"Oh, for my dear pup Crusoe!" he exclaimed aloud in this dilemma; but the faithful ear was shut now, and the deep silence that followed his cry was so oppressive that the young hunter sprang forward at a run over the plain, as if to fly from solitude. He soon became so absorbed, however, in his efforts to find the trail of his companions, that he forgot all other considerations, and ran straight forward for hours together, with his eyes eagerly fixed on the ground. At last he felt so hungry, having tasted no food since supper-time the previous evening, that he halted for the purpose of eating a morsel of maple sugar. A line of bushes in the distance indicated water, so he sped on again, and was soon seated beneath a willow, drinking water from the cool stream.

No game was to be found here; but there were several kinds of berries, among which wild grapes and plums grew in abundance. With these and some sugar he made a meal, though not a good one, for the berries were quite green, and intensely sour.

All that day d.i.c.k Varley followed up the trail of his companions, which he discovered at a ford in the river. They had crossed, therefore, in safety, though still pursued, so he ran on at a regular trot, and with a little more hope than he had felt during the day. Towards night, however, d.i.c.k's heart sank again, for he came upon innumerable buffalo tracks, among which those of the horses soon became mingled up, so that he lost them altogether. Hoping to find them again more easily by broad daylight, he went to the nearest clump of willows he could find, and encamped for the night.

Remembering the use formerly made of the tall willows, he set to work to construct a covering to protect him from the dew. As he had no blanket or buffalo-skin, he used leaves and gra.s.s instead, and found it a better shelter than he had expected, especially when the fire was lighted, and a pannikin of hot sugar and water smoked at his feet; but as no game was to be found, he was again compelled to sup off unripe berries. Before lying down to rest he remembered his resolution, and, pulling out the little Bible, read a portion of it by the fitful blaze of the fire, and felt great comfort in its blessed words. It seemed to him like a friend with whom he could converse in the midst of his loneliness.

The plunge into the river having broken d.i.c.k's pipe and destroyed his tobacco, he now felt the want of that luxury very severely, and, never having wanted it before, he was greatly surprised to find how much he had become enslaved to the habit. It cost him more than an hour's rest that night, the craving for his wonted pipe.

The sagacious reader will doubtless not fail here to ask himself the question, whether it is wise in man to create in himself an unnatural and totally unnecessary appet.i.te, which may, and often does, entail hours--ay, sometimes months--of exceeding discomfort; but we would not for a moment presume to suggest such a question to him. We have a distinct objection to the ordinary method of what is called "drawing a moral." It is much better to leave wise men to do this for themselves.

Next morning d.i.c.k rose with the sun, and started without breakfast, preferring to take his chance of finding a bird or animal of some kind before long, to feeding again on sour berries. He was disappointed, however, in finding the tracks of his companions. The ground here was hard and sandy, so that little or no impression of a distinct kind was made on it; and, as buffaloes had traversed it in all directions, he was soon utterly bewildered. He thought it possible that, by running out for several miles in a straight line, and then taking a wide circuit round, he might find the tracks emerging from the confusion made by the buffaloes. But he was again disappointed, for the buffalo tracks still continued, and the ground became less capable of showing a footprint.

Soon d.i.c.k began to feel so ill and weak from eating such poor fare, that he gave up all hope of discovering the tracks, and was compelled to push forward at his utmost speed in order to reach a less barren district, where he might procure fresh meat; but the further he advanced the worse and more sandy did the district become. For several days he pushed on over this arid waste without seeing bird or beast, and, to add to his misery, he failed at last to find water. For a day and a night he wandered about in a burning fever, and his throat so parched that he was almost suffocated. Towards the close of the second day he saw a slight line of bushes away down in a hollow on his right. With eager steps he staggered towards them, and, on drawing near, beheld--blessed sight!--a stream of water glancing in the beams of the setting sun.

d.i.c.k tried to shout for joy, but his parched throat refused to give utterance to the voice. It mattered not; exerting all his remaining strength he rushed down the bank, dropped his rifle, and plunged head-foremost into the stream.

