The Dog Crusoe and His Master by Robert Michael Ballantyne (page 4)

game, accompanied by Crusoe, whose frequent glances towards his wounded side showed that, whatever may have been the case the day before, it “hurt” him now.

They had not gone far when they came on the track of a deer in the snow, and followed it up till they spied a magnificent buck about three hundred yards off, standing in a level patch of ground which was everywhere surrounded either by rocks or thicket. It was a long shot, but as the nature of the ground rendered it impossible for Dick to get nearer without being seen, he fired, and wounded the buck so badly that he came up with it in a few minutes. The snow had drifted in the place where it stood bolt upright, ready for a spring, so Dick went round a little way, Crusoe following, till he was in a proper position to fire again. Just as he pulled the trigger, Crusoe gave a howl behind him and disturbed his aim, so that he feared he had missed; but the deer fell, and he hurried towards it. On coming up, however, the buck sprang to its legs, rushed at him with its hair bristling, knocked him down in the snow, and deliberately commenced stamping him to death.

Dick was stunned for a moment, and lay quite still, so the deer left off pommelling him, and stood looking at him. But the instant he moved it plunged at him again and gave him another pounding, until he was content to lie still. This was done several times, and Dick felt his strength going fast. He was surprised that Crusoe did not come to his rescue, and once he cleared his mouth and whistled to him; but as the deer gave him another pounding for this, he didn’t attempt it again. He now for the first time bethought him of his knife, and quietly drew it from his belt; but the deer observed the motion, and was on him again in a moment. Dick, however, sprang up on his left elbow, and making several desperate thrusts upward, succeeded in stabbing the animal to the heart.

Rising and shaking the snow from his garments, he whistled loudly to Crusoe, and, on listening, heard him whining piteously. He hurried to the place whence the sound came, and found that the poor dog had fallen into a deep pit or crevice in the rocks, which had been concealed from view by a crust of snow, and he was now making frantic but unavailing efforts to leap out.

Dick soon freed him from his prison by means of his belt, which he let down for the dog to grasp, and then returned to camp with as much deer-meat as he could carry. Dear meat it certainly was to him, for it had nearly cost him his life, and left him all black and blue for weeks after. Happily no bones were broken, so the incident only confined him a day to his encampment.

Soon after this the snow fell thicker than ever, and it became evident that an unusually early winter was about to set in among the mountains. This was a terrible calamity, for if the regular snow of winter set in, it would be impossible for him either to advance or retreat.

While he was sitting on his bearskin by the camp-fire one day, thinking anxiously what he should do, and feeling that he must either make the attempt to escape or perish miserably in that secluded spot, a strange, unwonted sound struck upon his ear, and caused both him and Crusoe to spring violently to their feet and listen. Could he be dreaming?–it seemed like the sound of human voices. For a moment he stood with his eyes rivetted on the ground, his lips apart, and his nostrils distended, as he listened with the utmost intensity. Then he darted out and bounded round the edge of a rock which concealed an extensive but narrow valley from his view, and there, to his amazement, he beheld a band of about a hundred human beings advancing on horseback slowly through the snow.

CHAPTER XVIII.

_A surprise, and a piece of good news–The fur-traders–Crusoe proved, and the Peigans pursued_.

Dick’s first and most natural impulse, on beholding this band, was to mount his horse and fly, for his mind naturally enough recurred to the former rough treatment he had experienced at the hands of Indians. On second thoughts, however, he considered it wiser to throw himself upon the hospitality of the strangers; “for,” thought he, “they can but kill me, an’ if I remain here I’m like to die at any rate.”

So Dick mounted his wild horse, grasped his rifle in his right hand, and, followed by Crusoe, galloped full tilt down the valley to meet them.

He had heard enough of the customs of savage tribes, and had also of late experienced enough, to convince him that when a man found himself in the midst of an overwhelming force, his best policy was to assume an air of confident courage. He therefore approached them at his utmost speed.

The effect upon the advancing band was electrical; and little wonder, for the young hunter’s appearance was very striking. His horse, from having rested a good deal of late, was full of spirit. Its neck was arched, its nostrils expanded, and its mane and tail never having been checked in their growth flew wildly around him in voluminous curls. Dick’s own hair, not having been clipped for many months, appeared scarcely less wild, as they thundered down the rocky pass at what appeared a break-neck gallop. Add to this the grandeur of the scene out of which they sprang, and the gigantic dog that bounded by his side, and you will not be surprised to hear that the Indian warriors clustered together, and prepared to receive this bold horseman as if he, in his own proper person, were a complete squadron of cavalry. It is probable, also, that they fully expected the tribe of which Dick was the chief to be at his heels.

As he drew near the excitement among the strangers seemed very great, and, from the peculiarity of the various cries that reached him, he knew that there were women and children in the band–a fact which, in such a place and at such a season, was so unnatural that it surprised him very much. He noted also that, though the men in front were Indians, their dresses were those of trappers and hunters, and he almost leaped out of his saddle when he observed that “_Pale-faces_” were among them. But he had barely time to note these facts when he was up with the band. According to Indian custom, he did not check his speed till he was within four or five yards of the advance-guard, who stood in a line before him, quite still, and with their rifles lying loosely in their left palms; then he reined his steed almost on its haunches.

One of the Indians advanced and spoke a few words in a language which was quite unintelligible to Dick, who replied, in the little Pawnee he could muster, that he didn’t understand him.

“Why, you must be a trapper!” exclaimed a thick-set, middle-aged man, riding out from the group. “Can you speak English?”

“Ay, that can I,” cried Dick joyfully, riding up and shaking the stranger heartily by the hand; “an’ right glad am I to fall in wi’ a white-skin an’ a civil tongue in his head.”

“Good sooth, sir,” replied the stranger, with a quiet smile on his kind, weather-beaten face, “I can return you the compliment; for when I saw you come thundering down the corrie with that wonderful horse and no less wonderful dog of yours, I thought you were the wild man o’ the mountain himself, and had an ambush ready to back you. But, young man, do you mean to say that you live here in the mountain all alone after this fashion?”

“No, that I don’t. I’ve comed here in my travels, but truly this bean’t my home. But, sir (for I see you are what the fur-traders call a bourgeois), how comes it that such a band as this rides i’ the mountains? D’ye mean to say that _they_ live here?” Dick looked round in surprise, as he spoke, upon the crowd of mounted men and women, with children and pack-horses, that now surrounded him.

“‘Tis a fair question, lad. I am a principal among the fur-traders whose chief trading-post lies near the Pacific Ocean, on the west side of these mountains; and I have come with these trappers and their families, as you see, to hunt the beaver and other animals for a season in the mountains. We’ve never been here before; but that’s a matter of little moment, for it’s not the first time I’ve been on what may be called a discovery-trading expedition. We are somewhat entangled, however, just now among these wild passes, and if you can guide us out of our difficulties to the east side of the mountains, I’ll thank you heartily and pay you well. But first tell me who and what you are, if it’s a fair question.”

“My name is Dick Varley, and my home’s in the Mustang Valley, near the Missouri River. As to _what_ I am–I’m nothin’ yet, but I hope to desarve the name o’ a hunter some day. I can guide you to the east side o’ the mountains, for I’ve comed from there; but more than that I can’t do, for I’m a stranger to the country here, like yourself. But you’re on the east side o’ the mountains already, if I mistake not; only these mountains are so rugged and jumbled up, that it’s not easy tellin’ where ye are. And what,” continued Dick, “may be the name o’ the bourgeois who speaks to me?”

“My name is Cameron–Walter Cameron–a well-known name among the Scottish hills, although it sounds a little strange here. And now, young man, will you join my party as guide, and afterwards remain as trapper? It will pay you better, I think, than roving about alone.”

Dick shook his head and looked grave. “I’ll guide you,” said he, “as far as my knowledge ‘ll help me; but after that I must return to look for two comrades whom I have lost. They have been driven into the mountains by a band of Injuns. God grant they may not have bin scalped!”

The trader’s face looked troubled, and he spoke with one of his Indians for a few minutes in earnest, hurried tones.

“What were they like, young man?”

Dick described them.

“The same,” continued the trader. “They’ve been seen, lad, not more than two days ago, by this Indian here, when he was out hunting alone some miles away from our camp. He came suddenly on a band of Indians who had two prisoners with them, such as you describe. They were stout, said you?”

“Yes, both of them,” cried Dick, listening with intense eagerness.

“Ay. They were tied to their horses, an’ from what I know of these fellows I’m sure they’re doomed. But I’ll help you, my friend, as well as I can. They can’t be far from this. I treated my Indian’s story about them as a mere fabrication, for he’s the most notorious liar in my company; but he seems to have spoken truth for once.”

“Thanks, thanks, good sir,” cried Dick. “Had we not best turn back and follow them at once?”

“Nay, friend, not quite so fast,” replied Cameron, pointing to his people. “These must be provided for first, but I shall be ready before the sun goes down. And now, as I presume you don’t bivouac in the snow, will you kindly conduct us to your encampment, if it be not far hence?”

Although burning with impatience to fly to the rescue of his friends, Dick felt constrained to comply with so reasonable a request, so he led the way to his camping-place, where the band of fur-traders immediately began to pitch their tents, cut down wood, kindle fires, fill their kettles with water, cook their food, and, in fact, make themselves comfortable. The wild spot which, an hour before, had been so still, and grand, and gloomy, was now, as if by magic, transformed into a bustling village, with bright fires blazing among the rocks and bushes, and merry voices of men, women, and children ringing in the air. It seemed almost incredible, and no wonder Dick, in his bewilderment, had difficulty in believing it was not all a dream.

In days long gone by the fur-trade in that country was carried on in a very different way from the manner in which it is now conducted. These wild regions, indeed, are still as lonesome and untenanted (save by wild beasts and wandering tribes of Indians) as they were then; but the Indians of the present day have become accustomed to the “Pale-face” trader, whose little wooden forts or trading-posts are dotted here and there, at wide intervals, all over the land. But in the days of which we write it was not so. The fur-traders at that time went forth in armed bands into the heart of the Indians’ country, and he who went forth did so “with his life in his hand.” As in the case of the soldier who went out to battle, there was great probability that he might never return.

