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

that nothing but the
tip of his tail was seen sticking out of the hole which
he had dug. The hunters could not refrain from
laughing as they sprang to the ground, and standing in
a semicircle in front of the hole, prepared to fire. But
Crusoe resolved to have the honour of leading the
assault. He seized fast hold of Bruin's flank, and
caused his teeth to meet therein. Caleb backed out
at once and turned round, but before he could recover
from his surprise a dozen bullets pierced his heart and
brain.

"Now, lads," cried Cameron, setting to work with a
large wooden shovel, "work like niggers. If there's
any life left in the horse, it'll soon be smothered out
unless we set him free."

The men needed no urging, however. They worked
as if their lives depended on their exertions. Dick
Varley, in particular, laboured like a young Hercules,
and Henri hurled masses of snow about in a most surprising
manner. Crusoe, too, entered heartily into the
spirit of the work, and, scraping with his forepaws,
sent such a continuous shower of snow behind him that
he was speedily lost to view in a hole of his own excavating.
In the course of half-an-hour a cavern was
dug in the mound almost close up to the cliff, and the
men were beginning to look about for the crushed body
of Dick's steed, when an exclamation from Henri attracted
their attention.

"Ha! mes ami, here am be one hole."

The truth of this could not be doubted, for the
eccentric trapper had thrust his shovel through the
wall of snow into what appeared to be a cavern beyond,
and immediately followed up his remark by thrusting
in his head and shoulders. He drew them out in a few
seconds, with a look of intense amazement.

"Voil�! Joe Blunt. Look in dere, and you shall see
fat you vill behold."

"Why, it's the horse, I do b'lieve!" cried Joe. "Go
ahead, lads!"

So saying, he resumed his shovelling vigorously, and
in a few minutes the hole was opened up sufficiently to
enable a man to enter. Dick sprang in, and there stood
Charlie close beside the cliff, looking as sedate and,
unconcerned as if all that had been going on had no
reference to him whatever.

The cause of his safety was simple enough. The
precipice beside which he stood when the avalanche
occurred overhung its base at that point considerably,
so that when the snow descended a clear space of
several feet wide was left all along its base. Here
Charlie had remained in perfect comfort until his
friends dug him out.

Congratulating themselves not a little on having saved
the charger and bagged a grizzly bear, the trappers remounted,
and returned to the camp.

For some time after this nothing worthy of particular
note occurred. The trapping operations went on
prosperously and without interruption from the Indians,
who seemed to have left the locality altogether. During
this period, Dick, and Crusoe, and Charlie had many
excursions together, and the silver rifle full many a time
sent death to the heart of bear, and elk, and buffalo;
while, indirectly, it sent joy to the heart of man,
woman, and child in camp, in the shape of juicy steaks
and marrow-bones. Joe and Henri devoted themselves
almost exclusively to trapping beaver, in which pursuit
they were so successful that they speedily became
wealthy men, according to backwood notions of wealth.

With the beaver that they caught they purchased from
Cameron's store powder and shot enough for a long
hunting expedition, and a couple of spare horses to
carry their packs. They also purchased a large assortment
of such goods and trinkets as would prove acceptable
to Indians, and supplied themselves with new
blankets, and a few pairs of strong moccasins, of which
they stood much in need.

Thus they went on from day to day, until symptoms
of the approach of winter warned them that it was time
to return to the Mustang Valley. About this time an
event occurred which totally changed the aspect of
affairs in these remote valleys of the Rocky Mountains,
and precipitated the departure of our four friends, Dick,
Joe, Henri, and Crusoe. This was the sudden arrival of
a whole tribe of Indians. As their advent was somewhat
remarkable, we shall devote to it the commencement
of a new chapter.



CHAPTER XXIII.


Savage sports--Living cataracts--An alarm--Indians and their
doings--The stampede--Charlie again.


One day Dick Varley was out on a solitary hunting
expedition near the rocky gorge where his horse
had received temporary burial a week or two before.
Crusoe was with him, of course. Dick had tied Charlie
to a tree, and was sunning himself on the edge of a cliff,
from the top of which he had a fine view of the valley
and the rugged precipices that hemmed it in.

Just in front of the spot on which he sat, the precipices
on the opposite side of the gorge rose to a considerable
height above him, so that their ragged outlines were
drawn sharply across the clear sky. Dick was gazing
in dreamy silence at the jutting rocks and dark caverns,
and speculating on the probable number of bears that
dwelt there, when a slight degree of restlessness on the
part of Crusoe attracted him.

"What is't, pup?" said he, laying his hand on the
dog's broad back.

Crusoe looked the answer, "I don't know, Dick, but
it's something, you may depend upon it, else I would
not have disturbed you."

Dick lifted his rifle from the ground, and laid it in
the hollow of his left arm.

"There must be something in the wind," remarked Dick.

As wind is known to be composed of two distinct
gases, Crusoe felt perfectly safe in replying "Yes" with
his tail. Immediately after he added, "Hallo! did you
hear that?" with his ears.

Dick did hear it, and sprang hastily to his feet, as
a sound like, yet unlike, distant thunder came faintly
down upon the breeze. In a few seconds the sound
increased to a roar in which was mingled the wild cries
of men. Neither Dick nor Crusoe moved, for the
sounds came from behind the heights in front of them,
and they felt that the only way to solve the question,
"What can the sounds be?" was to wait till the sounds
should solve it themselves.

Suddenly the muffled sounds gave place to the distinct
bellowing of cattle, the clatter of innumerable
hoofs, and the yells of savage men, while at the same
moment the edges of the opposite cliffs became alive
with Indians and buffaloes rushing about in frantic
haste--the former almost mad with savage excitement,
the latter with blind rage and terror.