The first mouthful sent a thrill of horror to his heart; it was salt as brine.

The poor youth's cup of bitterness was now full to overflowing.

Crawling out of the stream, he sank down on the bank in a species of lethargic torpor, from which he awakened next morning in a raging fever.

Delirium soon rendered him insensible to his sufferings. The sun rose like a ball of fire, and shone down with scorching power on the arid plain. What mattered it to d.i.c.k? He was far away in the shady groves of the Mustang Valley, chasing the deer at times, but more frequently cooling his limbs and sporting with Crusoe in the bright blue lake. Now he was in his mother's cottage, telling her how he had thought of her when far away on the prairie, and what a bright, sweet word it was she had whispered in his ear,--so unexpectedly, too. Anon he was scouring over the plains on horseback, with the savages at his heels; and at such times d.i.c.k would spring with almost supernatural strength from the ground, and run madly over the burning plain; but, as if by a species of fascination, he always returned to the salt river, and sank exhausted by its side, or plunged helplessly into its waters.

These sudden immersions usually restored him for a short time to reason, and he would crawl up the bank and gnaw a morsel of the maple sugar; but he could not eat much, for it was in a tough, compact cake, which his jaws had not power to break. All that day and the next night he lay on the banks of the salt stream, or rushed wildly over the plain. It was about noon of the second day after his attack that he crept slowly out of the water, into which he had plunged a few seconds before. His mind was restored, but he felt an indescribable sensation of weakness, that seemed to him to be the approach of death. Creeping towards the place where his rifle lay, he fell exhausted beside it, and laid his cheek on the Bible, which had fallen out of his pocket there.

While his eyes were closed in a dreamy sort of half-waking slumber, he felt the rough, hairy coat of an animal brush against his forehead. The idea of being torn to pieces by wolves flashed instantly across his mind, and with a shriek of terror he sprang up,--to be almost overwhelmed by the caresses of his faithful dog.

Yes, there he was, bounding round his master, barking and whining, and giving vent to every possible expression of canine joy.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

CRUSOE'S RETURN AND HIS PRIVATE ADVENTURES AMONG THE INDIANS--d.i.c.k AT A VERY LOW EBB--CRUSOE SAVES HIM.

The means by which Crusoe managed to escape from his two-legged captors, and rejoin his master, requires separate and special notice.

In the struggle with the fallen horse and Indian, which d.i.c.k had seen begun but not concluded, he was almost crushed to death; and the instant the Indian gained his feet, he sent an arrow at his head with savage violence. Crusoe, however, had been so well used to dodging the blunt-headed arrows that were wont to be shot at him by the boys of the Mustang Valley, that he was quite prepared, and eluded the shaft by an active bound. Moreover, he uttered one of his own peculiar roars, flew at the Indian's throat, and dragged him down. At the same moment the other Indians came up, and one of them turned aside to the rescue. This man happened to have an old gun, of the cheap sort at that time exchanged for peltries by the fur-traders. With the b.u.t.t of this he struck Crusoe a blow on the head that sent him sprawling on the gra.s.s.

The rest of the savages, as we have seen, continued in pursuit of d.i.c.k until he leaped into the river; then they returned, took the saddle and bridle off his dead horse, and rejoined their comrades. Here they held a court-martial on Crusoe, who was now bound, foot and muzzle, with cords. Some were for killing him; others, who admired his n.o.ble appearance, immense size, and courage, thought it would be well to carry him to their village and keep him. There was a pretty violent dispute on the subject; but at length it was agreed that they should spare his life in the mean time, and perhaps have a dog-dance round him when they got to their wigwams.

