The Dog Crusoe and his Master

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

  ESCAPE FROM INDIANS--A DISCOVERY--ALONE IN THE DESERT.

  Dick Varley had spent so much of his boyhood in sporting about among thewaters of the rivers and lakes near which he had been reared, andespecially during the last two years had spent so much of his leisuretime in rolling and diving with his dog Crusoe in the lake of theMustang Valley, that he had become almost as expert in the water as asouth-sea islander; so that when he found himself whirling down therapid river, as already described, he was more impressed with a feelingof gratitude to God for his escape from the Indians, than anxiety aboutgetting ashore.

  He was not altogether blind, or indifferent, to the danger into which hemight be hurled if the channel of the river should be found lower downto be broken with rocks, or should a waterfall unexpectedly appear.After floating down a sufficient distance to render pursuit out of thequestion, he struck in to the bank opposite to that from which he hadplunged, and, clambering up to the green sward above, stripped off thegreater part of his clothing and hung it on the branches of a bush todry. Then he sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree to consider whatcourse he had best pursue in his present circumstances.

  These circumstances were by no means calculated to inspire him with hopeor comfort. He was in the midst of an unknown wilderness, hundreds ofmiles from any white man's settlement; surrounded by savages; withoutfood or blanket; his companions gone, he knew not whither; perhaps takenand killed by the Indians; his horse dead, and his dog, the most trustyand loving of all his friends, lost to him, probably, for ever! A moreveteran heart might have quailed in the midst of such accumulated evils,but Dick Varley possessed a strong, young, and buoyant constitution,which, united with a hopefulness of disposition that almost nothingcould overcome, enabled him very quickly to cast aside the gloomy viewof his case and turn to its brighter aspects.

  He still grasped his good rifle, that was some comfort, and as his eyefell upon it, he turned with anxiety to examine into the condition ofhis powder-horn and the few things that he had been fortunate enough tocarry away with him about his person.

  The horn in which western hunters carry their powder is usually that ofan ox. It is closed up at the large end with a piece of hard woodfitted tightly into it, and the small end is closed with a wooden peg orstopper. It is, therefore, completely water-tight, and may be for hoursimmersed without the powder getting wet unless the stopper should chanceto be knocked out. Dick found, to his great satisfaction, that thestopper was fast, and the powder perfectly dry. Moreover, he had bygood fortune filled it full two days before from the package thatcontained the general stock of ammunition, so that there were only twoor three charges out of it. His percussion caps, however, werecompletely destroyed, and even though they had not been, it would havemattered little, for he did not possess more than half a dozen. Butthis was not so great a misfortune as at first it might seem, for he hadthe spare flint locks and the little screw-driver necessary for fixingand unfixing them stowed away in his shot pouch.

  To examine his supply of bullets was his next care, and slowly hecounted them out, one by one, to the number of thirty. This was apretty fair supply, and with careful economy would last him many days.Having relieved his mind on these all-important points, he carefullyexamined every pouch and corner of his dress to ascertain the exactamount and value of his wealth.

  Besides the leather-leggings, moccasins, deerskin hunting shirt, cap,and belt which composed his costume, he had a short heavy hunting-knife,a piece of tinder, a little tin pannikin, which he had been in the habitof carrying at his belt, and a large cake of maple sugar. This last isa species of sugar which is procured by the Indians from the maple-tree.Several cakes of it had been carried off from the Pawnee village, andDick usually carried one in the breast of his coat. Besides thesethings, he found that the little Bible, for which his mother had made asmall inside breast pocket, was safe. Dick's heart smote him when hetook it out and undid the clasp, for he had not looked at it until thatday. It was firmly bound with a brass clasp, so that although thebinding and edges of the leaves were soaked, the inside was quite dry.On opening the book to see if it had been damaged, a small paper fellout. Picking it up quickly, he unfolded it, and read, in his mother'shandwriting, "_Call upon me in the time of trouble, and I will deliverthee, and thou shalt glorify me. My son, give me thine heart_."

