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

beyond him. It was a most
effective tableau--Henri rubbing his shins and grinning
with pain, the horse gazing in affright as he rose trembling
from the plain, and the buffalo bull looking on
half stunned, and evidently very much surprised at the
result of his charge.

Fortunately, before he could repeat the experiment,
Dick galloped up and put a ball through his heart.

Joe and his comrades felt a little ashamed of their
exploit on this occasion, for there was no need to have
killed three animals--they could not have carried with
them more than a small portion of one--and they upbraided
themselves several times during the operation of
cutting out the tongues and other choice portions of the
two victims. As for the bull, he was almost totally
useless, so they left him as a gift to the wolves.

Now that they had come among the buffalo, wolves
were often seen sneaking about and licking their hungry
jaws; but although they approached pretty near to the
camp at nights, they did not give the hunters any concern.
Even Crusoe became accustomed to them at last,
and ceased to notice them. These creatures are very
dangerous sometimes, however, and when hard pressed
by hunger will even attack man. The day after this
hunt the travellers came upon a wounded old buffalo
which had evidently escaped from the Indians (for a
couple of arrows were sticking in its side), only to fall
a prey to his deadly enemies, the white wolves. These
savage brutes hang on the skirts of the herds of buffaloes
to attack and devour any one that may chance, from
old age or from being wounded, to linger behind the rest.
The buffalo is tough and fierce, however, and fights so
desperately that, although surrounded by fifty or a
hundred wolves, he keeps up the unequal combat for
several days before he finally succumbs.

The old bull that our travellers discovered had evidently
been long engaged with his ferocious adversaries,
for his limbs and flesh were torn in shreds in
many places, and blood was streaming from his sides.
Yet he had fought so gallantly that he had tossed and
stamped to death dozens of the enemy. There could
not have been fewer than fifty wolves round him; and
they had just concluded another of many futile attacks
when the hunters came up, for they were ranged in a
circle round their huge adversary--some lying down,
some sitting on their haunches to rest, and others sneaking
about, lolling out their red tongues and licking their
chops as if impatient to renew the combat. The poor
buffalo was nearly spent, and it was clear that a few
hours more would see him torn to shreds and his bones
picked clean.

"Ugh! de brutes," ejaculated Henri.

"They don't seem to mind us a bit," remarked Dick,
as they rode up to within pistol shot.

"It'll be merciful to give the old fellow a shot," said
Joe. "Them varmints are sure to finish him at last."

Joe raised his rifle as he spoke, and fired. The old
bull gave his last groan and fell, while the wolves,
alarmed by the shot, fled in all directions; but they did
not run far. They knew well that some portion, at
least, of the carcass would fall to their share; so they
sat down at various distances all round, to wait as
patiently as they might for the hunters to retire. Dick
left the scene with a feeling of regret that the villanous
wolves should have their feast so much sooner than they
expected.

Yet, after all, why should we call these wolves villanous?
They did nothing wrong--nothing contrary to
the laws of their peculiar nature. Nay, if we come to
reason upon it, they rank higher in this matter than
man; for while the wolf does no violence to the laws of
its instincts, man often deliberately silences the voice of
conscience, and violates the laws of his own nature.
But we will not insist on the term, good reader, if you
object strongly to it. We are willing to admit that the
wolves are not villanous, but, assuredly, they are
unlovable.

In the course of the afternoon the three horsemen
reached a small creek, the banks of which were lined
with a few stunted shrubs and trees. Having eaten
nothing since the night before, they dismounted here to
"feed," as Joe expressed it.

"Cur'ous thing," remarked Joe, as he struck a light
by means of flint, steel, and tinder-box--"cur'ous thing
that we're made to need sich a lot o' grub. If we could
only get on like the sarpints, now, wot can breakfast on
a rabbit, and then wait a month or two for dinner!
Ain't it cur'ous?"

Dick admitted that it was, and stooped to blow the
fire into a blaze.

Here Henri uttered a cry of consternation, and stood
speechless, with his mouth open.

"What's the matter? what is't?" cried Dick and Joe,
seizing their rifles instinctively.

"De--grub--him--be--forgat!"

There was a look of blank horror, and then a burst
of laughter from Dick Varley. "Well, well," cried he,
"we've got lots o' tea an' sugar, an' some flour; we can
git on wi' that till we shoot another buffalo, or a--ha!"

Dick observed a wild turkey stalking among the
willows as he spoke. It was fully a hundred yards off,
and only its head was seen above the leaves. This was
a matter of little moment, however, for by aiming a
little lower he knew that he must hit the body. But
Dick had driven the nail too often to aim at its body;
he aimed at the bird's eye, and cut its head off.

"Fetch it, Crusoe."

In three minutes it was at Dick's feet, and it is not
too much to say that in five minutes more it was in the
pot.

As this unexpected supply made up for the loss of the
meat which Henri had forgotten at their last halting-place,
their equanimity was restored; and while the meal
was in preparation Dick shouldered his rifle and went
into the bush to try for another turkey. He did not
get one, however, but he shot a couple of prairie-hens,
which are excellent eating. Moreover, he found a large
quantity of wild grapes and plums. These were unfortunately
not nearly ripe, but Dick resolved to try his
hand at a new dish, so he stuffed the breast of his coat
full of them.

After the pot was emptied, Dick washed it out, and
put a little clean water in it. Then he poured some
flour in, and stirred it well. While this was heating, he
squeezed the sour grapes and plums into what Joe
called a "mush," mixed it with a spoonful of sugar, and
emptied it into the pot. He also skimmed a quantity
of the fat from the remains of the turkey soup and
added that to the mess, which he stirred with earnest
diligence till it boiled down into a sort of thick porridge.

