beast
that chances to be struggling in the water, and many are the authentic
stories related of Newfoundland dogs saving life in cases of shipwreck.
Indeed, they are regularly trained to the work in some countries, and
nobly, fearlessly, disinterestedly, do they discharge their trust, often
in the midst of appalling dangers.  Crusoe sprang from the bank with
such impetus that his broad chest ploughed up the water like the bow of
a boat, and the energetic workings of his muscles were indicated by the
force of each successive propulsion as he shot ahead.

In a few seconds he reached the child and caught it by the hair.  Then
he turned to swim back, but the stream had got hold of him.  Bravely he
struggled, and lifted the child breast-high out of the water in his
powerful efforts to stem the current.  In vain.  Each moment he was
carried inch by inch down until he was on the brink of the fall, which,
though not high, was a large body of water and fell with a heavy roar.
He raised himself high out of the stream with the vigour of his last
struggle, and then fell back into the abyss.

By this time the poor mother was in a canoe as close to the fall as she
could with safety approach, and the little bark danced like a
cockle-shell on the turmoil of waters as she stood with uplifted paddle
and staring eyeballs awaiting the rising of the child.

Crusoe came up almost instantly, but _alone_, for the dash over the fall
had wrenched the child from his teeth.  He raised himself high up and
looked anxiously round for a moment.  Then he caught sight of a little
hand raised above the boiling flood.  In one moment he had the child
again by the hair, and, just as the prow of the Indian woman's canoe
touched the shore, he brought the child to land.

Springing towards him, the mother snatched her child from the flood and
gazed at its death-like face with eyeballs starting from their sockets;
then she laid her cheek on its cold breast and stood like a statue of
despair.  There was one slight pulsation of the heart and a gentle
motion of the hand!  The child still lived.  Opening up her blanket she
laid her little one against her naked, warm bosom, drew the covering
close around it, and, sitting down on the bank, wept aloud for joy.

"Come,--come 'way quick," cried Henri, hurrying off to hide the emotion
which he could not crush down.

"Ay, she don't need our help now," said Joe, following his comrade.

As for Crusoe, he walked along by his master's side with his usual
quiet, serene look of good-will towards all mankind.  Doubtless a
feeling of gladness at having saved a human life filled his shaggy
breast, for he wagged his tail gently, after each shake of his dripping
sides, but his meek eyes were downcast, save when raised to receive the
welcome and unusually fervent caress.  Crusoe did not know that those
three men loved him as though he had been a brother.

On their way back to the village the hunters were met by a little boy,
who said that a council was to be held immediately, and their presence
was requested.

The council was held in the tent of the principal chief, towards which
all the other chiefs and many of the noted braves hurried.  Like all
Indian councils, it was preceded by smoking the "medicine pipe," and was
followed by speeches from several of the best orators.  The substance of
the discourse differed little from what has been already related in
reference to the treaty between the Pale-faces, and upon the whole it
was satisfactory.  But Joe Blunt could not fail to notice that Mahtawa
maintained sullen silence during the whole course of the meeting.

He observed, also, that there was a considerable change in the tone of
the meeting when he informed them that he was bound on a similar errand
of peace to several of the other tribes, especially to one or two tribes
which were the Pawnees' bitter enemies at that time.  These grasping
savages having quite made up their minds that they were to obtain the
entire contents of the two bales of goods, were much mortified on
hearing that part was to go to other Indian tribes.  Some of them even
hinted that this would not be allowed, and Joe feared at one time that
things were going to take an unfavourable turn.  The hair of his scalp,
as he afterwards said, "began to lift a little and feel oneasy."  But
San-it-sa-rish stood honestly to his word; said that it would be well
that the Pale-faces and the Pawnees should be brothers, and hoped that
they would not forget the promise of annual presents from the hand of
the great chief who lived in the big village near the rising sun.

Having settled this matter amicably, Joe distributed among the Indians
the proportion of his goods designed for them, and then they all
adjourned to another tent where a great feast was prepared for them.

"Are ye hungry?" inquired Joe of Dick as they walked along.

"Ay, that am I.  I feel as if I could eat a buffalo alive.  Why, it's my
'pinion we've tasted nothin' since daybreak this mornin'."

"Well, I've often told ye that them Red-skins think it a disgrace to
give in eatin' till all that's set before them at a feast is bolted.
We'll ha' to stretch oursel's, we will."

"I'se got a plenty room," remarked Henri.

"Ye have, but ye'll wish ye had more in a little."

"Bien, I not care!"

In a quarter of an hour all the guests invited to this great _medicine_
feast were assembled.  No women were admitted.  They never are at Indian
feasts.

We may remark in passing, that the word "medicine," as used among the
North American Indians, has a very much wider signification than it has
with us.  It is an almost inexplicable word.  When asked, they cannot
give a full or satisfactory explanation of it themselves.  In the
general, we may say that whatever is mysterious is "medicine."  Jugglery
and conjuring, of a noisy, mysterious, and, we must add, rather silly
nature, is "medicine," and the juggler is a "medicine-man."  These
medicine-men undertake cures, but they are regular charlatans, and know
nothing whatever of the diseases they pretend to cure, or their
remedies.  They carry bags containing sundry relics; these are "medicine
bags."  Every brave has his own private medicine bag.  Everything that
is incomprehensible, or supposed to be supernatural, religious, or
medical, is "medicine."  This feast, being an unusual one, in honour of
strangers, and in connection with a peculiar and unexpected event, was
"medicine."  Even Crusoe, since his gallant conduct in saving the Indian
child, was "medicine"; and Dick Varley's double-barrelled rifle, which
had been an object of wonder ever since his arrival at the village, was
tremendous "medicine!"

