 Chapter 1 of The Dog, Caruso, and His Master. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Allison Hester of Athens, Georgia. The Dog, Caruso, and His Master by R. M. Valentine. Chapter 1. The Backwood Settlement. Caruso's parentage in early history, the agonizing pains and sorrows of his puppyhood, and other interesting matters. The Dog, Caruso, was once a pup. Now, do not, courteous reader, toss your head contemptuously and exclaim, of course he was, I could have told you that. You know very well that you have often seen a man above six feet high, broad and powerful as a lion, with a bronze shaggy visage and the stern glance of an eagle, of whom you have said, or thought, or heard others say. It is scarcely possible to believe that such a man was once a squalling baby. If you had seen our hero in all the strength and majesty of a full grown doghood, you would have experienced a vague sort of surprise. Had we told you, as we now repeat, that the Dog, Caruso, was once a pup. A soft, round, sprawling, squeaking pup, as fat as a tallow candle, as blind as a bat. But, we draw particular attention to the fact of Caruso's having once been a pup, because in connection with the days of his puppyhood, there hangs a tail. This particular dog may thus be said to have had two tails, one in connection with his body, the other with his career. This tail, though short, is very harrowing. And, as it is intimately connected with Caruso's subsequent history, we will relate it here. But, before doing so, we must beg our reader to accompany us beyond the civilized portions of the United States of America, beyond the frontier settlements of the far west, into those wild prairies which are watered by the great Missouri River, the father of waters, and his numerous tributaries. Here dwell the ponies, the Sioux, the Delaware's, the Crows, the Blackfeet, and many other tribes of red Indians who are gradually retreating step by step towards the Rocky Mountains, as the advancing white man cuts down their trees and plows up their prairies. Here, too, dwell the wild horse and the wild ass, the deer, the buffalo, and the badger. All men and brutes alike, wild as the power of untamed and ungovernable passion, can make them, and free as the wind that sweeps over their mighty plains. There is a romantic and exquisitely beautiful spot on the banks of one of the tributaries above referred to, a long stretch of mingled woodland and meadow with a magnificent lake lying like a gem in its green bosom, which goes by the name of Mustang Valley. This remote veil, even at the present day, is but thinly peopled by white men, and is still a frontier settlement round which the wolf and the bear prowl curiously, and from which the startled deer bounds terrified away. At the period of which we write, the valley had just been taken possession of by several families of squatters who, tired of the turmoil and the squabbles of the frontier settlements, had pushed boldly into the far west to seek a new home for themselves where they could have elbow room, regardless alike of the dangers they might encounter in unknown lands and of the redskins who dwelt there. The squatters were well armed with axes, rifles, and ammunition. Most of the women were used to dangers and alarms and placed implicit reliance on the power of their fathers, husbands, and brothers to protect them, and well they might, for a bolder set of stalwart men than these Bax woodsmen never trod the wilderness. Each had been trained to the use of the rifle and the axe from infancy, as many of them had spent so much of their lives in the woods that they were more than a match for the Indian in his own peculiar pursuits of hunting and war. When the squatters first issued from the woods bordering the valley, an immense herd of wild horses or mustangs were browsing on the plain. These no sooner beheld the cavalcade of white men than uttering a wild neigh they tossed their flowing mains in the breeze and dashed away like a whirlwind. This incident procured the valley its name. The newcomers gave one satisfied glance at their future home and then set to work to erect log huts forthwith. Soon the axe was heard ringing through the forests and tree after tree fell to the ground while the occasional sharp ring of a rifle told the hunters were catering successfully for the camp. In course of time the Mustang Valley began to assume the aspect of a thriving settlement with cottages and waving fields clustered together in the midst of it. Of course the savages soon found it out and paid occasional visits. These dark skinned tenants of the woods brought furs of wild animals with them which they exchanged with the white men for knives and beads and baubles