The Dog Crusoe and His Master: A Story of Adventure in the Western Prairies by - (read me like a book .txt) 📕

to
please you."

There is no doubt whatever that Crusoe felt something
of this sort. The love of a Newfoundland dog to
its master is beyond calculation or expression. He who
once gains such love carries the dog's life in his hand.
But let him who reads note well, and remember that
there is only one coin that can purchase such love, and
that is kindness. The coin, too, must be genuine. Kindness
merely expressed will not do, it must be felt.

"Hallo, boy, ye've bin i' the wars!" exclaimed Joe,
raising himself from his task as Dick and Crusoe returned.

"You look more like it than I do," retorted Dick,
laughing.

This was true, for cutting up a buffalo carcass with
no other instrument than a large knife is no easy
matter. Yet western hunters and Indians can do it
without cleaver or saw, in a way that would surprise
a civilized butcher not a little. Joe was covered with
blood up to the elbows. His hair, happening to have
a knack of getting into his eyes, had been so often
brushed off with bloody hands, that his whole visage
was speckled with gore, and his dress was by no means
immaculate.

While Dick related his adventure, or mis-adventure,
with the bull, Joe and Henri completed the cutting out
of the most delicate portions of the buffalo--namely,
the hump on its shoulder--which is a choice piece,
much finer than the best beef--and the tongue, and
a few other parts. The tongues of buffaloes are superior
to those of domestic cattle. When all was ready
the meat was slung across the back of the pack-horse;
and the party, remounting their horses, continued their
journey, having first cleansed themselves as well as they
could in the rather dirty waters of an old wallow.

"See," said Henri, turning to Dick and pointing to a
circular spot of green as they rode along, "that is one
old dry waller."

"Ay," remarked Joe; "after the waller dries, it becomes
a ring o' greener grass than the rest o' the plain,
as ye see. Tis said the first hunters used to wonder
greatly at these myster'ous circles, and they invented
all sorts o' stories to account for 'em. Some said they
wos fairy-rings, but at last they comed to know they
wos nothin' more nor less than places where buffaloes
wos used to waller in. It's often seemed to me that if
we knowed the raisons o' things, we wouldn't be so
much puzzled wi' them as we are."

The truth of this last remark was so self-evident
and incontrovertible that it elicited no reply, and the
three friends rode on for a considerable time in silence.

It was now past noon, and they were thinking of
calling a halt for a short rest to the horses and a pipe
to themselves, when Joe was heard to give vent to one
of those peculiar hisses that always accompanied either
a surprise or a caution. In the present case it indicated
both.

"What now, Joe?"

"Injuns!" ejaculated Joe.

"Eh! fat you say? Ou is dey?"

Crusoe at this moment uttered a low growl. Ever
since the day he had been partially roasted he had
maintained a rooted antipathy to Red-men. Joe immediately
dismounted, and placing his ear to the ground
listened intently. It is a curious fact that by placing
the ear close to the ground sounds can be heard distinctly
which could not be heard at all if the listener
were to maintain an erect position.

"They're arter the buffalo," said Joe, rising, "an' I
think it's likely they're a band o' Pawnees. Listen an'
ye'll hear their shouts quite plain."

Dick and Henri immediately lay down and placed
their ears to the ground.

"Now, me hear noting," said Henri, jumping up, "but
me ear is like me eyes--ver' short-sighted."

"I do hear something," said Dick as he got up, "but
the beating o' my own heart makes row enough to spoil
my hearin'."

Joe Blunt smiled. "Ah! lad, ye're young, an' yer
blood's too hot yet; but bide a bit--you'll cool down
soon. I wos like you once. Now, lads, what think
ye we should do?"

"You know best, Joe."

"Oui, nodoubtedly.'

"Then wot I advise is that we gallop to the broken
sand hillocks ye see yonder, get behind them, an' take
a peep at the Redskins. If they are Pawnees, we'll go
up to them at once; if not, we'll hold a council o' war
on the spot."

Having arranged this, they mounted and hastened
towards the hillocks in question, which they reached
after ten minutes' gallop at full stretch. The sandy
mounds afforded them concealment, and enabled them
to watch the proceedings of the savages in the plain
below. The scene was the most curious and exciting
that can be conceived. The centre of the plain before
them was crowded with hundreds of buffaloes, which
were dashing about in the most frantic state of alarm.
To whatever point they galloped they were met by
yelling savages on horseback, who could not have
been fewer in numbers than a thousand, all being
armed with lance, bow, and quiver, and mounted on
active little horses. The Indians had completely surrounded
the herd of buffaloes, and were now advancing
steadily towards them, gradually narrowing the circle,
and whenever the terrified animals endeavoured to
break through the line, they rushed to that particular
spot in a body, and scared them back again into the
centre.

Thus they advanced until they closed in on their
prey and formed an unbroken circle round them, whilst
the poor brutes kept eddying and surging to and fro
in a confused mass, hooking and climbing upon each
other, and bellowing furiously. Suddenly the horsemen
made a rush, and the work of destruction began.
The tremendous turmoil raised a cloud of dust that
obscured the field in some places, and hid it from our
hunters' view. Some of the Indians galloped round
and round the circle, sending their arrows whizzing up
to the feathers in the sides of the fattest cows. Others
dashed fearlessly into the midst of the black heaving
mass, and, with their long lances, pierced dozens of
them to the heart. In many instances the buffaloes,
infuriated by wounds, turned fiercely on their assailants
and gored the horses to death, in which cases the men
had to trust to their nimble legs for safety. Sometimes
a horse got jammed in the centre of the swaying
mass, and could neither advance nor retreat. Then
the savage rider leaped upon the buffaloes' backs, and
springing from one to another, like an acrobat, gained
the outer edge of the circle; not failing, however, in his
strange flight, to pierce with his lance several of the
fattest of his stepping-stones as he sped along.