Of course the Indians were arrayed in their best; several wore necklaces
of the claws of the grizzly bear, of which they are extremely proud; and
a gaudily picturesque group they were.  The chief, however, had
undergone a transformation that well-nigh upset the gravity of our
hunters, and rendered Dick's efforts to look solemn quite abortive.
San-it-sa-rish had once been to the trading forts of the Pale-faces, and
while there had received the customary gift of a blue surtout with brass
buttons, and an ordinary hat, such as gentlemen wear at home.  As the
coat was a good deal too small for him, a terrible length of dark, bony
wrist appeared below the cuffs.  The waist was too high, and it was with
great difficulty that he managed to button the garment across his broad
chest.  Being ignorant of the nature of a hat, the worthy savage had
allowed the paper and string with which it had been originally covered,
to remain on, supposing them to be part and parcel of the hat; and this,
together with the high collar of the coat, which gave him a crushed-up
appearance, the long black naked legs, and the painted visage, gave to
him a _tout ensemble_ which we can compare to nothing, as there was
nothing in nature comparable to it.

Those guests who assembled first passed their time in smoking the
medicine pipe until the others should arrive; for so long as a single
invited guest is absent the feast cannot begin.  Dignified silence was
maintained while the pipe thus circulated from hand to hand.  When the
last guest arrived they began.

The men were seated in two rows, face to face.  Feasts of this kind
usually consist of but one species of food, and on the present occasion
it was an enormous cauldron full of maize which had to be devoured.
About fifty sat down to eat a quantity of what may be termed thick
porridge, that would have been ample allowance for a hundred ordinary
men.  Before commencing, San-it-sa-rish desired an aged medicine-man to
make an oration, which he did fluently and poetically.  Its subject was
the praise of the giver of the feast.  At the end of each period there
was a general "Hou! hou!" of assent--equivalent to the hear! hear! of
civilised men.

Other orators then followed, all of whom spoke with great ease and
fluency, and some in the most impassioned strains, working themselves
and their audience up to the highest pitch of excitement, now shouting
with frenzied violence till their eyes glared from their sockets, and
the veins of their foreheads swelled almost to bursting as they spoke of
war and chase--anon breaking into soft modulated and pleasing tones,
while they dilated upon the pleasures of peace and hospitality.

After these had finished, a number of wooden bowls full of maize
porridge were put down between the guests--one bowl to each couple
facing each other.  But before commencing, a portion was laid aside and
dedicated to their gods, with various mysterious ceremonies; for here,
as in other places where the gospel is not known, the poor savages
fancied that they could propitiate God with sacrifices.  They had never
heard of the "sacrifice of a broken spirit and a contrite heart."  This
offering being made, the feast began in earnest.  Not only was it a rule
in this feast that every mouthful should be swallowed by each guest,
however unwilling and unable he should be to do so, but he who could
dispose of it with greatest speed was deemed the greatest man--at least
on that occasion--while the last to conclude his supper was looked upon
with some degree of contempt!

It seems strange that such a custom should ever have arisen, and one is
not a little puzzled in endeavouring to guess at the origin of it.
There is one fact that occurs to us as the probable cause.  The Indian
is, as we have before hinted, frequently reduced to a state bordering on
starvation, and in a day after he may be burdened with superabundance of
food.  He oftentimes, therefore, eats as much as he can stuff into his
body when he is blessed with plenty, so as to be the better able to
withstand the attacks of hunger that may possibly be in store for him.
The amount that an Indian will thus eat at a single meal is incredible.
He seems to have the power of distending himself for the reception of a
quantity that would kill a civilised man.  Children, in particular,
become like tightly inflated little balloons after a feast, and as they
wear no clothing, the extraordinary rotundity is very obvious, not to
say ridiculous.  We conclude, therefore, that unusual powers of
gormandising, being useful, come at last to be cultivated as
praiseworthy.

By good fortune Dick and Joe Blunt happened to have such enormous
gluttons as _vis-a-vis_, that the portions of their respective bowls
which they could not devour were gobbled up for them.  By good capacity
and digestion, with no small amount of effort, Henri managed to dispose
of his own share; but he was last of being done, and fell in the
savages' esteem greatly.  The way in which that sticky compost of boiled
maize went down was absolutely amazing.  The man opposite Dick, in
particular, was a human boa-constrictor.  He well-nigh suffocated Dick
with suppressed laughter.  He was a great raw-boned savage, with a
throat of indiarubber, and went quickly and quietly on swallowing mass
after mass, with the solemn gravity of an owl.  It mattered not a straw
to him that Dick took comparatively small mouthfuls, and nearly choked
on them too for want of liquid to wash them down.  Had Dick eaten none
at all he would have uncomplainingly disposed of the whole.  Jack the
Giant-Killer's feats were nothing to his, and when at last the bowl was
empty, he stopped short like a machine from which the steam had been
suddenly cut off, and laid down his buffalo horn spoon _without_ a sigh.

Dick sighed, though, with relief and gratitude when his bowl was empty.

"I hope I may never have to do it again," said Joe that night as they
wended their way back to the chief's tent after supper.  "I wouldn't be
fit for anything for a week arter it."

Dick could only laugh, for any allusion to the feast instantly brought
back that owl-like gourmand to whom he was so deeply indebted.

Henri groaned.  "Oh! mes boy, I am speechless!  I am ready for bust!
Oui,--hah!  I veesh it vas to-morrow."