and trinkets of brass and tin. But they hated the pale faces with bitter hatred because their enroachments had at this time materially curtailed the extent of their hunting grounds. And nothing but the numbers and known courage of the squatters prevented these savages from butchering and scalping them all. The leader of this band of pioneers was a major hope. A gentleman whose love for nature in its wildest aspects determined him to exchange barric life for a life in the woods. The major was a first-rate shot, a bold, fearless man, and an enthusiastic naturalist. He was past the prime of life and being a bachelor was encumbered with a family. His first act on reaching the site of the new settlement was to commence the erection of a blockhouse to which the people might retire in case of a general attack by the Indians. In this blockhouse, major hope took up his abode as the guardian of the settlement. And here the dog Crusoe was born. Here he sprawled in the early morn of life. Here he leaped and yelped and wagged his shaggy tail in the excessive glee of puppyhood. And from the wooden portals of this blockhouse, he bounded forth to the chase in all the fire and strength and majesty of full-grown doghood. Crusoe's father and mother were magnificent Newfoundlanders. There was no doubt as to their being of the genuine breed, for major hope had received them as a parting gift from a brother officer who had brought them both from Newfoundland itself. The father's name was Crusoe, the mother's name was Fan. Why the father had been so called, no one could tell. The man from whom major hope's friend had obtained the pair was a poor illiterate fisherman who had never heard of the celebrated Robinson in all his life. All he knew was that Fan had been named after his own wife. As for Crusoe, he had got him from a friend who had got him from another friend whose cousin had received him as a marriage gift from a friend of his. And that each had said to the other that the dog's name was Crusoe without reasons being asked or given on either side. On arriving at New York, the major's friend, as we have said, made him a president of the dogs. Not being much of a dog fancier, he soon tired of old Crusoe and gave him away to a gentleman who took him down to Florida. And that was the end of him. He was never heard of more. When Crusoe Jr. was born, he was born, of course, without a name. That was given to him afterwards in honor of his father. He was also born in company with a brother and two sisters, all of whom drowned themselves accidentally in the first month of their existence by falling into the river which flowed past the blockhouse, a calamity which occurred doubtless in consequence of their having gone out without their mother's leave. Little Crusoe was with his brother and sisters at the time and fell in along with them, but was saved from sharing their fate by his mother, who, seeing what had happened, dashed with an agonized howl into the water and seizing him in her mouth brought him ashore in a half-drowned condition. She afterwards brought the others ashore one by one, but the poor little things were dead. And now we come to the harrowing part of our tale for the proper understanding of which the foregoing dissertation was needful. One beautiful afternoon in that charming season of the American year called the Indian Summer, there came a family of Sioux Indians to the Mustang Valley and pitched their tent close to the blockhouse. A young hunter stood leaning against the gatepost of the palisades, watching the movements of the Indians, who, having just finished a long paliver, or talk with major hope, were now in the act of preparing supper. A fire had been kindled on the green sward in front of the tent, and above it stood a tripod, from which depended a large ten camp kettle. Over this hung an ill-favored Indian woman, or squaw, who, besides attending to the contents of the pot, bestowed sundry cups and kicks upon her little child, which sat near to her playing with several Indian currs that gambled around the fire. The master of the family and his two sons reclined on buffalo robes, smoking their stone pipes or kelumets in silence. There was nothing peculiar in their appearance. Their faces were neither dignified nor coarse in expression, but wore an aspect of stupid apathy, which formed a striking contrast to the countenance of the young hunter, who seemed an amused spectator of their proceedings. The youth preferred to was very unlike, in many respects, to what we are accustomed to suppose a backwood's hunter should be. He did not possess that quiet gravity and staid demeanor, which often characterized these men. True, he was tall and strongly made, but no one