The Dog Crusoe and His Master: A Story of Adventure in the Western Prairies by - (e reader .txt) 📖

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of prospective good fortune. Vanity had no place in
his honest breast, and, sooth to say, it had not a large
place in that of his master either, as we may well grant
when we consider that this first display of it was on the
occasion of his hunter's soul having at last realized its
brightest day-dream.

Dick's dangers and triumphs seemed to accumulate
on him rather thickly at this place, for on the very
next day he had a narrow escape of being killed by a
deer. The way of it was this.

Having run short of meat, and not being particularly
fond of grizzly bear steak, he shouldered his rifle and
sallied forth in quest of game, accompanied by Crusoe,
whose frequent glances towards his wounded side
showed that, whatever may have been the case the day
before, it "hurt" him now.

They had not gone far when they came on the track
of a deer in the snow, and followed it up till they spied
a magnificent buck about three hundred yards off,
standing in a level patch of ground which was everywhere
surrounded either by rocks or thicket. It was a
long shot, but as the nature of the ground rendered it
impossible for Dick to get nearer without being seen,
he fired, and wounded the buck so badly that he came
up with it in a few minutes. The snow had drifted in
the place where it stood bolt upright, ready for a spring,
so Dick went round a little way, Crusoe following, till
he was in a proper position to fire again. Just as he
pulled the trigger, Crusoe gave a howl behind him and
disturbed his aim, so that he feared he had missed; but
the deer fell, and he hurried towards it. On coming
up, however, the buck sprang to its legs, rushed at him
with its hair bristling, knocked him down in the snow,
and deliberately commenced stamping him to death.

Dick was stunned for a moment, and lay quite still,
so the deer left off pommelling him, and stood looking
at him. But the instant he moved it plunged at him
again and gave him another pounding, until he was
content to lie still. This was done several times, and
Dick felt his strength going fast. He was surprised
that Crusoe did not come to his rescue, and once he
cleared his mouth and whistled to him; but as the
deer gave him another pounding for this, he didn't
attempt it again. He now for the first time bethought
him of his knife, and quietly drew it from his belt;
but the deer observed the motion, and was on him
again in a moment. Dick, however, sprang up on his
left elbow, and making several desperate thrusts upward,
succeeded in stabbing the animal to the heart.

Rising and shaking the snow from his garments, he
whistled loudly to Crusoe, and, on listening, heard him
whining piteously. He hurried to the place whence
the sound came, and found that the poor dog had fallen
into a deep pit or crevice in the rocks, which had been
concealed from view by a crust of snow, and he was
now making frantic but unavailing efforts to leap out.

Dick soon freed him from his prison by means of
his belt, which he let down for the dog to grasp, and
then returned to camp with as much deer-meat as he
could carry. Dear meat it certainly was to him, for it
had nearly cost him his life, and left him all black and
blue for weeks after. Happily no bones were broken,
so the incident only confined him a day to his encampment.

Soon after this the snow fell thicker than ever, and
it became evident that an unusually early winter was
about to set in among the mountains. This was a
terrible calamity, for if the regular snow of winter set
in, it would be impossible for him either to advance or
retreat.

While he was sitting on his bearskin by the camp-fire
one day, thinking anxiously what he should do, and
feeling that he must either make the attempt to escape
or perish miserably in that secluded spot, a strange, unwonted
sound struck upon his ear, and caused both him
and Crusoe to spring violently to their feet and listen.
Could he be dreaming?--it seemed like the sound of
human voices. For a moment he stood with his eyes
rivetted on the ground, his lips apart, and his nostrils
distended, as he listened with the utmost intensity.
Then he darted out and bounded round the edge of a
rock which concealed an extensive but narrow valley
from his view, and there, to his amazement, he beheld a
band of about a hundred human beings advancing on
horseback slowly through the snow.



CHAPTER XVIII.


A surprise, and a piece of good news--The fur-traders--Crusoe
proved, and the Peigans pursued.


Dick's first and most natural impulse, on beholding
this band, was to mount his horse and fly, for
his mind naturally enough recurred to the former rough
treatment he had experienced at the hands of Indians.
On second thoughts, however, he considered it wiser to
throw himself upon the hospitality of the strangers;
"for," thought he, "they can but kill me, an' if I remain
here I'm like to die at any rate."

So Dick mounted his wild horse, grasped his rifle in
his right hand, and, followed by Crusoe, galloped full
tilt down the valley to meet them.

He had heard enough of the customs of savage tribes,
and had also of late experienced enough, to convince
him that when a man found himself in the midst of an
overwhelming force, his best policy was to assume an
air of confident courage. He therefore approached them
at his utmost speed.

The effect upon the advancing band was electrical;
and little wonder, for the young hunter's appearance
was very striking. His horse, from having rested a
good deal of late, was full of spirit. Its neck was
arched, its nostrils expanded, and its mane and tail
never having been checked in their growth flew wildly
around him in voluminous curls. Dick's own hair, not
having been clipped for many months, appeared scarcely
less wild, as they thundered down the rocky pass at
what appeared a break-neck gallop. Add to this the
grandeur of the scene out of which they sprang, and
the gigantic dog that bounded by his side, and you will
not be surprised to hear that the Indian warriors clustered
together, and prepared to receive this bold horseman
as if he, in his own proper person, were a complete
squadron of cavalry. It is probable, also, that they
fully expected the tribe of which Dick was the chief to
be at his heels.

