The Dog Crusoe and His Master - Robert Michael Ballantyne
CHAPTER XXIV.
_Plans and prospects--Dick becomes home-sick, and Henri
metaphysical--Indians attack the camp--A blow-up._
On the following day the Indians gave themselves up to unlimited
feasting, in consequence of the arrival of a large body of hunters
with an immense supply of buffalo meat. It was a regular day of
rejoicing. Upwards of six hundred buffaloes had been killed and as the
supply of meat before their arrival had been ample, the camp was now
overflowing with plenty.
Feasts were given by the chiefs, and the medicine men went about the
camp uttering loud cries, which were meant to express gratitude to the
Great Spirit for the bountiful supply of food. They also carried a
portion of meat to the aged and infirm who were unable to hunt for
themselves, and had no young men in their family circle to hunt for
them.
This arrival of the hunters was a fortunate circumstance, as it put
the Indians in great good-humour, and inclined them to hold friendly
intercourse with the trappers, who for some time continued to drive a
brisk trade in furs. Having no market for the disposal of their furs,
the Indians of course had more than they knew what to do with, and
were therefore glad to exchange those of the most beautiful and
valuable kind for a mere trifle, so that the trappers laid aside their
traps for a time and devoted themselves to traffic.
Meanwhile Joe Blunt and his friends made preparations for their return
journey.
"Ye see," remarked Joe to Henri and Dick, as they sat beside the fire
in Pee-eye-em's lodge, and feasted on a potful of grasshopper soup,
which the great chief's squaw had just placed before them--"ye see, my
calc'lations is as follows. Wot with trappin' beavers and huntin', we
three ha' made enough to set us up, an it likes us, in the Mustang
Valley--"
"Ha!" interrupted Dick, remitting for a few seconds the use of his
teeth in order to exercise his tongue--ha! Joe, but it don't like
_me_! What, give up a hunter's life and become a farmer? I should
think not!"
"Bon!" ejaculated Henri, but whether the remark had reference to the
grasshopper soup or the sentiment we cannot tell.
"Well," continued Joe, commencing to devour a large buffalo steak with
a hunter's appetite, "ye'll please yourselves, lads, as to that; but
as I wos sayin', we've got a powerful lot o' furs, an' a big pack o'
odds and ends for the Injuns we chance to meet with by the way, an'
powder and lead to last us a twelvemonth, besides five good horses to
carry us an' our packs over the plains; so if it's agreeable to you, I
mean to make a bee-line for the Mustang Valley. We're pretty sure to
meet with Blackfeet on the way, and if we do we'll try to make peace
between them an' the Snakes. I 'xpect it'll be pretty well on for six
weeks afore we git to home, so we'll start to-morrow."
"Dat is fat vill do ver' vell," said Henri; "vill you please donnez me
one petit morsel of steak."
"I'm ready for anything, Joe," cried Dick; "you are leader. Just point
the way, and I'll answer for two o' us followin' ye--eh! won't we,
Crusoe?"
"We will," remarked the dog quietly.
"How comes it," inquired Dick, "that these Indians don't care for our
tobacco?"
"They like their own better, I s'pose," answered Joe; "most all the
western Injuns do. They make it o' the dried leaves o' the shumack
and the inner bark o' the red-willow, chopped very small an' mixed
together. They call this stuff _kinnekinnik_; but they like to mix
about a fourth o' our tobacco with it, so Pee-eye-em tells me, an'
he's a good judge. The amount that red-skinned mortal smokes _is_
oncommon."
"What are they doin' yonder?" inquired Dick, pointing to a group of
men who had been feasting for some time past in front of a tent within
sight of our trio.
"Goin' to sing, I think," replied Joe.
As he spoke six young warriors were seen to work their bodies about
in a very remarkable way, and give utterance to still more remarkable
sounds, which gradually increased until the singers burst out into
that terrific yell, or war-whoop, for which American savages have long
been famous. Its effect would have been appalling to unaccustomed
ears. Then they allowed their voices to die away in soft, plaintive
tones, while their action corresponded thereto. Suddenly the furious
style was revived, and the men wrought themselves into a condition
little short of madness, while their yells rang wildly through the
camp. This was too much for ordinary canine nature to withstand, so
all the dogs in the neighbourhood joined in the horrible chorus.
