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

slight undulation
in the ground, however, which enabled him to
advance about fifty yards farther, by means of lying
down quite flat and working himself forward like a serpent.
Farther than this he could not move without
being seen by the antelope, which browsed on the ridge
before him in fancied security. The distance was too
great even for a long shot; but Dick knew of a weak
point in this little creature's nature which enabled him
to accomplish his purpose--a weak point which it shares
in common with animals of a higher order--namely,
curiosity.

The little antelope of the North American prairies is
intensely curious about everything that it does not
quite understand, and will not rest satisfied until it has
endeavoured to clear up the mystery. Availing himself
of this propensity, Dick did what both Indians and
hunters are accustomed to do on these occasions--he
put a piece of rag on the end of his ramrod, and keeping
his person concealed and perfectly still, waved this
miniature flag in the air. The antelope noticed it at
once, and, pricking up its ears, began to advance, timidly
and slowly, step by step, to see what remarkable phenomenon
it could be. In a few seconds the flag was
lowered, a sharp crack followed, and the antelope fell
dead upon the plain.

"Ha, boy! that's a good supper, anyhow," cried Joe,
as he galloped up and dismounted.

"Goot! dat is better nor dried meat," added Henri.
"Give him to me; I will put him on my hoss, vich is
strongar dan yourn. But ver is your hoss?"

"He'll be here in a minute," replied Dick, putting his
fingers to his mouth and giving forth a shrill whistle.

The instant Crusoe heard the sound he made a savage
and apparently uncalled-for dash at the horse's heels.
This wild act, so contrary to the dog's gentle nature, was
a mere piece of acting. He knew that the horse would
not advance without getting a fright, so he gave him
one in this way, which sent him off at a gallop. Crusoe
followed close at his heels, so as to bring the line alongside
of the nag's body, and thereby prevent its getting
entangled; but despite his best efforts the horse got on
one side of a tree and he on the other, so he wisely let
go his hold of the line, and waited till more open ground
enabled him to catch it again. Then he hung heavily
back, gradually checked the horse's speed, and finally
trotted him up to his master's side.

"'Tis a cliver cur, good sooth," exclaimed Joe Blunt
in surprise.

"Ah, Joe! you haven't seen much of Crusoe yet.
He's as good as a man any day. I've done little else
but train him for two years gone by, and he can do
most anything but shoot--he can't handle the rifle
nohow."

"Ha! then, I tink perhaps hims could if he wos try,"
said Henri, plunging on to his horse with a laugh, and
arranging the carcass of the antelope across the pommel
of his saddle.

Thus they hunted and galloped, and trotted and
ambled on through wood and plain all day, until the
sun began to descend below the tree-tops of the bluffs
on the west. Then Joe Blunt looked about him for a
place on which to camp, and finally fixed on a spot
under the shadow of a noble birch by the margin of a
little stream. The carpet of grass on its banks was soft
like green velvet, and the rippling waters of the brook
were clear as crystal--very different from the muddy
Missouri into which it flowed.

While Dick Varley felled and cut up firewood, Henri
unpacked the horses and turned them loose to graze,
and Joe kindled the fire and prepared venison steaks
and hot tea for supper.

In excursions of this kind it is customary to "hobble"
the horses--that is, to tie their fore-legs together, so
that they cannot run either fast or far, but are free
enough to amble about with a clumsy sort of hop in
search of food. This is deemed a sufficient check on
their tendency to roam, although some of the knowing
horses sometimes learn to hop so fast with their hobbles
as to give their owners much trouble to recapture them.
But when out in the prairies where Indians are known
or supposed to be in the neighbourhood, the horses are
picketed by means of a pin or stake attached to the
ends of their long lariats, as well as hobbled; for Indians
deem it no disgrace to steal or tell lies, though
they think it disgraceful to be found out in doing either.
And so expert are these dark-skinned natives of the
western prairies, that they will creep into the midst of
an enemy's camp, cut the lariats and hobbles of several
horses, spring suddenly on their backs, and gallop away.

They not only steal from white men, but tribes that
are at enmity steal from each other, and the boldness
with which they do this is most remarkable. When
Indians are travelling in a country where enemies are
prowling, they guard their camps at night with jealous
care. The horses in particular are both hobbled and
picketed, and sentries are posted all round the camp.
Yet, in spite of these precautions, hostile Indians manage
to elude the sentries and creep into the camp. When a
thief thus succeeds in effecting an entrance, his chief
danger is past. He rises boldly to his feet, and wrapping
his blanket or buffalo robe round him, he walks up
and down as if he were a member of the tribe. At the
same time he dexterously cuts the lariats of such horses
as he observes are not hobbled. He dare not stoop to
cut the hobbles, as the action would be observed, and
suspicion would be instantly aroused. He then leaps
on the best horse he can find, and uttering a terrific
war-whoop darts away into the plains, driving the loosened
horses before him.

No such dark thieves were supposed to be near the
camp under the birch-tree, however, so Joe, and Dick,
and Henri ate their supper in comfort, and let their
horses browse at will on the rich pasturage.

A bright ruddy fire was soon kindled, which created,
as it were, a little ball of light in the midst of surrounding
darkness for the special use of our hardy hunters.
Within this magic circle all was warm, comfortable, and
cheery; outside all was dark, and cold, and dreary by
contrast.

