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

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER XXIV.

  _Plans and prospects--Dick becomes home-sick, and Henrimetaphysical--Indians attack the camp--A blow-up._

  On the following day the Indians gave themselves up to unlimitedfeasting, in consequence of the arrival of a large body of hunterswith an immense supply of buffalo meat. It was a regular day ofrejoicing. Upwards of six hundred buffaloes had been killed and as thesupply of meat before their arrival had been ample, the camp was nowoverflowing with plenty.

  Feasts were given by the chiefs, and the medicine men went about thecamp uttering loud cries, which were meant to express gratitude to theGreat Spirit for the bountiful supply of food. They also carried aportion of meat to the aged and infirm who were unable to hunt forthemselves, and had no young men in their family circle to hunt forthem.

  This arrival of the hunters was a fortunate circumstance, as it putthe Indians in great good-humour, and inclined them to hold friendlyintercourse with the trappers, who for some time continued to drive abrisk trade in furs. Having no market for the disposal of their furs,the Indians of course had more than they knew what to do with, andwere therefore glad to exchange those of the most beautiful andvaluable kind for a mere trifle, so that the trappers laid aside theirtraps for a time and devoted themselves to traffic.

  Meanwhile Joe Blunt and his friends made preparations for their returnjourney.

  "Ye see," remarked Joe to Henri and Dick, as they sat beside the firein Pee-eye-em's lodge, and feasted on a potful of grasshopper soup,which the great chief's squaw had just placed before them--"ye see, mycalc'lations is as follows. Wot with trappin' beavers and huntin', wethree ha' made enough to set us up, an it likes us, in the MustangValley--"

  "Ha!" interrupted Dick, remitting for a few seconds the use of histeeth in order to exercise his tongue--ha! Joe, but it don't like_me_! What, give up a hunter's life and become a farmer? I shouldthink not!"

  "Bon!" ejaculated Henri, but whether the remark had reference to thegrasshopper soup or the sentiment we cannot tell.

  "Well," continued Joe, commencing to devour a large buffalo steak witha hunter's appetite, "ye'll please yourselves, lads, as to that; butas I wos sayin', we've got a powerful lot o' furs, an' a big pack o'odds and ends for the Injuns we chance to meet with by the way, an'powder and lead to last us a twelvemonth, besides five good horses tocarry us an' our packs over the plains; so if it's agreeable to you, Imean to make a bee-line for the Mustang Valley. We're pretty sure tomeet with Blackfeet on the way, and if we do we'll try to make peacebetween them an' the Snakes. I 'xpect it'll be pretty well on for sixweeks afore we git to home, so we'll start to-morrow."

  "Dat is fat vill do ver' vell," said Henri; "vill you please donnez meone petit morsel of steak."

  "I'm ready for anything, Joe," cried Dick; "you are leader. Just pointthe way, and I'll answer for two o' us followin' ye--eh! won't we,Crusoe?"

  "We will," remarked the dog quietly.

  "How comes it," inquired Dick, "that these Indians don't care for ourtobacco?"

  "They like their own better, I s'pose," answered Joe; "most all thewestern Injuns do. They make it o' the dried leaves o' the shumackand the inner bark o' the red-willow, chopped very small an' mixedtogether. They call this stuff _kinnekinnik_; but they like to mixabout a fourth o' our tobacco with it, so Pee-eye-em tells me, an'he's a good judge. The amount that red-skinned mortal smokes _is_oncommon."

  "What are they doin' yonder?" inquired Dick, pointing to a group ofmen who had been feasting for some time past in front of a tent withinsight of our trio.

  "Goin' to sing, I think," replied Joe.

  As he spoke six young warriors were seen to work their bodies aboutin a very remarkable way, and give utterance to still more remarkablesounds, which gradually increased until the singers burst out intothat terrific yell, or war-whoop, for which American savages have longbeen famous. Its effect would have been appalling to unaccustomedears. Then they allowed their voices to die away in soft, plaintivetones, while their action corresponded thereto. Suddenly the furiousstyle was revived, and the men wrought themselves into a conditionlittle short of madness, while their yells rang wildly through thecamp. This was too much for ordinary canine nature to withstand, soall the dogs in the neighbourhood joined in the horrible chorus.