"D'ye think it'll be good?" asked Joe gravely; "I've
me doubts of it."

"We'll see.--Hold the tin dish, Henri."

"Take care of de fingers. Ha! it looks magnifique--superb!"

The first spoonful produced an expression on Henri's
face that needed not to be interpreted. It was as sour
as vinegar.

"Ye'll ha' to eat it yerself, Dick, lad," cried Joe,
throwing down his spoon, and spitting out the unsavoury
mess.

"Nonsense," cried Dick, bolting two or three mouthfuls,
and trying to look as if he liked it. "Try again;
it's not so bad as you think."

"Ho-o-o-o-o!" cried Henri, after the second mouthful.
"Tis vin�gre. All de sugare in de pack would not
make more sweeter one bite of it."

Dick was obliged to confess the dish a failure, so it
was thrown out after having been offered to Crusoe,
who gave it one sniff and turned away in silence. Then
they mounted and resumed their journey.

At this place mosquitoes and horse-flies troubled our
hunters and their steeds a good deal. The latter especially
were very annoying to the poor horses. They bit
them so much that the blood at last came trickling
down their sides. They were troubled also, once or
twice, by cockchafers and locusts, which annoyed them,
not indeed by biting, but by flying blindly against their
faces, and often-narrowly missed hitting them in the
eyes. Once particularly they were so bad that Henri
in his wrath opened his lips to pronounce a malediction
on the whole race, when a cockchafer flew straight into
his mouth, and, to use his own forcible expression,
"nearly knocked him off de hoss." But these were
minor evils, and scarcely cost the hunters a thought.



CHAPTER XII.


Wanderings on the prairie--A war party--Chased by
Indians--A bold leap for life.

For many days the three hunters wandered over
the trackless prairie in search of a village of the
Sioux Indians, but failed to find one, for the Indians
were in the habit of shifting their ground and following
the buffalo. Several times they saw small isolated bands
of Indians; but these they carefully avoided, fearing
they might turn out to be war parties, and if they fell
into their hands the white men could not expect civil
treatment, whatever nation the Indians might belong to.

During the greater portion of this time they met with
numerous herds of buffalo and deer, and were well supplied
with food; but they had to cook it during the day,
being afraid to light a fire at night while Indians were
prowling about.

One night they halted near the bed of a stream which
was almost dry. They had travelled a day and a night
without water, and both men and horses were almost
choking, so that when they saw the trees on the horizon
which indicated the presence of a stream, they pushed
forward with almost frantic haste.

"Hope it's not dry," said Joe anxiously as they galloped up to it.
"No,
there's water, lads," and they
dashed forward to a pool that had not yet been dried
up. They drank long and eagerly before they noticed
that the pool was strongly impregnated with salt. Many
streams in those parts of the prairies are quite salt, but
fortunately this one was not utterly undrinkable, though
it was very unpalatable.

"We'll make it better, lads," said Joe, digging a deep
hole in the sand with his hands, a little below the pool.
In a short time the water filtered through, and though
not rendered fresh, it was, nevertheless, much improved.

"We may light a fire to-night, d'ye think?" inquired
Dick; "we've not seed Injuns for some days."

"P'r'aps 'twould be better not," said Joe; "but I daresay
we're safe enough."

A fire was therefore lighted in as sheltered a spot as
could be found, and the three friends bivouacked as
usual. Towards dawn they were aroused by an angry
growl from Crusoe.

"It's a wolf likely," said Dick, but all three seized and
cocked their rifles nevertheless.

Again Crusoe growled more angrily than before, and
springing out of the camp snuffed the breeze anxiously.

"Up, lads! catch the nags! There's something in the
wind, for the dog niver did that afore."

In a few seconds the horses were saddled and the
packs secured.

"Call in the dog," whispered Joe Blunt; "if he barks
they'll find out our whereabouts."

"Here, Crusoe, come--"

It was too late; the dog barked loudly and savagely
at the moment, and a troop of Indians came coursing
over the plain. On hearing the unwonted sound they
wheeled directly and made for the camp.

"It's a war party; fly, lads! nothin' 'll save our
scalps now but our horses' heels," cried Joe.

In a moment they vaulted into the saddle and urged
their steeds forward at the utmost speed. The savages
observed them, and with an exulting yell dashed after
them. Feeling that there was now no need of concealment,
the three horsemen struck off into the open prairie,
intending to depend entirely on the speed and stamina
of their horses. As we have before remarked, they
were good ones; but the Indians soon proved that they
were equally well if not better mounted.

"It'll be a hard run," said Joe in a low, muttering
tone, and looking furtively over his shoulder. "The
varmints are mounted on wild horses--leastways they
were wild not long agone. Them chaps can throw the
lasso and trip a mustang as well as a Mexican. Mind
the badger-holes, Dick.--Hold in a bit, Henri; yer nag
don't need drivin'; a foot in a hole just now would
cost us our scalps. Keep down by the creek, lads."

"Ha! how dey yell," said Henri in a savage tone,
looking back, and shaking his rifle at them, an act that
caused them to yell more fiercely than ever. "Dis old
pack-hoss give me moche trobel."

The pace was now tremendous. Pursuers and pursued
rose and sank on the prairie billows as they swept
along, till they came to what is termed a "dividing
ridge," which is a cross wave, as it were, that cuts the
others in two, thus forming a continuous level. Here
they advanced more easily; but the advantage was
equally shared with their pursuers, who continued the
headlong pursuit with occasional yells, which served to
show the fugitives that they at least did not gain
ground.

A little to the right of the direction in