On reaching the edge of the dizzy precipice, the
buffaloes turned abruptly and tossed their ponderous
heads as they coursed along the edge. Yet a few of
them, unable to check their headlong course, fell over,
and were dashed to pieces on the rocks below. Such
falls, Dick observed, were hailed with shouts of delight
by the Indians, whose sole object evidently was to
enjoy the sport of driving the terrified animals over the
precipice. The wily savages had chosen their ground
well for this purpose.

The cliff immediately opposite to Dick Varley was a
huge projection from the precipice that hemmed in the
gorge, a species of cape or promontory several hundred
yards wide at the base, and narrowing abruptly to a
point. The sides of this wedge-shaped projection were
quite perpendicular--indeed, in some places the top overhung
the base--and they were at least three hundred feet
high. Broken and jagged rocks, of that peculiarly
chaotic character which probably suggested the name to
this part of the great American chain, projected from
and were scattered all round the cliffs. Over these the
Indians, whose numbers increased every moment, strove
to drive the luckless herd of buffaloes that had chanced
to fall in their way. The task was easy. The unsuspecting
animals, of which there were hundreds, rushed
in a dense mass upon the cape referred to. On they
came with irresistible impetuosity, bellowing furiously,
while their hoofs thundered on the turf with the muffled
continuous roar of a distant but mighty cataract; the
Indians, meanwhile, urging them on by hideous yells and
frantic gestures.

The advance-guard came bounding madly to the edge
of the precipice. Here they stopped short, and gazed
affrighted at the gulf below. It was but for a moment.
The irresistible momentum of the flying mass behind
pushed them over. Down they came, absolutely a living
cataract, upon the rocks below. Some struck on the
projecting rocks in the descent, and their bodies were
dashed almost in pieces, while their blood spurted out
in showers. Others leaped from rock to rock with
awful bounds, until, losing their foothold, they fell
headlong; while others descended sheer down into the
sweltering mass that lay shattered at the base of the
cliffs.

Dick Varley and his dog remained rooted to the
rock, as they gazed at the sickening sight, as if petrified.
Scarce fifty of that noble herd of buffaloes escaped the
awful leap, but they escaped only to fall before the
arrows of their ruthless pursuers. Dick had often
heard of this tendency of the Indians, where buffaloes
were very numerous, to drive them over precipices in
mere wanton sport and cruelty, but he had never seen
it until now, and the sight filled his soul with horror.
It was not until the din and tumult of the perishing
herd and the shrill yells of the Indians had almost died
away that he turned to quit the spot. But the instant
he did so another shout was raised. The savages had
observed him, and were seen galloping along the cliffs
towards the head of the gorge, with the obvious intention
of gaining the other side and capturing him. Dick
sprang on Charlie's back, and the next instant was flying
down the valley towards the camp.

He did not, however, fear being overtaken, for the
gorge could not be crossed, and the way round the head
of it was long and rugged; but he was anxious to alarm
the camp as quickly as possible, so that they might
have time to call in the more distant trappers and make
preparations for defence.

"Where away now, youngster?" inquired Cameron,
emerging from his tent as Dick, taking the brook that
flowed in front at a flying leap, came crashing through
the bushes into the midst of the fur-packs at full speed.

"Injuns!" ejaculated Dick, reining up, and vaulting
out of the saddle. "Hundreds of 'em. Fiends incarnate
every one!"

"Are they near?"

"Yes; an hour'll bring them down on us. Are Joe
and Henri far from camp to-day?"

"At Ten-mile Creek," replied Cameron with an expression
of bitterness, as he caught up his gun and
shouted to several men, who hurried up on seeing our
hero burst into camp.

"Ten-mile Creek!" muttered Dick. "I'll bring 'em
in, though," he continued, glancing at several of the
camp horses that grazed close at hand.

In another moment he was on Charlie's back, the
line of one of the best horses was in his hand, and almost
before Cameron knew what he was about he was
flying down the valley like the wind. Charlie often
stretched out at full speed to please his young master,
but seldom had he been urged forward as he was upon
this occasion. The led horse being light and wild, kept
well up, and in a marvellously short space of time they
were at Ten-mile Creek.

"Hallo, Dick, wot's to do?" inquired Joe Blunt, who
was up to his knees in the water setting a trap at the
moment his friend galloped up.

"Injuns! Where's Henri?" demanded Dick.

"At the head o' the dam there."

Dick was off in a moment, and almost instantly returned
with Henri galloping beside him.

No word was spoken. In time of action these men
did not waste words. During Dick's momentary
absence, Joe Blunt had caught up his rifle and examined
the priming, so that when Dick pulled up beside
him he merely laid his hand on the saddle, saying, "All
right!" as he vaulted on Charlie's back behind his
young companion. In another moment they were away
at full speed. The mustang seemed to feel that unwonted
exertions were required of him. Double
weighted though he was, he kept well up with the other
horse, and in less than two hours after Dick's leaving
the camp the three hunters came in sight of it.

Meanwhile Cameron had collected nearly all his
forces and put his camp in a state of defence before the
Indians arrived, which they did suddenly, and, as usual,
at full gallop, to the amount of at least two hundred.
They did not at first seem disposed to hold friendly
intercourse with the trappers, but assembled in a semicircle
round the camp in a menacing attitude, while one
of their chiefs stepped forward to hold a palaver. For
some time the conversation on both sides was polite
enough, but by degrees the Indian chief assumed an
imperious tone, and demanded gifts from the trappers,
taking care to enforce his request by hinting that thousands
of his countrymen were not far distant. Cameron
stoutly refused, and the palaver threatened to come to
an abrupt and unpleasant termination just at the time
that Dick and his friends appeared