The band of which Walter Cameron was the chief had, many months before, started from one of the distant posts of Oregon on a hunting expedition into the then totally unknown lands of the Snake Indians. It consisted of about sixty men, thirty women, and as many children of various ages–about a hundred and twenty souls in all. Many of the boys were capable of using the gun and setting a beaver-trap. The men were a most motley set. There were Canadians, half-breeds, Iroquois, and Scotchmen. Most of the women had Indian blood in their veins, and a few were pure Indians.

The equipment of this strange band consisted of upwards of two hundred beaver-traps–which are similar to our rat-traps, with this difference, that they have two springs and no teeth–seventy guns, a few articles for trade with the Indians, and a large supply of powder and ball; the whole–men, women, children, goods, and chattels–being carried on the backs of nearly four hundred horses. Many of these horses, at starting, were not laden, being designed for the transport of furs that were to be taken in the course of the season.

For food this adventurous party depended entirely on their guns, and during the march hunters were kept constantly out ahead. As a matter of course, their living was precarious. Sometimes their kettles were overflowing; at others they scarce refrained from eating their horses. But during the months they had already spent in the wilderness good living had been the rule, starvation the exception. They had already collected a large quantity of beaver skins, which at that time were among the most valuable in the market, although they are now scarcely saleable! Having shot two wild horses, seven elks, six small deer, and four big-horned sheep the day before they met Dick Varley, the camp kettles were full, and the people consequently happy.

“Now, Master Dick Varley,” said Cameron, touching the young hunter on the shoulder as he stood ready equipped by one of the camp-fires, “I’m at your service. The people won’t need any more looking after to-night. I’ll divide my men–thirty shall go after this rascally band of Peigans, for such I believe they are, and thirty shall remain to guard the camp. Are you ready?”

“Ready! ay, this hour past.”

“Mount then, lad; the men have already been told off, and are mustering down yonder where the deer gave you such a licking.”

Dick needed no second bidding. He vaulted on Charlie’s back, and along with their commander joined the men, who were thirty as fine, hardy, reckless looking fellows as one could desire for a forlorn-hope. They were chatting and laughing while they examined their guns and saddle-girths. Their horses were sorry looking animals compared with the magnificent creature that Dick bestrode, but they were hardy, nevertheless, and well fitted for their peculiar work.

“My! wot a blazer!” exclaimed a trapper as Dick rode up.

“Where you git him?” inquired a half-breed.

“I caught him,” answered Dick.

“Baw!” cried the first speaker.

Dick took no notice of this last remark.

“No, did ye though?” he asked again.

“I did,” answered Dick quietly. “I creased him in the prairie; you can see the mark on his neck if you look.”

The men began to feel that the young hunter was perhaps a little beyond them at their own trade, and regarded him with increased respect.

“Look sharp now, lads,” said Cameron, impatiently, to several dilatory members of the band. “Night will be on us ere long.”

“Who sold ye the bear-claw collar?” inquired another man of Dick.

“I didn’t buy it. I killed the bear and made it.”

“Did ye, though, all be yer lone?”

“Ay; that wasn’t much, was it?”

“You’ve begun well, yonker,” said a tall, middle-aged hunter, whose general appearance was not unlike that of Joe Blunt. “Jest keep clear o’ the Injuns an’ the grog bottle, an’ ye’ve a glor’ous life before ye.”

At this point the conversation was interrupted by the order being given to move on, which was obeyed in silence, and the cavalcade, descending the valley, entered one of the gorges in the mountains.

For the first half-mile Cameron rode a little ahead of his men, then he turned to speak to one of them, and for the first time observed Crusoe trotting close beside his master’s horse.

“Ah! Master Dick,” he exclaimed with a troubled expression, “that won’t do. It would never do to take a dog on an expedition like this.”

“Why not?” asked Dick; “the pup’s quiet and peaceable.”

“I doubt it not; but he will betray our presence to the Indians, which might be inconvenient.”

“I have travelled more than a thousand miles through prairie and forest, among game an’ among Injuns, an’ the pup never betrayed me yet,” said Dick, with suppressed vehemence. “He has saved my life more than once though.”

“You seem to have perfect confidence in your dog, but as this is a serious matter you must not expect me to share in it without proof of his trustworthiness.”

“The pup may be useful to us; how would you have it proved?” inquired Dick.

“Any way you like.”

“You forgot your belt at starting, I think I heerd ye say.”

“Yes, I did,” replied the trader, smiling.

Dick immediately took hold of Cameron’s coat, and bade Crusoe smell it, which the dog did very carefully. Then he showed him his own belt and said, “Go back to the camp and fetch it, pup.”

Crusoe was off in a moment, and in less than twenty minutes returned with Cameron’s belt in his mouth.

“Well, I’ll trust him,” said Cameron, patting Crusoe’s head. “Forward, lads!” and away they went at a brisk trot along the bottom of a beautiful valley on each side of which the mountains towered in dark masses. Soon the moon rose and afforded light sufficient to enable them to travel all night in the track of the Indian hunter who said he had seen the Peigans, and who was constituted guide to the party. Hour after hour the horsemen pressed on without check, now galloping over a level plain, now bounding by the banks of a rivulet, or bending their heads to escape the boughs of overhanging trees, and anon toiling slowly up among the rocks of some narrow defile. At last the moon set, and the order was given to halt in a little plain where there were wood and water.

The horses were picketed, a fire kindled, a mouthful of dried meat hastily eaten, the watch was set, and then each man scraped away the snow, spread some branches on the ground, and wrapping himself in his blanket, went to sleep with his feet presented towards the fire.

Two hours were allowed for rest; then they were awakened, and in a few minutes were off again by the gray light of dawn. In this way they travelled two nights and a day. At the end of that time they came suddenly on a small party of nine Indians, who were seated on the ground with their snow-shoes and blankets by their sides. They had evidently been taken by surprise, but they made no attempt to escape, knowing that it was useless. Each sat still with his bow and arrows between his legs on the ground ready for instant use.

As soon as Cameron spoke, however, in their own language they felt relieved, and began to talk.

“Where do you come from, and what are you doing here?” asked the trader.

“We have come to trade with the white men,” one of them replied, “and to hunt. We have come from the Missouri. Our country is far away.”

“Do Peigans hunt with _war-arrows?_” asked Cameron, pointing to their weapons.

This question seemed to perplex them, for they saw that their interrogator knew the difference between a war and a hunting arrow–the former being barbed in order to render its extraction from the wound difficult, while the head of the latter is round, and can be drawn out of game that has been killed, and used again.

“And do Peigans,” continued Cameron, “come from a far country to trade with the white men _with nothing?_”

Again the Indians were silent, for they had not an article to trade about them.

Cameron now felt convinced that this party of Peigans, into whose hands Joe Blunt and Henri had fallen, were nothing else than a war party, and that the men now before him were a scouting party sent out from them, probably to spy out his own camp, on the trail of which they had fallen, so he said to them:–

“The Peigans are not wise men; they tell lies to the traders. I will tell you that you are a war party, and that you are only a few warriors sent out to spy the traders’ camp. You have also two _Pale-face_ prisoners in your camp. You cannot deceive me. It is useless to try. Now, conduct me to your camp. My object is not war; it is peace. I will speak with your chiefs about trading with the white men, and we will smoke the pipe of peace. Are my words good?”

Despite their proverbial control of muscle, these Indians could not conceal their astonishment at hearing so much of their affairs thus laid bare; so they said that the Pale-face chief was wise, that he must be a great medicine man, and that what he said was all true except about the white men. They had never seen any Pale-faces, and knew nothing whatever about those he spoke of.

This was a terrible piece of news to poor Dick, and at first his heart fairly sank within him, but by degrees he came to be more hopeful. He concluded that if these men told lies in regard to one thing, they would do it in regard to another, and perhaps they might have some strong reason for denying any knowledge of Joe and Henri.

The Indians now packed up the buffalo robes on which they had slept, and the mouthful of provisions they had taken with them.

“I don’t believe a word of what they say about your friends,” said Cameron to Dick in a low tone while the Indians were thus engaged. “Depend upon it they hope to hide them till they can send to the settlements and get a ransom, or till they get an opportunity of torturing them to death before their women and children when they get back to their own village. But we’ll balk them, my friend, do not fear.”

The Indians were soon ready to start, for they were cumbered with marvellously little camp equipage. In less than half-an-hour after their discovery they were running like deer ahead of the cavalcade in the direction of the Peigan camp.

CHAPTER XIX.

_Adventures with the Peigans_–_Crusoe does good service as a discoverer_–_The savages outwitted_–_The rescue_.

A run of twenty miles brought the travellers to a rugged defile in the mountains, from which they had a view of a beautiful valley of considerable extent. During the last two days a steady thaw had been rapidly melting away the snow, so that it appeared only here and there in the landscape in dazzling patches. At the distance of about half-a-mile from where they halted to breathe the horses before commencing the descent into this vale, several thin wreaths of smoke were seen rising above the trees.

“Is that your camp?” inquired Cameron, riding up to the Indian runners, who stood in a group in front, looking as fresh after their twenty miles’ run as though they had only had a short walk.

To this they answered in the affirmative, adding that there were about two hundred Peigans there.

It might have been thought that thirty men would have hesitated to venture to attack so large a number as two hundred; but it had always been found in the experience of Indian life that a few resolute white men well armed were more than a match for ten times their number of Indians. And this arose not so much from the superior strength or agility of the Whites over their red foes, as from that bull-dog courage and utter recklessness of their lives in combat–qualities which the crafty savage can neither imitate nor understand. The information was received with perfect indifference by most of the trappers, and with contemptuous laughter by some; for a large number of Cameron’s men were wild, evil-disposed fellows, who would have as gladly taken the life of an Indian as that of a buffalo.

Just as the word was given to resume the march, Dick Varley rode up to Cameron and said in a somewhat anxious tone,–

“D’ye obsarve, sir, that one o’ the Redskins has gone off ahead o’ his comrades?”

“I see that, Master Dick; and it was a mistake of mine not to have stopped him, but he was gone too far before I observed it, and I thought it better to appear unconcerned. We must push on, though, and give him as short time as possible to talk with his comrades in the camp.”

The trappers pressed forward accordingly at a gallop, and were soon in front of the clump of trees amongst which the Peigans were encamped. Their approach had evidently spread great alarm among them, for there was a good deal of bustle and running to and fro; but by the time the trappers had dismounted and advanced in a body on foot, the savages had resumed their usual quiet dignity of appearance, and were seated calmly round their fires with their bows and arrows beside them. There were no tents, no women or children, and the general aspect of the men showed Cameron conclusively that his surmise about their being a war party was correct.