would have called him stalwart. His frame indicated grace and agility rather than strength. But the point about him, which rendered him different from his companions, was his bounding, irrepressible flow of spirits, strangely coupled with an intense love of solitary wandering in the woods. None seemed so well-fitted for social enjoyment as he. None laughed so heartily or expressed such glee in his mischief-loving eye. Yet for days together he went off alone into the forest and wandered where his fancy led him, as grave and silent as an Indian warrior. After all, there was nothing mysterious in this. The boy followed implicitly the dictates of nature within him. He was amiable, straightforward, sanguine, and intensely earnest. When he laughed, he let it out, as sailors have it, with a will. When there was good cause to be grave, no power on earth could make him smile. We have called him boy, but in truth he was about that uncertain period of life when a youth is said to be neither a man nor a boy. His face was good-looking, every earnest-candid face is, and masculine. His hair was reddish-brown, and his eyes bright blue. He was costumed in the deerskin cap, leggings, moccasins, and leather shirt common to the western hunter. You seem tickled with the engines, Dickavale, said a man who at that moment issued from the blockhouse. That's just what I am, Joe Blunt, replied the youth, turning with a broad grin to his companion. Have a care, lad. Do not laugh at them too much. They soon take offense, and them redskins never forgive. But I'm only laughing at the baby, returned the youth, pointing to the child, which, with a mixture of boldness and timidity, was playing with a pup wrinkling up its fat visage into a smile when its playmate rushed away in sport and opening wide its jet-black eyes in grave anxiety as the pup returned at full gallop. It'd make an owl laugh, continued young Varley, to see such a queer picture of itself. He paused suddenly, and a dark frown covered his face as he saw the Indian woman stoop quickly down, catch the pup by its hind leg with one hand, seize a heavy piece of wood with the other, and strike it several violent blows on the throat. Without taking the trouble to kill the poor animal outright, the savage then held its still writhing body over the fire in order to singe off the hair before putting it into the pot to be cooked. The cruel axe drew young Varley's attention more closely to the pup, and it flashed across his mind that this could be no other than young Crusoe, which neither he nor his companion had before seen, although they had often heard others speak of and describe it. Had the little creature been one of the unfortunate Indian cures, the two hunters would probably have turned from the sickening sight with disgust, feeling that, however much they might dislike such cruelty, it would be of no use attempting to interfere with the Indian usages. But the instant the idea that it was Crusoe occurred to Varley, he uttered a yell of anger and sprang towards the woman with a bound that caused the three Indians to leap to their feet and grasp their tomahawks. Blunt did not move from the gate, but threw forward his rifle with a careless motion, but an expressive glance that caused the Indians to resume their seats and pipes with an emphatic wah of disgust and having been startled out of their propriety by a trifle while Dick Varley snatched poor Crusoe from his dangerous and painful position scowled angrily in the woman's face and, turning on his heel, walked up to the house holding the pup tenderly in his arms. Joe Blunt gazed after his friend with a grave solemn expression of countenance till he disappeared. Then he looked at the ground and shook his head. Joe was one of the regular out and out backwards hunters, both in appearance and, in fact, broad, tall, massive lion-like, gifted with the hunting, stalking, running, and trail following powers of the savage and with a superabundance of the shooting and fighting powers, the daring and dash of the Anglo-Saxon. He was grave, two seldom smiled and rarely laughed. His expression almost at all times was a compound of seriousness and good humor. With the rifle, he was a good, steady shot, but by no means a crack one. His ball never failed to hit, but it often failed to kill. After meditating a few seconds, Joe Blunt again shook his head and muttered to himself, the boy's bold enough, but he's too reckless for a hunter. There was no need for that yell now, none at all. Having uttered this sagacious remark, he threw his rifle into the hollow with his left arm, turned round, and strode off with a long, slow step towards his own cottage. Blunt was an American by birth, but of Irish