Crusoe had long since learned to treat the eccentricities of Indians
and their curs with dignified contempt. He paid no attention to this
serenade, but lay sleeping by the fire until Dick and his companions
rose to take leave of their host and return to the camp of the
fur-traders. The remainder of that night was spent in making
preparations for setting forth on the morrow; and when, at gray dawn,
Dick and Crusoe lay down to snatch a few hours' repose, the yells and
howling in the Snake camp were going on as vigorously as ever.
The sun had arisen, and his beams were just tipping the summits of the
Rocky Mountains, causing the snowy peaks to glitter like flame, and
the deep ravines and gorges to look sombre and mysterious by contrast,
when Dick and Joe and Henri mounted their gallant steeds, and, with
Crusoe gambolling before, and the two pack-horses trotting by their
side, turned their faces eastward, and bade adieu to the Indian camp.
Crusoe was in great spirits. He was perfectly well aware that he and
his companions were on their way home, and testified his satisfaction
by bursts of scampering over the hills and valleys. Doubtless he
thought of Dick Varley's cottage, and of Dick's mild, kind-hearted
mother. Undoubtedly, too, he thought of his own mother, Fan, and
felt a glow of filial affection as he did so. Of this we feel quite
certain. He would have been unworthy the title of hero if he hadn't.
Perchance he thought of Grumps, but of this we are not quite so sure.
We rather think, upon the whole, that he did.
Dick, too, let his thoughts run away in the direction of _home_.
Sweet word! Those who have never left it cannot, by any effort of
imagination, realize the full import of the word "home." Dick was a
bold hunter; but he was young, and this was his first long expedition.
Oftentimes, when sleeping under the trees and gazing dreamily up
through the branches at the stars, had he thought of home, until
his longing heart began to yearn to return. He repelled such tender
feelings, however, when they became too strong, deeming them unmanly,
and sought to turn his mind to the excitements of the chase; but
latterly his efforts were in vain. He became thoroughly home-sick, and
while admitting the fact to himself, he endeavoured to conceal it from
his comrades. He thought that he was successful in this attempt. Poor
Dick Varley! as yet he was sadly ignorant of human nature. Henri knew
it, and Joe Blunt knew it. Even Crusoe knew that something was wrong
with his master, although he could not exactly make out what it was.
But Crusoe made memoranda in the note-book of his memory. He jotted
down the peculiar phases of his master's new disease with the care and
minute exactness of a physician, and, we doubt not, ultimately
added the knowledge of the symptoms of home-sickness to his already
well-filled stores of erudition.
It was not till they had set out on their homeward journey that
Dick Varley's spirits revived, and it was not till they reached the
beautiful prairies on the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains, and
galloped over the greensward towards the Mustang Valley, that Dick
ventured to tell Joe Blunt what his feelings had been.
"D'ye know, Joe," he said confidentially, reining up his gallant steed
after a sharp gallop--"d'ye know I've bin feelin' awful low for some
time past."
"I know it, lad," answered Joe, with a quiet smile, in which there
was a dash of something that implied he knew more than he chose to
express.
Dick felt surprised, but he continued, "I wonder what it could have
bin. I never felt so before."
"'Twas home-sickness, boy," returned Joe.
"How d'ye know that?"
"The same way as how I know most things--by experience an'
obsarvation. I've bin home-sick myself once, but it was long, long
agone."
Dick felt much relieved at this candid confession by such a bronzed
veteran, and, the chords of sympathy having been struck, he opened up
his heart at once, to the evident delight of Henri, who, among other
curious partialities, was extremely fond of listening to and taking
part in conversations that bordered on the metaphysical, and were hard
to be understood. Most conversations that were not connected with
eating and hunting were of this nature to Henri.
"Hom'-sik," he cried, "veech mean bein' sik of hom'! Hah! dat is fat I
am always be, ven I goes hout on de expedition. Oui, vraiment."
"I always packs up," continued Joe, paying no attention to Henri's
remark--"I always packs up an' sets off for home when I gits
home-sick. It's the best cure; an' when hunters are young like
you, Dick, it's the only cure. I've knowed fellers a'most die o'
home-sickness, an' I'm told they _do_ go under altogether sometimes."
"Go onder!" exclaimed Henri; "oui, I vas all but die myself ven I
fust try to git away from hom'. If I have not git away, I not be here
to-day."
Henri's idea of home-sickness was so totally opposed to theirs that
his comrades only laughed, and refrained from attempting to set him
right.
"The fust time I wos took bad with it wos in a country somethin' like
that," said Joe, pointing to the wide stretch of undulating prairie,
dotted with clusters of trees and meandering streamlets, that lay
before them. "I had bin out about two months, an' was makin' a good
thing of it, for game wos plenty, when I began to think somehow more
than usual o' home. My mother wos alive then."
