CHAPTER FOURTEEN.
CRUSOE'S RETURN AND HIS PRIVATE ADVENTURES AMONG THE INDIANS--DICK AT AVERY LOW EBB--CRUSOE SAVES HIM.
The means by which Crusoe managed to escape from his two-legged captors,and rejoin his master, requires separate and special notice.
In the struggle with the fallen horse and Indian, which Dick had seenbegun but not concluded, he was almost crushed to death; and the instantthe Indian gained his feet, he sent an arrow at his head with savageviolence. Crusoe, however, had been so well used to dodging theblunt-headed arrows that were wont to be shot at him by the boys of theMustang Valley, that he was quite prepared, and eluded the shaft by anactive bound. Moreover, he uttered one of his own peculiar roars, flewat the Indian's throat, and dragged him down. At the same moment theother Indians came up, and one of them turned aside to the rescue. Thisman happened to have an old gun, of the cheap sort at that timeexchanged for peltries by the fur-traders. With the butt of this hestruck Crusoe a blow on the head that sent him sprawling on the grass.
The rest of the savages, as we have seen, continued in pursuit of Dickuntil he leaped into the river; then they returned, took the saddle andbridle off his dead horse, and rejoined their comrades. Here they helda court-martial on Crusoe, who was now bound, foot and muzzle, withcords. Some were for killing him; others, who admired his nobleappearance, immense size, and courage, thought it would be well to carryhim to their village and keep him. There was a pretty violent disputeon the subject; but at length it was agreed that they should spare hislife in the mean time, and perhaps have a dog-dance round him when theygot to their wigwams.
This dance, of which Crusoe was to be the chief, though passiveperformer, is peculiar to some of the tribes east of the RockyMountains, and consists in killing a dog and cutting out its liver,which is afterwards sliced into shreds or strings and hung on a poleabout the height of a man's head. A band of warriors then come anddance wildly round this pole, and each one in succession goes up to theraw liver and bites a piece off it, without, however, putting his handsnear it. Such is the dog-dance, and to such was poor Crusoe destined byhis fierce captors, especially by the one whose throat still bore veryevident marks of his teeth.
But Crusoe was much too clever a dog to be disposed of in so disgustinga manner. He had privately resolved in his own mind that he wouldescape, but the hopelessness of his ever carrying that resolution intoeffect would have been apparent to any one who could have seen the wayin which his muzzle was secured, and his four paws were tied together ina bunch, as he hung suspended across the saddle of one of the savages!
This particular party of Indians who had followed Dick Varley determinednot to wait for the return of their comrades who were in pursuit of theother two hunters, but to go straight home, so for several days theygalloped away over the prairie. At nights, when they encamped, Crusoewas thrown on the ground like a piece of old lumber, and left to liethere with a mere scrap of food till morning, when he was again thrownacross the horse of his captor and carried on. When the village wasreached, he was thrown again on the ground, and would certainly havebeen torn to pieces in five minutes by the Indian curs which camehowling round him, had not an old woman come to the rescue and driventhem away. With the help of her grandson--a little naked creature, justable to walk, or rather to stagger--she dragged him to her tent, and,undoing the line that fastened his mouth, offered him a bone.
Although lying in a position that was unfavourable for eating purposes,Crusoe opened his jaws and took it. An awful crash was followed by twocrunches--and it was gone; and Crusoe looked up in the old squaw's facewith a look that said plainly, "Another of the same, please, and asquick as possible." The old woman gave him another and then a lump ofmeat, which latter went down with a gulp--but he coughed after it! andit was well he didn't choke. After this the squaw left him, and Crusoespent the remainder of that night gnawing the cords that bound him. Sodiligent was he that he was free before morning and walked deliberatelyout of the tent. Then he shook himself, and with a yell that one mighthave fancied was intended for defiance, he bounded joyfully away, andwas soon out of sight.
To a dog with a good appetite which had been on short allowance forseveral days, the mouthful given to him by the old squaw was a merenothing. All that day he kept bounding over the plain from bluff tobluff in search of something to eat, but found nothing until dusk, whenhe pounced suddenly and most unexpectedly on a prairie-hen fast asleep.In one moment its life was gone. In less than a minute its body wasgone too--feathers and bones and all--down Crusoe's ravenous throat.
On the identical spot Crusoe lay down and slept like a top for fourhours. At the end of that time he jumped up, bolted a scrap of skinthat somehow had been overlooked at supper, and flew straight over theprairie to the spot where he had had the scuffle with the Indian. Hecame to the edge of the river, took precisely the same leap that hismaster had done before him, and came out on the other side a good dealhigher up than Dick had done, for the dog had no savages to dodge, andwas, as we have said before, a powerful swimmer.