extraction, and to an attentive ear, there was a faint echo of the brogue in his tone, which seemed to have been handed down to him as a threadbare and almost worn out heirloom. Poor Crusoe was singed almost naked. His wretched tail seemed little better than a piece of wire filed off to a point, and he vented his misery in piteous squeaks as the sympathetic varly confided him tenderly to the care of his mother. How fan-managed to cure him, no one can tell, but cure him she did. For in the course of a few weeks, Crusoe was as well and sleek and fat as ever. And of Chapter 1, Chapter 2 of The Dog Crusoe and His Master. This reading by Allison Hester of Athens, Georgia. The Dog Crusoe and His Master by R. M. Valentine. Chapter 2. A shooting match and its consequences. New friends introduced to the reader. Crusoe and his mother changed masters. Shortly after the incident narrated in the last chapter, the squatters of the Mustang Valley lost their leader. Major Hope suddenly announced his intention of quitting the settlement and returning to the civilized world. Private matters, he said, required his presence there. Matters which he did not choose to speak of, which would prevent his returning again to reside among them. Go he must, and, being a man of determination, go he did. But, before going, he distributed all his goods and chattels among the settlers. He even gave away his rifle, and fan, and Crusoe. These last, however, he resolved, should go together. And, as they were well worth having, he announced he would give them to the best shot in the valley. He stipulated that the winner should escort him to the nearest settlement eastward, after which he might return with the rifle on his shoulder. Accordingly, a long-level piece of ground on the river's bank, with a perpendicular cliff at the end of it, was selected as the shooting ground. And, on the appointed day, at the appointed hour, the competitors began to assemble. Well, lad first, as usual, exclaimed Joe Blunt as he reached the ground and found Dick Varley there before him. I've been here more than an hour looking for a new kind of flower that Jack Morgan told me he'd seen, and I've found it too. Look here, did you ever see one like this before? Blunt leaned his rifle against a tree and carefully examined the flower. Why, yes, I've seen many of them up about the Rocky Mountains, but never one here away. It seems to have gone lost itself. The last I seed, if I remembered rightly, was near the headwaters of the Yellowstone River. It was just where I shot a grizzly bar. Was that the bar that gave you the wipe on the cheek? Asked Varley for getting the flower in his interest about the bear. It was. I put six balls in that bodice carcass and stuck my knife into its hot ten times before it gave out, and nearly ripped the shut off my back before I was done with it. I would give my rifle to get a chance at a grizzly, exclaimed Varley with a sudden burst of enthusiasm. Whoever got it wouldn't have much to brag of, remarked a burly young backwoodsman as he joined them. His remark was true, for poor Dick's weapon was but a sorry affair. It missed fire, and it hung fire, and even when it did fire, it remained a matter of doubt in its owner's mind whether the slight deviations from the direct line made by his bullets were the result of his or its bad shooting. Further comment upon it was checked by the arrival of a dozen or more hunters on the scene of action. They were a sturdy set of bronzed, bold, fearless men, and one felt, on looking at them, that they would prove more than a match for several hundreds of Indians in open fight. A few minutes after, the Major himself came on the ground with the prize rifle on his shoulder and, fan and crew so, at his heels. The latter tumbling, scrambling and yelping after its mother, fat and clumsy and happy as possible, having evidently quite forgotten that it had been nearly roasted alive only a few weeks before. Immediately all eyes were on the rifle, and its merits were discussed with animation. And well did it deserve discussion, for such a piece had never before been seen on the western frontier. It was shorter in the barrel and larger in the bore than the weapons chiefly invoked at that time. And, besides being a beautiful workmanship, was silver mounted. But the grand peculiarity about it, and that which afterwards rendered it the mystery of mysteries to the savages, was that it had two sets of locks. One percussion, the other flint. So, that when the caps failed, by taking off the one set of locks and affixing the others, it was converted into a flint rifle. The Major, however, took care never to run short of caps, so that the flint locks were merely held as a reserve in case