The Dog Crusoe and His Master: A Story of Adventure in the Western Prairies

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER XIII.

  _Escape from Indians--A discovery--Alone in the desert_.

  Dick Varley had spent so much of his boyhood in sporting about amongthe waters 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 afeeling of gratitude to God for his escape from the Indians thananxiety about getting 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 into the bank opposite to that from which he hadplunged, and clambering up to the greensward 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 withhope or comfort. He was in the midst of an unknown wilderness,hundreds of miles from any white man's settlement; surrounded bysavages; without food or blanket; his companions gone, he knew notwhither--perhaps taken and killed by the Indians; his horse dead; andhis dog, the most trusty and loving of all his friends, lost to him,probably, for ever! A more veteran heart might have quailed in themidst of such accumulated evils; but Dick Varley possessed a strong,young, and buoyant constitution, which, united with a hopefulnessof disposition that almost nothing could overcome, enabled him veryquickly to cast aside the gloomy view of his case and turn to itsbrighter 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 enoughto carry away with him about his person.

  The horn in which western hunters carry their powder is usually thatof an 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 pegor stopper. It is therefore completely water-tight, and may be forhours immersed without the powder getting wet, unless the stoppershould chance to be knocked out. Dick found, to his greatsatisfaction, that the stopper was fast and the powder perfectly dry.Moreover, he had by good fortune filled it full two days before fromthe package that contained the general stock of ammunition, so thatthere were only two or three charges out of it. His percussion caps,however, were completely destroyed; and even though they had notbeen, it would have mattered little, for he did not possess more thanhalf-a-dozen. But this was not so great a misfortune as at firstit might seem, for he had the spare flint locks and the littlescrew-driver necessary for fixing and unfixing them stowed away in hisshot 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 heavyhunting-knife, a piece of tinder, a little tin pannikin, which he hadbeen in the habit of carrying at his belt, and a large cake of maplesugar. This last is a species of sugar which is procured by theIndians from the maple-tree. Several cakes of it had been carried offfrom the Pawnee village, and Dick usually carried one in the breast ofhis coat. Besides these things, he found that the little Bible, forwhich his mother had made a small inside breast-pocket, was safe.Dick's heart smote him when he took it out and undid the clasp, for hehad not looked at it until that day. It was firmly bound with a brassclasp, so that, although the binding and the edges of the leaves weresoaked, the inside was quite dry. On opening the book to see if ithad been damaged, a small paper fell out. Picking it up quickly, heunfolded it, and read, in his mother's handwriting: "_Call upon me inthe time of trouble; and I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorifyme. My son, give me thine heart_."

  Dick's eyes filled with tears while the sound, as it were, ofhis mother's voice thus reached him unexpectedly in that lonelywilderness. Like too many whose hearts are young and gay, Dick hadregarded religion, if not as a gloomy, at least as not a cheerfulthing. But he felt the comfort of these words at that moment, and heresolved seriously to peruse his mother's parting gift in time tocome.

  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 thelocks of his rifle, draw the wet charges, dry out the barrels, andre-load. Then throwing it across his shoulder, he entered the woodand walked lightly away. And well he might, poor fellow, for at thatmoment he felt light enough in person if not in heart. His worldlygoods were not such as to oppress him; but the little note had turnedhis thoughts towards 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 insome uncertainty as to how he should proceed.

  He was too good a backwoodsman, albeit so young, to feel perplexed asto the points of the compass. He knew pretty well what hour it was, sothat the sun showed him the general bearings of the country, and heknew that when night came he could correct his course by the polestar. Dick's knowledge of astronomy was limited; he knew only one starby name, but that one was an inestimable treasure of knowledge. Hisperplexity was owing to his uncertainty as to the direction in whichhis companions and their pursuers had gone; for he had made up hismind to follow their trail if possible, and render all the succour hissingle arm 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 gonefarther down without his observing them. Then, again, if they hadescaped, they would be sure to return and search the country round forhim, so that if he 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 arun over the plain, as if to fly from solitude. He soon became soabsorbed, however, in his efforts to find the trail of his companions,that he forgot all other considerations, and ran straight forward forhours together with his eyes eagerly fixed on the ground. At last hefelt so hungry, having tasted no food since supper-time the previousevening, that he halted for the purpose of eating a morsel of maplesugar. A line of bushes in the distance indicated water, so he sped onagain, and was soon seated beneath a willow, drinking water from thecool stream. No game was to be found here, but there were severalkinds of berries, among which wild grapes and plums grew in abundance.With these and some sugar he made a meal, though not a good one, forthe berries were quite green and intensely sour.