This dance, of which Crusoe was to be the chief, though pa.s.sive performer, is peculiar to some of the tribes east of the Rocky Mountains, and consists in killing a dog and cutting out its liver, which is afterwards sliced into shreds or strings and hung on a pole about the height of a man's head. A band of warriors then come and dance wildly round this pole, and each one in succession goes up to the raw liver and bites a piece off it, without, however, putting his hands near it. Such is the dog-dance, and to such was poor Crusoe destined by his fierce captors, especially by the one whose throat still bore very evident marks of his teeth.

But Crusoe was much too clever a dog to be disposed of in so disgusting a manner. He had privately resolved in his own mind that he would escape, but the hopelessness of his ever carrying that resolution into effect would have been apparent to any one who could have seen the way in which his muzzle was secured, and his four paws were tied together in a bunch, as he hung suspended across the saddle of one of the savages!

This particular party of Indians who had followed d.i.c.k Varley determined not to wait for the return of their comrades who were in pursuit of the other two hunters, but to go straight home, so for several days they galloped away over the prairie. At nights, when they encamped, Crusoe was thrown on the ground like a piece of old lumber, and left to lie there with a mere sc.r.a.p of food till morning, when he was again thrown across the horse of his captor and carried on. When the village was reached, he was thrown again on the ground, and would certainly have been torn to pieces in five minutes by the Indian curs which came howling round him, had not an old woman come to the rescue and driven them away. With the help of her grandson--a little naked creature, just able to walk, or rather to stagger--she dragged him to her tent, and, undoing the line that fastened his mouth, offered him a bone.

Although lying in a position that was unfavourable for eating purposes, Crusoe opened his jaws and took it. An awful crash was followed by two crunches--and it was gone; and Crusoe looked up in the old squaw's face with a look that said plainly, "Another of the same, please, and as quick as possible." The old woman gave him another and then a lump of meat, which latter went down with a gulp--but he coughed after it! and it was well he didn't choke. After this the squaw left him, and Crusoe spent the remainder of that night gnawing the cords that bound him. So diligent was he that he was free before morning and walked deliberately out of the tent. Then he shook himself, and with a yell that one might have fancied was intended for defiance, he bounded joyfully away, and was soon out of sight.

To a dog with a good appet.i.te which had been on short allowance for several days, the mouthful given to him by the old squaw was a mere nothing. All that day he kept bounding over the plain from bluff to bluff in search of something to eat, but found nothing until dusk, when he pounced suddenly and most unexpectedly on a prairie-hen fast asleep.

In one moment its life was gone. In less than a minute its body was gone too--feathers and bones and all--down Crusoe's ravenous throat.

On the identical spot Crusoe lay down and slept like a top for four hours. At the end of that time he jumped up, bolted a sc.r.a.p of skin that somehow had been overlooked at supper, and flew straight over the prairie to the spot where he had had the scuffle with the Indian. He came to the edge of the river, took precisely the same leap that his master had done before him, and came out on the other side a good deal higher up than d.i.c.k had done, for the dog had no savages to dodge, and was, as we have said before, a powerful swimmer.

It cost him a good deal of running about to find the trail, and it was nearly dark before he resumed his journey; then, putting his keen nose to the ground, he ran step by step over d.i.c.k's track, and at last found him, as we have shown, on the banks of the Salt Creek.

It is quite impossible to describe the intense joy which filled d.i.c.k's heart on again beholding his favourite. Only those who have lost and found such an one can know it. d.i.c.k seized him round the neck and hugged him as well as he could, poor fellow, in his feeble arms; then he wept, then he laughed, and then he fainted.

This was a consummation that took Crusoe quite aback! Never having seen his master in such a state before he seemed to think at first that he was playing some trick, for he bounded round him, and barked, and wagged his tail. But as d.i.c.k lay quite still and motionless, he went forward with a look of alarm; snuffed him once or twice and whined piteously; then he raised his nose in the air and uttered a long melancholy wail.

The cry seemed to revive d.i.c.k, for he moved, and with some difficulty sat up, to the dog's evident relief. There is no doubt whatever that Crusoe learned an erroneous lesson that day, and was firmly convinced thenceforth that the best cure for a fainting-fit is a melancholy yell.