of need. Now lads, cried Major Hope, stepping up to the point whence they were to shoot. Remember the terms, you who first drives the knell obtains the rifle, fan and her pup, and accompanies me to the nearest settlement. Each man shoots with his own gun and draws lots for the chance. Agreed, cried the man, well then wipe your guns and draw the lots, Henry will fix the nail. Here it is. The individual who stepped, or rather plunged forward to receive the nail, was a rare and remarkable specimen of mankind. Like his comrades, he was half a farmer and half a hunter. Like them too, he was clad in deerskin, and was tall and strong, nay more, he was gigantic. But unlike them, he was clumsy, awkward, loose-jointed, and a bad shot. Nevertheless, Henry was an immense favorite in the settlement, for his good humor knew no bounds. No one ever saw him frown. Even when fighting with the savages, as he was sometimes compelled to do in self-defense, he went at them with a sort of jovial rage that was almost laughable. Inconsiderate recklessness was one of his chief characteristics, so that his comrades were rather afraid of him on the war trail or in the hunt, where caution and frequently soundless motion were essential to success or safety. But when Henry had a comrade at his side to check him, he was safe enough, being humble-minded and obedient. Men used to say he must have been born under a lucky star, for, notwithstanding his natural inaptitude for all sorts of backwood's life, he managed to scramble through everything with safety, often with success and sometimes with credit. To see Henry stalk a deer was worth a long day's journey. Joe Blunt used to say he was all gents together, from the top of his side to the sole of his moccasin. He threw his immense form into the most inconceivable contortions and slowly wound his way, sometimes on hands and knees, sometimes flat through bush and break, as if there was not a bone in his body and without a slightest noise. This sort of work was so much against his plunging nature that he took long to learn it. But when, through hard practice and the loss of many a fine deer, he came at length to break himself into it. He gradually progressed to perfection and ultimately became the best stalker in the valley. This and this alone enabled him to procure a game for, being short-sighted, he could hit nothing beyond 50 yards, except a buffalo or a barn door. Yet that same lithe body, which seemed as though totally unhinged, could no more be bent when the muscles were strong than an iron post. No one wrestled with Henry unless he wished to have his back broken. Few could equal and none could beat him at running or leaping, except Dick Varley. When Henry ran a race, even Joe Blunt laughed outright, for arms and legs went like independent flails. When he leaped, he hurled himself into space with a degree of violence that seemed to ensure a somersault. Yet he always came down with a crash on his feet. Plunging was Henry's forte. He generally lounged about the settlement when unoccupied, with his hands behind his back, apparently in a reverie. And when called on to act, he seemed to fancy he must have lost time and could only make up for it by plunging. This habit got him into many awkward scrapes, but his herculean power as often got him out of them. He was a French-Canadian and a particularly bad speaker of the English language. We offer no apology for this elaborate introduction of Henry, for he was as good-hearted a fellow as ever lived and deserves special notice. But to return, the sort of rifle practice called driving the nail by which this match was to be decided was, and we believe still is, common among the hunters of the far west. It consisted in this. An ordinary, large-headed nail was driven a short way into a plank or tree, and the hunters, standing at a distance of 50 yards or so, fired at it until they succeeded in driving it home. On the present occasion, the major resolved to test their shooting by marking the distance 70 yards. Some of the older men shook their heads. It's too far, said one. You might as well try to snuff the nose of Mosquito. Jim Skrags is the only man as will hit that, said another. The man referred to as a long, lank lantern-jawed fellow with a cross-grained expression of countenance. He used the long, heavy Kentucky rifle, which, from the ball, being a little larger than a pea, was called a pea rifle. Jim was no favorite and had been named Skrags by his companions on account of his appearance. In a few minutes, the lots were drawn and the shooting began. Each hunter wiped out the barrel of his piece with his ramrod as he stepped forward. Then, placing a ball in the palm of his left hand, he drew the