The Dog Crusoe and his Master

  CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

  ANXIOUS FEARS FOLLOWED BY A JOYFUL SURPRISE--SAFE HOME AT LAST, ANDHAPPY HEARTS.

  One fine afternoon, a few weeks after the storm of which we have givenan account in the last chapter, old Mrs Varley was seated beside herown chimney corner in the little cottage by the lake, gazing at theglowing logs with the earnest expression of one whose thoughts were faraway. Her kind face was paler than usual, and her hands rested idly onher knee, grasping the knitting wires to which was attached ahalf-finished stocking.

  On a stool near to her sat young Marston, the lad to whom, on the day ofthe shooting match, Dick Varley had given his old rifle. The boy had ananxious look about him, as he lifted his eyes from time to time to thewidow's face.

  "Did ye say, my boy, that they were _all_ killed?" inquired Mrs Varley,awaking from her reverie with a deep sigh.

  "Every one," replied Marston. "Jim Scraggs, who brought the news, saidthey wos all lyin' dead with their scalps off. They wos a party o'white men."

  Mrs Varley sighed again, and her face assumed an expression of anxiouspain as she thought of her son Dick being exposed to a similar fate.Mrs Varley was not given to nervous fears; but as she listened to theboy's recital of the slaughter of a party of white men, news of whichhad just reached the valley, her heart sank, and she prayed inwardly toHim who is the husband of the widow that her dear one might be protectedfrom the ruthless hand of the savage.

  After a short pause, during which young Marston fidgeted about andlooked concerned, as if he had something to say which he would fainleave unsaid, Mrs Varley continued:--

  "Was it far off where the bloody deed was done?"

  "Yes; three weeks off, I believe. And Jim Scraggs said that he found aknife that looked like the one wot belonged to--to--" the lad hesitated.

  "To whom, my boy? Why don't ye go on?"

  "To your son Dick."

  The widow's hands dropped by her side, and she would have fallen had notMarston caught her.

  "O mother dear, don't take on like that!" he cried, smoothing down thewidow's hair as her head rested on his breast.

  For some time Mrs Varley suffered the boy to fondle her in silence,while her breast laboured with anxious dread.

  "Tell me all," she said at last, recovering a little. "Did Jim see--Dick?"

  "No," answered the boy. "He looked at all the bodies, but did not findhis; so he sent me over here to tell ye that p'raps he's escaped."

  Mrs Varley breathed more freely, and earnestly thanked God; but herfears soon returned when she thought of his being a prisoner, andrecalled the tales of terrible cruelty often related of the savages.

  While she was still engaged in closely questioning the lad, Jim Scraggshimself entered the cottage, and endeavoured in a gruff sort of way tore-assure the widow.

  "Ye see, mistress," he said, "Dick is a oncommon tough customer, an' ifhe could only git fifty yards start, there's not a Injun in the west ascould git hold o' him agin; so don't be takin' on."

  "But what if he's bin taken prisoner?" said the widow.

  "Ay, that's jest wot I've comed about. Ye see it's not onlikely he'sbin took; so about thirty o' the lads o' the valley are ready jest nowto start away and give the red riptiles chase, an' I come to tell ye; sokeep up heart, mistress."

  With this parting word of comfort, Jim withdrew, and Marston soonfollowed, leaving the widow to weep and pray in solitude.

  Meanwhile an animated scene was going on near the block-house. Herethirty of the young hunters of the Mustang Valley were assembled,actively engaged in supplying themselves with powder and lead, andtightening their girths, preparatory to setting out in pursuit of theIndians who had murdered the white men, while hundreds of boys andgirls, and not a few matrons, crowded round and listened to theconversation, and to the deep threats of vengeance that were utteredever and anon by the younger men.

  Major Hope, too, was among them. The worthy major, unable to restrainhis roving propensities, determined to revisit the Mustang Valley, andhad arrived only two days before.

  Backwoodsmen's preparations are usually of the shortest and simplest.In a few minutes the cavalcade was ready, and away they went towards theprairies, with the bold major at their head. But their journey wasdestined to come to an abrupt and unexpected close. A couple of hours'gallop brought them to the edge of one of those open plains whichsometimes break up the woodland near the verge of the great prairies.It stretched out like a green lake towards the horizon, on which, justas the band of horsemen reached it, the sun was descending in a blaze ofglory.

  With a shout of enthusiasm, several of the younger members of the partysprang forward into the plain at a gallop; but the shout was mingledwith one of a different tone from the older men.

  "Hist!--hallo!--hold on, ye cat-a-mounts! There's Injuns ahead!"

  The whole band came to a sudden halt at this cry, and watched eagerly,and for some time in silence, the motions of a small party of horsemenwho were seen in the far distance, like black specks on the golden sky.

  "They come this way, I think," said Major Hope, after gazing steadfastlyat them for some minutes.

  Several of the old hands signified their assent to this suggestion by agrunt, although to unaccustomed eyes the objects in question looked morelike crows than horsemen, and their motion was for some time scarcelyperceptible.

  "I sees pack-horses among them," cried young Marston in an excited tone;"an' there's three riders; but there's somethin' else, only wot it be Ican't tell."

  "Ye've sharp eyes, younker," remarked one of the men, "an' I do b'lieveyer right."