  Crusoe had long since learned to treat the eccentricities of Indiansand their curs with dignified contempt. He paid no attention to thisserenade, but lay sleeping by the fire until Dick and his companionsrose to take leave of their host and return to the camp of thefur-traders. The remainder of that night was spent in makingpreparations for setting forth on the morrow; and when, at gray dawn,Dick and Crusoe lay down to snatch a few hours' repose, the yells andhowling in the Snake camp were going on as vigorously as ever.

  The sun had arisen, and his beams were just tipping the summits of theRocky Mountains, causing the snowy peaks to glitter like flame, andthe deep ravines and gorges to look sombre and mysterious by contrast,when Dick and Joe and Henri mounted their gallant steeds, and, withCrusoe gambolling before, and the two pack-horses trotting by theirside, turned their faces eastward, and bade adieu to the Indian camp.

  Crusoe was in great spirits. He was perfectly well aware that he andhis companions were on their way home, and testified his satisfactionby bursts of scampering over the hills and valleys. Doubtless hethought of Dick Varley's cottage, and of Dick's mild, kind-heartedmother. Undoubtedly, too, he thought of his own mother, Fan, andfelt a glow of filial affection as he did so. Of this we feel quitecertain. He would have been unworthy the title of hero if he hadn't.Perchance he thought of Grumps, but of this we are not quite so sure.We rather think, upon the whole, that he did.

  Dick, too, let his thoughts run away in the direction of _home_.Sweet word! Those who have never left it cannot, by any effort ofimagination, realize the full import of the word "home." Dick was abold hunter; but he was young, and this was his first long expedition.Oftentimes, when sleeping under the trees and gazing dreamily upthrough the branches at the stars, had he thought of home, untilhis longing heart began to yearn to return. He repelled such tenderfeelings, however, when they became too strong, deeming them unmanly,and sought to turn his mind to the excitements of the chase; butlatterly his efforts were in vain. He became thoroughly home-sick, andwhile admitting the fact to himself, he endeavoured to conceal it fromhis comrades. He thought that he was successful in this attempt. PoorDick Varley! as yet he was sadly ignorant of human nature. Henri knewit, and Joe Blunt knew it. Even Crusoe knew that something was wrongwith his master, although he could not exactly make out what it was.But Crusoe made memoranda in the note-book of his memory. He jotteddown the peculiar phases of his master's new disease with the care andminute exactness of a physician, and, we doubt not, ultimatelyadded the knowledge of the symptoms of home-sickness to his alreadywell-filled stores of erudition.

  It was not till they had set out on their homeward journey thatDick Varley's spirits revived, and it was not till they reached thebeautiful prairies on the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains, andgalloped over the greensward towards the Mustang Valley, that Dickventured to tell Joe Blunt what his feelings had been.

  "D'ye know, Joe," he said confidentially, reining up his gallant steedafter a sharp gallop--"d'ye know I've bin feelin' awful low for sometime past."

  "I know it, lad," answered Joe, with a quiet smile, in which therewas a dash of something that implied he knew more than he chose toexpress.

  Dick felt surprised, but he continued, "I wonder what it could havebin. I never felt so before."

  "'Twas home-sickness, boy," returned Joe.

  "How d'ye know that?"

  "The same way as how I know most things--by experience an'obsarvation. I've bin home-sick myself once, but it was long, longagone."

  Dick felt much relieved at this candid confession by such a bronzedveteran, and, the chords of sympathy having been struck, he opened uphis heart at once, to the evident delight of Henri, who, among othercurious partialities, was ex
tremely fond of listening to and takingpart in conversations that bordered on the metaphysical, and were hardto be understood. Most conversations that were not connected witheating and hunting were of this nature to Henri.

  "Hom'-sik," he cried, "veech mean bein' sik of hom'! Hah! dat is fat Iam always be, ven I goes hout on de expedition. Oui, vraiment."

  "I always packs up," continued Joe, paying no attention to Henri'sremark--"I always packs up an' sets off for home when I gitshome-sick. It's the best cure; an' when hunters are young likeyou, Dick, it's the only cure. I've knowed fellers a'most die o'home-sickness, an' I'm told they _do_ go under altogether sometimes."

  "Go onder!" exclaimed Henri; "oui, I vas all but die myself ven Ifust try to git away from hom'. If I have not git away, I not be hereto-day."

  Henri's idea of home-sickness was so totally opposed to theirs thathis comrades only laughed, and refrained from attempting to set himright.