Joe's voice sank to a deep, solemn tone as he said this, and for a few
minutes he rode on in silence.
"Well, it grew worse and worse. I dreamed o' home all night an'
thought of it all day, till I began to shoot bad, an' my comrades wos
gittin' tired o' me; so says I to them one night, says I, 'I give out,
lads; I'll make tracks for the settlement to-morrow.' They tried to
laugh me out of it at first, but it was no go, so I packed up, bid
them good-day, an' sot off alone on a trip o' five hundred miles. The
very first mile o' the way back I began to mend, and before two days I
wos all right again."
Joe was interrupted at this point by the sudden appearance of a
solitary horseman on the brow of an eminence not half-a-mile distant.
The three friends instantly drove their pack-horses behind a clump of
trees; but not in time to escape the vigilant eye of the Red-man, who
uttered a loud shout, which brought up a band of his comrades at full
gallop.
"Remember, Henri," cried Joe Blunt, "our errand is one of _peace_."
The caution was needed, for in the confusion of the moment Henri was
making preparation to sell his life as dearly as possible. Before
another word could be uttered, they were surrounded by a troop of
about twenty yelling Blackfeet Indians. They were, fortunately, not a
war party, and, still more fortunately, they were peaceably disposed,
and listened to the preliminary address of Joe Blunt with exemplary
patience; after which the two parties encamped on the spot, the
council fire was lighted, and every preparation made for a long
palaver.
We will not trouble the reader with the details of what was said on
this occasion. The party of Indians was a small one, and no chief of
any importance was attached to it. Suffice it to say that the pacific
overtures made by Joe were well received, the trifling gifts made
thereafter were still better received, and they separated with mutual
expressions of good-will.
Several other bands which were afterwards met with were equally
friendly, and only one war party was seen. Joe's quick eye observed
it in time to enable them to retire unseen behind the shelter of some
trees, where they remained until the Indian warriors were out of
sight.
The next party they met with, however, were more difficult to manage,
and, unfortunately, blood was shed on both sides before our travellers
escaped.
It was at the close of a beautiful day that a war party of Blackfeet
were seen riding along a ridge on the horizon. It chanced that the
prairie at this place was almost destitute of trees or shrubs large
enough to conceal the horses. By dashing down the grassy wave into
the hollow between the two undulations, and dismounting, Joe hoped to
elude the savages, so he gave the word; but at the same moment a shout
from the Indians told that they were discovered.
"Look sharp, lads! throw down the packs on the highest point of the
ridge," cried Joe, undoing the lashings, seizing one of the bales of
goods, and hurrying to the top of the undulation with it; "we must
keep them at arm's-length, boys--be alive! War parties are not to be
trusted."
Dick and Henri seconded Joe's efforts so ably that in the course of
two minutes the horses were unloaded, the packs piled in the form of a
wall in front of a broken piece of ground, the horses picketed close
beside them, and our three travellers peeping over the edge, with
their rifles cocked, while the savages--about thirty in number--came
sweeping down towards them.
"I'll try to git them to palaver," said Joe Blunt; "but keep yer eye
on 'em, Dick, an' if they behave ill, shoot the _horse_ o' the leadin'
chief. I'll throw up my left hand, as a signal. Mind, lad, don't hit
human flesh till my second signal is given, and see that Henri don't
draw till I git back to ye."
So saying, Joe sprang lightly over the slight parapet of their little
fortress, and ran swiftly out, unarmed, towards the Indians. In a
few seconds he was close up with them, and in another moment was
surrounded. At first the savages brandished their spears and rode
round the solitary man, yelling like fiends, as if they wished to
intimidate him; but as Joe stood like a statue, with his arms crossed,
and a grave expression of contempt on his countenance, they quickly
desisted, and, drawing near, asked him where he came from, and what he
was doing there.
Joe's story was soon told; but instead of replying, they began to
shout vociferously, and evidently meant mischief.
"If the Blackfeet are afraid to speak to the Pale-face, he will go
back to his braves," said Joe, passing suddenly between two of the
warriors and taking a few steps towards the camp.
Instantly every bow was bent, and it seemed as if our bold hunter were
about to be pierced by a score of arrows, when he turned round and
cried,--"The Blackfeet must not advance a single step. The first that
moves his _horse_ shall die. The second that moves _himself_ shall
die."
