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

a throb of compunction to enter his breast for
standing and looking on, so he ran forward. The eagle
saw him instantly, and tried to fly away, but was unable
from exhaustion.

"At him, Crusoe," cried Dick, whose sympathies all
lay with the other bird.

Crusoe went forward at a bound, and was met by a
peck between the eyes that would have turned most
dogs; but Crusoe only winked, and the next moment
the eagle's career was ended.

Dick found that the turkey-cock was quite blind, the
eagle having thrust out both its eyes, so, in mercy, he
put an end to its sufferings.

The fight had evidently been a long and severe one,
for the grass all round the spot, for about twenty yards,
was beaten to the ground, and covered with the blood
and feathers of the fierce combatants.

Meditating on the fight which he had just witnessed,
Dick returned towards the spot where he had left
Charlie, when he suddenly missed Crusoe from his side.

"Hallo, Crusoe! here, pup! where are you?" he
cried.

The only answer to this was a sharp whizzing sound,
and an arrow, passing close to his ear, quivered in a
tree beyond. Almost at the same moment Crusoe's
angry roar was followed by a shriek from some one in
fear or agony. Cocking his rifle, the young hunter
sprang through the bushes towards his horse, and was
just in time to save a Banattee Indian from being
strangled by the dog. It had evidently scented out
this fellow, and pinned him just as he was in the act of
springing on the back of Charlie, for the halter was cut,
and the savage lay on the ground close beside him.

Dick called off the dog, and motioned to the Indian
to rise, which he did so nimbly that it was quite evident
he had sustained no injury beyond the laceration
of his neck by Crusoe's teeth, and the surprise.

He was a tall strong Indian for the tribe to which
he belonged, so Dick proceeded to secure him at once.
Pointing to his rifle and to the Indian's breast, to show
what he might expect if he attempted to escape, Dick
ordered Crusoe to keep him steady in that position.

The dog planted himself in front of the savage, who
began to tremble for his scalp, and gazed up in his face
with a look which, to say the least of it, was the reverse
of amiable, while Dick went towards his horse for the
purpose of procuring a piece of cord to tie him with.
The Indian naturally turned his head to see what was
going to be done, but a peculiar gurgle in Crusoe's throat
made him turn it round again very smartly, and he did
not venture thereafter to move a muscle.

In a few seconds Dick returned with a piece of
leather and tied his hands behind his back. While this
was being done the Indian glanced several times at his
bow, which lay a few feet away, where it had fallen
when the dog caught him; but Crusoe seemed to understand
him, for he favoured him with such an additional
display of teeth, and such a low--apparently distant,
almost, we might say, subterranean--rumble, that he
resigned himself to his fate.

His hands secured, a long line was attached to his
neck with a running noose, so that if he ventured to
run away the attempt would effect its own cure by producing
strangulation. The other end of this line was
given to Crusoe, who at the word of command marched
him off, while Dick mounted Charlie and brought up
the rear.


Great was the laughter and merriment when this
apparition met the eyes of the trappers; but when they
heard that he had attempted to shoot Dick their ire was
raised, and a court-martial was held on the spot.

"Hang the reptile!" cried one.

"Burn him!" shouted another.

"No, no," said a third; "don't imitate them villains:
don't be cruel. Let's shoot him."
"Shoot 'im," cried Pierre. "Oui, dat is de ting; it
too goot pour lui, mais it shall be dooed."

"Don't ye think, lads, it would be better to let the
poor wretch off?" said Dick Varley; "he'd p'r'aps give
a good account o' us to his people."

There was a universal shout of contempt at this mild
proposal. Unfortunately, few of the men sent on this
exploring expedition were imbued with the peace-making
spirit of their chief, and most of them seemed glad to
have a chance of venting their hatred of the poor Indians
on this unhappy wretch, who, although calm, looked
sharply from one speaker to another, to gather hope, if
possible, from the tones of their voices.

Dick was resolved, at the risk of a quarrel with Pierre,
to save the poor man's life, and had made up his mind
to insist on having him conducted to the camp to be
tried by Cameron, when one of the men suggested that
they should take the savage to the top of a hill about
three miles farther on, and there hang him up on a tree
as a warning to all his tribe.

"Agreed, agreed!" cried the men; "come on."

Dick, too, seemed to agree to this proposal, and hastily
ordered Crusoe to run on ahead with the savage; an
order which the dog obeyed so vigorously that, before
the men had done laughing at him, he was a couple of
hundred yards ahead of them.

"Take care that he don't get off!" cried Dick, springing
on Charlie and stretching out at a gallop.

In a moment he was beside the Indian. Scraping together
the little of the Indian language he knew, he stooped
down, and, cutting the thongs that bound him, said,--

"Go! white men love the Indians."

The man cast on his deliverer one glance of surprise,
and the next moment bounded aside into the bushes and
was gone.

A loud shout from the party behind showed that this
act had been observed; and Crusoe stood with the end
of the line in his mouth, and an expression on his face
that said, "You're absolutely incomprehensible, Dick!
It's all right, I know, but to my feeble capacity it
seems
wrong."

"Fat for you do dat?" shouted Pierre in a rage, as
he came up with a menacing look.

Dick confronted him. "The prisoner was mine. I
had a right to do with him as it liked me."

"True, true," cried several of the men who had begun
to repent of their resolution, and were glad the savage
was off. "The lad's right. Get along, Pierre."

"You had no right, you vas wrong. Oui, et I have
goot vill to give you one knock on de nose."