  All that day Dick Varley followed up the trail of his companions,which he discovered at a ford in the river. They had crossed,therefore, in safety, though still pursued; so he ran on at a regulartrot, and with a little more hope than he had felt during the day.Towards night, however, Dick's heart sank again, for he came uponinnumerable buffalo tracks, among which those of the horses soonbecame mingled up, so that he lost them altogether. Hoping to findthem again more easily by broad daylight, he went to the nearest clumpof willows he could find, and encampe
d for the night.

  Remembering the use formerly made of the tall willows, he set to workto construct a covering to protect him from the dew. As he had noblanket or buffalo skin, he used leaves and grass instead, and foundit a better shelter than he had expected, especially when the fire waslighted, and a pannikin of hot sugar and water smoked at his feet; butas no game was to be found, he was again compelled to sup off unripeberries. Before lying down to rest he remembered his resolution, andpulling out the little Bible, read a portion of it by the fitful blazeof the fire, and felt great comfort in its blessed words. It seemedto him like a friend with whom he could converse in the midst of hisloneliness.

  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 wouldnot for 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, hewas soon utterly bewildered. He thought it possible that, by runningout for several miles in a straight line, and then taking a widecircuit round, he might find the tracks emerging from the confusionmade by the buffaloes. But he was again disappointed, for the buffalotracks still continued, and the ground became less capable of showinga footprint.

  Soon Dick began to feel so ill and weak from eating such poor fare,that he gave up all hope of discovering the tracks, and was compelledto push forward at his utmost speed in order to reach a less barrendistrict, where he might procure fresh meat; but the farther headvanced the worse and more sandy did the district become. For severaldays he pushed on over this arid waste without seeing bird or beast,and, to add to his misery, he failed at last to find water. For a dayand a night he wandered about in a burning fever, and his throat soparched that he was almost suffocated. Towards the close of the secondday he saw a slight line of bushes away down in a hollow on his right.With eager steps he staggered towards them, and, on drawing near,beheld--blessed sight!--a stream of water glancing in the beams of thesetting 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 plungedheadforemost into the stream.

  The first mouthful sent a thrill of horror to his heart; it was saltas brine!

  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 ragingfever. Delirium soon rendered him insensible to his sufferings. Thesun rose like a ball of fire, and shone down with scorching power onthe arid plain. What mattered it to Dick? He was far away in the shadygroves of the Mustang Valley, chasing the deer at times, but morefrequently cooling his limbs and sporting with Crusoe in the brightblue lake. Now he was in his mother's cottage, telling her how he hadthought of her when far away on the prairie, and what a bright, sweetword it was she had whispered in his ear--so unexpectedly, too. Anonhe was scouring over the plains on horseback, with the savages at hisheels; and at such times Dick would spring with almost supernaturalstrength from the ground, and run madly over the burning plain; but,as if by a species of fascination, he always returned to the saltriver, and sank exhausted by its side, or plunged helplessly into itswaters.

  These sudden immersions usually restored him for a short time toreason, and he would crawl up the bank and gnaw a morsel of the maplesugar; but he could not eat much, for it was in a tough, compact cake,which his jaws had not power to break. All that day and the next nighthe lay on the banks of the salt stream, or rushed wildly over theplain. It was about noon of the second day after his attack that hecrept slowly out of the water, into which he had plunged a few secondsbefore. His mind was restored, but he felt an indescribable sensationof weakness, that seemed to him to be the approach of death. Creepingtowards the place where his rifle lay, he fell exhausted beside it,and laid his cheek on the Bible, which had fallen out of his pocketthere.

  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.The idea of being torn to pieces by wolves flashed instantly acrosshis mind, 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!