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

ground like
a piece of old lumber, and left to lie there with a mere
scrap 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 grand-son--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 appetite 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 scrap 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 Dick 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 Dick'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 Dick's heart on again beholding his favourite.
Only those who have lost and found such an one
can know it. Dick 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 Dick 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 Dick, 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 Dick, 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 Dick, 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.

Dick 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 accumulated so much behind him as to impede
his motions he scraped it out of his way, and set to
work again with tenfold earnestness. After a good
while he paused and looked up at Dick with an
"it-won't-do,-I-fear,-there's-nothing-here" expression on his
face.

"Seek him out, pup!" repeated Dick.

"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 Dick peered
with intense anxiety. The bottom appeared slightly
damp. Hope now reanimated Dick Varley, and by
various devices he succeeded in getting the dog to scrape
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 accumulate
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 Dick 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
Dick, 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 Dick eagerly as the dog came
up.

In a few moments the hen was at his feet. Dick's
circumstances 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 civilized 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 Dick
returned from the pool. Then master and dog lay down
together side by side and fell into a long, deep, peaceful
slumber.



CHAPTER XV.


Health and happiness return--Incidents of the journey--A
buffalo shot--A wild horse "creased"--Dick's battle with
a mustang.

Dick Varley's fears and troubles, in the meantime,
were ended. On the day following he
awoke refreshed and happy--so happy and light at
heart, as he felt the glow of returning health coursing
through his veins, that he fancied he must have dreamed
it all. In fact, he was so certain that his muscles were
strong that he endeavoured to leap up, but was powerfully
convinced of his true condition by the miserable
stagger that resulted from the effort.

However, he knew he was recovering, so he rose, and
thanking God for his recovery, and for the new hope
that was raised in his heart, he went down to the pool
and drank deeply of its water. Then he returned, and,
sitting down beside his dog, opened the Bible and read
long--and, for the first time, earnestly--the story of
Christ's love for sinful man. He at last fell asleep over
the book, and when he awakened felt so much refreshed
in body and mind that he determined to attempt to
pursue his journey.

He had not proceeded far when he came upon a
colony of prairie-dogs. Upon this occasion he was little
inclined to take a humorous view of the vagaries of
these curious little creatures, but he shot one, and, as
before, ate part of it raw. These creatures are so active
that they are difficult to shoot, and even when killed
generally fall into their holes and disappear. Crusoe,
however, soon unearthed the dead animal on this occasion.
That night the travellers came to a stream of
fresh water, and Dick killed a turkey, so that he determined
to spend a couple of days there to recruit. At
the end of that time he again set out, but was able only
to advance five miles when he broke down. In fact, it
became evident to him that he must have a longer period
of absolute repose ere he could hope to continue his
journey; but to do so without food was impossible.
Fortunately there was plenty of water, as his course lay
along the margin of a small stream, and, as the arid
piece of prairie was now behind him, he hoped to fall in
with birds, or perhaps deer, soon.

While he was plodding heavily and wearily along,
pondering these things, he came to the brow of a wave
from which he beheld a most magnificent view of green
grassy plains decked with flowers, and rolling out to
the horizon, with a stream meandering through it, and
clumps of trees scattered everywhere far and wide. It
was a glorious sight; but the most glorious object in it
to Dick, at that time, was a fat buffalo which stood
grazing not a hundred yards off. The wind was blowing
towards him, so that the animal did not scent him,
and, as he came up very slowly, and it was turned away,
it did not see him.

Crusoe would have sprung forward in an instant, but
his master's finger imposed silence and caution. Trembling
with eagerness, Dick sank flat down in the grass,
cocked both barrels of his piece, and, resting it on his
left hand with his left elbow on the ground, he waited
until the animal should present its side. In a few
seconds it moved; Dick's eye glanced along the barrel,
but it trembled--his wonted steadiness of aim was
gone. He fired, and the buffalo sprang off in terror.
With a groan of despair he fired again---almost recklessly--and
the buffalo fell! It rose once or twice and
stumbled forward a few paces, then it fell again. Meanwhile
Dick reloaded with trembling hand, and advanced
to give it another shot; but it was not needful--the
buffalo was already dead.

"Now, Crusoe," said Dick, sitting down on the buffalo's
shoulder and patting his favourite on the head, "we're
all right at last. You and I shall have a jolly time o't,
pup, from this time for'ard."

Dick paused for breath, and Crusoe wagged his tail
and looked as if to say--pshaw! "as if!"

We tell you what it is, reader, it's of no use at all to
go on writing "as if," when we tell you what Crusoe
said. If there is any language in eyes whatever--if
there is language in a tail, in a cocked ear, in a mobile
eyebrow, in the point of a canine nose,--if there is
language in any terrestrial thing at all, apart from that
which flows from the tongue, then Crusoe spoke! Do
we not speak at this moment to you? and if so, then
tell me wherein lies the difference between a written
letter and a given sign?

Yes, Crusoe spoke. He said to Dick as plain as dog
could say it, slowly and emphatically,