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

in time to escape the vigilant eye of the
Red-man, who uttered a loud shout, which brought up
a band of his comrades at full gallop.

"Remember, Henri," cried Joe Blunt, "our errand is
one of peace."

The caution was needed, for in the confusion of the
moment Henri was making preparation to sell his life
as dearly as possible. Before another word could be
uttered, they were surrounded by a troop of about
twenty yelling Blackfeet Indians. They were, fortunately,
not a war party, and, still more fortunately, they
were peaceably disposed, and listened to the preliminary
address of Joe Blunt with exemplary patience; after
which the two parties encamped on the spot, the council fire was
lighted,
and every preparation made for a long palaver.

We will not trouble the reader with the details of
what was said on this occasion. The party of Indians
was a small one, and no chief of any importance was
attached to it. Suffice it to say that the pacific overtures
made by Joe were well received, the trifling gifts
made thereafter were still better received, and they
separated with mutual expressions of good-will.

Several other bands which were afterwards met with
were equally friendly, and only one war party was seen.
Joe's quick eye observed it in time to enable them to
retire unseen behind the shelter of some trees, where
they remained until the Indian warriors were out of
sight.

The next party they met with, however, were more
difficult to manage, and, unfortunately, blood was shed
on both sides before our travellers escaped.

It was at the close of a beautiful day that a war
party of Blackfeet were seen riding along a ridge on the
horizon. It chanced that the prairie at this place was
almost destitute of trees or shrubs large enough to conceal
the horses. By dashing down the grassy wave
into the hollow between the two undulations, and dismounting,
Joe hoped to elude the savages, so he gave
the word; but at the same moment a shout from the
Indians told that they were discovered.

"Look sharp, lads! throw down the packs on the
highest point of the ridge," cried Joe, undoing the lashings,
seizing one of the bales of goods, and hurrying to
the top of the undulation with it; "we must keep them
at arm's-length, boys--be alive! War parties are not to
be trusted."

Dick and Henri seconded Joe's efforts so ably that
in the course of two minutes the horses were unloaded,
the packs piled in the form of a wall in front of a
broken piece of ground, the horses picketed close beside
them, and our three travellers peeping over the
edge, with their rifles cocked, while the savages--about
thirty in number--came sweeping down towards them.

"I'll try to git them to palaver," said Joe Blunt;
"but keep yer eye on 'em, Dick, an' if they behave ill,
shoot the horse o' the leadin' chief. I'll throw up my
left hand, as a signal. Mind, lad, don't hit human flesh
till my second signal is given, and see that Henri don't
draw till I git back to ye."

So saying, Joe sprang lightly over the slight parapet
of their little fortress, and ran swiftly out, unarmed,
towards the Indians. In a few seconds he was close
up with them, and in another moment was surrounded.
At first the savages brandished their spears and rode
round the solitary man, yelling like fiends, as if they
wished to intimidate him; but as Joe stood like a
statue, with his arms crossed, and a grave expression of
contempt on his countenance, they quickly desisted, and,
drawing near, asked him where he came from, and what
he was doing there.

Joe's story was soon told; but instead of replying,
they began to shout vociferously, and evidently meant
mischief.

"If the Blackfeet are afraid to speak to the Pale-face,
he will go back to his braves," said Joe, passing suddenly
between two of the warriors and taking a few
steps towards the camp.

Instantly every bow was bent, and it seemed as if
our bold hunter were about to be pierced by a score of
arrows, when he turned round and
cried,--"The Blackfeet must not advance a single step. The
first that moves his horse shall die. The second that
moves himself shall die."

To this the Blackfeet chief replied scornfully, "The
Pale-face talks with a big mouth. We do not believe
his words. The Snakes are liars; we will make no
peace with them."

While he was yet speaking, Joe threw up his hand;
there was a loud report, and the noble horse of the
savage chief lay struggling in death agony on the ground.

The use of the rifle, as we have before hinted, was
little known at this period among the Indians of the
far west, and many had never heard the dreaded report
before, although all were aware, from hearsay, of its
fatal power. The fall of the chief's horse, therefore,
quite paralyzed them for a few moments, and they had
not recovered from their surprise when a second report
was heard, a bullet whistled past, and a second horse
fell. At the same moment there was a loud explosion
in the camp of the Pale-faces, a white cloud enveloped
it, and from the midst of this a loud shriek was heard,
as Dick, Henri, and Crusoe bounded over the packs
with frantic gestures.

At this the gaping savages wheeled their steeds
round, the dismounted horsemen sprang on behind two
of their comrades, and the whole band dashed away
over the plains as if they were chased by evil spirits.

Meanwhile Joe hastened towards his comrades in a
state of great anxiety, for he knew at once that one of
the powder-horns must have been accidentally blown up.

"No damage done, boys, I hope?" he cried on coming
up.

"Damage!" cried Henri, holding his hands tight
over his face. "Oh! oui, great damage--moche damage;
me two eyes be blowed out of dere holes."

"Not quite so bad as that, I hope," said Dick, who
was very slightly singed, and forgot his own hurts in
anxiety about his comrade. "Let me see."

"My eye!" exclaimed Joe Blunt, while a broad grin
overspread his countenance, "ye've not improved yer
looks, Henri."

This was true. The worthy hunter's hair was singed
to such an extent that his entire countenance presented
the appearance of a universal frizzle. Fortunately the
skin, although much blackened, was quite uninjured--a
fact which, when he ascertained it beyond a doubt,
afforded so much satisfaction to Henri that he capered
about shouting with delight, as if some piece of good
fortune had befallen him.