As he drew near the excitement among the strangers
seemed very great, and, from the peculiarity of the
various cries that reached him, he knew that there were
women and children in the band--a fact which, in such
a place and at such a season, was so unnatural that it
surprised him very much. He noted also that, though
the men in front were Indians, their dresses were those
of trappers and hunters, and he almost leaped out of his
saddle when he observed that "Pale-faces" were among
them. But he had barely time to note these facts when
he was up with the band. According to Indian custom,
he did not check his speed till he was within four or
five yards of the advance-guard, who stood in a line
before him, quite still, and with their rifles lying loosely
in their left palms; then he reined his steed almost on
its haunches.

One of the Indians advanced and spoke a few words
in a language which was quite unintelligible to Dick,
who replied, in the little Pawnee he could muster, that
he didn't understand him.

"Why, you must be a trapper!" exclaimed a thick-set,
middle-aged man, riding out from the group. "Can
you speak English?"

"Ay, that can I," cried Dick joyfully, riding up and
shaking the stranger heartily by the hand; "an' right
glad am I to fall in wi' a white-skin an' a civil tongue
in his head."

"Good sooth, sir," replied the stranger, with a quiet
smile on his kind, weather-beaten face, "I can return
you the compliment; for when I saw you come thundering
down the corrie with that wonderful horse and
no less wonderful dog of yours, I thought you were the
wild man o' the mountain himself, and had an ambush
ready to back you. But, young man, do you mean to
say that you live here in the mountain all alone after
this fashion?"

"No, that I don't. I've comed here in my travels,
but truly this bean't my home. But, sir (for I see
you are what the fur-traders call a bourgeois), how
comes it that such a band as this rides i' the mountains?
D'ye mean to say that they live here?" Dick looked
round in surprise, as he spoke, upon the crowd of
mounted men and women, with children and pack-horses,
that now surrounded him.

"'Tis a fair question, lad. I am a principal among
the fur-traders whose chief trading-post lies near the
Pacific Ocean, on the west side of these mountains; and
I have come with these trappers and their families, as you see, to
hunt the
beaver and other animals for a
season in the mountains. We've never been here before; but that's a
matter
of little moment, for it's not
the first time I've been on what may be called a discovery-trading
expedition. We are somewhat entangled,
however, just now among these wild passes, and if you
can guide us out of our difficulties to the east side of
the mountains, I'll thank you heartily and pay you well.
But first tell me who and what you are, if it's a fair
question."

"My name is Dick Varley, and my home's in the
Mustang Valley, near the Missouri River. As to what
I am--I'm nothin' yet, but I hope to desarve the name
o' a hunter some day. I can guide you to the east side
o' the mountains, for I've comed from there; but more
than that I can't do, for I'm a stranger to the country
here, like yourself. But you're on the east side o' the
mountains already, if I mistake not; only these mountains
are so rugged and jumbled up, that it's not easy
tellin' where ye are. And what," continued Dick,
"may be the name o' the bourgeois who speaks to
me?"

"My name is Cameron--Walter Cameron--a well-known
name among the Scottish hills, although it
sounds a little strange here. And now, young man,
will you join my party as guide, and afterwards remain
as trapper? It will pay you better, I think, than
roving about alone."

Dick shook his head and looked grave. "I'll guide
you," said he, "as far as my knowledge 'll help me;
but after that I must return to look for two comrades
whom I have lost. They have been driven into the
mountains by a band of Injuns. God grant they may
not have bin scalped!"

The trader's face looked troubled, and he spoke with
one of his Indians for a few minutes in earnest, hurried
tones.

"What were they like, young man?"

Dick described them.

"The same," continued the trader. "They've been
seen, lad, not more than two days ago, by this Indian
here, when he was out hunting alone some miles away
from our camp. He came suddenly on a band of
Indians who had two prisoners with them, such as you
describe. They were stout, said you?"

"Yes, both of them," cried Dick, listening with intense
eagerness.

"Ay. They were tied to their horses, an' from what
I know of these fellows I'm sure they're doomed. But
I'll help you, my friend, as well as I can. They can't
be far from this. I treated my Indian's story about
them as a mere fabrication, for he's the most notorious
liar in my company; but he seems to have spoken truth
for once."

"Thanks, thanks, good sir," cried Dick. "Had we
not best turn back and follow them at once?"

"Nay, friend, not quite so fast," replied Cameron,
pointing to his people. "These must be provided for
first, but I shall be ready before the sun goes down.
And now, as I presume you don't bivouac in the snow,
will you kindly conduct us to your encampment, if it be
not far hence?"

Although burning with impatience to fly to the rescue
of his friends, Dick felt constrained to comply with so
reasonable a request, so he led the way to his camping-place,
where the band of fur-traders immediately began
to pitch their tents, cut down wood, kindle fires, fill
their kettles with water, cook their food, and, in fact,
make themselves comfortable. The wild spot which, an
hour before, had been so still, and grand, and gloomy,
was now, as if by magic, transformed into a bustling
village, with bright fires blazing among the rocks and
bushes, and merry voices of men, women, and children
ringing in the air. It seemed almost incredible, and
no wonder Dick, in his bewilderment, had difficulty in
believing it was not all a dream.

In days long gone by