A council was immediately called. The trappers ranged themselves on one side of the council fire and the Indians on the other. Meanwhile, our friend Crusoe had been displaying considerable irritability against the Indians, and he would certainly have attacked the whole two hundred single-handed if he had not been ordered by his master to lie still; but never in his life before had Crusoe obeyed with such a bad grace. He bristled and whined in a low tremulous tone, and looked imploringly at Dick as if for permission to fly at them.

“The Pale-face traders are glad to meet with the Peigans,” began Cameron, who determined to make no allusion to his knowledge that they were a war party, “for they wish to be friends with all the children of the woods and prairies. They wish to trade with them–to exchange blankets, and guns, and beads, and other goods which the Peigans require, for furs of animals which the Pale-faces require.”

“Ho! ho!” exclaimed the Indians, which expression might be translated, “Hear! hear!”

“But,” continued Cameron, “we wish to have no war. We wish to see the hatchet buried, and to see all the red men and the white men smoking the pipe of peace, and hunting like brothers.”

The “Ho–ho–ing” at this was very emphatic.

“Now,” resumed the trader, “the Peigans have got two prisoners–two Pale-faces–in their camp, and as we cannot be on good terms while our brothers are detained, we have come to ask for them, and to _present some gifts_ to the Peigans.”

To this there was no “Ho” at all, but a prolonged silence, which was at length interrupted by a tall chief stepping forward to address the trappers.

“What the Pale-face chief has said is good,” began the Indian. “His words are wise, and his heart is not double. The Red-men are willing to smoke the pipe of peace, and to hunt with all men as brothers, but they cannot do it while many of their scalps are hanging in the lodges of their enemies and fringing the robes of the warriors. The Peigans must have vengeance; then they will make peace.”

After a short pause he continued,–

“The chief is wrong when he says there are Pale-faces in the Peigan camp. The Peigans are not at war with the Pale-faces; neither have they seen any on their march. The camp is open. Let the Pale-faces look round and see that what we say is true.”

The chief waved his hand towards his warriors as he concluded, as if to say, “Search amongst them. There are no Pale-faces there.”

Cameron now spoke to Dick in a low tone. “They speak confidently,” he said, “and I fear greatly that your poor comrades have either been killed or conveyed away from the camp and hidden among the mountains, in which case, even though they should not be far off, it would be next to impossible to find them, especially when such a band of rascals is near, compelling us to keep together. But I’ll try what a little tempting them with goods will do. At any rate, we shan’t give in without a scuffle.”

It now, for the first time, flashed across Dick Varley that there was something more than he imagined in Crusoe’s restless anxiety, which had not in the least abated, and the idea of making use of him now occurred to his mind.

“I’ve a notion that I’ll settle this matter in a shorter time than you think,” he said hurriedly, “if you’ll agree to try what _threatening_ will do.”

The trader looked grave and undecided. “I never resort to that except as a last hope,” he answered; “but I’ve a good deal of confidence in your prudence. What would you advise?”

Dick and the trader whispered a few minutes together, while some of the men, in order to show the Indians how perfectly unconcerned they were, and how ready for _anything_, took out their pipes and began to smoke. Both parties were seated on the ground, and during this interval the Indians also held eager discussion.

At length Cameron stood up, and said to his men in a quiet tone, “Be ready, lads, for instant action. When I give the word ‘Up,’ spring to your feet and cock your guns; but _don’t fire a shot till you get the word_.” He then stepped forward and said,–

“The Peigan warriors are double-tongued; they know that they have hid the Pale-face prisoners. We do not wish to quarrel, but if they are not delivered up at once the Pale-faces and the Peigans will not be friends.”

Upon this the Indian chief again stood forward and said, “The Peigans are _not_ double-tongued. They have not seen Pale-faces till to-day. They can say no more.”

Without moving hand or foot, Cameron then said in a firm tone, “The first Peigan that moves shall die! Up, lads, and ready!”

In the twinkling of an eye the trappers sprang to their feet, and cocking their rifles stood perfectly motionless, scowling at the savages, who were completely taken by surprise at the unusual suddenness and informality of such a declaration of war. Not a man moved, for, unlike white men, they seldom risk their lives in open fight; and as they looked at the formidable row of muzzles that waited but a word to send instant death into their midst, they felt that discretion was at that time the better part of valour.

“Now,” said Cameron, while Dick Varley and Crusoe stepped up beside him, “my young warrior will search for the Pale-face prisoners. If they are found, we will take them and go away. If they are not found, we will ask the Peigans to forgive us, and will give them gifts. But in the meantime, if a Peigan moves from the spot where he sits, or lifts a bow, my young men shall fire, and the Peigans know that the rifle of the Pale-face always kills.”

Without waiting for an answer, Dick immediately said, “Seek ’em out, pup,” and Crusoe bounded away.

For a few minutes he sprang hither and thither through the camp, quite regardless of the Indians, and snuffed the air several times, whining in an excited tone, as if to relieve his feelings. Then he put his nose to the ground and ran straight forward into the woods.

Dick immediately bounded after him like a deer, while the trappers kept silent guard over the savages.

For some time Crusoe ran straight forward. Then he came to a spot where there was a good deal of drifted snow on the ground. Here he seemed to lose the trail for a little, and ran about in all directions, whining in a most piteous tone.

“Seek ’em out, pup,” repeated Dick encouragingly, while his own breast heaved with excitement and expectation.

In a few seconds the dog resumed its onward course, and led the way into a wild, dark spot, which was so overshadowed by trees and precipitous cliffs that the light of the sun scarce found entrance. There were many huge masses of rock scattered over the ground, which had fallen from the cliffs. Behind one of these lay a mound of dried leaves, towards which Crusoe darted and commenced scraping violently.

Trembling with dread that he should find this to be the grave of his murdered companions, Dick rushed forward and hastily cleared away the leaves. The first handful thrown off revealed part of the figure of a man. Dick’s heart beat audibly as he cleared the leaves from the face, and he uttered a suppressed cry on beholding the well-known features of Joe Blunt. But they were not those of a dead man. Joe’s eyes met his with a scowl of anger, which instantly gave place to one of intense surprise.

“Joe Blunt!” exclaimed Dick in a voice of intense amazement, while Crusoe snuffed round the heap of leaves and whined with excitement. But Joe did not move, neither did he speak a word in reply–for the very good reason that his mouth was tightly bound with a band of leather, his hands and feet were tied, and his whole body was secured in a rigid, immovable position by being bound to a pole of about his own length.

In a moment Dick’s knife was out, bands and cords were severed, and Joe Blunt was free.

“Thank God!” exclaimed Joe with a deep, earnest sigh, the instant his lips were loosened, “and thanks to _you_, lad!” he added, endeavouring to rise; but his limbs had become so benumbed in consequence of the cords by which they had been compressed that for some time he could not move.

“I’ll rub ye, Joe; I’ll soon rub ye into a right state,” said Dick, going down on his knees.

“No, no, lad, look sharp and dig up Henri. He’s just beside me here.”

Dick immediately rose, and pushing aside the heap of leaves, found Henri securely bound in the same fashion. But he could scarce refrain from laughing at the expression of that worthy’s face. Hearing the voices of Joe and Dick Varley in conversation, though unable to see their persons, he was filled with such unbounded amazement that his eyes, when uncovered, were found to be at their largest possible stretch, and as for the eyebrows they were gone, utterly lost among the roots of his voluminous hair.

“Henri, friend, I knew I should find ye,” said Dick, cutting the thongs that bound him. “Get up if ye can; we haven’t much time to lose, an’ mayhap we’ll have to fight afore we’re done wi’ the Redskins. Can ye rise?”

Henri could do nothing but lie on his back and gasp, “Eh! possible! mon frere! Oh, non, non, _not_ possible. Oui! my broder Deek!”

Here he attempted to rise, but being unable fell back again, and the whole thing came so suddenly, and made so deep an impression on his impulsive mind, that he incontinently burst into tears; then he burst into a long laugh. Suddenly he paused, and scrambling up to a sitting posture, looked earnestly into Dick’s face through his tearful eyes.

“Oh, non, non!” he exclaimed, stretching himself out at full length again, and closing his eyes; “it are too goot to be true. I am dream. I vill wait till I am wake.”

Dick roused him out of this, resolute sleep, however, somewhat roughly. Meanwhile Joe had rubbed and kicked himself into a state of animation, exclaiming that he felt as if he wos walkin’ on a thousand needles and pins, and in a few minutes they were ready to accompany their overjoyed deliverer back to the Peigan camp. Crusoe testified his delight in various elephantine gambols round the persons of his old friends, who were not slow to acknowledge his services.

“They haven’t treated us overly well,” remarked Joe Blunt, as they strode through the underwood.

“Non, de rascale, vraiment, de am villains. Oui! How de have talk, too, ’bout–oh-o-oo-ooo-wah!–roastin’ us alive, an’ puttin’ our scalp in de vigvam for de poo-poose to play wid!”

“Well, niver mind, Henri, we’ll be quits wi’ them now,” said Joe, as they came in sight of the two bands, who remained in precisely the same position in which they had been left, except that one or two of the more reckless of the trappers had lit their pipes and taken to smoking, without, however, laying down their rifles or taking their eyes off the savages.

A loud cheer greeted the arrival of the prisoners, and looks of considerable discomfort began to be evinced by the Indians.

“Glad to see you, friends,” said Cameron, as they came up.

“Ve is ‘appy ov de same,” replied Henri, swaggering up in the joviality of his heart, and seizing the trader’s hand in his own enormous fist. “Shall ve go to vork an’ slay dem all at vonce, or von at a time?”

“We’ll consider that afterwards, my lad. Meantime go you to the rear and get a weapon of some sort.”

“Oui. Ah! c’est charmant,” he cried, going with an immense flounder into the midst of the amused trappers, and slapping those next to him on the back. “Give me veapon, do, mes amis–gun, pistol, anyting–cannon, if you have von.”

Meanwhile Cameron and Joe spoke together for a few moments.

“You had goods with you, and horses, I believe, when you were captured,” said the former.