  Dick's eyes filled with tears while the sound, as it were, of hismother's voice thus reached him unexpectedly in that lonely wilderness.Like too many whose hearts are young and gay, Dick had regardedreligion, if not as a gloomy, at least as not a cheerful thing. But hefelt the comfort of these words at that moment, and he resolvedseriously to peruse his mother's parting gift in time to come.

  The sun was hot, and a warm breeze gently shook the leaves, so thatDick's garments were soon dry. A few minutes served to change the locksof his rifle, draw the wet charges, dry out the barrels, and re-load.Then, throwing it across his shoulder, he entered the wood, and walkedlightly away. And well he might, poor fellow, for at that moment hefelt light enough in person if not in heart. His worldly goods were notsuch as to oppress him, but the little note had turned his thoughtstowards home, and he felt comforted.

  Traversing the belt of woodland that marked the course of the river,Dick soon emerged on the wide prairie beyond, and here he paused in someuncertainty as to how he should proceed.

  He was too good a backwoodsman, albeit so young, to feel perplexed as tothe points of the compass. He knew pretty well what hour it was, sothat the sun showed him the general bearings of the country, and he knewthat when night came he could correct his course by the pole star.Dick's knowledge of astronomy was limited; he knew only one star byname, but that one was an inestimable treasure of knowledge. Hisperplexity was owing to his uncertainty as to the direction in which hiscompanions and their pursuers had gone, for he had made up his mind tofollow their trail if possible, and render all the succour his singlearm might afford. To desert them, and make for the settlement, he held,would be a faithless and cowardly act.

  While they were together Joe Blunt had often talked to him about theroute he meant to pursue to the Rocky Mountains, so that, if they hadescaped the Indians, he thought there might be some chance of findingthem at last. But, to set against this, there was the probability thatthey had been taken and carried away in a totally different direction,or they might have taken to the river, as he had done, and gone furtherdown without his observing them. Then, again, if they had escaped, theywould be sure to return and search the country round for him, so that ifhe left the spot he might miss them.

  "Oh, for my dear pup Crusoe!" he exclaimed aloud in this dilemma; butthe faithful ear was shut now, and the deep silence that followed hiscry was so oppressive that the young hunter sprang forward at a run overthe plain, as if to fly from solitude. He soon became so absorbed,however, in his efforts to find the trail of his companions, that heforgot all other considerations, and ran straight forward for hourstogether, with his eyes eagerly fixed on the ground. At last he felt sohungry, having tasted no food since supper-time the previous evening,that he halted for the purpose of eating a morsel of maple sugar. Aline of bushes in the distance indicated water, so he sped on again, andwas soon seated beneath a willow, drinking water from the cool stream.No game was to be found here; but there were several kinds of berries,among which wild grapes and plums grew in abundance. With these andsome sugar he made a meal, though not a good one, for the berries werequite green, and intensely sour.

  All that day Dick Varley followed up the trail of his companions, whichhe discovered at a ford in the river. They had crossed, therefore, insafety, though still pursued, so he ran on at a regular trot, and with alittle more hope than he had felt during the day. Towards night,however, Dick's heart sank again, for he came upon innumerable buffalotracks, among which those of the horses soon became mingled up, so thathe lost them altogether. Hoping to find them again more easily by broaddaylight, he went to the near
est clump of willows he could find, andencamped for the night.

  Remembering the use formerly made of the tall willows, he set to work toconstruct a covering to protect him from the dew. As he had no blanketor buffalo-skin, he used leaves and grass instead, and found it a bettershelter than he had expected, especially when the fire was lighted, anda pannikin of hot sugar and water smoked at his feet; but as no game wasto be found, he was again compelled to sup off unripe berries. Beforelying down to rest he remembered his resolution, and, pulling out thelittle Bible, read a portion of it by the fitful blaze of the fire, andfelt great comfort in its blessed words. It seemed to him like a friendwith whom he could converse in the midst of his loneliness.

  The plunge into the river having broken Dick's pipe and destroyed histobacco, he now felt the want of that luxury very severely, and, neverhaving wanted it before, he was greatly surprised to find how much hehad become enslaved to the habit. It cost him more than an hour's restthat night, the craving for his wonted pipe.