  "The fust time I wos took bad with it wos in a country somethin' likethat," said Joe, pointing to the wide stretch of undulating prairie,dotted with clusters of trees and meandering streamlets, that laybefore them. "I had bin out about two months, an' was makin' a goodthing of it, for game wos plenty, when I began to think somehow morethan usual o' home. My mother wos alive then."

  Joe's voice sank to a deep, solemn tone as he said this, and for a fewminutes he rode on in silence.

  "Well, it grew worse and worse. I dreamed o' home all night an'thought of it all day, till I began to shoot bad, an' my comrades wosgittin' tired o' me; so says I to them one night, says I, 'I give out,lads; I'll make tracks for the settlement to-morrow.' They tried tolaugh me out of it at first, but it was no go, so I packed up, bidthem good-day, an' sot off alone on a trip o' five hundred miles. Thevery first mile o' the way back I began to mend, and before two days Iwos all right again."

  Joe was interrupted at this point by the sudden appearance of asolitary horseman on the brow of an eminence not half-a-mile distant.The three friends instantly drove their pack-horses behind a clump oftrees; but not in time to escape the vigilant eye of the Red-man, whouttered a loud shout, which brought up a band of his comrades at fullgallop.

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

  The caution was needed, for in the confusion of the moment Henri wasmaking preparation to sell his life as dearly as possible. Beforeanother word could be uttered, they were surrounded by a troop ofabout twenty yelling Blackfeet Indians. They were, fortunately, not awar party, and, still more fortunately, they were peaceably disposed,and listened to the preliminary address of Joe Blunt with exemplarypatience; after which the two parties encamped on the spot, thecouncil fire was lighted, and every preparation made for a longpalaver.

  We will not trouble the reader with the details of what was said onthis occasion. The party of Indians was a small one, and no chief ofany importance was attached to it. Suffice it to say that the pacificovertures made by Joe were well received, the trifling gifts madethereafter were still better received, and they separated with mutualexpressions of good-will.

  Several other bands which were afterwards met with were equallyfriendly, and only one war party was seen. Joe's quick eye observedit in time to enable them to retire unseen behind the shelter of sometrees, where they remained until the Indian warriors were out ofsight.

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

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

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

  Dick and Henri seconded Joe's efforts so ably that in the course oftwo minutes the horses were unloaded, the packs piled in the form of awall in front of a broken piece of ground, the horses picketed closebeside them, and our three travellers peeping over the edge, withtheir rifles cocked, while the savages--about thirty in number--camesweeping down towards them.

  "I'll try to git them to palaver," said Joe Blunt; "but keep yer eyeon '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 hithuman flesh till my second signal is given, and see that Henri don'tdraw till I git back to ye."

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

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

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

  Instantly every bow was bent, and it seemed as if our bold hunter wereabout to be pierced by a score of arrows, when he turned round andcried,--"The Blackfeet must not advance a single step. The first thatmoves his _horse_ shall die. The second that moves _himself_ shalldie."

  To this the Blackfeet chief replied scornfully, "The Pale-face talkswith 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 loudreport, and the noble horse of the savage chief lay struggling indeath agony on the ground.

  The use of the rifle, as we have before hinted, was little known atthis period among the Indians of the far west, and many had neverheard the dreaded report before, although all were aware, fromhearsay, of its fatal power. The fall of the chief's horse, therefore,quite paralyzed them for a few moments, and they had not recoveredfrom their surprise when a second report was heard, a bullet whistledpast, and a second horse fell. At the same moment there was a loudexplosion 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 dismountedhorsemen sprang on behind two of their comrades, and the whole banddashed away over the plains as if they were chased by evil spirits.

  Meanwhile Joe hastened towards his comrades in a state of greatanxiety, for he knew at once that one of the powder-horns must havebeen 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 dereholes."

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

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

  This was true. The worthy hunter's hair was singed to such an extentthat his entire countenance presented the appearance of a universalfrizzle. Fortunately the skin, although much blackened, was quiteuninjured--a fact which, when he ascertained it beyond a doubt,afforded so much satisfaction to Henri that he capered about shoutingwith delight, as if some piece of good fortune had befallen him.
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  The accident had happened in consequence of Henri having omitted toreplace the stopper of his powder-horn, and when, in his anxiety forJoe, he fired at random amongst the Indians, despite Dick's entreatiesto wait, a spark communicated with the powder-horn and blew him up.Dick and Crusoe were only a little singed, but the former was notdisposed to quarrel with an accident which had sent their enemies sopromptly to the right-about.

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