Many a time that night did Henri "veesh it vas to-morrow," as he lay
helpless on his back, looking up through the roof of the chief's tent at
the stars, and listening enviously to the plethoric snoring of Joe
Blunt.

He was entertained, however, during those waking hours with a serenade
such as few civilised ears ever listen to.  This was nothing else than a
vocal concert performed by all the dogs of the village, and as they
amounted to nearly two thousand, the orchestra was a pretty full one.

These wretches howled as if they had all gone mad.  Yet there was
"method in their madness," for they congregated in a crowd before
beginning, and sat down on their haunches.  Then one, which seemed to be
the conductor, raised his snout to the sky, and uttered a long, low,
melancholy wail.  The others took it up by twos and threes, until the
whole pack had their noses pointing to the stars, and their throats
distended to the uttermost, while a prolonged yell filled the air.  Then
it sank gradually, one or two (bad performers probably) making a yelping
attempt to get it up again at the wrong time.  Again the conductor
raised his nose, and out it came--full swing.  There was no vociferous
barking.  It was simple wolfish howling increased in fervour to an
electric yell, with slight barks running continuously through it like an
obbligato accompaniment.

When Crusoe first heard the unwonted sound he sprang to his feet,
bristled up like a hyena, showed all his teeth, and bounded out of the
tent blazing with indignation and astonishment.  When he found out what
it was he returned quite sleek, and with a look of profound contempt on
his countenance as he resumed his place by his master's side and went to
sleep.



CHAPTER TEN.

PERPLEXITIES--OUR HUNTERS PLAN THEIR ESCAPE--UNEXPECTED INTERRUPTION--
THE TABLES TURNED--CRUSOE MOUNTS GUARD--THE ESCAPE.

Dick Varley sat before the fire ruminating.  We do not mean to assert
that Dick had been previously eating grass.  By no means.  For several
days past he had been mentally subsisting on the remarkable things that
he heard and saw in the Pawnee village, and wondering how he was to get
away without being scalped; he was now chewing the cud of this
intellectual fare.  We therefore repeat emphatically--in case any reader
should have presumed to contradict us--that Dick Varley sat before the
fire _ruminating_!

Joe Blunt likewise sat by the fire along with him, ruminating too, and
smoking besides.  Henri also sat there smoking, and looking a little the
worse of his late supper.

"I don't like the look o' things," said Joe, blowing a whiff of smoke
slowly from his lips, and watching it as it ascended into the still air.
"That blackguard Mahtawa is determined not to let us off till he gits
all our goods, an' if he gits them, he may as well take our scalps too,
for we would come poor speed in the prairies without guns, horses, or
goods."

Dick looked at his friend with an expression of concern.  "What's to be
done?" said he.

"Ve must escape," answered Henri; but his tone was not a hopeful one,
for he knew the danger of their position better than Dick.

"Ay, we must escape; at least we must try," said Joe; "but I'll make one
more effort to smooth over San-it-sa-rish, an' git him to snub that
villain Mahtawa."

Just as he spoke the villain in question entered the tent with a bold,
haughty air, and sat down before the fire in sullen silence.  For some
minutes no one spoke, and Henri, who happened at the time to be
examining the locks of Dick's rifle, continued to inspect them with an
appearance of careless indifference that he was far from feeling.

Now, this rifle of Dick's had become a source of unceasing wonder to the
Indians,--wonder which was greatly increased by the fact that no one
could discharge it but himself.  Dick had, during his short stay at the
Pawnee village, amused himself and the savages by exhibiting his
marvellous powers with the "silver rifle."  Since it had been won by him
at the memorable match in the Mustang Valley, it had scarce ever been
out of his hand, so that he had become decidedly the best shot in the
settlement, could "bark" squirrels (that is, hit the bark of the branch
on which a squirrel happened to be standing, and so kill it by the
concussion alone), and could "drive the nail" every shot.  The silver
rifle, as we have said, became "great medicine" to the Red-men, when
they saw it kill at a distance which the few wretched guns they had
obtained from the fur-traders could not even send a spent ball to.  The
double shot, too, filled them with wonder and admiration; but that which
they regarded with an almost supernatural feeling of curiosity was the
percussion cap, which in Dick's hands always exploded, but in theirs was
utterly useless!

This result was simply owing to the fact, that Dick after firing handed
the rifle to the Indians without renewing the cap.  So that when they
loaded and attempted to fire, of course it merely snapped.  When he
wished again to fire, he adroitly exchanged the old cap for a new one.
He was immensely tickled by the solemn looks of the Indians at this most
incomprehensible of all "medicines," and kept them for some days in
ignorance of the true cause, intending to reveal it before he left.  But
circumstances now arose which banished all trifling thoughts from his
mind.

Mahtawa raised his head suddenly, and said, pointing to the silver
rifle, "Mahtawa wishes to have the two-shotted medicine gun.  He will
give his best horse in exchange."

"Mahtawa is liberal," answered Joe, "but the pale-faced youth cannot
part with it.  He has far to travel, and must shoot buffaloes by the
way."

"The pale-faced youth shall have a bow and arrows to shoot the buffalo,"
rejoined the Indian.

"He cannot use the bow and arrow," answered Joe; "he has not been
trained like the Red-man."

Mahtawa was silent for a few seconds, and his dark brows frowned more
heavily than ever over his eyes.

"The Pale-faces are too bold," he exclaimed, working himself into a
passion; "they are in the power of Mahtawa.  If they will not give the
gun he will take it."