To this the Blackfeet chief replied scornfully, "The Pale-face talks
with a big mouth. We do not believe his words. The Snakes are liars;
we will make no peace with them."
While he was yet speaking, Joe threw up his hand; there was a loud
report, and the noble horse of the savage chief lay struggling in
death agony on the ground.
The use of the rifle, as we have before hinted, was little known at
this period among the Indians of the far west, and many had never
heard the dreaded report before, although all were aware, from
hearsay, of its fatal power. The fall of the chief's horse, therefore,
quite paralyzed them for a few moments, and they had not recovered
from their surprise when a second report was heard, a bullet whistled
past, and a second horse fell. At the same moment there was a loud
explosion in the camp of the Pale-faces, a white cloud enveloped it,
and from the midst of this a loud shriek was heard, as Dick, Henri,
and Crusoe bounded over the packs with frantic gestures.
At this the gaping savages wheeled their steeds round, the dismounted
horsemen sprang on behind two of their comrades, and the whole band
dashed away over the plains as if they were chased by evil spirits.
Meanwhile Joe hastened towards his comrades in a state of great
anxiety, for he knew at once that one of the powder-horns must have
been accidentally blown up.
"No damage done, boys, I hope?" he cried on coming up.
"Damage!" cried Henri, holding his hands tight over his face. "Oh!
oui, great damage--moche damage; me two eyes be blowed out of dere
holes."
"Not quite so bad as that, I hope," said Dick, who was very slightly
singed, and forgot his own hurts in anxiety about his comrade. "Let me
see."
"My eye!" exclaimed Joe Blunt, while a broad grin overspread his
countenance, "ye've not improved yer looks, Henri."
This was true. The worthy hunter's hair was singed to such an extent
that his entire countenance presented the appearance of a universal
frizzle. Fortunately the skin, although much blackened, was quite
uninjured--a fact which, when he ascertained it beyond a doubt,
afforded so much satisfaction to Henri that he capered about shouting
with delight, as if some piece of good fortune had befallen him.
The accident had happened in consequence of Henri having omitted to
replace the stopper of his powder-horn, and when, in his anxiety for
Joe, he fired at random amongst the Indians, despite Dick's entreaties
to wait, a spark communicated with the powder-horn and blew him up.
Dick and Crusoe were only a little singed, but the former was not
disposed to quarrel with an accident which had sent their enemies so
promptly to the right-about.
This band followed them for some nights, in the hope of being able to
steal their horses while they slept; but they were not brave enough to
venture a second time within range of the death-dealing rifle.
CHAPTER XXV.
_Dangers of the prairie_--_Our travellers attacked by Indians, and
delivered in a remarkable manner_.
There are periods in the life of almost all men A when misfortunes
seem to crowd upon them in rapid succession, when they escape from
one danger only to encounter another, and when, to use a well-known
expression, they succeed in leaping out of the frying-pan at the
expense of plunging into the fire.
So was it with our three friends upon this occasion. They were
scarcely rid of the Blackfeet, who found them too watchful to be
caught napping, when, about daybreak one morning, they encountered a
roving band of Camanchee Indians, who wore such a warlike aspect that
Joe deemed it prudent to avoid them if possible.
"They don't see us yit, I guess," said Joe, as he and his companions
drove the horses into a hollow between the grassy waves of the
prairie, "an' if we only can escape their sharp eyes till we're in
yonder clump o' willows, we're safe enough."
"But why don't you ride up to them, Joe," inquired Dick, "and make
peace between them and the Pale-faces, as you ha' done with other
bands?"
"Because it's o' no use to risk our scalps for the chance o' makin'
peace wi' a rovin' war party. Keep yer head down, Henri! If they git
only a sight o' the top o' yer cap, they'll be down on us like a
breeze o' wind."
"Ha! let dem come!" said Henri.
"They'll come without askin' yer leave," remarked Joe, dryly.
Notwithstanding his defiant expression, Henri had sufficient prudence
to induce him to bend his head and shoulders, and in a few minutes
they reached the shelter of the willows unseen by the savages. At
least so thought Henri, Joe was not quite sure about it, and Dick
hoped for the best.
In the course of half-an-hour the last of the Camanchees was seen to
hover for a second on the horizon, like a speck of black against the
sky, and then to disappear.
Immediately the three hunters vaulted on their steeds and resumed
their journey; but before that evening closed they had sad evidence of
the savage nature of the band from which they had escaped. On passing
the brow of a slight eminence, Dick, who rode first, observed that
Crusoe stopped and snuffed the breeze in an anxious, inquiring manner.