stopper of his powder horn with his teeth and poured out as much powder as suffice to cover the bullet. This was the regular measure among them. Little time was lost in firing, for these men did not hang on their aim. The point of the rifle was slowly raised to the object and, the instant the sight covered it, the ball sped to its mark. In a few minutes, the nail was encircled by bullet holes, scarcely two of which were more than an inch distant from the mark. In one, fired by Joe Blunt, entered the tree close beside it. Oh, Joe, said the Major, I thought you would have carried off the prize. So did not I, sir, return to Blunt with a shake of his head. Had it been a half a dollar at a hundred yards, I had done better, but I never could hit the nail. It's too small to see. That's because you got no eyes, remarked Jim Skrags, with a sneer as he stepped forward. All tongues were now hushed, for the expected champion was about to fire. The sharp crack of the rifle was followed by a shout, for Jim had hit the nail head on the edge and part of the bullet stuck to it. That wins if there's no better, said the Major, scarce able to conceal his disappointment. Who comes next? To this question, Henry answered by stepping up to the line, straddling his legs and executing preliminary movements with his rifle, that seemed to indicate an intention on his part to throw the weapon bodily at the mark. He was received with a shout of mingled laughter and applause. After gazing steadily at the mark for a few seconds, a broad grin overspread his countenance. And, looking round at his companions, he said, ha, miss boys, I cannot behold the nail at all. Can you behold the tree? shouted a voice, when the laugh that followed this announcement had somewhat abated. Oh, we, replied Henry quite coolly, I can see him in a goot small bed of the forest beyond. Fire at it then, if you hit the tree, you deserve the rifle, least wise y'all to get the pup. Henry grinned again and fired instantly, without taking aim. The shot was followed by an exclamation of surprise, for the bullet was found close beside the nail. It's more be good luck than good shooting, remarked Jim Skraggs. Possible meant, answered Henry modestly as he retreated to the rear and wiped out his rifle. Mace, I have killed most of my dear by that same good luck. Bravo, Henry, said Major Hope as he passed. You deserve to win anyhow. Who's next? Dick Varley, cried several voices. Where's Varley? Come on, youngston, take your shot. The youth came forward with evident reluctance. It's of no manner or use, he whispered to Joe Blunt as he passed. I can't depend on my old gun. Never give in, whispered Blunt encouragingly. Poor Varley's want of confidence in his rifle was merited, for, on pulling the trigger, the faithless lock missed fire. Land him another gun, cried several voices, against the rules laid down by Major Hope, said Skraggs. Well, so it is. Try again. Varley did try again, and so successfully, too, that the ball hit the nail on the head, leaving a portion of the lead sticking to its edge. Of course, this was greeted with a cheer and a loud dispute began as to which was the better shot of the two. There are others to shoot yet, cried the Major. Make way, look out. The men fell back, and the few hunters who had not yet fired took their shots, but without coming nearer the mark. It was now agreed that Jim Skraggs and Dick Varley, being the two best shots, should try over again. And it was also agreed that Dick should have the use of Blunt's rifle. Lots were again drawn for the first shot, and it fell to Dick, who immediately stepped out, aimed somewhat hastily, and fired. Hit again, shouted those who had run forward to examine the mark, half the bullet cut off by the nail head. Some of the more enthusiastic of Dick's friends cheered lustily, but the most of the hunters were grave and silent, for they knew Jim's powers and felt that he would certainly do his best. Jim now stepped up to the line and, looking earnestly at the mark, threw forward his rifle. At that moment, our friend Crusoe, tired of tormenting his mother, waddled stupidly and innocently into the midst of the crowd of men, and, in doing so, received Henry's heel and the full weight of his elephantine body on its forepaw. The horrible and electric yell that instantly issued from his agonized throat could only be compared, as Joe Blunt expressed it, to the last dine screech of a bustin' steambiler. We cannot say that the effect was startling, for these back woodsmen had been born of bread in the midst of alarms, and were so used to them that a bustin' steambiler itself, unless it had blown them fairly off their legs, would not have startled them. But the effect, such