The accident had happened in consequence of Henri
having omitted to replace the stopper of his powder-horn,
and when, in his anxiety for Joe, he fired at random
amongst the Indians, despite Dick's entreaties to
wait, a spark communicated with the powder-horn and
blew him up. Dick and Crusoe were only a little
singed, but the former was not disposed to quarrel with
an accident which had sent their enemies so promptly
to the right-about.

This band followed them for some nights, in the hope
of being able to steal their horses while they slept; but
they were not brave enough to venture a second time
within range of the death-dealing rifle.



CHAPTER XXV.


Dangers of the prairie--Our travellers attacked by Indians,
and delivered in a remarkable manner.


There are periods in the life of almost all men
A when misfortunes seem to crowd upon them in
rapid succession, when they escape from one danger
only to encounter another, and when, to use a well-known
expression, they succeed in leaping out of the
frying-pan at the expense of plunging into the fire.

So was it with our three friends upon this occasion.
They were scarcely rid of the Blackfeet, who found them
too watchful to be caught napping, when, about daybreak
one morning, they encountered a roving band of
Camanchee Indians, who wore such a warlike aspect
that Joe deemed it prudent to avoid them if possible.

"They don't see us yit, I guess," said Joe, as he and
his companions drove the horses into a hollow between
the grassy waves of the prairie, "an' if we only can escape their
sharp
eyes till we're in yonder clump o' willows, we're safe enough."

"But why don't you ride up to them, Joe," inquired
Dick, "and make peace between them and the Pale-faces,
as you ha' done with other bands?"

"Because it's o' no use to risk our scalps for the
chance o' makin' peace wi' a rovin' war party. Keep
yer head down, Henri! If they git only a sight o' the
top o' yer cap, they'll be down on us like a breeze o'
wind."

"Ha! let dem come!" said Henri.

"They'll come without askin' yer leave," remarked
Joe, dryly.

Notwithstanding his defiant expression, Henri had
sufficient prudence to induce him to bend his head and
shoulders, and in a few minutes they reached the
shelter of the willows unseen by the savages. At least
so thought Henri, Joe was not quite sure about it, and
Dick hoped for the best.

In the course of half-an-hour the last of the Camanchees
was seen to hover for a second on the horizon,
like a speck of black against the sky, and then to disappear.

Immediately the three hunters vaulted on their steeds
and resumed their journey; but before that evening
closed they had sad evidence of the savage nature of
the band from which they had escaped. On passing
the brow of a slight eminence, Dick, who rode first,
observed that Crusoe stopped and snuffed the breeze in
an anxious, inquiring manner.

"What is't, pup?" said Dick, drawing up, for he
knew that his faithful dog never gave a false alarm.

Crusoe replied by a short, uncertain bark, and then
bounding forward, disappeared behind a little wooded
knoll. In another moment a long, dismal howl floated
over the plains. There was a mystery about the dog's
conduct which, coupled with his melancholy cry, struck
the travellers with a superstitious feeling of dread, as
they sat looking at each other in surprise.

"Come, let's clear it up," cried Joe Blunt, shaking
the reins of his steed, and galloping forward. A few
strides brought them to the other side of the knoll,
where, scattered upon the torn and bloody turf, they
discovered the scalped and mangled remains of about
twenty or thirty human beings. Their skulls had been
cleft by the tomahawk and their breasts pierced by the
scalping-knife, and from the position in which many of
them lay it was evident that they had been slain while
asleep.

Joe's brow flushed and his lips became tightly compressed
as he muttered between his set teeth, "Their
skins are white."

A short examination sufficed to show that the men
who had thus been barbarously murdered while they
slept had been a band of trappers or hunters, but what
their errand had been, or whence they came, they could
not discover.

Everything of value had been carried off, and all the
scalps had been taken. Most of the bodies, although
much mutilated, lay in a posture that led our hunters
to believe they had been killed while asleep; but one or
two were cut almost to pieces, and from the blood-bespattered
and trampled sward around, it seemed as if
they had struggled long and fiercely for life. Whether
or not any of the savages had been slain, it was impossible
to tell, for if such had been the case, their
comrades, doubtless, had carried away their bodies.

That they had been slaughtered by the party of Camanchees
who had been seen at daybreak was quite clear to
Joe; but his burning desire to revenge the death of the
white men had to be stifled, as his party was so small.

Long afterwards it was discovered that this was a
band of trappers who, like those mentioned at the beginning
of this volume, had set out to avenge the death
of a comrade; but God, who has retained the right of
vengeance in his own hand, saw fit to frustrate their
purpose, by giving them into the hands of the savages
whom they had set forth to slay.

As it was impossible to bury so many bodies, the
travellers resumed their journey, and left them to bleach
there in the wilderness; but they rode the whole of
that day almost without uttering a word.

Meanwhile the Camanchees, who had observed the
trio, and had ridden away at first for the purpose of
deceiving them into the belief that they had passed
unobserved, doubled on their track, and took a long
sweep in order to keep out of sight until they could
approach under the shelter of a belt of woodland
towards which the travellers now approached.

The Indians adopted this course instead of the easier
method of simply pursuing so weak a party, because
the plains at this part were bordered by a long stretch
of forest into which the hunters could have plunged,
and rendered pursuit more difficult, if not almost useless.
The detour thus taken was so extensive that the shades
of evening were beginning to descend before they could
put their plan into execution. The forest lay about a
mile to the right of our hunters, like some dark mainland, of which
the
prairie was the sea and the