“Ay, that we had. Yonder stand the horses, under the pine-tree, along wi’ the rest o’ the Redskin troop; an’ a hard time they’ve had o’t, as their bones may tell without speakin’. As for the goods,” he continued, glancing round the camp, “I don’t know where–ah! yes, there they be in the old pack. I see all safe.”

Cameron now addressed the Indians.

“The Peigans,” he said, “have not done well. Their hearts have not been true to the Pale-faces. Even now I could take your scalps where you sit, but white men do not like war, they do not like revenge. The Peigans may go free.”

Considering the fewness of their numbers, this was bold language to use towards the Indians; but the boldest is generally the best policy on such occasions. Moreover, Cameron felt that, being armed with rifles, while the Indians had only bows and arrows, the trappers had a great advantage over them.

The Indian who had spoken before now rose and said he was sorry there should be any cause of difference between them, and added he was sorry for a great many more things besides, but he did not say he was sorry for having told a lie.

“But, before you go, you must deliver up the horses and goods belonging to these men,” said Cameron, pointing to Joe and Henri.

This was agreed to. The horses were led out, the two little packs containing Joe’s goods were strapped upon them, and then the trappers turned to depart. The Indians did not move until they had mounted; then they rose and advanced in a body to the edge of the wood, to see the Pale-faces go away. Meanwhile Joe spoke a few words to Cameron, and the men were ordered to halt, while the former dismounted and led his horse towards the band of savages.

“Peigans,” he said, “you know the object for which I came into this country was to make peace between you and the Pale-faces. I have often told you so when you would not listen, and when you told me that I had a double heart and told lies. You were wrong when you said this; but I do not wonder, for you live among nations who do not fear God, and who think it right to lie. I now repeat to you what I said before. It would be good for the Red-men if they would make peace with the Pale-faces, and if they would make peace with each other. I will now convince you that I am in earnest, and have all along been speaking the truth.”

Hereupon Joe Blunt opened his bundle of goods, and presented fully one-half of the gaudy and brilliant contents to the astonished Indians, who seemed quite taken aback by such generous treatment. The result of this was that the two parties separated with mutual expressions of esteem and good-will. The Indians then returned to the forest, and the white men galloped back to their camp among the hills.

CHAPTER XX.

_New plans_–_Our travellers join the fur-traders, and see many strange things_–_A curious fight_–_A narrow escape, and a prisoner taken_.

Not long after the events related in the last chapter, our four friends–Dick, and Joe, and Henri, and Crusoe–agreed to become for a time members of Walter Cameron’s band of trappers. Joe joined because one of the objects which the traders had in view was similar to his own mission–namely, the promoting of peace among the various Indian tribes of the mountains and plains to the west. Joe, therefore, thought it a good opportunity of travelling with a band of men who could secure him a favourable hearing from the Indian tribes they might chance to meet with in the course of their wanderings. Besides, as the traders carried about a large supply of goods with them, he could easily replenish his own nearly exhausted pack by hunting wild animals and exchanging their skins for such articles as he might require.

Dick joined because it afforded him an opportunity of seeing the wild, majestic scenery of the Rocky Mountains, and shooting the big-horned sheep which abounded there, and the grizzly “bars,” as Joe named them, or “Caleb,” as they were more frequently styled by Henri and the other men.

Henri joined because it was agreeable to the inclination of his own rollicking, blundering, floundering, crashing disposition, and because he would have joined anything that had been joined by the other two.

Crusoe’s reason for joining was single, simple, easy to be expressed, easy to be understood, and commendable. _He_ joined–because Dick did.

The very day after the party left the encampment where Dick had shot the grizzly bear and the deer, he had the satisfaction of bringing down a splendid specimen of the big-horned sheep. It came suddenly out from a gorge of the mountain, and stood upon the giddy edge of a tremendous precipice, at a distance of about two hundred and fifty yards.

“_You_ could not hit that,” said a trapper to Henri, who was rather fond of jeering him about his shortsightedness.

“Non!” cried Henri, who didn’t see the animal in the least; “say you dat? ve shall see;” and he let fly with a promptitude that amazed his comrades, and with a result that drew from them peals of laughter.

“Why, you have missed the mountain!”

“Oh, non! dat am eempossoble.”

It was true, nevertheless, for his ball had been arrested in its flight by the stem of a tree not twenty yards before him.

While the shot was yet ringing, and before the laugh above referred to had pealed forth, Dick Varley fired, and the animal, springing wildly into the air, fell down the precipice, and was almost dashed to pieces at their feet. This Rocky Mountain or big-horned sheep was a particularly large and fine one, but being a patriarch of the flock was not well suited for food. It was considerably larger in size than the domestic sheep, and might be described as somewhat resembling a deer in the body and a ram in the head. Its horns were the chief point of interest to Dick; and, truly, they were astounding! Their enormous size was out of all proportion to the animal’s body, and they curved backwards and downwards, and then curled up again in a sharp point. These creatures frequent the inaccessible heights of the Rocky Mountains, and are difficult to approach. They have a great fondness for salt, and pay regular visits to the numerous caverns of these mountains, which are encrusted with a saline substance.

Walter Cameron now changed his intention of proceeding to the eastward, as he found the country not so full of beaver at that particular spot as he had anticipated. He therefore turned towards the west, penetrated into the interior of the mountains, and took a considerable sweep through the lovely valleys on their western slopes.

The expedition which this enterprising fur-trader was conducting was one of the first that ever penetrated these wild regions in search of furs. The ground over which they travelled was quite new to them, and having no guide they just moved about at haphazard, encamping on the margin of every stream or river on which signs of the presence of beaver were discovered, and setting their traps.

Beaver skins at this time were worth 25s. a-piece in the markets of civilized lands, and in the Snake country, through which our friends were travelling, thousands of them were to be had from the Indians for trinkets and baubles that were scarce worth a farthing. A beaver skin could be procured from the Indians for a brass finger-ring or a penny looking-glass. Horses were also so numerous that one could be procured for an axe or a knife.

Let not the reader, however, hastily conclude that the traders cheated the Indians in this traffic, though the profits were so enormous. The ring or the axe was indeed a trifle to the trader, but the beaver skin and the horse were equally trifles to the savage, who could procure as many of them as he chose with very little trouble, while the ring and the axe were in his estimation of priceless value. Besides, be it remembered, to carry that ring and that axe to the far-distant haunts of the Red-man cost the trader weeks and months of constant toil, trouble, anxiety, and, alas! too frequently cost him his life! The state of trade is considerably modified in these regions at the present day. It is not more _justly_ conducted, for, in respect of the value of goods given for furs, it was justly conducted _then_, but time and circumstances have tended more to equalize the relative values of articles of trade.

The snow which had prematurely fallen had passed away, and the trappers now found themselves wandering about in a country so beautiful and a season so delightful, that it would have seemed to them a perfect paradise, but for the savage tribes who hovered about them, and kept them ever on the _qui vive_.

They soon passed from the immediate embrace of stupendous heights and dark gorges to a land of sloping ridges, which divided the country into a hundred luxuriant vales, composed part of woodland and part of prairie. Through these, numerous rivers and streams flowed deviously, beautifying the landscape and enriching the land. There were also many lakes of all sizes, and these swarmed with fish, while in some of them were found the much-sought-after and highly-esteemed beaver. Salt springs and hot springs of various temperatures abounded here, and many of the latter were so hot that meat could be boiled in them. Salt existed in all directions in abundance and of good quality. A sulphurous spring was also discovered, bubbling out from the base of a perpendicular rock three hundred feet high, the waters of which were dark-blue and tasted like gunpowder. In short, the land presented every variety of feature calculated to charm the imagination and delight the eye.

It was a mysterious land, too; for broad rivers burst in many places from the earth, flowed on for a short space, and then disappeared as if by magic into the earth from which they rose. Natural bridges spanned the torrents in many places, and some of these were so correctly formed that it was difficult to believe they had not been built by the hand of man. They often appeared opportunely to our trappers, and saved them the trouble and danger of fording rivers. Frequently the whole band would stop in silent wonder and awe as they listened to the rushing of waters under their feet, as if another world of streams, and rapids, and cataracts were flowing below the crust of earth on which they stood. Some considerable streams were likewise observed to gush from the faces of precipices, some twenty or thirty feet from their summits, while on the top no water was to be seen.

Wild berries of all kinds were found in abundance, and wild vegetables, besides many nutritious roots. Among other fish, splendid salmon were found in the lakes and rivers, and animal life swarmed on hill and in dale. Woods and valleys, plains and ravines, teemed with it. On every plain the red-deer grazed in herds by the banks of lake and stream. Wherever there were clusters of poplar and elder trees and saplings, the beaver was seen nibbling industriously with his sharp teeth, and committing as much havoc in the forest as if he had been armed with the woodman’s axe; others sported in the eddies. Racoons sat in the tree-tops; the marten, the black fox, and the wolf prowled in the woods in quest of prey; mountain sheep and goats browsed on the rocky ridges; and badgers peeped from their holes.

Here, too, the wild horse sprang snorting and dishevelled from his mountain retreats–with flourishing mane and tail, spanking step, and questioning gaze–and thundered away over the plains and valleys, while the rocks echoed back his shrill neigh. The huge, heavy, ungainly elk, or moose-deer, _trotted_ away from the travellers with speed equal to that of the mustang: elks seldom gallop; their best speed is attained at the trot. Bears, too, black, and brown, and grizzly, roamed about everywhere.

So numerous were all these creatures that on one occasion the hunters of the party brought in six wild horses, three bears, four elks, and thirty red-deer; having shot them all a short distance ahead of the main body, and almost without diverging from the line of march. And this was a matter of everyday occurrence–as it had need to be, considering the number of mouths that had to be filled.

The feathered tribes were not less numerous. Chief among these were eagles and vultures of uncommon size, the wild goose, wild duck, and the majestic swan.

In the midst of such profusion the trappers spent a happy time of it, when not molested by the savages, but they frequently lost a horse or two in consequence of the expertness of these thievish fellows. They often wandered, however, for days at a time without seeing an Indian, and at such times they enjoyed to the full the luxuries with which a bountiful God had blessed these romantic regions.

Dick Varley was almost wild with delight. It was his first excursion into the remote wilderness; he was young, healthy, strong, and romantic; and it is a question whether his or his dog’s heart, or that of the noble wild horse he bestrode, bounded most with joy at the glorious sights and sounds and influences by which they were surrounded. It would have been perfection, had it not been for the frequent annoyance and alarms caused by the Indians.