A few of the herd succeeded in escaping from the
blood and dust of this desperate battle, and made off
over the plains; but they were quickly overtaken, and
the lance or the arrow brought them down on the green
turf. Many of the dismounted riders were chased by
bulls; but they stepped lightly to one side, and, as the
animals passed, drove their arrows deep into their sides.
Thus the tumultuous war went on, amid thundering
tread, and yell, and bellow, till the green plain was
transformed into a sea of blood and mire, and every
buffalo of the herd was laid low.

It is not to be supposed that such reckless warfare
is invariably waged without damage to the savages.
Many were the wounds and bruises received that day,
and not a few bones were broken, but happily no lives
were lost.

"Now, lads, now's our time. A bold and fearless
look's the best at all times. Don't look as if ye
doubted their friendship; and mind, wotever ye do,
don't use yer arms. Follow me."

Saying this, Joe Blunt leaped on his horse, and,
bounding over the ridge at full speed, galloped headlong
across the plain.

The savages observed the strangers instantly, and a
loud yell announced the fact as they assembled from
all parts of the field brandishing their bows and spears.
Joe's quick eye soon distinguished their chief, towards
whom he galloped, still at full speed, till within a yard
or two of his horse's head; then he reined up suddenly.
So rapidly did Joe and his comrades approach, and so
instantaneously did they pull up, that their steeds were
thrown almost on their haunches.

The Indian chief did not move a muscle. He was
a tall, powerful savage, almost naked, and mounted on
a coal-black charger, which he sat with the ease of a
man accustomed to ride from infancy. He was, indeed,
a splendid-looking savage, but his face wore a dark
frown, for, although he and his band had visited the
settlements and trafficked with the fur-traders on the
Missouri, he did not love the "Pale-faces," whom he
regarded as intruders on the hunting-grounds of his
fathers, and the peace that existed between them at
that time was of a very fragile character. Indeed, it
was deemed by the traders impossible to travel through
the Indian country at that period except in strong force,
and it was the very boldness of the present attempt that
secured to our hunters anything like a civil reception.

Joe, who could speak the Pawnee tongue fluently,
began by explaining the object of his visit, and spoke
of the presents which he had brought for the great
chief; but it was evident that his words made little
impression. As he discoursed to them the savages crowded round the
little party, and began to handle and examine their dresses and
weapons with a degree of rudeness that caused Joe considerable
anxiety.

"Mahtawa believes that the heart of the Pale-face
is true," said the savage, when Joe paused, "but he
does not choose to make peace. The Pale-faces are
grasping. They never rest. They turn their eyes to
the great mountains and say, 'There we will stop.'
But even there they will not stop. They are never
satisfied; Mahtawa knows them well."

This speech sank like a death-knell into the hearts
of the hunters, for they knew that if the savages refused
to make peace, they would scalp them all and appropriate
their goods. To make things worse, a dark-visaged
Indian suddenly caught hold of Henri's rifle,
and, ere he was aware, had plucked it from his hand.
The blood rushed to the gigantic hunter's forehead, and
he was on the point of springing at the man, when Joe
said in a deep quiet voice,--

"Be still, Henri. You will but hasten death."

At this moment there was a movement in the outskirts
of the circle of horsemen, and another chief rode
into the midst of them. He was evidently higher in
rank than Mahtawa, for he spoke authoritatively to the
crowd, and stepped in before him. The hunters drew
little comfort from the appearance of his face, however,
for it scowled upon them. He was not so powerful
a man as Mahtawa, but he was more gracefully
formed, and had a more noble and commanding countenance.

"Have the Pale-faces no wigwams on the great river
that they should come to spy out the lands of the
Pawnee?" he demanded.

"We have not come to spy your country," answered
Joe, raising himself proudly as he spoke, and taking off
his cap. "We have come with a message from the great
chief of the Pale-faces, who lives in the village far
beyond the great river where the sun rises. He says,
Why should the Pale-face and the Red-man fight?
They are brothers. The same Manitou[*] watches over
both. The Pale-faces have more beads, and guns, and
blankets, and knives, and vermilion than they require;
they wish to give some of these things for the skins
and furs which the Red-man does not know what to
do with. The great chief of the Pale-faces has sent me
to say, Why should we fight? let us smoke the pipe of
peace."

At the mention of beads and blankets the face of the
wily chief brightened for a moment. Then he said
sternly,--

"The heart of the Pale-face is not true. He has
come here to trade for himself. San-it-sa-rish has eyes
that can see; they are not shut. Are not these your
goods?" The chief pointed to the pack-horse as he spoke.

"Trappers do not take their goods into the heart
of an enemy's camp," returned Joe. "San-it-sa-rish is
wise, and will understand this. These are gifts to the
chief of the Pawnees. There are more awaiting him
when the pipe of peace is smoked. I have said. What
message shall we take back to the great chief of the
Pale-faces?"

[Footnote *: The Indian name for God.]

San-it-sa-rish was evidently mollified.

"The hunting-field is not the council tent," he said.
"The Pale-faces will go with us to our village."

Of course Joe was too glad to agree to this proposal,
but he now deemed it politic to display a little firmness.

"We cannot go till our rifle is restored. It will not
do to go back and tell the great chief of the Pale-faces
that the Pawnees are thieves."

The chief frowned angrily.

"The Pawnees are true; they are not thieves. They
choose to look at the rifle of the Pale-face. It shall be
returned."

The rifle was instantly restored, and then our hunters
rode off with