  Presently the horsemen approached, and soon there was a brisk fire ofguessing as to who they could be. It was evident that the strangersobserved the cavalcade of white men, and regarded them as friends, forthey did not check the headlong speed at which they approached. In afew minutes they were clearly made out to be a party of three horsemendriving pack-horses before them, and _somethin'_ which some of thehunters guessed was a buffalo calf.

  Young Marston guessed too, but his guess was different. Moreover, itwas uttered with a yell that would have done credit to the fiercest ofall the savages. "Crusoe!" he shouted, while at the same moment hebrought his whip heavily down on the flank of his little horse, andsprang over the prairie like an arrow.

  One of the approaching horsemen was far ahead of his comrades, andseemed as if encircled with the flying and voluminous mane of hismagnificent horse.

  "Hah! ho!" gasped Marston in a low tone to himself, as he flew along."Crusoe! I'd know ye, dog, among a thousand! A buffalo calf! Ha! giton with ye!"

  This last part of the remark was addressed to his horse, and wasfollowed by a whack that increased the pace considerably.

  The space between two such riders was soon devoured.

  "Hallo! Dick,--Dick Varley!"

  "Eh! why, Marston, my boy!"

  The friends reined up so suddenly, that one might have fancied they hadmet like the knights of old in the shock of mortal conflict.

  "Is't yerself, Dick Varley?"

  Dick held out his hand, and his eyes glistened, but he could not findwords.

  Marston seized it, and pushing his horse close up, vaulted nimbly offand alighted on Charlie's back behind his friend.

  "Off ye go, Dick! I'll take ye to yer mother."

  Without reply, Dick shook the reins, and in another minute was in themidst of the hunters.

  To the numberless questions that were put to him he only waited to shoutaloud, "We're all safe! They'll tell ye all about it," he added,pointing to his comrades, who were now close at hand; and then, dashingonward, made straight for home, with little Marston clinging to hiswaist like a monkey.

  Charlie was fresh, and so was Crusoe; so you may be sure it was not longbefore they all drew up opposite the door of the widow's cottage.Before Dick could dismount, Marston had slipped off, and was already inthe kitchen.

  "Here's Dick, mother!"

  The boy was an orphan,
and loved the widow so much that he had come atlast to call her mother.

  Before another word could be uttered, Dick Varley was in the room.Marston immediately stepped out, and softly shut the door. Reader, weshall not open it!

  Having shut the door, as we have said, Marston ran down to the edge ofthe lake, and yelled with delight--usually terminating each paroxysmwith the Indian war-whoop, with which he was well acquainted. Then hedanced, and then he sat down on a rock, and became suddenly aware thatthere were other hearts there, close beside him, as glad as his own.Another mother of the Mustang Valley was rejoicing over a long-lost son.

  Crusoe and his mother Fan were scampering round each other in a mannerthat evinced powerfully the strength of their mutual affection.

  Talk of holding converse! Every hair on Crusoe's body, every motion ofhis limbs, was eloquent with silent language. He gazed into hismother's mild eyes as if he would read her inmost soul (supposing thatshe had one). He turned his head to every possible angle, and cockedhis ears to every conceivable elevation, and rubbed his nose againstFan's, and barked softly, in every imaginable degree of modulation, andvaried these proceedings by bounding away at full speed over the rocksof the beach, and in among the bushes and out again, but always circlinground and round Fan, and keeping her in view!

  It was a sight worth seeing, and young Marston sat down on a rock,deliberately and enthusiastically, to gloat over it. But perhaps themost remarkable part of it has not yet been referred to. There was yetanother heart there that was glad--exceeding glad--that day. It was alittle one too, but it was big for the body that held it. Grumps wasthere, and all that Grumps did was to sit on his haunches and stare atFan and Crusoe, and wag his tail as well as he could in so awkward aposition! Grumps was evidently bewildered with delight, and had lostnearly all power to express it. Crusoe's conduct towards him, too, wasnot calculated to clear his faculties. Every time he chanced to passnear Grumps in his elephantine gambols, he gave him a passing touch withhis nose, which always knocked him head over heels; whereat Grumpsinvariably got up quickly and wagged his tail with additional energy.Before the feelings of those canine friends were calmed, they were allthree ruffled into a state of comparative exhaustion.

  Then young Marston called Crusoe to him, and Crusoe, obedient to thevoice of friendship, went.

  "Are you happy, my dog?"

  "You're a stupid fellow to ask such a question; however, it's an amiableone. Yes, I am."

  "What do _you_ want, ye small bundle o' hair?"

  This was addressed to Grumps, who came forward innocently, and sat downto listen to the conversation.

  On being thus sternly questioned, the little dog put down its ears flat,and hung its head, looking up at the same time with a deprecatory lookas if to say, "Oh, dear! I beg pardon; I--I only want to sit nearCrusoe, please, but if you wish it I'll go away, sad and lonely, with mytail _very_ much between my legs--indeed I will, only say the word,but--but I'd _rather_ stay if I might."

  "Poor bundle!" said Marston, patting its head, "you can stay then.Hooray! Crusoe, are you happy, I say? Does your heart bound in youlike a cannon ball that wants to find its way out and can't--eh?"

  Crusoe put his snout against Marston's cheek, and, in the excess of hisjoy, the lad threw his arms round the dog's neck and hugged itvigorously, a piece of impulsive affection which that noble animal borewith characteristic meekness, and which Grumps regarded with idioticsatisfaction.