Alas! alas! that we who write and read about those wondrous scenes should have to condemn our own species as the most degraded of all the works of the Creator there! Yet so it is. Man, exercising his reason and conscience in the path of love and duty which his Creator points out, is God’s noblest work; but man, left to the freedom of his own fallen will, sinks morally lower than the beasts that perish. Well may every Christian wish and pray that the name and the gospel of the blessed Jesus may be sent speedily to the dark places of the earth; for you may read of, and talk about, but you _cannot conceive_ the fiendish wickedness and cruelty which causes tearless eyes to glare, and maddened hearts to burst, in the lands of the heathen.

While we are on this subject, let us add (and our young readers will come to know it if they are spared to see many years) that _civilization_ alone will never improve the heart. Let history speak, and it will tell you that deeds of darkest hue have been perpetrated in so-called civilized though pagan lands. Civilization is like the polish that beautifies inferior furniture, which water will wash off if it be but _hot enough_. Christianity resembles dye, which permeates every fibre of the fabric, and which nothing can eradicate.

The success of the trappers in procuring beaver here was great. In all sorts of creeks and rivers they were found. One day they came to one of the curious rivers before mentioned, which burst suddenly out of a plain, flowed on for several miles, and then disappeared into the earth as suddenly as it had risen. Even in this strange place beaver were seen, so the traps were set, and a hundred and fifty were caught at the first lift.

The manner in which the party proceeded was as follows:–They marched in a mass in groups or in a long line, according to the nature of the ground over which they travelled. The hunters of the party went forward a mile or two in advance, and scattered through the woods. After them came the advance-guard, being the bravest and most stalwart of the men mounted on their best steeds, and with rifle in hand; immediately behind followed the women and children, also mounted, and the pack-horses with the goods and camp equipage. Another band of trappers formed the rear-guard to this imposing cavalcade. There was no strict regimental order kept, but the people soon came to adopt the arrangements that were most convenient for all parties, and at length fell naturally into their places in the line of march.

Joe Blunt usually was the foremost and always the most successful of the hunters. He was therefore seldom seen on the march except at the hour of starting, and at night when he came back leading his horse, which always groaned under its heavy load of meat. Henri, being a hearty, jovial soul and fond of society, usually kept with the main body. As for Dick, he was everywhere at once, at least as much so as it is possible for human nature to be! His horse never wearied; it seemed to delight in going at full speed; no other horse in the troop could come near Charlie, and Dick indulged him by appearing now at the front, now at the rear, anon in the centre, and frequently _nowhere_!–having gone off with Crusoe like a flash of lightning after a buffalo or a deer. Dick soon proved himself to be the best hunter of the party, and it was not long before he fulfilled his promise to Crusoe and decorated his neck with a collar of grizzly bear claws. Well, when the trappers came to a river where there were signs of beaver they called a halt, and proceeded to select a safe and convenient spot, near wood and water, for the camp. Here the property of the band was securely piled in such a manner as to form a breastwork or slight fortification, and here Walter Cameron established headquarters. This was always the post of danger, being exposed to sudden attack by prowling savages, who often dogged the footsteps of the party in their journeyings to see what they could steal. But Cameron was an old hand, and they found it difficult to escape his vigilant eye.

From this point all the trappers were sent forth in small parties every morning in various directions, some on foot and some on horseback, according to the distances they had to go; but they never went farther than twenty miles, as they had to return to camp every evening.

Each trapper had ten steel traps allowed him. These he set every night, and visited every morning, sometimes oftener when practicable, selecting a spot in the stream where many trees had been cut down by beavers for the purpose of damming up the water. In some places as many as fifty tree stumps were seen in one spot, within the compass of half an acre, all cut through at about eighteen inches from the root. We may remark, in passing, that the beaver is very much like a gigantic water-rat, with this marked difference, that its tail is very broad and flat like a paddle. The said tail is a greatly-esteemed article of food, as, indeed, is the whole body at certain seasons of the year. The beaver’s fore legs are very small and short, and it uses its paws as hands to convey food to its mouth, sitting the while in an erect position on its hind legs and tail. Its fur is a dense coat of a grayish-coloured down, concealed by long coarse hair, which lies smooth, and is of a bright chestnut colour. Its teeth and jaws are of enormous power; with them it can cut through the branch of a tree as thick as a walking-stick at one snap, and, as we have said, it gnaws through thick trees themselves.

As soon as a tree falls, the beavers set to work industriously to lop off the branches, which, as well as the smaller trunks, they cut into lengths, according to their weight and thickness. These are then dragged by main force to the water-side, launched, and floated to their destination. Beavers build their houses, or “lodges,” under the banks of rivers and lakes, and always select those of such depth of water that there is no danger of their being frozen to the bottom. When such cannot be found, and they are compelled to build in small rivulets of insufficient depth, these clever little creatures dam up the waters until they are deep enough. The banks thrown up by them across rivulets for this purpose are of great strength, and would do credit to human engineers. Their lodges are built of sticks, mud, and stones, which form a compact mass; this freezes solid in winter, and defies the assaults of that housebreaker, the wolverine, an animal which is the beaver’s implacable foe. From this lodge, which is capable often of holding four old and six or eight young ones, a communication is maintained with the water below the ice, so that, should the wolverine succeed in breaking up the lodge, he finds the family “not at home,” they having made good their retreat by the back-door. When man acts the part of housebreaker, however, he cunningly shuts the back-door _first_, by driving stakes through the ice, and thus stopping the passage. Then he enters, and, we almost regret to say, finds the family at home. We regret it, because the beaver is a gentle, peaceable, affectionate, hairy little creature, towards which one feels an irresistible tenderness. But to return from this long digression.

Our trappers, having selected their several localities, set their traps in the water, so that when the beavers roamed about at night they put their feet into them, and were caught and drowned; for although they can swim and dive admirably, they cannot live altogether under water.

Thus the different parties proceeded; and in the mornings the camp was a busy scene indeed, for then the whole were engaged in skinning the animals. The skins were always stretched, dried, folded up with the hair in the inside, and laid by; and the flesh was used for food.

But oftentimes the trappers had to go forth with the gun in one hand and their traps in the other, while they kept a sharp look-out on the bushes to guard against surprise. Despite their utmost efforts, a horse was occasionally stolen before their very eyes, and sometimes even an unfortunate trapper was murdered, and all his traps carried off.

An event of this kind occurred soon after the party had gained the western slopes of the mountains. Three Iroquois Indians, who belonged to the band of trappers, were sent to a stream about ten miles off. Having reached their destination, they all entered the water to set their traps, foolishly neglecting the usual precaution of one remaining on the bank to protect the others. They had scarcely commenced operations when three arrows were discharged into their backs, and a party of Snake Indians rushed upon and slew them, carrying away their traps and horses and scalps. This was not known for several days, when, becoming anxious about their prolonged absence, Cameron sent out a party, which found their mangled bodies affording a loathsome banquet to the wolves and vultures.

After this sad event, the trappers were more careful to go in larger parties, and keep watch.

As long as beaver were taken in abundance, the camp remained stationary; but whenever the beaver began to grow scarce, the camp was raised, and the party moved on to another valley.

One day Dick Varley came galloping into camp with the news that there were several bears in a valley not far distant, which he was anxious not to disturb until a number of the trappers were collected together to go out and surround them.

On receiving the information, Walter Cameron shook his head.

“We have other things to do, young man,” said he, “than go a-hunting after bears. I’m just about making up my mind to send off a party to search out the valley on the other side of the Blue Mountains yonder, and bring back word if there are beaver there; for if not, I mean to strike away direct south. Now, if you’ve a mind to go with them, you’re welcome. I’ll warrant you’ll find enough in the way of bear-hunting to satisfy you; perhaps a little Indian hunting to boot, for if the Banattees get hold of your horses, you’ll have a long hunt before you find them again. Will you go?”

“Ay, right gladly,” replied Dick. “When do we start?”

“This afternoon.”

Dick went off at once to his own part of the camp to replenish his powder-horn and bullet-pouch, and wipe out his rifle.

That evening the party, under command of a Canadian named Pierre, set out for the Blue Hills. They numbered twenty men, and expected to be absent three days, for they merely went to reconnoitre, not to trap. Neither Joe nor Henri was of this party, both having been out hunting when it was organized; but Crusoe and Charlie were, of course.

Pierre, although a brave and trusty man, was of a sour, angry disposition, and not a favourite with Dick; but the latter resolved to enjoy himself, and disregard his sulky comrade. Being so well mounted, he not unfrequently shot far ahead of his companions, despite their warnings that he ran great risk by so doing. On one of these occasions he and Crusoe witnessed a very singular fight, which is worthy of record.

Dick had felt a little wilder in spirit that morning than usual, and on coming to a pretty open plain he gave the rein to Charlie, and with an “_Adieu, mes camarade_,” he was out of sight in a few minutes. He rode on several miles in advance without checking speed, and then came to a wood where rapid motion was inconvenient; so he pulled up, and, dismounting, tied Charlie to a tree, while he sauntered on a short way on foot.

On coming to the edge of a small plain he observed two large birds engaged in mortal conflict. Crusoe observed them too, and would soon have put an end to the fight had Dick not checked him. Creeping as close to the belligerents as possible, he found that one was a wild turkey-cock, the other a white-headed eagle. These two stood with their heads down and all their feathers bristling for a moment; then they dashed at each other, and struck fiercely with their spurs, as our domestic cocks do, but neither fell, and the fight was continued for about five minutes without apparent advantage on either side.

Dick now observed that, from the uncertainty of its motions, the turkey-cock was blind, a discovery which caused a throb of compunction to enter his breast for standing and looking on, so he ran forward. The eagle saw him instantly, and tried to fly away, but was unable from exhaustion.

“At him, Crusoe,” cried Dick, whose sympathies all lay with the other bird.

Crusoe went forward at a bound, and was met by a peck between the eyes that would have turned most dogs; but Crusoe only winked, and the next moment the eagle’s career was ended.

Dick found that the turkey-cock was quite blind, the eagle having thrust out both its eyes, so, in mercy, he put an end to its sufferings.

The fight had evidently been a long and severe one, for the grass all round the spot, for about twenty yards, was beaten to the ground, and covered with the blood and feathers of the fierce combatants.