  The sagacious reader will doubtless not fail here to ask himself thequestion, whether it is wise in man to create in himself an unnaturaland totally unnecessary appetite, which may, and often does, entailhours--ay, sometimes months--of exceeding discomfort; but we would notfor a moment presume to suggest such a question to him. We have adistinct objection to the ordinary method of what is called "drawing amoral." It is much better to leave wise men to do this for themselves.

  Next morning Dick rose with the sun, and started without breakfast,preferring to take his chance of finding a bird or animal of some kindbefore long, to feeding again on sour berries. He was disappointed,however, in finding the tracks of his companions. The ground here washard and sandy, so that little or no impression of a distinct kind wasmade on it; and, as buffaloes had traversed it in all directions, he wassoon utterly bewildered. He thought it possible that, by running outfor several miles in a straight line, and then taking a wide circuitround, he might find the tracks emerging from the confusion made by thebuffaloes. But he was again disappointed, for the buffalo tracks stillcontinued, and the ground became less capable of showing a footprint.

  Soon Dick began to feel so ill and weak from eating such poor fare, thathe gave up all hope of discovering the tracks, and was compelled to pushforward at his utmost speed in order to reach a less barren district,where he might procure fresh meat; but the further he advanced the worseand more sandy did the district become. For several days he pushed onover this arid waste without seeing bird or beast, and, to add to hismisery, he failed at last to find water. For a day and a night hewandered about in a burning fever, and his throat so parched that he wasalmost suffocated. Towards the close of the second day he saw a slightline of bushes away down in a hollow on his right. With eager steps hestaggered towards them, and, on drawing near, beheld--blessed sight!--astream of water glancing in the beams of the setting sun.

  Dick tried to shout for joy, but his parched throat refused to giveutterance to the voice. It mattered not; exerting all his remainingstrength he rushed down the bank, dropped his rifle, and plungedhead-foremost into the stream.

  The first mouthful sent a thrill of horror to his heart; it was salt asbrine.

  The poor youth's cup of bitterness was now full to overflowing.Crawling out of the stream, he sank down on the bank in a species oflethargic torpor, from which he awakened next morning in a raging fever.Delirium soon rendered him insensible to his sufferings. The sun roselike a ball of fire, and shone down with scorching power on the aridplain. What mattered it to Dick? He was far away in the shady grovesof the Mustang Valley, chasing the deer at times, but more frequentlycooling his limbs and sporting with Crusoe in the bright blue lake. Nowhe was in his mother's cottage, telling her how he had thought of herwhen far away on the prairie, and what a bright, sweet word it was shehad whispered in his ear,--so unexpectedly, too. Anon he was scouringover the plains on horseback, with the savages at his heels; and at suchtimes Dick would spring with almost supernatural strength from theground, and run madly over the burning plain; but, as if by a species offascination, he always returned to the salt river, and sank exhausted byits side, or plunged helplessly into its waters.

  These sudden immersions usually restored him for a short time to reason,and he would crawl up the bank and gnaw a morsel of the maple sugar; buthe could not eat much, for it was in a tough, compact cake, which hisjaws had not power to break. All that day and the next night he lay onthe banks of the salt stream, or rushed wildly over the plain. It wasabout noon of the second day after his attack that he crept slowly outof the water, into which he had plunged a few seconds before. His mindwas restored, but he felt an indescribable sensation of weakness, thatseemed to him to be the approach of death. Creeping towards the placewhere his rifle lay, he fell exhausted beside it, and laid his cheek onthe Bible, which had fallen out of his pocket there.

  While his eyes were closed in a dreamy sort of half-waking slumber, hefelt the rough, hairy coat of an animal brush against his forehead. Theidea of being torn to pieces by wolves flashed instantly across hismind, and with a shriek of terror he sprang up,--to be almostoverwhelmed by the caresses of his faithful dog.

  Yes, there he was, bounding round his master, barking and whining, andgiving vent to every possible expression of canine joy.