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

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.