Meditating on the fight which he had just witnessed, Dick returned towards the spot where he had left Charlie, when he suddenly missed Crusoe from his side.

“Hallo, Crusoe! here, pup! where are you?” he cried.

The only answer to this was a sharp whizzing sound, and an arrow, passing close to his ear, quivered in a tree beyond. Almost at the same moment Crusoe’s angry roar was followed by a shriek from some one in fear or agony. Cocking his rifle, the young hunter sprang through the bushes towards his horse, and was just in time to save a Banattee Indian from being strangled by the dog. It had evidently scented out this fellow, and pinned him just as he was in the act of springing on the back of Charlie, for the halter was cut, and the savage lay on the ground close beside him.

Dick called off the dog, and motioned to the Indian to rise, which he did so nimbly that it was quite evident he had sustained no injury beyond the laceration of his neck by Crusoe’s teeth, and the surprise.

He was a tall strong Indian for the tribe to which he belonged, so Dick proceeded to secure him at once. Pointing to his rifle and to the Indian’s breast, to show what he might expect if he attempted to escape, Dick ordered Crusoe to keep him steady in that position.

The dog planted himself in front of the savage, who began to tremble for his scalp, and gazed up in his face with a look which, to say the least of it, was the reverse of amiable, while Dick went towards his horse for the purpose of procuring a piece of cord to tie him with. The Indian naturally turned his head to see what was going to be done, but a peculiar _gurgle_ in Crusoe’s throat made him turn it round again very smartly, and he did not venture thereafter to move a muscle.

In a few seconds Dick returned with a piece of leather and tied his hands behind his back. While this was being done the Indian glanced several times at his bow, which lay a few feet away, where it had fallen when the dog caught him; but Crusoe seemed to understand him, for he favoured him with such an additional display of teeth, and such a low–apparently distant, almost, we might say, subterranean –_rumble_, that he resigned himself to his fate.

His hands secured, a long line was attached to his neck with a running noose, so that if he ventured to run away the attempt would effect its own cure by producing strangulation. The other end of this line was given to Crusoe, who at the word of command marched him off, while Dick mounted Charlie and brought up the rear.

Great was the laughter and merriment when this apparition met the eyes of the trappers; but when they heard that he had attempted to shoot Dick their ire was raised, and a court-martial was held on the spot.

“Hang the reptile!” cried one.

“Burn him!” shouted another.

“No, no,” said a third; “don’t imitate them villains: don’t be cruel. Let’s shoot him.” “Shoot ‘im,” cried Pierre. “Oui, dat is de ting; it too goot pour lui, mais it shall be dooed.”

“Don’t ye think, lads, it would be better to let the poor wretch off?” said Dick Varley; “he’d p’r’aps give a good account o’ us to his people.”

There was a universal shout of contempt at this mild proposal. Unfortunately, few of the men sent on this exploring expedition were imbued with the peace-making spirit of their chief, and most of them seemed glad to have a chance of venting their hatred of the poor Indians on this unhappy wretch, who, although calm, looked sharply from one speaker to another, to gather hope, if possible, from the tones of their voices.

Dick was resolved, at the risk of a quarrel with Pierre, to save the poor man’s life, and had made up his mind to insist on having him conducted to the camp to be tried by Cameron, when one of the men suggested that they should take the savage to the top of a hill about three miles farther on, and there hang him up on a tree as a warning to all his tribe.

“Agreed, agreed!” cried the men; “come on.”

Dick, too, seemed to agree to this proposal, and hastily ordered Crusoe to run on ahead with the savage; an order which the dog obeyed so vigorously that, before the men had done laughing at him, he was a couple of hundred yards ahead of them.

“Take care that he don’t get off!” cried Dick, springing on Charlie and stretching out at a gallop.

In a moment he was beside the Indian. Scraping together the little of the Indian language he knew, he stooped down, and, cutting the thongs that bound him, said,–

“Go! white men love the Indians.”

The man cast on his deliverer one glance of surprise, and the next moment bounded aside into the bushes and was gone.

A loud shout from the party behind showed that this act had been observed; and Crusoe stood with the end of the line in his mouth, and an expression on his face that said, “You’re absolutely incomprehensible, Dick! It’s all right, I _know_, but to my feeble capacity it _seems_ wrong.”

“Fat for you do dat?” shouted Pierre in a rage, as he came up with a menacing look.

Dick confronted him. “The prisoner was mine. I had a right to do with him as it liked me.”

“True, true,” cried several of the men who had begun to repent of their resolution, and were glad the savage was off. “The lad’s right. Get along, Pierre.”

“You had no right, you vas wrong. Oui, et I have goot vill to give you one knock on de nose.”

Dick looked Pierre in the face, as he said this, in a manner that cowed him.

“It is time,” he said quietly, pointing to the sun, “to go on. Your bourgeois expects that time won’t be wasted.”

Pierre muttered something in an angry tone, and wheeling round his horse, dashed forward at full gallop, followed by the rest of the men.

The trappers encamped that night on the edge of a wide grassy plain, which offered such tempting food for the horses that Pierre resolved to forego his usual cautious plan of picketing them close to the camp, and set them loose on the plain, merely hobbling them to prevent their straying far.

Dick remonstrated, but in vain. An insolent answer was all he got for his pains. He determined, however, to keep Charlie close beside him all night, and also made up his mind to keep a sharp look-out on the other horses.

At supper he again remonstrated.

“No ‘fraid,” said Pierre, whose pipe was beginning to improve his temper. “The red reptiles no dare to come in open plain when de moon so clear.”

“Dun know that,” said a taciturn trapper, who seldom ventured a remark of any kind; “them varmints ‘ud steal the two eyes out o’ you’ head when they set their hearts on’t.”

“Dat ar’ umposs’ble, for dey have no hearts,” said a half-breed; “dey have von hole vere de heart vas be.”

This was received with a shout of laughter, in the midst of which an appalling yell was heard, and, as if by magic, four Indians were seen on the backs of four of the best horses, yelling like fiends, and driving all the other horses furiously before them over the plain!

How they got there was a complete mystery, but the men did not wait to consider that point. Catching up their guns they sprang after them with the fury of madmen, and were quickly scattered far and wide. Dick ordered Crusoe to follow and help the men, and turned to spring on the back of Charlie; but at that moment he observed an Indian’s head and shoulders rise above the grass, not fifty yards in advance from him, so without hesitation he darted forward, intending to pounce upon him.

Well would it have been for Dick Varley had he at that time possessed a little more experience of the wiles and stratagems of the Banattees. The Snake nation is subdivided into several tribes, of which those inhabiting the Rocky Mountains, called the Banattees, are the most perfidious. Indeed, they are confessedly the banditti of the hills, and respect neither friend nor foe, but rob all who come in their way.

Dick reached the spot where the Indian had disappeared in less than a minute, but no savage was to be seen. Thinking he had crept ahead, he ran on a few yards farther, and darted about hither and thither, while his eye glanced from side to side. Suddenly a shout in the camp attracted his attention, and looking back he beheld the savage on Charlie’s back turning to fly. Next moment he was off and away far beyond the hope of recovery. Dick had left his rifle in the camp, otherwise the savage would have gone but a short way. As it was, Dick returned, and sitting down on a mound of grass, stared straight before him with a feeling akin to despair. Even Crusoe could not have helped him had he been there, for nothing on four legs, or on two, could keep pace with Charlie.

The Banattee achieved this feat by adopting a stratagem which invariably deceives those who are ignorant of their habits and tactics. When suddenly pursued the Banattee sinks into the grass, and, serpent-like, creeps along with wonderful rapidity, not _from_ but _towards_ his enemy, taking care, however, to avoid him, so that when the pursuer reaches the spot where the pursued is supposed to be hiding, he hears him shout a yell of defiance far away in the rear.

It was thus that the Banattee eluded Dick and gained the camp almost as soon as the other reached the spot where he had disappeared.

One by one the trappers came back weary, raging, and despairing. In a short time they all assembled, and soon began to reproach each other. Ere long one or two had a fight, which resulted in several bloody noses and black eyes, thus adding to the misery which, one would think, had been bad enough without such additions. At last they finished their suppers and their pipes, and then lay down to sleep under the trees till morning, when they arose in a particularly silent and sulky mood, rolled up their blankets, strapped their things on their shoulders, and began to trudge slowly back to the camp on foot.

CHAPTER XXI.

_Wolves attack the horses, and Cameron circumvents the wolves_–_A bear-hunt, in which Henri shines conspicuous_–_Joe and the “Natter-list_”–_An alarm_–_A surprise and a capture_.

We must now return to the camp where Walter Cameron still guarded the goods, and the men pursued their trapping avocations.

Here seven of the horses had been killed in one night by wolves while grazing in a plain close to the camp, and on the night following a horse that had strayed was also torn to pieces and devoured. The prompt and daring manner in which this had been done convinced the trader that white wolves had unfortunately scented them out, and he set several traps in the hope of capturing them.

White wolves are quite distinct from the ordinary wolves that prowl through woods and plains in large packs. They are much larger, weighing sometimes as much as a hundred and thirty pounds; but they are comparatively scarce, and move about alone, or in small bands of three or four. Their strength is enormous, and they are so fierce that they do not hesitate, upon occasions, to attack man himself. Their method of killing horses is very deliberate. Two wolves generally undertake the cold-blooded murder. They approach their victim with the most innocent-looking and frolicsome gambols, lying down and rolling about, and frisking presently, until the horse becomes a little accustomed to them. Then one approaches right in front, the other in rear, still frisking playfully, until they think themselves near enough, when they make a simultaneous rush. The wolf which approaches in rear is the true assailant; the rush of the other is a mere feint. Then both fasten on the poor horse’s haunches, and never let go till the sinews are cut and he is rolling on his side.

The horse makes comparatively little struggle in this deadly assault; he seems paralyzed, and soon falls to rise no more.

Cameron set his traps towards evening in a circle with a bait in the centre, and then retired to rest. Next morning he called Joe Blunt, and the two went off together.

“It is strange that these rascally white wolves should be so bold when the smaller kinds are so cowardly,” remarked Cameron, as they walked along.

“So ’tis,” replied Joe; “but I’ve seed them other chaps bold enough too in the prairie when they were in large packs and starvin’.”

“I believe the small wolves follow the big fellows, and help them to eat what they kill, though they generally sit round and look on at the killing.”