He sprang suddenly to his feet as he spoke, and snatched the rifle from
Henri's hand.

Henri, being ignorant of the language, had not been able to understand
the foregoing conversation, although he saw well enough that it was not
an agreeable one but no sooner did he find himself thus rudely and
unexpectedly deprived of the rifle, than he jumped up, wrenched it in a
twinkling from the Indian's grasp, and hurled him violently out of the
tent.

In a moment Mahtawa drew his knife, uttered a savage yell, and sprang on
the reckless hunter, who, however, caught his wrist, and held it as if
in a vice.  The yell brought a dozen warriors instantly to the spot, and
before Dick had time to recover from his astonishment, Henri was
surrounded and pinioned despite his herculean struggles.

Before Dick could move, Joe Blunt grasped his arm, and whispered
quickly, "Don't rise!  You can't help him!  They daren't kill him till
San-it-sa-rish agrees."

Though much surprised, Dick obeyed, but it required all his efforts,
both of voice and hand, to control Crusoe, whose mind was much too
honest and straightforward to understand such subtle pieces of
diplomacy, and who strove to rush to the rescue of his ill-used friend.

When the tumult had partly subsided, Joe Blunt rose and said--"Have the
Pawnee braves turned traitors that they draw the knife against those who
have smoked with them the pipe of peace and eaten their maize?  The
Pale-faces are three; the Pawnees are thousands.  If evil has been done,
let it be laid before the chief.  Mahtawa wishes to have the medicine
gun.  Although we said No, we could not part with it, he tried to take
it by force.  Are we to go back to the great chief of the Pale-faces,
and say that the Pawnees are thieves?  Are the Pale-faces henceforth to
tell their children when they steal, `That is bad; that is like the
Pawnee?'  No! this must not be.  The rifle shall be restored, and we
will forget this disagreement.  Is it not so?"

There was an evident disposition on the part of many of the Indians,
with whom Mahtawa was no favourite, to applaud this speech; but the wily
chief sprang forward, and, with flashing eye, sought to turn the tables.

"The Pale-face speaks with soft words, but his heart is false.  Is he
not going to make peace with the enemies of the Pawnee?  Is he not going
to take goods to them, and make them gifts and promises?  The Pale-faces
are spies.  They come to see the weakness of the Pawnee camp, but they
have found that it is strong.  Shall we suffer the false-hearts to
escape?  Shall they live?  No! we will hang their scalps in our wigwams,
for they have _struck a chief_ and we will keep all their goods for our
squaws--wah!"

This allusion to keeping all the goods had more effect on the minds of
the vacillating savages than the chiefs eloquence.  But a new turn was
given to their thoughts by Joe Blunt remarking in a quiet, almost
contemptuous tone--

"Mahtawa is not the _great_ chief."

"True, true," they cried, and immediately hurried to the tent of
San-it-sa-rish.

Once again this chief stood between the hunters and the savages, who
wanted but a signal to fall on them.  There was a long palaver, which
ended in Henri being set at liberty, and the rifle being restored.

That evening, as the three friends sat beside their fire eating their
supper of boiled maize and buffalo meat, they laughed and talked as
carelessly as ever; but the gaiety was assumed, for they were at the
time planning their escape from a tribe which, they foresaw, would not
long refrain from carrying out their wishes, and robbing, perhaps
murdering them.

"Ye see," said Joe with a perplexed air, while he drew a piece of live
charcoal from the fire with his fingers and lighted his pipe,--"ye see,
there's more difficulties in the way o' gettin' off than ye think--"

"Oh! nivare mind de difficulties," interrupted Henri, whose wrath at the
treatment he had received had not yet cooled down.  "Ve must jump on de
best horses ve can git hold, shake our fist at de red reptiles, and go
away fast as ve can.  De best hoss _must_ vin de race."

Joe shook his head.  "A hundred arrows would be in our backs before we
got twenty yards from the camp.  Besides, we can't tell which are the
best horses.  Our own are the best in my 'pinion, but how are we to git
'em?"

"I know who has charge o' them," said Dick; "I saw them grazing near the
tent o' that poor squaw whose baby was saved by Crusoe.  Either her
husband looks after them or some neighbours."

"That's well," said Joe.  "That's one o' my difficulties gone."

"What are the others?"

"Well, d'ye see, they're troublesome.  We can't git the horses out o'
camp without bein' seen, for the red rascals would see what we were at
in a jiffy.  Then, if we do git 'em out, we can't go off without our
bales, an' we needn't think to take 'em from under the nose o' the chief
and his squaws without bein' axed questions.  To go off without them
would niver do at all."

"Joe," said Dick, earnestly, "I've hit on a plan."

"Have ye, Dick? what is't?"

"Come and I'll let ye see," answered Dick, rising hastily and quitting
the tent, followed by his comrades and his faithful dog.

It may be as well to remark here, that no restraint whatever had yet
been put on the movements of our hunters as long as they kept to their
legs, for it was well-known that any attempt by men on foot to escape
from mounted Indians on the plains would be hopeless.  Moreover, the
savages thought that as long as there was a prospect of their being
allowed to depart peaceably with their goods, they would not be so mad
as to fly from the camp, and, by so doing, risk their lives and declare
war with their entertainers.  They had, therefore, been permitted to
wander unchecked, as yet, far beyond the outskirts of the camp, and
amuse themselves in paddling about the lake in the small Indian canoes
and shooting wild-fowl.

