the drooped ears of sorrow; the bright, full eye
of joy, the half-closed eye of contentment, and the
frowning eye of indignation accompanied with a slight,
a very slight pucker of the nose and a gleam of dazzling
ivory--ha! no enemy ever saw this last piece of
canine language without a full appreciation of what it
meant. Then as to the tail--the modulations of meaning
in the varied wag of that expressive member--oh!
it's useless to attempt description. Mortal man cannot
conceive of the delicate shades of sentiment expressible
by a dog's tail, unless he has studied the subject--the
wag, the waggle, the cock, the droop, the slope, the
wriggle! Away with description--it is impotent and
valueless here!
As we have said, Crusoe was meek and mild. He
had been bitten, on the sly, by half the ill-natured curs
in the settlement, and had only shown his teeth in return.
He had no enmities--though several enemies--and
he had a thousand friends, particularly among the
ranks of the weak and the persecuted, whom he always
protected and avenged when opportunity offered. A
single instance of this kind will serve to show his character.
One day Dick and Crusoe were sitting on a rock beside
the lake--the same identical rock near which, when
a pup, the latter had received his first lesson. They
were conversing as usual, for Dick had elicited such a
fund of intelligence from the dog's mind, and had injected
such wealth of wisdom into it, that he felt convinced
it understood every word he said.
"This is capital weather, Crusoe; ain't it, pup?"
Crusoe made a motion with his head which was
quite as significant as a nod.
"Ha! my pup, I wish that you and I might go and
have a slap at the grizzly bars, and a look at the Rocky
Mountains. Wouldn't it be nuts, pup?"
Crusoe looked dubious.
"What, you don't agree with me! Now tell me,
pup, wouldn't ye like to grip a bar?"
Still Crusoe looked dubious, but made a gentle motion
with his tail, as though he would have said, "I've seen
neither Rocky Mountains nor grizzly bars, and know
nothin' about 'em, but I'm open to conviction."
"You're a brave pup," rejoined Dick, stroking the
dog's huge head affectionately. "I wouldn't give you
for ten times your weight in golden dollars--if there
be sich things."
Crusoe made no reply whatever to this. He regarded
it as a truism unworthy of notice; he evidently felt that
a comparison between love and dollars was preposterous.
At this point in the conversation a little dog with a
lame leg hobbled to the edge of the rocks in front of
the spot where Dick was seated, and looked down into
the water, which was deep there. Whether it did so
for the purpose of admiring its very plain visage in the
liquid mirror, or finding out what was going on among
the fish, we cannot say, as it never told us; but at that
moment a big, clumsy, savage-looking dog rushed out
from the neighbouring thicket and began to worry it.
"Punish him, Crusoe," said Dick quickly.
Crusoe made one bound that a lion might have been
proud of, and seizing the aggressor by the back, lifted
him off his legs and held him, howling, in the air--at
the same time casting a look towards his master for
further instructions.
"Pitch him in," said Dick, making a sign with his
hand.
Crusoe turned and quietly dropped the dog into the
lake. Having regarded his struggles there for a few
moments with grave severity of countenance, he walked
slowly back and sat down beside his master.
The little dog made good its retreat as fast as three
legs would carry it; and the surly dog, having swum
ashore, retired sulkily, with his tail very much between
his legs.
Little wonder, then, that Crusoe was beloved by
great and small among the well-disposed of the canine
tribe of the Mustang Valley.
But Crusoe was not a mere machine. When not
actively engaged in Dick Varley's service, he busied
himself with private little matters of his own. He
undertook modest little excursions into the woods or
along the margin of the lake, sometimes alone, but
more frequently with a little friend whose whole heart
and being seemed to be swallowed up in admiration of
his big companion. Whether Crusoe botanized or
geologized on these excursions we will not venture to
say. Assuredly he seemed as though he did both, for
he poked his nose into every bush and tuft of moss,
and turned over the stones, and dug holes in the ground--and,
in short, if he did not understand these sciences,
he behaved very much as if he did. Certainly he
knew as much about them as many of the human
species do.
In these walks he never took the slightest notice of
Grumps (that was the little dog's name), but Grumps
made up for this by taking excessive notice of him.
When Crusoe stopped, Grumps stopped and sat down
to look at him. When Crusoe trotted on, Grumps
trotted on too. When Crusoe examined a bush, Grumps
sat down to watch him; and when he dug a hole,
Grumps looked into it to see what was there. Grumps
never helped him; his sole delight was in looking on.
They didn't converse much, these two dogs. To be in
each other's company seemed to be happiness enough--at
least Grumps thought so.
There was one point at which Grumps stopped short,
however, and ceased to follow his friend, and that was
when he rushed headlong into the lake and disported
himself for an hour at a time in its cool waters. Crusoe
was, both by nature and training, a splendid water-dog.
Grumps, on the contrary, held water in abhorrence; so
he sat on the shore of the lake disconsolate when his
friend was bathing, and waited till he came out. The
only time when Grumps was thoroughly nonplussed
was when Dick Varley's whistle sounded faintly in the
far distance. Then Crusoe would prick up his ears
and stretch out at full gallop, clearing ditch, and fence,
and brake with his strong elastic bound, and leaving
Grumps to patter after him as fast as his four-inch
legs would carry him. Poor Grumps usually arrived at
the village to find both dog and master gone, and would
betake himself to his own dwelling, there to lie down
and sleep, and dream, perchance, of rambles and gambols
with his gigantic friend.