“Hist!” exclaimed Joe, cocking his gun; “there he is, an’ no mistake.”

There he was, undoubtedly. A wolf of the largest size with one of his feet in the trap. He was a terrible-looking object, for, besides his immense size and naturally ferocious aspect, his white hair bristled on end and was all covered with streaks and spots of blood from his bloody jaws. In his efforts to escape he had bitten the trap until he had broken his teeth and lacerated his gums, so that his appearance was hideous in the extreme. And when the two men came up he struggled with all his might to fly at them.

Cameron and Joe stood looking at him in a sort of wondering admiration.

“We’d better put a ball in him,” suggested Joe after a time. “Mayhap the chain won’t stand sich tugs long.”

“True, Joe; if it break, we might get an ugly nip before we killed him.”

So saying Cameron fired into the wolf’s head and killed it. It was found, on examination, that four wolves had been in the traps, but the rest had escaped. Two of them, however, had gnawed off their paws and left them lying in the traps.

After this the big wolves did not trouble them again. The same afternoon a bear-hunt was undertaken, which well-nigh cost one of the Iroquois his life. It happened thus:–

While Cameron and Joe were away after the white wolves, Henri came floundering into camp tossing his arms like a maniac, and shouting that “seven bars wos be down in de bush close by!” It chanced that this was an idle day with most of the men, so they all leaped on their horses, and taking guns and knives sallied forth to give battle to the bears.

Arrived at the scene of action, they found the seven bears busily engaged in digging up roots, so the men separated in order to surround them, and then closed in. The place was partly open and partly covered with thick bushes into which a horseman could not penetrate.

The moment the bears got wind of what was going forward they made off as fast as possible, and then commenced a scene of firing, galloping, and yelling that defies description! Four out of the seven were shot before they gained the bushes; the other three were wounded, but made good their retreat. As their places of shelter, however, were like islands in the plain, they had no chance of escaping.

The horsemen now dismounted and dashed recklessly into the bushes, where they soon discovered and killed two of the bears; the third was not found for some time. At last an Iroquois came upon it so suddenly that he had not time to point his gun before the bear sprang upon him and struck him to the earth, where it held him down.

Instantly the place was surrounded by eager men; but the bushes were so thick, and the fallen trees among which the bear stood were so numerous, that they could not use their guns without running the risk of shooting their companion. Most of them drew their knives and seemed about to rush on the bear with these; but the monster’s aspect, as it glared around, was so terrible that they held back for a moment in hesitation.

At this moment Henri, who had been at some distance engaged in the killing of one of the other bears, came rushing forward after his own peculiar manner. “Ah! fat is eet–hay? de bar no go under yit?”

Just then his eye fell on the wounded Iroquois with the bear above him, and he uttered a yell so intense in tone that the bear himself seemed to feel that something decisive was about to be done at last. Henri did not pause, but with a flying dash he sprang like a spread eagle, arms and legs extended, right into the bear’s bosom. At the same moment he sent his long hunting-knife down into its heart. But Bruin is proverbially hard to kill, and although mortally wounded, he had strength enough to open his jaws and close them on Henri’s neck.

There was a cry of horror, and at the same moment a volley was fired at the bear’s head; for the trappers felt that it was better to risk shooting their comrades than see them killed before their eyes. Fortunately the bullets took effect, and tumbled him over at once without doing damage to either of the men, although several of the balls just grazed Henri’s temple and carried off his cap.

Although uninjured by the shot, the poor Iroquois had not escaped scathless from the paw of the bear. His scalp was torn almost off, and hung down over his eyes, while blood streamed down his face. He was conveyed by his comrades to the camp, where he lay two days in a state of insensibility, at the end of which time he revived and recovered daily. Afterwards when the camp moved he had to be carried; but in the course of two months he was as well as ever, and quite as fond of bear-hunting!

Among other trophies of this hunt there were two deer and a buffalo, which last had probably strayed from the herd. Four or five Iroquois were round this animal whetting their knives for the purpose of cutting it up when Henri passed, so he turned aside to watch them perform the operation, quite regardless of the fact that his neck and face were covered with blood which flowed from one or two small punctures made by the bear.

The Indians began by taking off the skin, which certainly did not occupy them more than five minutes. Then they cut up the meat and made a pack of it, and cut out the tongue, which is somewhat troublesome, as that member requires to be cut out from under the jaw of the animal, and not through the natural opening of the mouth. One of the fore legs was cut off at the knee joint, and this was used as a hammer with which to break the skull for the purpose of taking out the brains, these being used in the process of dressing and softening the animal’s skin. An axe would have been of advantage to break the skull, but in the hurry of rushing to the attack the Indians had forgotten their axes; so they adopted the common fashion of using the buffalo’s hoof as a hammer, the shank being the handle. The whole operation of flaying, cutting up, and packing the meat did not occupy more than twenty minutes. Before leaving the ground these expert butchers treated themselves to a little of the marrow and warm liver in a raw state!

Cameron and Joe walked up to the group while they were indulging in this little feast.

“Well, I’ve often seen that eaten, but I never could do it myself,” remarked the former. “No!” cried Joe in surprise; “now that’s oncommon cur’us. I’ve _lived_ on raw liver an’ marrow-bones for two or three days at a time, when we wos chased by the Camanchee Injuns an’ didn’t dare to make a fire; an’ it’s ra’al good, it is. Won’t ye try it _now_?”

Cameron shook his head.

“No, thankee; I’ll not refuse when I can’t help it, but until then I’ll remain in happy ignorance of how good it is.”

“Well, it _is_ strange how some folk can’t abide anything in the meat way they ha’n’t bin used to. D’ye know I’ve actually knowed men from the cities as wouldn’t eat a bit o’ horseflesh for love or money. Would ye believe it?”

“I can well believe that, Joe, for I have met with such persons myself; in fact, they are rather numerous. What are you chuckling at, Joe?”

“Chucklin’? If ye mean be that ‘larfin in to myself,’ it’s because I’m thinkin’ o’ a chap as once comed out to the prairies.”

“Let us walk back to the camp, Joe, and you can tell me about him as we go along.”

“I think,” continued Joe, “he comed from Washington, but I never could make out right whether he wos a Government man or not. Anyhow, he wos a pheelosopher–a natter-list I think he call his-self–“

“A naturalist,” suggested Cameron.

“Ay, that wos more like it. Well, he wos about six feet two in his moccasins, an’ as thin as a ramrod, an’ as blind as a bat–leastways he had weak eyes an’ wore green spectacles. He had on a gray shootin’ coat an’ trousers an’ vest an’ cap, with rid whiskers an’ a long nose as rid at the point as the whiskers wos.”

“Well, this gentleman engaged me an’ another hunter to go a trip with him into the prairies, so off we sot one fine day on three hosses, with our blankets at our backs–we wos to depend on the rifle for victuals. At first I thought the natter-list one o’ the cruellest beggars as iver went on two long legs, for he used to go about everywhere pokin’ pins through all the beetles an’ flies an’ creepin’ things he could sot eyes on, an’ stuck them in a box. But he told me he comed here a-purpose to git as many o’ them as he could; so says I, ‘If that’s it, I’ll fill yer box in no time.’

“‘Will ye?’ says he, quite pleased like.

“‘I will,’ says I, an’ galloped off to a place as was filled wi’ all sorts o’ crawlin’ things. So I sets to work, an’ whenever I seed a thing crawlin’ I sot my fut on it an’ crushed it, an’ soon filled my breast pocket. I cotched a lot o’ butterflies too, an’ stuffed them into my shot-pouch, an’ went back in an hour or two an’ showed him the lot. He put on his green spectacles an’ looked at them as if he’d seen a rattlesnake.

“‘My good man,’ says he, ‘you’ve crushed them all to pieces!’

“‘They’ll taste as good for all that,’ says I; for somehow I’d taken’t in me head that he’d heard o’ the way the Injuns make soup o’ the grasshoppers, an’ wos wantin’ to try his hand at a new dish!

“He laughed when I said this, an’ told me he wos collectin’ them to take home to be _looked_ at. But that’s not wot I was goin’ to tell ye about him,” continued Joe; “I wos goin’ to tell ye how we made him eat horseflesh. He carried a revolver, too, this natter-list did, to load wi’ shot as small as dust a’most, an’ shoot little birds with. I’ve seed him miss birds only three feet away with it. An’ one day he drew it all of a suddent an’ let fly at a big bum-bee that wos passin’, yellin’ out that it wos the finest wot he had iver seed. He missed the bee, of coorse, ’cause it wos a flyin’ shot, he said, but he sent the whole charge right into Martin’s back–Martin was my comrade’s name. By good luck Martin had on a thick leather coat, so the shot niver got the length o’ his skin.”

“One day I noticed that the natter-list had stuffed small corks into the muzzles of all the six barrels of his revolver. I wondered what they wos for, but he wos al’ays doin’ sich queer things that I soon forgot it. ‘Maybe,’ thought I, jist before it went out o’ my mind–‘maybe he thinks that’ll stop the pistol from goin’ off by accident;’ for ye must know he’d let it off three times the first day by accident, an’ well-nigh blowed off his leg the last time, only the shot lodged in the back o’ a big toad he’d jist stuffed into his breeches pocket. Well, soon after we shot a buffalo bull, so when it fell, off he jumps from his horse an’ runs up to it. So did I, for I wasn’t sure the beast was dead, an’ I had jist got up when it rose an’ rushed at the natter-list.

“‘Out o’ the way,’ I yelled, for my rifle was empty; but he didn’t move, so I rushed for’ard an’ drew the pistol out o’ his belt and let fly in the bull’s ribs jist as it ran the poor man down. Martin came up that moment an’ put a ball through its heart, an’ then we went to pick up the natter-list. He came to in a little, an’ the first thing he said was, ‘Where’s my revolver?’ When I gave it to him he looked at it, an’ said with a solemcholy shake o’ the head, ‘There’s a whole barrel-full lost!’ It turned out that he had taken to usin’ the barrels for bottles to hold things in, but he forgot to draw the charges, so sure enough I had fired a charge o’ bum-bees an’ beetles an’ small shot into the buffalo!