So easy is it for the wisest of dogs as well as men to fall into gross error!

"Crusoe," said d.i.c.k, in a feeble voice, "dear good pup, come here." He crawled, as he spoke, down to the water's edge where there was a level patch of dry sand.

"Dig," said d.i.c.k, pointing to the sand.

Crusoe looked at him in surprise, as well he might, for he had never heard the word "dig" in all his life before.

d.i.c.k pondered a minute; then a thought struck him. He turned up a little of the sand with his fingers, and, pointing to the hole cried, "_Seek him out, pup_!"

Ha! Crusoe understood _that_. Many and many a time had he unhoused rabbits, and squirrels, and other creatures at that word of command, so, without a moment's delay, he commenced to dig down into the sand, every now, and then stopping for a moment and shoving in his nose, and snuffing interrogatively, as if he fully expected to find a buffalo at the bottom of it. Then he would resume again, one paw after another so fast that you could scarce see them going "hand over hand" as sailors would have called it--while the sand flew out between his hind-legs in a continuous shower. When the sand acc.u.mulated so much behind him as to impede his motions he sc.r.a.ped it out of his way, and set to work again with tenfold earnestness. After a good while he paused and looked up at d.i.c.k with an "it--won't--do,--I--fear,--there's--nothing--here"

expression on his face.

"Seek him out, pup!" repeated d.i.c.k.

"Oh! very good," mutely answered the dog, and went at it again, tooth and nail, harder than ever.

In the course of a quarter of an hour there was a deep yawning hole in the sand, into which d.i.c.k peered with intense anxiety. The bottom appeared slightly _damp_. Hope now reanimated d.i.c.k Varley, and by various devices he succeeded in getting the dog to sc.r.a.pe away a sort of tunnel from the hole, into which he might roll himself and put down his lips to drink when the water should rise high enough. Impatiently and anxiously he lay watching the moisture slowly acc.u.mulate in the bottom of the hole, drop by drop, and while he gazed he fell into a troubled, restless slumber, and dreamed that Crusoe's return was a dream, and that he was alone again perishing for want of water.

When he awakened the hole was half full of clear water, and Crusoe was lapping it greedily.

"Back, pup!" he shouted, as he crept down to the hole and put his trembling lips to the water. It was brackish, but drinkable, and as d.i.c.k drank deeply of it he esteemed it at that moment better than nectar. Here he lay for half an hour alternately drinking and gazing in surprise at his own emaciated visage as reflected in the pool.

The same afternoon Crusoe, in a private hunting excursion of his own, discovered and caught a prairie-hen, which he quietly proceeded to devour on the spot, when d.i.c.k, who saw what had occurred, whistled to him.

Obedience was engrained in every fibre of Crusoe's mental and corporeal being. He did not merely answer at once to the call--he _sprang_ to it, leaving the prairie-hen untasted.

"Fetch it, pup," cried d.i.c.k eagerly as the dog came up.

In a few moments the hen was at his feet. d.i.c.k's circ.u.mstances could not brook the delay of cookery; he gashed the bird with his knife and drank the blood, and then gave the flesh to the dog, while he crept to the pool again for another draught. Ah! think not, reader, that although we have treated this subject in a slight vein of pleasantry, because it ended well, that therefore our tale is pure fiction. Not only are Indians glad to satisfy the urgent cravings of hunger with raw flesh, but many civilised men and delicately nurtured, have done the same--ay, and doubtless, will do the same again, as long as enterprising and fearless men shall go forth to dare the dangers of flood and field in the wild places of our wonderful world!

Crusoe had finished his share of the feast before d.i.c.k returned from the pool. Then master and dog lay down together side by side and fell into a long, deep, peaceful slumber.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

HEALTH AND HAPPINESS RETURN--INCIDENTS OF THE JOURNEY--A BUFFALO SHOT--A WILD HORSE "CREASED"--d.i.c.k'S BATTLE WITH A MUSTANG.