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

which they
were flying a blue line was seen on the horizon. This
indicated the existence of trees to Joe's practised eyes,
and feeling that if the horses broke down they could
better make a last manful stand in the wood than on
the plain he urged his steed towards it. The savages
noticed the movement at once, and uttered a yell of
exultation, for they regarded it as an evidence that the
fugitives doubted the strength of their horses.

"Ye haven't got us yet," muttered Joe, with a sardonic
grin. "If they get near us, Dick, keep yer eyes
open an' look out for yer neck, else they'll drop a noose
over it, they will, afore ye know they're near, an' haul
ye off like a sack."

Dick nodded in reply, but did not speak, for at that
moment his eye was fixed on a small creek ahead which
they must necessarily leap or dash across. It was
lined with clumps of scattered shrubbery, and he
glanced rapidly for the most suitable place to pass.
Joe and Henri did the same, and having diverged a
little to the different points chosen, they dashed through
the shrubbery and were hid from each other's view.
On approaching the edge of the stream, Dick found to
his consternation that the bank was twenty feet high
opposite him, and too wide for any horse to clear.
Wheeling aside without checking speed, at the risk of
throwing his steed, he rode along the margin of the
stream for a few hundred yards until he found a ford--at
least such a spot as might be cleared by a bold
leap. The temporary check, however, had enabled an
Indian to gain so close upon his heels that his exulting
yell sounded close in his ear.

With a vigorous bound his gallant little horse went
over. Crusoe could not take it, but he rushed down
the one bank and up the other, so that he only lost a
few yards. These few yards, however, were sufficient
to bring the Indian close upon him as he cleared the
stream at full gallop. The savage whirled his lasso
swiftly round for a second, and in another moment
Crusoe uttered a tremendous roar as he was tripped up
violently on the plain.

Dick heard the cry of his faithful dog, and turned
quickly round, just in time to see him spring at the
horse's throat, and bring both steed and rider down
upon him. Dick's heart leaped to his throat. Had a
thousand savages been rushing on him he would have
flown to the rescue of his favourite; but an unexpected
obstacle came in the way. His fiery little steed, excited
by the headlong race and the howls of the Indians,
had taken the bit in his teeth and was now unmanageable.
Dick tore at the reins like a maniac, and in the
height of his frenzy even raised the butt of his rifle with
the intent to strike the poor horse to the earth, but his
better nature prevailed. He checked the uplifted hand,
and with, a groan dropped the reins, and sank almost
helplessly forward on the saddle; for several of the Indians
had left the main body and were pursuing him
alone, so that there would have been now no chance of
his reaching the place where Crusoe fell, even if he could
have turned his horse.

Spiritless, and utterly indifferent to what his fate
might be, Dick Varley rode along with his head drooping,
and keeping his seat almost mechanically, while the
mettlesome little steed flew on over wave and hollow.
Gradually he awakened from this state of despair to a
sense of danger. Glancing round he observed that the
Indians were now far behind him, though still pursuing.
He also observed that his companions were galloping
miles away on the horizon to the left, and that he had
foolishly allowed the savages to get between him and
them. The only chance that remained for him was to
outride his pursuers, and circle round towards his comrades,
and this he hoped to accomplish, for his little
horse had now proved itself to be superior to those of the
Indians, and there was good running in him still.

Urging him forward, therefore, he soon left the savages
still farther behind, and feeling confident that they could
not now overtake him he reined up and dismounted.
The pursuers quickly drew near, but short though it
was the rest did his horse good. Vaulting into the
saddle, he again stretched out, and now skirted along
the margin of a wood which seemed to mark the position
of a river of considerable size.

At this moment his horse put his foot into a badger-hole,
and both of them came heavily to the ground.
In an instant Dick rose, picked up his gun, and leaped
unhurt into the saddle. But on urging his poor horse
forward he found that its shoulder was badly sprained.

There was no room for mercy, however--life and death
were in the balance--so he plied the lash vigorously,
and the noble steed warmed into something like a run,
when again it stumbled, and fell with a crash on the
ground, while the blood burst from its mouth and nostrils.
Dick could hear the shout of triumph uttered by
his pursuers.

"My poor, poor horse!" he exclaimed in a tone of the
deepest commiseration, while he stooped and stroked its
foam-studded neck.

The dying steed raised its head for a moment, it almost
seemed as if to acknowledge the tones of affection,
then it sank down with a gurgling groan.

Dick sprang up, for the Indians were now upon him,
and bounded like an antelope into the thickest of the
shrubbery; which was nowhere thick enough, however,
to prevent the Indians following. Still, it sufficiently
retarded them to render the chase a more equal one than
could have been expected. In a few minutes Dick
gained a strip of open ground beyond, and found
himself on the bank of a broad river, whose evidently
deep waters rushed impetuously along their unobstructed
channel. The bank at the spot where he
reached it was a sheer precipice of between thirty and
forty feet high. Glancing up and down the river he
retreated a few paces, turned round and shook his
clenched fist at the savages, accompanying the action
with a shout of defiance, and then running to the edge
of the bank, sprang far out into the boiling flood and
sank.

The Indians pulled up on reaching the spot. There
was no possibility of galloping down the wood-encumbered
banks after the fugitive; but quick as thought
each Red-man leaped to the ground, and fitting an arrow
to his bow, awaited Dick's re-appearance with eager
gaze.