Dick now led the way through the labyrinths of tents in the direction of
the lake, and they talked and laughed loudly, and whistled to Crusoe as
they went, in order to prevent their purpose being suspected.  For the
purpose of further disarming suspicion they went without their rifles.
Dick explained his plan by the way, and it was at once warmly approved
of by his comrades.

On reaching the lake they launched a small canoe, into which Crusoe was
ordered to jump; then, embarking, they paddled swiftly to the opposite
shore, singing a canoe song as they dipped their paddles in the moonlit
waters of the lake.  Arrived at the other side, they hauled the canoe up
and hurried through the thin belt of wood and willows that intervened
between the lake and the prairie.  Here they paused.

"Is that the bluff, Joe?"

"No, Dick, that's too near.  T'other one'll be best.  Far away to the
right.  It's a little one, and there's others near it.  The sharp eyes
o' the Red-skins won't be so likely to be prowlin' there."

"Come on, then; but we'll have to take down by the lake first."

In a few minutes the hunters were threading their way through the
outskirts of the wood at a rapid trot, in the opposite direction from
the bluff, or wooded knoll, which they wished to reach.  This they did
lest prying eyes should have followed them.  In a quarter of an hour
they turned at right angles to their track, and struck straight out into
the prairie, and after a long run they edged round and came in upon the
bluff from behind.  It was merely a collection of stunted but
thick-growing willows.

Forcing their way into the centre of this they began to examine it.

"It'll do," said Joe.

"De very ting," remarked Henri.

"Come here, Crusoe."

Crusoe bounded to his master's side, and looked up in his face.

"Look at this place, pup; smell it well."

Crusoe instantly set off all round among the willows, in and out,
snuffing everywhere, and whining with excitement.

"Come here, good pup; that will do.  Now, lads, we'll go back."  So
saying, Dick and his friends left the bluff and retraced their steps to
the camp.  Before they had gone far, however, Joe halted, and said--

"D'ye know, Dick, I doubt if the pup's so cliver as ye think.  What if
he don't quite onderstand ye?"

Dick replied by taking off his cap and throwing it down, at the same
time exclaiming, "Take it yonder, pup," and pointing with his hand
towards the bluff.  The dog seized the cap, and went off with it at full
speed towards the willows, where it left it, and came galloping back for
the expected reward--not now, as in days of old, a bit of meat, but a
gentle stroke of its head and a hearty clap on its shaggy side.

"Good pup, go now an' _fetch it_."

Away he went with a bound, and, in a few seconds, came back and
deposited the cap at his master's feet.

"Will that do?" asked Dick, triumphantly.

"Ay, lad, it will.  The pup's worth its weight in goold."

"Oui, I have said, and I say it agen, de dog is _human_, so him is.  If
not--fat am he?"

Without pausing to reply to this perplexing question, Dick stepped
forward again, and in half an hour or so they were back in the camp.

"Now for _your_ part of the work, Joe; yonder's the squaw that owns the
half-drowned baby.  Everything depends on her."

Dick pointed to the Indian woman as he spoke.  She was sitting beside
her tent, and playing at her knee was the identical youngster that had
been saved by Crusoe.

"I'll manage it," said Joe, and walked towards her, while Dick and Henri
returned to the chiefs tent.

"Does the Pawnee woman thank the Great Spirit that her child is saved?"
began Joe as he came up.

"She does," answered the woman, looking up at the hunter.  "And her
heart is warm to the Pale-faces."

After a short silence Joe continued--

"The Pawnee chiefs do not love the Pale-faces.  Some of them hate them."

"The Dark Flower knows it," answered the woman; "she is sorry.  She
would help the Pale-faces if she could."

This was uttered in a low tone, and with a meaning glance of the eye.

Joe hesitated again--could he trust her?  Yes; the feelings that filled
her breast and prompted her words were not those of the Indian just
now--they were those of a _mother_, whose gratitude was too full for
utterance.

"Will the Dark Flower," said Joe, catching the name she had given
herself, "help the Pale-face if he opens his heart to her?  Will she
risk the anger of her nation?"

"She will," replied the woman; "she will do what she can."

Joe and his dark friend now dropped their high-sounding style of speech,
and spoke for some minutes rapidly in an undertone.  It was finally
arranged that on a given day, at a certain hour, the woman should take
the four horses down the shores of the lake to its lower end, as if she
were going for firewood, there cross the creek at the ford, and drive
them to the willow-bluff, and guard them till the hunters should arrive.

Having settled this, Joe returned to the tent and informed his comrades
of his success.

During the next three days Joe kept the Indians in good-humour by giving
them one or two trinkets, and speaking in glowing terms of the riches of
the white men, and the readiness with which they would part with them to
the savages if they would only make peace.

Meanwhile, during the dark hours of each night, Dick managed to abstract
small quantities of goods from their pack, in room of which he stuffed
in pieces of leather to keep up the size and appearance.  The goods thus
taken out he concealed about his person, and went off with a careless
swagger to the outskirts of the village, with Crusoe at his heels.
Arrived there, he tied the goods in a small piece of deerskin, and gave
the bundle to the dog, with the injunction, "Take it yonder, pup."

Crusoe took it up at once, darted off at full speed with the bundle in
his mouth, down the shore of the lake towards the ford of the river, and
was soon lost to view.  In this way, little by little, the goods were
conveyed by the faithful dog to the willow-bluff and left there, while
the stuffed pack still remained in safekeeping in the chief's tent.

Joe did not at first like the idea of thus sneaking off from the camp;
and more than once made strong efforts to induce San-it-sa-rish to let
him go, but even that chief's countenance was not so favourable as it
had been.  It was clear that he could not make up his mind to let slip
so good a chance of obtaining guns, powder, and shot, horses and goods,
without any trouble; so Joe made up his mind to give them the slip at
once.