When the substantial part of supper was disposed of,
tea and pipes were introduced, and conversation began
to flow. Then the three saddles were placed in a row;
each hunter wrapped himself in his blanket, and pillowing
his head on his saddle, stretched his feet towards
the fire and went to sleep, with his loaded rifle by his
side and his hunting-knife handy in his belt. Crusoe
mounted guard by stretching himself out couchant at
Dick Varley's side. The faithful dog slept lightly, and
never moved all night; but had any one observed him
closely he would have seen that every fitful flame that
burst from the sinking fire, every unusual puff of wind,
and every motion of the horses that fed or rested hard
by, had the effect of revealing a speck of glittering
white in Crusoe's watchful eye.



CHAPTER VI.


The great prairies of the far west--A remarkable colony
discovered, and a miserable night endured.

Of all the hours of the night or day the hour that
succeeds the dawn is the purest, the most joyous,
and the best. At least so think we, and so think hundreds
and thousands of the human family. And so
thought Dick Varley, as he sprang suddenly into a
sitting posture next morning, and threw his arms with
an exulting feeling of delight round the neck of Crusoe,
who instantly sat up to greet him.

This was an unusual piece of enthusiasm on the part
of Dick; but the dog received it with marked satisfaction,
rubbed his big hairy cheek against that of his
young master, and arose from his sedentary position in
order to afford free scope for the use of his tail.

"Ho! Joe Blunt! Henri! Up, boys, up! The sun
will have the start o' us. I'll catch the nags."

So saying Dick bounded away into the woods, with
Crusoe gambolling joyously at his heels. Dick soon
caught his own horse, and Crusoe caught Joe's. Then
the former mounted and quickly brought in the other
two.

Returning to the camp he found everything packed
and ready to strap on the back of the pack-horse.
"That's the way to do it, lad," cried Joe. "Here,
Henri, look alive and git yer beast ready. I do believe
ye're goin' to take another snooze!"

Henri was indeed, at that moment, indulging in a
gigantic stretch and a cavernous yawn; but he finished
both hastily, and rushed at his poor horse as if he intended
to slay it on the spot. He only threw the saddle
on its back, however, and then threw himself on the
saddle.

"Now then, all ready?"

"Ay"--"Oui, yis!"

And away they went at full stretch again on their
journey.

Thus day after day they travelled, and night after
night they laid them down to sleep under the trees of
the forest, until at length they reached the edge of the
Great Prairie.

It was a great, a memorable day in the life of Dick
Varley, that on which he first beheld the prairie--the
vast boundless prairie. He had heard of it, talked of
it, dreamed about it, but he had never--no, he had
never realized it. 'Tis always thus. Our conceptions
of things that we have not seen are almost invariably
wrong. Dick's eyes glittered, and his heart swelled, and
his cheeks flushed, and his breath came thick and quick.

"There it is," he gasped, as the great rolling plain
broke suddenly on his enraptured gaze; "that's it--oh!--"

Dick uttered a yell that would have done credit to
the fiercest chief of the Pawnees, and being unable to
utter another word, he swung his cap in the air and
sprang like an arrow from a bow over the mighty ocean
of grass. The sun had just risen to send a flood of
golden glory over the scene, the horses were fresh, so
the elder hunters, gladdened by the beauty of all around
them, and inspired by the irresistible enthusiasm of
their young companion, gave the reins to the horses and
flew after him. It was a glorious gallop, that first
headlong dash over the boundless prairie of the "far
west."

The prairies have often been compared, most justly,
to the ocean. There is the same wide circle of space
bounded on all sides by the horizon; there is the same
swell, or undulation, or succession of long low unbroken
waves that marks the ocean when it is calm; they are
canopied by the same pure sky, and swept by the same
untrammelled breezes. There are islands, too--clumps
of trees and willow-bushes--which rise out of this
grassy ocean to break and relieve its uniformity; and
these vary in size and numbers as do the isles of ocean,
being numerous in some places, while in others they are
so scarce that the traveller does not meet one in a long
day's journey. Thousands of beautiful flowers decked
the greensward, and numbers of little birds hopped
about among them.

"Now, lads," said Joe Blunt, reining up, "our troubles
begin to-day."

"Our troubles?--our joys, you mean!" exclaimed
Dick Varley.

"P'r'aps I don't mean nothin' o' the sort," retorted
Joe. "Man wos never intended to swaller his joys
without a strong mixtur' o' troubles. I s'pose he couldn't stand 'em
pure.
Ye see we've got to the prairie now--"

"One blind hoss might see dat!" interrupted Henri.

"An' we may or may not diskiver buffalo. An'
water's scarce, too, so we'll need to look out for it pretty
sharp, I guess, else we'll lose our horses, in which case
we may as well give out at once. Besides, there's
rattlesnakes about in sandy places, we'll ha' to look out
for them; an' there's badger holes, we'll need to look
sharp for them lest the horses put their feet in 'em; an'
there's Injuns, who'll look out pretty sharp for us if
they once get wind that we're in them parts."

"Oui, yis, mes boys; and there's rain, and tunder, and
lightin'," added Henri, pointing to a dark cloud which
was seen rising on the horizon ahead of them.

"It'll be rain," remarked Joe; "but there's no thunder
in the air jist now. We'll make for yonder clump
o' bushes and lay by till it's past."

Turning a little to the right of the course they had
been following, the hunters galloped along one of the
hollows between the prairie waves before mentioned, in
the direction of a clump of willows. Before reaching
it, however, they passed over a bleak and barren plain
where there was neither flower nor bird. Here they
were suddenly arrested by a most extraordinary sight--at
least it was so to Dick Varley, who had never seen
the like before. This was a colony of what Joe called
"prairie-dogs." On first beholding them Crusoe uttered
a sort of half growl, half bark of surprise, cocked