Young though he was, and unskilled in such wild
warfare, Dick knew well enough what sort of reception
he would meet with on coming to the surface, so he kept
under water as long as he could, and struck out as vigorously
as the care of his rifle would permit. At last he
rose for a few seconds, and immediately half-a-dozen
arrows whizzed through the air; but most of them fell
short--only one passed close to his cheek, and went with
a "whip" into the river. He immediately sank again,
and the next time he rose to breathe he was far beyond
the reach of his Indian enemies.



CHAPTER XIII.


Escape from Indians--A discovery--Alone in the desert.

Dick Varley had spent so much of his boyhood
in sporting about among the waters of the rivers
and lakes near which he had been reared, and especially
during the last two years had spent so much of his
leisure time in rolling and diving with his dog Crusoe
in the lake of the Mustang Valley, that he had become
almost as expert in the water as a South Sea islander;
so that when he found himself whirling down the rapid
river, as already described, he was more impressed with
a feeling of gratitude to God for his escape from the
Indians than anxiety about getting ashore.

He was not altogether blind or indifferent to the
danger into which he might be hurled if the channel of
the river should be found lower down to be broken with
rocks, or should a waterfall unexpectedly appear. After
floating down a sufficient distance to render pursuit
out of the question, he struck into the bank opposite to
that from which he had plunged, and clambering up
to the greensward above, stripped off the greater part
of his clothing and hung it on the branches of a bush to
dry. Then he sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree
to consider what course he had best pursue in his present
circumstances.

These circumstances were by no means calculated to
inspire him with hope or comfort. He was in the
midst of an unknown wilderness, hundreds of miles
from any white man's settlement; surrounded by
savages; without food or blanket; his companions
gone, he knew not whither--perhaps taken and killed
by the Indians; his horse dead; and his dog, the most
trusty and loving of all his friends, lost to him, probably,
for ever! A more veteran heart might have
quailed in the midst of such accumulated evils; but
Dick Varley possessed a strong, young, and buoyant
constitution, which, united with a hopefulness of disposition
that almost nothing could overcome, enabled him
very quickly to cast aside the gloomy view of his case
and turn to its brighter aspects.

He still grasped his good rifle, that was some comfort;
and as his eye fell upon it, he turned with anxiety to
examine into the condition of his powder-horn and the
few things that he had been fortunate enough to carry
away with him about his person.

The horn in which western hunters carry their powder
is usually that of an ox. It is closed up at the large
end with a piece of hard wood fitted tightly into it, and
the small end is closed with a wooden peg or stopper.
It is therefore completely water-tight, and may be for
hours immersed without the powder getting wet, unless
the stopper should chance to be knocked out. Dick
found, to his great satisfaction, that the stopper was
fast and the powder perfectly dry. Moreover, he had by good fortune
filled
it full two days before from the
package that contained the general stock of ammunition,
so that there were only two or three charges out of it.
His percussion caps, however, were completely destroyed;
and even though they had not been, it would have mattered
little, for he did not possess more than half-a-dozen.
But this was not so great a misfortune as at first it
might seem, for he had the spare flint locks and the little
screw-driver necessary for fixing and unfixing them
stowed away in his shot pouch.

To examine his supply of bullets was his next care,
and slowly he counted them out, one by one, to the
number of thirty. This was a pretty fair supply, and
with careful economy would last him many days. Having
relieved his mind on these all-important points,
he carefully examined every pouch and corner of his
dress to ascertain the exact amount and value of his
wealth.

Besides the leather leggings, moccasins, deerskin hunting-shirt,
cap, and belt which composed his costume, he
had a short heavy hunting-knife, a piece of tinder, a
little tin pannikin, which he had been in the habit of
carrying at his belt, and a large cake of maple sugar.
This last is a species of sugar which is procured by the
Indians from the maple-tree. Several cakes of it had
been carried off from the Pawnee village, and Dick
usually carried one in the breast of his coat. Besides
these things, he found that the little Bible, for which
his mother had made a small inside breast-pocket, was
safe. Dick's heart smote him when he took it out and
undid the clasp, for he had not looked at it until that
day. It was firmly bound with a brass clasp, so that,
although the binding and the edges of the leaves were
soaked, the inside was quite dry. On opening the book
to see if it had been damaged, a small paper fell out.
Picking it up quickly, he unfolded it, and read, in his
mother's handwriting: "Call upon me in the time of
trouble; and I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify
me. My son, give me thine heart."

Dick's eyes filled with tears while the sound, as it
were, of his mother's voice thus reached him unexpectedly
in that lonely wilderness. Like too many whose
hearts are young and gay, Dick had regarded religion, if
not as a gloomy, at least as not a cheerful thing. But
he felt the comfort of these words at that moment, and
he resolved seriously to peruse his mother's parting gift
in time to come.

The sun was hot, and a warm breeze gently shook
the leaves, so that Dick's garments were soon dry. A
few minutes served to change the locks of his rifle, draw
the wet charges, dry out the barrels, and re-load. Then
throwing it across his shoulder, he entered the wood and
walked lightly away. And well he might, poor fellow,
for at that moment