A dark night was chosen for the attempt, and the Indian woman went off
with the horses to the place where firewood for the camp was usually
cut.  Unfortunately the suspicion of that wily savage Mahtawa had been
awakened, and he stuck close to the hunters all day--not knowing what
was going on, but feeling convinced that something was brewing which he
resolved to watch, without mentioning his suspicions to any one.

"I think that villain's away at last," whispered Joe to his comrades;
"it's time to go, lads, the moon won't be up for an hour.  Come along."

"Have ye got the big powder-horn, Joe?"

"Ay, ay, all right."

"Stop! stop! my knife, my couteau.  Ah! here it be.  Now, boy."

The three set off as usual, strolling carelessly to the outskirts of the
camp; then they quickened their pace, and, gaining the lake, pushed off
in a small canoe.

At the same moment Mahtawa stepped from the bushes, leaped into another
canoe and followed them.

"Hah! he must die," muttered Henri.

"Not at all," said Joe, "we'll manage him without that."

The chief landed and strode boldly up to them, for he knew well that
whatever their purpose might be, they would not venture to use their
rifles within sound of the camp at that hour of the night; as for their
knives, he could trust to his own active limbs and the woods to escape
and give the alarm if need be.

"The Pale-faces hunt very late," he said with a malicious grin.  "Do
they love the dark better than the sunshine?"

"Not so," replied Joe, coolly, "but we love to walk by the light of the
moon.  It will be up in less than an hour, and we mean to take a long
ramble to-night."

"The Pawnee chief loves to walk by the moon too, he will go with the
Pale-faces."

"Good," ejaculated Joe.  "Come along, then."

The party immediately set forward, although the savage was a little
taken by surprise at the indifferent way in which Joe received his
proposal to accompany them.  He walked on to the edge of the prairie,
however, and then stopped.

"The Pale-faces must go alone," said he; "Mahtawa will return to his
tent."

Joe replied to this intimation by seizing him suddenly by the throat and
choking back the yell that would otherwise have brought the Pawnee
warriors rushing to the scene of action in hundreds.  Mahtawa's hand was
on the handle of his scalping-knife in a moment, but before he could
draw it, his arms were glued to his sides by the bear-like embrace of
Henri, while Dick tied a handkerchief quickly yet firmly round his
mouth.  The whole thing was accomplished in two minutes.  After taking
his knife and tomahawk away, they loosened their gripe and escorted him
swiftly over the prairie.

Mahtawa was perfectly submissive after the first convulsive struggle was
over.  He knew that the men who walked on each side of him grasping his
arms were more than his match singly, so he wisely made no resistance.

Hurrying him to a clump of small trees on the plain which was so far
distant from the village that a yell could not be heard, they removed
the bandage from Mahtawa's mouth.

"_Must_ he be kill?" inquired Henri, in a tone of commiseration.

"Not at all" answered Joe, "we'll tie him to a tree and leave him
there."

"Then he vill be starve to deat'.  Oh! dat is more horrobell!"

"He must take his chance o' that.  I've no doubt his friends'll find him
in a day or two, an' he's game to last for a week or more.  But you'll
have to run to the willow-bluff, Dick, and bring a bit of line to tie
him.  We can't spare it well; but there's no help."

"But there _is_ help," retorted Dick.  "Just order the villain to climb
into that tree."

"Why so, lad?"

"Don't ask questions, but do what I bid ye."

The hunter smiled for a moment as he turned to the Indian, and ordered
him to climb up a small tree near to which he stood.  Mahtawa looked
surprised, but there was no alternative.  Joe's authoritative tone
brooked no delay, so he sprang into the tree like a monkey.

"Crusoe," said Dick, "_watch him_!"

The dog sat quietly down at the foot of the tree, and fixed his eyes on
the savage with a glare that spoke unutterable things.  At the same time
he displayed his full compliment of teeth, and uttered a sound like
distant thunder.

Joe almost laughed, and Henri did laugh outright.

"Come along, he's safe now," cried Dick, hurrying away in the direction
of the willow-bluff, which they soon reached, and found that the
faithful squaw had tied their steeds to the bushes, and, moreover, had
bundled up their goods into a pack, and strapped it on the back of the
pack-horse; but she had not remained with them.

"Bless yer dark face," ejaculated Joe as he sprang into the saddle and
rode out of the clump of bushes.  He was followed immediately by the
others, and in three minutes they were flying over the plain at full
speed.

On gaining the last far-off ridge, that afforded a distant view of the
woods skirting the Pawnee camp, they drew up, and Dick, putting his
fingers to his mouth, drew a long, shrill whistle.

It reached the willow-bluff like a faint echo.  At the same moment the
moon arose and more clearly revealed Crusoe's catalyptic glare at the
Indian chief, who, being utterly unarmed, was at the dog's mercy.  The
instant the whistle fell on his ear, however, he dropped his eyes,
covered his teeth, and, leaping through the bushes, flew over the plains
like an arrow.  At the same instant Mahtawa, descending from his tree,
ran as fast as he could towards the village, uttering the terrible
war-whoop when near enough to be heard.  No sound sends such a thrill
through an Indian camp.  Every warrior flew to arms, and vaulted on his
steed.  So quickly was the alarm given that in less than ten minutes a
thousand hoofs were thundering on the plain, and faintly reached the
ears of the fugitives.