Dick looked Pierre in the face, as he said this, in a
manner that cowed him.

"It is time," he said quietly, pointing to the sun, "to
go on. Your bourgeois expects that time won't be
wasted."

Pierre muttered something in an angry tone, and
wheeling round his horse, dashed forward at full gallop,
followed by the rest of the men.

The trappers encamped that night on the edge of a
wide grassy plain, which offered such tempting food for
the horses that Pierre resolved to forego his usual
cautious plan of picketing them close to the camp, and
set them loose on the plain, merely hobbling them to
prevent their straying far.

Dick remonstrated, but in vain. An insolent answer
was all he got for his pains. He determined, however,
to keep Charlie close beside him all night, and also made
up his mind to keep a sharp look-out on the other
horses.

At supper he again remonstrated.

"No 'fraid," said Pierre, whose pipe was beginning to
improve his temper. "The red reptiles no dare to come
in open plain when de moon so clear."

"Dun know that," said a taciturn trapper, who seldom
ventured a remark of any kind; "them varmints 'ud
steal the two eyes out o' you' head when they set their
hearts on't."

"Dat ar' umposs'ble, for dey have no hearts," said a
half-breed; "dey have von hole vere de heart vas
be."

This was received with a shout of laughter, in the
midst of which an appalling yell was heard, and, as if
by magic, four Indians were seen on the backs of four
of the best horses, yelling like fiends, and driving all the
other horses furiously before them over the plain!

How they got there was a complete mystery, but the
men did not wait to consider that point. Catching up
their guns they sprang after them with the fury of madmen,
and were quickly scattered far and wide. Dick
ordered Crusoe to follow and help the men, and turned
to spring on the back of Charlie; but at that moment
he observed an Indian's head and shoulders rise above
the grass, not fifty yards in advance from him, so without
hesitation he darted forward, intending to pounce
upon him.

Well would it have been for Dick Varley had he at
that time possessed a little more experience of the wiles
and stratagems of the Banattees. The Snake nation is
subdivided into several tribes, of which those inhabiting
the Rocky Mountains, called the Banattees, are the most
perfidious. Indeed, they are confessedly the banditti of
the hills, and respect neither friend nor foe, but rob all
who come in their way.

Dick reached the spot where the Indian had disappeared
in less than a minute, but no savage was to be
seen. Thinking he had crept ahead, he ran on a few
yards farther, and darted about hither and thither,
while his eye glanced from side to side. Suddenly a
shout in the camp attracted his attention, and looking
back he beheld the savage on Charlie's back turning to
fly. Next moment he was off and away far beyond the
hope of recovery. Dick had left his rifle in the camp,
otherwise the savage would have gone but a short way.
As it was, Dick returned, and sitting down on a mound
of grass, stared straight before him with a feeling akin
to despair. Even Crusoe could not have helped him
had he been there, for nothing on four legs, or on two,
could keep pace with Charlie.

The Banattee achieved this feat by adopting a stratagem
which invariably deceives those who are ignorant
of their habits and tactics. When suddenly pursued the
Banattee sinks into the grass, and, serpent-like, creeps
along with wonderful rapidity, not from but towards
his enemy, taking care, however, to avoid him, so that
when the pursuer reaches the spot where the pursued is
supposed to be hiding, he hears him shout a yell of
defiance far away in the rear.

It was thus that the Banattee eluded Dick and gained
the camp almost as soon as the other reached the spot
where he had disappeared.

One by one the trappers came back weary, raging,
and despairing. In a short time they all assembled,
and soon began to reproach each other. Ere long one
or two had a fight, which resulted in several bloody
noses and black eyes, thus adding to the misery which,
one would think, had been bad enough without such
additions. At last they finished their suppers and their
pipes, and then lay down to sleep under the trees till
morning, when they arose in a particularly silent and
sulky mood, rolled up their blankets, strapped their
things on their shoulders, and began to trudge slowly
back to the camp on foot.



CHAPTER XXI.


Wolves attack the horses, and Cameron circumvents the
wolves--A bear-hunt, in which Henri shines
conspicuous--Joe and the "Natter-list"--An
alarm--A surprise and a capture.


We must now return to the camp where Walter
Cameron still guarded the goods, and the men
pursued their trapping avocations.

Here seven of the horses had been killed in one night
by wolves while grazing in a plain close to the camp,
and on the night following a horse that had strayed
was also torn to pieces and devoured. The prompt and
daring manner in which this had been done convinced
the trader that white wolves had unfortunately scented
them out, and he set several traps in the hope of capturing
them.

White wolves are quite distinct from the ordinary
wolves that prowl through woods and plains in large
packs. They are much larger, weighing sometimes as
much as a hundred and thirty pounds; but they are
comparatively scarce, and move about alone, or in small
bands of three or four. Their strength is enormous,
and they are so fierce that they do not hesitate, upon
occasions, to attack man himself. Their method of
killing horses is very deliberate. Two wolves generally
undertake the cold-blooded murder. They approach
their victim with the most innocent-looking and frolicsome
gambols, lying down and rolling about, and
frisking presently, until the horse becomes a little
accustomed to them. Then one approaches right in
front, the other in rear, still frisking playfully, until
they think themselves near enough, when they make
a simultaneous rush. The wolf which approaches in
rear is the true assailant; the rush of the other is a
mere feint. Then both fasten on the poor horse's
haunches, and never let go till the sinews are cut and
he is rolling on his side.

The horse makes comparatively little struggle in
this deadly assault; he seems