"What is't, pup?" said Dick, drawing up, for he knew that his faithful
dog never gave a false alarm.
Crusoe replied by a short, uncertain bark, and then bounding forward,
disappeared behind a little wooded knoll. In another moment a long,
dismal howl floated over the plains. There was a mystery about the
dog's conduct which, coupled with his melancholy cry, struck the
travellers with a superstitious feeling of dread, as they sat looking
at each other in surprise.
"Come, let's clear it up," cried Joe Blunt, shaking the reins of his
steed, and galloping forward. A few strides brought them to the other
side of the knoll, where, scattered upon the torn and bloody turf,
they discovered the scalped and mangled remains of about twenty or
thirty human beings. Their skulls had been cleft by the tomahawk and
their breasts pierced by the scalping-knife, and from the position in
which many of them lay it was evident that they had been slain while
asleep.
Joe's brow flushed and his lips became tightly compressed as he
muttered between his set teeth, "Their skins are white."
A short examination sufficed to show that the men who had thus been
barbarously murdered while they slept had been a band of trappers or
hunters, but what their errand had been, or whence they came, they
could not discover.
Everything of value had been carried off, and all the scalps had been
taken. Most of the bodies, although much mutilated, lay in a posture
that led our hunters to believe they had been killed while asleep; but
one or two were cut almost to pieces, and from the blood-bespattered
and trampled sward around, it seemed as if they had struggled long and
fiercely for life. Whether or not any of the savages had been slain,
it was impossible to tell, for if such had been the case, their
comrades, doubtless, had carried away their bodies.
That they had been slaughtered by the party of Camanchees who had been
seen at daybreak was quite clear to Joe; but his burning desire to
revenge the death of the white men had to be stifled, as his party was
so small.
Long afterwards it was discovered that this was a band of trappers
who, like those mentioned at the beginning of this volume, had set out
to avenge the death of a comrade; but God, who has retained the right
of vengeance in his own hand, saw fit to frustrate their purpose, by
giving them into the hands of the savages whom they had set forth to
slay.
As it was impossible to bury so many bodies, the travellers resumed
their journey, and left them to bleach there in the wilderness; but
they rode the whole of that day almost without uttering a word.
Meanwhile the Camanchees, who had observed the trio, and had ridden
away at first for the purpose of deceiving them into the belief that
they had passed unobserved, doubled on their track, and took a long
sweep in order to keep out of sight until they could approach under
the shelter of a belt of woodland towards which the travellers now
approached.
The Indians adopted this course instead of the easier method of
simply pursuing so weak a party, because the plains at this part were
bordered by a long stretch of forest into which the hunters could have
plunged, and rendered pursuit more difficult, if not almost useless.
The detour thus taken was so extensive that the shades of evening were
beginning to descend before they could put their plan into execution.
The forest lay about a mile to the right of our hunters, like some
dark mainland, of which the prairie was the sea and the scattered
clumps of wood the islands.
"There's no lack o' game here," said Dick Varley, pointing to a herd
of buffaloes which rose at their approach and fled away towards the
wood.
"I think we'll ha' thunder soon," remarked Joe. "I never feel it
onnatteral hot like this without lookin' out for a plump."
"Ha! den ve better look hout for one goot tree to get b'low,"
suggested Henri. "Voila!" he added, pointing with his finger towards
the plain; "dere am a lot of wild hosses."
A troop of about thirty wild horses appeared, as he spoke, on the brow
of a ridge, and advanced slowly towards them.
"Hist!" exclaimed Joe, reining up; "hold on, lads. Wild horses! my
rifle to a pop-gun there's wilder men on t'other side o' them."
"What mean you, Joe?" inquired Dick, riding close up.
"D'ye see the little lumps on the shoulder o' each horse?" said Joe.
"Them's Injun's _feet_; an' if we don't want to lose our scalps we'd
better make for the forest."
Joe proved himself to be in earnest by wheeling round and making
straight for the thick wood as fast as his horse could run. The others
followed, driving the pack-horses before them.
The effect of this sudden movement on the so-called "wild horses"
was very remarkable, and to one unacquainted with the habits of the
Camanchee Indians must have appeared almost supernatural. In the
twinkling of an eye every steed had a rider on its back, and before
the hunters had taken five strides in the direction of the forest, the
whole band were in hot pursuit, yelling like furies.