It cost him a good deal of running about to find the trail, and it wasnearly dark before he resumed his journey; then, putting his keen noseto the ground, he ran step by step over Dick's track, and at last foundhim, as we have shown, on the banks of the Salt Creek.
It is quite impossible to describe the intense joy which filled Dick'sheart on again beholding his favourite. Only those who have lost andfound such an one can know it. Dick seized him round the neck andhugged him as well as he could, poor fellow, in his feeble arms; then hewept, then he laughed, and then he fainted.
This was a consummation that took Crusoe quite aback! Never having seenhis master in such a state before he seemed to think at first that hewas playing some trick, for he bounded round him, and barked, and waggedhis tail. But as Dick lay quite still and motionless, he went forwardwith a look of alarm; snuffed him once or twice and whined piteously;then he raised his nose in the air and uttered a long melancholy wail.
The cry seemed to revive Dick, for he moved, and with some difficultysat up, to the dog's evident relief. There is no doubt whatever thatCrusoe learned an erroneous lesson that day, and was firmly convincedthenceforth that the best cure for a fainting-fit is a melancholy yell.So easy is it for the wisest of dogs as well as men to fall into grosserror!
"Crusoe," said Dick, in a feeble voice, "dear good pup, come here." Hecrawled, as he spoke, down to the water's edge where there was a levelpatch of dry sand.
"Dig," said Dick, pointing to the sand.
Crusoe looked at him in surprise, as well he might, for he had neverheard the word "dig" in all his life before.
Dick pondered a minute; then a thought struck him. He turned up alittle of the sand with his fingers, and, pointing to the hole cried,"_Seek him out, pup_!"
Ha! Crusoe understood _that_. Many and many a time had he unhousedrabbits, and squirrels, and other creatures at that word of command, so,without a moment's delay, he commenced to dig down into the sand, everynow, and then stopping for a moment and shoving in his nose, andsnuffing interrogatively, as if he fully expected to find a buffalo atthe bottom of it. Then he would resume again, one paw after another sofast that you could scarce see them going "hand over hand" as sailorswould have called it--while the sand flew out between his hind-legs in acontinuous shower. When the sand accumulated so much behind him as toimpede his motions he scraped it out of his way, and set to work againwith tenfold earnestness. After a good while he paused and looked up atDick with an "it--won't--do,--I--fear,--there's--nothing--here"expression on his face.
"Seek him out, pup!" repeated Dick.
"Oh! very good," mutely answered the dog, and went at it again, toothand nail, harder than ever.
In the course of a quarter of an hour there was a deep yawning hole inthe sand, into which Dick peered with intense anxiety. The bottomappeared slightly _damp_. Hope now reanimated Dick Varley, and byvarious devices he succeeded in getting the do
g to scrape away a sort oftunnel from the hole, into which he might roll himself and put down hislips to drink when the water should rise high enough. Impatiently andanxiously he lay watching the moisture slowly accumulate in the bottomof the hole, drop by drop, and while he gazed he fell into a troubled,restless slumber, and dreamed that Crusoe's return was a dream, and thathe was alone again perishing for want of water.
When he awakened the hole was half full of clear water, and Crusoe waslapping it greedily.
"Back, pup!" he shouted, as he crept down to the hole and put histrembling lips to the water. It was brackish, but drinkable, and asDick drank deeply of it he esteemed it at that moment better thannectar. Here he lay for half an hour alternately drinking and gazing insurprise at his own emaciated visage as reflected in the pool.
The same afternoon Crusoe, in a private hunting excursion of his own,discovered and caught a prairie-hen, which he quietly proceeded todevour on the spot, when Dick, who saw what had occurred, whistled tohim.
Obedience was engrained in every fibre of Crusoe's mental and corporealbeing. He did not merely answer at once to the call--he _sprang_ to it,leaving the prairie-hen untasted.
"Fetch it, pup," cried Dick eagerly as the dog came up.
In a few moments the hen was at his feet. Dick's circumstances couldnot brook the delay of cookery; he gashed the bird with his knife anddrank the blood, and then gave the flesh to the dog, while he crept tothe pool again for another draught. Ah! think not, reader, thatalthough we have treated this subject in a slight vein of pleasantry,because it ended well, that therefore our tale is pure fiction. Notonly are Indians glad to satisfy the urgent cravings of hunger with rawflesh, but many civilised men and delicately nurtured, have done thesame--ay, and doubtless, will do the same again, as long as enterprisingand fearless men shall go forth to dare the dangers of flood and fieldin the wild places of our wonderful world!
Crusoe had finished his share of the feast before Dick returned from thepool. Then master and dog lay down together side by side and fell intoa long, deep, peaceful slumber.
The Dog Crusoe and his Master Page 14