The Dog Crusoe and His Master: A Story of Adventure in the Western Prairies, - [books for new readers .TXT] 📗

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 civilized 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 X.


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 eyes, 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 chief's
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 fists 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