“But that’s not what I wos goin’ to tell ye yit. We corned to a part o’ the plains where we wos well-nigh starved for want o’ game, an’ the natter-list got so thin that ye could a’most see through him, so I offered to kill my horse, an’ cut it up for meat; but you niver saw sich a face he made. ‘I’d rather die first,’ says he, ‘than eat it;’ so we didn’t kill it. But that very day Martin got a shot at a wild horse an’ killed it. The natter-list was down in the bed o’ a creek at the time gropin’ for creepers, an’ he didn’t see it.

“‘He’ll niver eat it,’ says Martin.

“‘That’s true,’ says I.

“‘Let’s tell him it’s a buffalo,’ says he.

“‘That would be tellin’ a lie,’ says I.

“So we stood lookin’ at each other, not knowin’ what to do.

“‘I’ll tell ye what,’ cries Martin; ‘we’ll cut it up, and take the meat into camp an’ cook it without _sayin’ a word_.’

“‘Done,’ says I, ‘that’s it;’ for ye must know the poor critter wos no judge o’ meat. He couldn’t tell one kind from another, an’ he niver axed questions. In fact he niver a’most spoke to us all the trip. Well, we cut up the horse, an’ carried the flesh an’ marrowbones into camp, takin’ care to leave the hoofs an’ skin behind, an’ sot to work an’ roasted steaks an’ marrowbones.”

“When the natter-list came back ye should ha’ seen the joyful face he put on when he smelt the grub, for he was all but starved out, poor critter.”

“‘What have we got here?’ cried he, rubbin’ his hands an’ sittin’ down.”

“‘Steaks an’ marrow-bones,’ says Martin.”

“‘Capital!’ says he. ‘I’m _so_ hungry.'”

“So he fell to work like a wolf. I niver seed a man pitch into anything like as that natter-list did into that horseflesh.”

“‘These are first-rate marrow-bones,’ says he, squintin’ with one eye down the shin-bone o’ the hind leg to see if it was quite empty.”

“‘Yes, sir, they is,’ answered Martin, as grave as a judge.”

“‘Take another, sir,’ says I.”

“‘No, thankee,’ says he with a sigh, for he didn’t like to leave off.”

“Well, we lived for a week on horseflesh, an’ first-rate livin’ it wos; then we fell in with buffalo, an’ niver ran short again till we got to the settlements, when he paid us our money an’ shook hands, sayin’ we’d had a nice trip, an’ he wished us well. Jist as we wos partin’ I said, says I, ‘D’ye know what it wos we lived on for a week arter we wos well-nigh starved in the prairies?'”

“‘What,’ says he, ‘when we got yon capital marrowbones?'”

“‘The same,’ says I. ‘Yon wos _horse_ flesh,’ says I; ‘an’ I think ye’ll surely niver say again that it isn’t first-rate livin’.'”

“‘Ye’re jokin’,’ says he, turnin’ pale.”

“‘It’s true, sir; as true as ye’re standin’ there.'”

“Well, would ye believe it, he turned–that natter-list did–as sick as a dog on the spot wot he wos standin’ on, an’ didn’t taste meat again for three days!”

Shortly after the conclusion of Joe’s story they reached the camp, and here they found the women and children flying about in a state of terror, and the few men who had been left in charge arming themselves in the greatest haste.

“Hallo! something wrong here,” cried Cameron, hastening forward, followed by Joe. “What has happened, eh?”

“Injuns comin’, monsieur; look dere,” answered a trapper, pointing down the valley.

“Arm and mount at once, and come to the front of the camp,” cried Cameron in a tone of voice that silenced every other, and turned confusion into order.

The cause of all this outcry was a cloud of dust seen far down the valley, which was raised by a band of mounted Indians who approached the camp at full speed. Their numbers could not be made out, but they were a sufficiently formidable band to cause much anxiety to Cameron, whose men, at the time, were scattered to the various trapping-grounds, and only ten chanced to be within call of the camp. However, with these ten he determined to show a bold front to the savages, whether they came as friends or foes. He therefore ordered the women and children within the citadel formed of the goods and packs of furs piled upon each other, which point of retreat was to be defended to the last extremity. Then galloping to the front he collected his men and swept down the valley at full speed. In a few minutes they were near enough to observe that the enemy only numbered four Indians, who were driving a band of about a hundred horses before them, and so busy were they in keeping the troop together that Cameron and his men were close upon them before they were observed.

It was too late to escape. Joe Blunt and Henri had already swept round and cut off their retreat. In this extremity the Indians slipped from the backs of their steeds and darted into the bushes, where they were safe from pursuit, at least on horseback, while the trappers got behind the horses and drove them towards the camp.

At this moment one of the horses sprang ahead of the others and made for the mountain, with its mane and tail flying wildly in the breeze.

“Marrow-bones and buttons!” shouted one of the men, “there goes Dick Varley’s horse.”

“So it am!” cried Henri, and dashed off in pursuit, followed by Joe and two others.

“Why, these are our own horses,” said Cameron in surprise, as they drove them into a corner of the hills from which they could not escape.

This was true, but it was only half the truth, for, besides their own horses, they had secured upwards of seventy Indian steeds; a most acceptable addition to their stud, which, owing to casualties and wolves, had been diminishing too much of late. The fact was that the Indians who had captured the horses belonging to Pierre and his party were a small band of robbers who had travelled, as was afterwards learned, a considerable distance from the south, stealing horses from various tribes as they went along. As we have seen, in an evil hour they fell in with Pierre’s party and carried off their steeds, which they drove to a pass leading from one valley to the other. Here they united them with the main band of their ill-gotten gains, and while the greater number of the robbers descended farther into the plains in search of more booty, four of them were sent into the mountains with the horses already procured. These four, utterly ignorant of the presence of white men in the valley, drove their charge, as we have seen, almost into the camp.

Cameron immediately organized a party to go out in search of Pierre and his companions, about whose fate he became intensely anxious, and in the course of half-an-hour as many men as he could spare with safety were despatched in the direction of the Blue Mountains.

CHAPTER XXII.

_Charlie’s adventures with savages and bears_–_Trapping life_.

It is one thing to chase a horse; it is another thing to catch it. Little consideration and less sagacity are required to convince us of the truth of that fact.

The reader may perhaps venture to think this rather a trifling fact. We are not so sure of that. In this world of fancies, to have _any_ fact incontestably proved and established is a comfort, and whatever is a source of comfort to mankind is worthy of notice. Surely our reader won’t deny that! Perhaps he will, so we can only console ourself with the remark that there are people in this world who would deny _anything_–who would deny that there was a nose on their face if you said there was!

Well, to return to the point, which was the chase of a horse in the abstract; from which we will rapidly diverge to the chase of Dick Varley’s horse in particular. This noble charger, having been ridden by savages until all his old fire and blood and mettle were worked up to a red heat, no sooner discovered that he was pursued than he gave a snort of defiance, which he accompanied with a frantic shake of his mane and a fling of contempt in addition to a magnificent wave of his tail. Then he thundered up the valley at a pace which would speedily have left Joe Blunt and Henri out of sight behind if–ay! that’s the word, _if_! What a word that _if_ is! what a world of _if’s_ we live in! There never was anything that wouldn’t have been something else _if_ something hadn’t intervened to prevent it! Yes, we repeat Charlie would have left his two friends miles and miles behind in what is called “no time,” _if_ he had not run straight into a gorge which was surrounded by inaccessible precipices, and out of which there was no exit except by the entrance, which was immediately barred by Henri, while Joe advanced to catch the run-away.

For two hours at least did Joe Blunt essay to catch Charlie, and during that space of time he utterly failed The horse seemed to have made up his mind for what is vulgarly termed “a lark.”

“It won’t do, Henri,” said Joe, advancing towards his companion, and wiping his forehead with the cuff of his leathern coat; “I can’t catch him. The wind’s a’most blowed out o’ me body.”

“Dat am vexatiable,” replied Henri, in a tone of commiseration. “S’pose I wos make try?”

“In that case I s’pose ye would fail. But go ahead, an’ do what ye can. I’ll hold yer horse.”

So Henri began by a rush and a flourish of legs and arms that nearly frightened the horse out of his wits. For half-an-hour he went through all the complications of running and twisting of which he was capable, without success, when Joe Blunt suddenly uttered a stentorian yell that rooted him to the spot on which he stood.

To account for this, we must explain that in the heights of the Rocky Mountains vast accumulations of snow take place among the crevices and gorges during winter. Such of these masses as form on steep slopes are loosened by occasional thaws, and are precipitated in the form of avalanches into the valleys below, carrying trees and stones along with them in their thundering descent. In the gloomy gorge where Dick’s horse had taken refuge the precipices were so steep that many avalanches had occurred, as was evident from the mounds of heaped snow that lay at the foot of most of them. Neither stones nor trees were carried down here, however, for the cliffs were nearly perpendicular, and the snow slipping over their edges had fallen on the grass below. Such an avalanche was now about to take place, and it was this that caused Joe to utter his cry of alarm and warning.

Henri and the horse were directly under the cliff over which it was about to be hurled, the latter close to the wall of rock, the other at some distance away from it.

Joe cried again, “Back, Henri! back _vite_!” when the mass _flowed over_ and fell with a roar like prolonged thunder. Henri sprang back in time to save his life, though he was knocked down and almost stunned; but poor Charlie was completely buried under the avalanche, which now presented the appearance of a _hill_ of snow.

The instant Henri recovered sufficiently, Joe and he mounted their horses and galloped back to the camp as fast as possible.

Meanwhile, another spectator stepped forward upon the scene they had left, and surveyed the snow hill with a critical eye. This was no less than a grizzly bear, which had, unobserved, been a spectator, and which immediately proceeded to dig into the mound, with the purpose, no doubt, of disentombing the carcass of the horse for purposes of his own.

While he was thus actively engaged the two hunters reached the camp, where they found that Pierre and his party had just arrived. The men sent out in search of them had scarcely advanced a mile when they found them trudging back to the camp in a very disconsolate manner. But all their sorrows were put to flight on hearing of the curious way in which the horses had been returned to them with interest.

Scarcely had Dick Varley, however, congratulated himself on the recovery of his gallant steed, when he was thrown into despair by the sudden arrival of Joe with the tidings of the catastrophe we have just related.

Of course there was a general rush to the rescue. Only a few men were ordered to remain to guard the camp, while the remainder mounted their horses and galloped towards the gorge where Charlie had been entombed. On arriving, they found that Bruin had worked with such laudable zeal 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