Joe smiled.  "It'll puzzle them to come up wi' nags like ours.  They're
in prime condition too, lots o' wind in 'em.  If we only keep out o'
badger holes we may laugh at the red varmints."

Joe's opinion of Indian horses was correct.  In a very few minutes the
sound of hoofs died away, but the fugitives did not draw bridle during
the remainder of that night, for they knew not how long the pursuit
might be continued.  By pond, and brook, and bluff they passed, down in
the grassy bottoms and over the prairie waves,--nor checked their
headlong course till the sun blazed over the level sweep of the eastern
plain as if it arose out of the mighty ocean.

Then they sprang from the saddle and hastily set about the preparation
of their morning meal.



CHAPTER ELEVEN.

EVENING MEDITATIONS AND MORNING REFLECTIONS--BUFFALOES, BADGERS,
ANTELOPES, AND ACCIDENTS--AN OLD BULL AND THE WOLVES--"MAD-TAILS"--HENRI
FLOORED, ETCETERA.

There is nothing that prepares one so well for the enjoyment of rest,
both mental and physical, as a long-protracted period of excitement and
anxiety, followed up by bodily fatigue.  Excitement alone banishes rest;
but, united with severe physical exertion, it prepares for it.  At
least, courteous reader, this is our experience, and certainly this was
the experience of our three hunters as they lay on their backs beneath
the branches of a willow bush, and gazed serenely up at the twinkling
stars, two days after their escape from the Indian village.

They spoke little; they were too tired for that; also, they were too
comfortable.  Their respective suppers of fresh antelope steak, shot
that day, had just been disposed of; their feet were directed towards
the small fire on which the said steaks had been cooked, and which still
threw a warm, ruddy glow over the encampment.  Their blankets were
wrapped comfortably round them, and tucked in as only hunters and
mothers know _how_ to tuck them in.  Their respective pipes delivered
forth, at stated intervals, three richly yellow puffs of smoke, as if a
three-gun battery were playing upon the sky from that particular spot of
earth.  The horses were picketted and hobbled in a rich grassy bottom
close by, from which the quiet munch of their equine jaws sounded
pleasantly, for it told of healthy appetites, and promised speed on the
morrow.  The fear of being overtaken during the night was now past, and
the faithful Crusoe, by virtue of sight, hearing, and smell, guaranteed
them against sudden attack during the hours of slumber.  A perfume of
wild flowers mingled with the loved odours of the "weed," and the tinkle
of a tiny rivulet fell sweetly on their ears.  In short, the
"Pale-faces" were supremely happy, and disposed to be thankful for their
recent deliverance and their present comforts.

"I wonder what the stars are," said Dick, languidly taking the pipe out
of his mouth.

"Bits o' fire," suggested Joe.

"I tink dey are vorlds," muttered Henri, "an' have peepels in dem.  I
have hear men say dat."

A long silence followed, during which, no doubt, the star-gazers were
working out various theories in their own minds.

"Wonder," said Dick again, "how far off they be."

"A mile or two, maybe," said Joe.

Henri was about to laugh sarcastically at this; but, on further
consideration, he thought it would be more comfortable not to, so he lay
still.  In another minute he said--"Joe Blunt, you is ver' igrant.
Don't you know dat de books say de stars be hondreds, tousands,--oh!
milleryons of mile away to here, and dat de is more bigger dan dis
vorld?"

Joe snored lightly, and his pipe fell out of his mouth at this point, so
the conversation dropped.  Presently Dick asked, in a low tone, "I say,
Henri, are ye asleep?"

"Oui," replied Henri, faintly.  "Don't speak, or you vill vaken me."

"Ah!  Crusoe, you're not asleep, are you, pup?"  No need to ask that
question.  The instantaneous wag of that speaking fail, and the glance
of that wakeful eye, as the dog lifted his head and laid his chin on
Dick's arm, showed that he had been listening to every word that was
spoken.  We cannot say whether he understood it, but beyond all doubt he
heard it.  Crusoe never presumed to think of going to sleep until his
master was as sound as a top; then he ventured to indulge in that light
species of slumber which is familiarly known as "sleeping with one eye
open."  But, comparatively, as well as figuratively speaking, Crusoe
slept usually with one eye and a-half open, and the other half was never
very tightly shut.

Gradually Dick's pipe fell out of his mouth, an event which the dog,
with an exercise of instinct almost, if not quite, amounting to reason,
regarded as a signal for him to go off.  The campfire went slowly out,
the stars twinkled down at their reflections in the brook, and a deep
breathing of wearied men was the only sound that rose in harmony with
the purling stream.

Before the sun rose next morning, and while many of the brighter stars
were still struggling for existence with the approaching day, Joe was up
and buckling on the saddle-bags, while he shouted to his unwilling
companions to rise.

"If it depended on you," he said, "the Pawnees wouldn't be long afore
they got our scalps.  Jump, ye dogs, an' lend a hand, will ye!"

A snore from Dick and a deep sigh from Henri was the answer to this
pathetic appeal.  It so happened, however, that Henri's pipe, in falling
from his lips, had emptied the ashes just under his nose, so that the
sigh referred to drew a quantity thereof into his throat, and almost
choked him.  Nothing could have been a more effective awakener.  He was
up in a moment coughing vociferously.  Most men have a tendency to vent
ill-humour on some one, and they generally do it on one whom they deem
to be worse than themselves.  Henri, therefore, instead of growling at
Joe for rousing him, scolded Dick for not rising.

"Ha, mauvais dog! bad chien, vill you dare to look to me?"