A mission of peace--Unexpected joys--Dick and Crusoe set off forthe land of the Redskins, and meet with adventures by theway as a matter of course--Night in the wild woods
.
One day the inhabitants of Mustang Valley were
thrown into considerable excitement by the
arrival of an officer of the United States army and a
small escort of cavalry. They went direct to the blockhouse,
which, since Major Hope's departure, had become
the residence of Joe Blunt--that worthy having, by
general consent, been deemed the fittest man in the
settlement to fill the major's place.
Soon it began to be noised abroad that the strangers
had been sent by Government to endeavour to bring
about, if possible, a more friendly state of feeling between
the Whites and the Indians by means of presents,
and promises, and fair speeches.
The party remained all night in the block-house, and
ere long it was reported that Joe Blunt had been requested,
and had consented, to be the leader and chief
of a party of three men who should visit the neighbouring
tribes of Indians to the west and north of the
valley as Government agents. Joe's knowledge of two
or three different Indian dialects, and his well-known
sagacity, rendered him a most fitting messenger on such
an errand. It was also whispered that Joe was to have
the choosing of his comrades in this mission, and many
were the opinions expressed and guesses made as to who
would be chosen.
That same evening Dick Varley was sitting in his
mother's kitchen cleaning his rifle. His mother was
preparing supper, and talking quietly about the obstinacy
of a particular hen that had taken to laying her
eggs in places where they could not be found. Fan
was coiled up in a corner sound asleep, and Crusoe was
sitting at one side of the fire looking on at things in
general.
"I wonder," remarked Mrs. Varley, as she spread the
table with a pure white napkin--"I wonder what the
sodgers are doin' wi' Joe Blunt."
As often happens when an individual is mentioned,
the worthy referred to opened the door at that moment
and stepped into the room.
"Good e'en t'ye, dame," said the stout hunter, doffing
his cap, and resting his rifle in a corner, while Dick
rose and placed a chair for him.
"The same to you, Master Blunt," answered the widow;
"you've jist comed in good time for a cut o' venison."
"Thanks, mistress; I s'pose we're beholden to the
silver rifle for that."
"To the hand that aimed it, rather," suggested the
widow.
"Nay, then, say raither to the dog that turned it,"
said Dick Varley. "But for Crusoe, that buck would
ha' bin couched in the woods this night."
"Oh! if it comes to that," retorted Joe, "I'd lay it
to the door o' Fan, for if she'd niver bin born nother
would Crusoe. But it's good an' tender meat, whativer
ways ye got it. Howsiver, I've other things to talk
about jist now. Them sodgers that are eatin' buffalo
tongues up at the block-house as if they'd niver ate meat
before, and didn't hope to eat again for a twelvemonth--"
"Ay, what o' them?" interrupted Mrs. Varley; "I've
bin wonderin' what was their errand."
"Of coorse ye wos, Dame Varley, and I've comed
here a purpis to tell ye. They want me to go to the
Redskins to make peace between them and us; and
they've brought a lot o' goods to make them presents
withal--beads, an' knives, an' lookin'-glasses, an' vermilion
paint, an' sich like, jist as much as'll be a light
load for one horse--for, ye see, nothin' can be done wi'
the Redskins without gifts."
"'Tis a blessed mission," said the widow; "I wish it
may succeed. D'ye think ye'll go?"
"Go? ay, that will I."
"I only wish they'd made the offer to me," said Dick
with a sigh.
"An' so they do make the offer, lad. They've gin
me leave to choose the two men I'm to take with me,
and I've corned straight to ask
you
. Ay or no, for we
must up an' away by break o' day to-morrow."
Mrs. Varley started. "So soon?" she said, with a
look of anxiety.
"Ay; the Pawnees are at the Yellow Creek jist at
this time, but I've heerd they're 'bout to break up
camp an' away west; so we'll need to use haste."
"May I go, mother?" asked Dick, with a look of
anxiety.
There was evidently a conflict in the widow's breast,
but it quickly ceased.
"Yes, my boy," she said in her own low, quiet voice;
"and God go with ye. I knew the time must come
soon, an' I thank him that your first visit to the Redskins
will be on an errand o' peace. 'Blessed are the
peace-makers: for they shall be called the children of
God.'"
Dick grasped his mother's hand and pressed it to his
cheek in silence. At the same moment Crusoe, seeing
that the deeper feelings of his master were touched, and
deeming it his duty to sympathize, rose up and thrust
his nose against him.
"Ah, pup," cried the young man hastily, "you must
go too.--Of course Crusoe goes, Joe Blunt?"
"Hum! I don't know that. There's no dependin' on
a dog to keep his tongue quiet in times o' danger."
"Believe me," exclaimed Dick, flashing with enthusiasm,
"Crusoe's more trustworthy than I am myself.
If ye can trust the master, ye're safe to trust the pup."
"Well, lad, ye may be right. We'll take him."
"Thanks, Joe. And who else goes with us?"
"I've' bin castin' that in my mind for some time, an'
I've fixed to take Henri. He's not the safest man in