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

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.