Crusoe did look with amiable placidity, as though to say, "Howl away,
old boy, I won't budge till Dick does."

With a mighty effort Giant Sleep was thrown off at last, and the hunters
were once more on their journey, cantering lightly over the soft turf.

"Ho! let's have a run," cried Dick, unable to repress the feelings
aroused by the exhilarating morning air.

"Have a care, boy," cried Joe, as they stretched out at full gallop.
"Keep off the ridge; it's riddled wi' badger--Hah!  I thought so."

At that moment Dick's horse put its foot into a badger hole, and turned
completely over, sending its rider through the air in a curve that an
East Indian acrobat would have envied.  For a few seconds Dick lay flat
on his back; then he jumped up and laughed, while his comrades hurried
up anxiously to his assistance.

"No bones broke?" inquired Joe.

Dick gave a hysterical gasp.  "I--I think not."

"Let's have a look.  No, nothin' to speak o', be good luck.  Ye should
niver go slap through a badger country like that, boy; always keep i'
the bottoms, where the grass is short.  Now then, up ye go.  That's it!"

Dick remounted, though not with quite so elastic a spring as usual, and
they pushed forward at a more reasonable pace.

Accidents of this kind are of common occurrence in the prairies.  Some
horses, however, are so well trained that they look sharp out for these
holes, which are generally found to be most numerous on the high and dry
grounds.  But in spite of all the caution both of man and horse, many
ugly falls take place, and sometimes bones are broken.

They had not gone far after this accident, when an antelope leaped from
a clump of willows and made for a belt of woodland that lay along the
margin of a stream not half a mile off.

"Hurrah!" cried Dick, forgetting his recent fall.  "Come along, Crusoe."
And away they went again full tilt, for the horse had not been injured
by its somersault.

The antelope which Dick was thus wildly pursuing was of the same species
as the one he had shot some time before, namely, the prong-horned
antelope.  These graceful creatures have long, slender limbs, delicately
formed heads, and large, beautiful eyes.  The horns are black, and
rather short; they have no branches like the antlers of the red-deer,
but have a single projection on each horn, near the head, and the
extreme points of the horns curve suddenly inwards, forming the hook or
prong from which the name of the animal is derived.  Their colour is
dark yellowish brown.  They are so fleet that not one horse in a hundred
can overtake them, and their sight and sense of smell are so acute, that
it would be next to impossible to kill them, were it not for the
inordinate curiosity which we have before referred to.  The Indians
manage to attract these simple little creatures by merely lying down on
their backs and kicking their heels in the air, or by waving any white
object on the point of an arrow, while the hunter keeps concealed by
lying flat in the grass.  By these means a herd of antelopes may be
induced to wheel round and round an object in timid, but intense,
surprise, gradually approaching until they come near enough to enable
the hunter to make sure of his mark.  Thus the animals, which of all
others _ought_ to be the most difficult to slay, are, in consequence of
their insatiable curiosity, more easily shot than any other deer of the
plains.

May we not gently suggest to the reader for his or her consideration
that there are human antelopes, so to speak, whose case bears a striking
resemblance to the prong-horn of the North American prairie?

Dick's horse was no match for the antelope; neither was Crusoe, so they
pulled up shortly and returned to their companions to be laughed at.

"It's no manner o' use to wind yer horse, lad, after sich game.  They're
not much worth, an', if I mistake not, we'll be among the buffalo soon.
There's fresh tracks everywhere, and the herds are scattered now.  Ye
see, when they keep together in bands o' thousands ye don't so often
fall in wi' them.  But when they scatters about in twos, an' threes, an
sixes, ye may shoot them every day as much as ye please."

Several groups of buffalo had already been seen on the horizon; but as a
red-deer had been shot in a belt of woodland the day before, they did
not pursue them.  The red-deer is very much larger than the prong-horned
antelope, and is highly esteemed both for its flesh and its skin, which
latter becomes almost like chamois leather when dressed.
Notwithstanding this supply of food, the hunters could not resist the
temptation to give chase to a herd of about nine buffaloes that suddenly
came into view as they overtopped an undulation in the plain.

"It's no use," cried Dick, "I _must_ go at them!"

Joe himself caught fire from the spirit of his young friend, so calling
to Henri to come on and let the pack-horse remain to feed, he dashed
away in pursuit.  The buffaloes gave one stare of surprise, and then
fled as fast as possible.  At first it seemed as if such huge, unwieldy
carcases could not run very fast; but in a few minutes they managed to
get up a pace that put the horses to their mettle.  Indeed, at first it
seemed as if the hunters did not gain an inch, but by degrees they
closed with them, for buffaloes are not long-winded.

On nearing the herd, the three men diverged from each other and selected
their animals.  Henri, being short-sighted, naturally singled out the
largest; and the largest--also naturally,--was a tough old bull.  Joe
brought down a fat young cow at the first shot, and Dick was equally
fortunate.  But he well-nigh shot Crusoe, who, just as he was about to
fire, rushed in unexpectedly and sprang at the animal's throat, for
which piece of recklessness he was ordered back to watch the pack-horse.

Meanwhile, Henri, by dint of yelling, throwing his arms wildly about,
and digging his heels into the sides of his long-legged horse, succeeded
in coming close up with the bull, which once or twice turned his clumsy
body half round and glared furiously at its pursuer with its small black
eyes.  Suddenly it stuck out its tail, stopped short, and turned full
round.  Henri stopped short also.  Now, the sticking out of a buffalo's
tail has a peculiar significance which it is well to point out.  It
serves, in a sense, the same purpose to the hunter that the

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