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

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 Redskins 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 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 who had been saved by
Crusoe.

"I'll manage it," said Joe, and walked towards her,
while Dick and Henri returned to the chief's 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 safe
keeping in the chiefs 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 I 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.

"Ha! 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 here."

"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 complement 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 cataleptic 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