as it was, was sufficient to disconcert the aim of Jim Skrags, who fired at the same instant and missed the nail by a hare's breath. Turning round and towering wrath, Skrags aimed a kick at the poor pup, which, had it taken effect, would certainly have terminated the innocent existence of that remarkable dog on the spot. But quick as lightning, Henry interposed the butt of his rifle, and Jim Shen met it with a violence that caused him to howl with rage and pain. Oh, pardon me, brother! cried Henry, shrinking back with the drollest expression of mingled pity angly. Jim's discretion on this occasion was superior to his valor. He turned away with coarse expression of anger and left the ground. Meanwhile, the Major handed the silver rifle to young Varley. It couldn't have fallen into better hands, he said. You'll do it credit, lad. I know that fool well, and let me assure you, it will never play you false. Only keep it clean, don't overcharge it, aim true, and it will never miss the mark. While the hunters crowded round Dick to congratulate him and examine the peace, he stood with a mingled feeling of bashfulness and delight at his unexpected good fortune. Recovering himself suddenly, he seized his old rifle and, dropping quietly to the outskirts of the crowd, while the men were still busy handling and discussing the merits of the prize, went up, unobserved, to a boy of about thirteen years of age and touched him on the shoulder. Here, Martson, you know I often said you should have the old rifle when I was rich enough to get a new one. Take it now, lad. It's come to you sooner than either us expected. Dick, said the boy grasping his friend's hand warmly, you're true as hard of oak. It's good of me. That's a fact. Not a bit, boy. It cost me nothing to give away an old gun I've no use for. And it's worth a little, but it makes me right glad to have the chance to do it. Martson had longed for a rifle ever since he could walk, but his prospects of obtaining one were very poor indeed at that time. And it is a question whether he did not at that moment experience as much joy in handling the old peace as his friend felt in shouldering the prize. A difficulty now occurred which had not before been thought of. This was no less than the absolute refusal of Dick Varley's canine property to follow him. Bayon had no idea of changing masters without her consent being asked or her inclination being consulted. You'll have to tie her up for a while, I fear, said the Major. No fear, answered the youth, dog's nature like human nature. Saying this he seized Crusoe by the neck, stuffed him comfortably into the bosom of his hunting shirt, and walked rapidly away with the prize rifle on his shoulder. Bayon had not bargained for this. She stood irresolute, gazing now to the right, now to the left, as the Major retired in one direction and Dick with Crusoe in another. Suddenly Crusoe, who, although comfortable in body, was ill at ease in spirit, gave utterance to a melancholy howl. The mother's love instantly prevailed. For one moment she pricked up her ears at the sound and then, lowering them, trotted quietly after her new master and followed him to his cottage on the margin of the lake. End of Chapter 2. Chapter 3 of the Dog Crusoe and his Master. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Allison Hester of Athens, Georgia. The Dog Crusoe and his Master by R. M. Valentine. Chapter 3. Speculative remarks with which the reader may or may not agree. An old woman, hopes and wishes commingled with hard facts. The Dog Crusoe's education begun. It is pleasant to look upon a serene, quiet, humble face. On such a face did Richard Varley look every night when he entered his mother's cottage. Mrs. Varley was a widow, and she had followed the fortunes of her brother, Daniel Hood, ever since the death of her husband. Love for her only brother induced her to forsake the peaceful village of Maryland and enter upon the wildlife of a backwood settlement. Dick's mother was thin and old and wrinkled, but her face was stamped with a species of beauty which never fades. The beauty of a loving look. Ah, the brow of snow and the peach-bloomed cheek may sneer the heart of man for a time. But the loving look alone can forge that adamantine chain that time, age, eternity shall never break. Mistake us not, reader, and bear with us if we attempt to analyze this look which characterized Mrs. Varley. A rare diamond is worth stopping to glance at, even when one is in a hurry. The brightest jewel in the human heart is worth a thought or two. By a loving look, we do not mean a look of love bestowed on a beloved object. That is common enough, and thankful should we be that it is so common in a world that's over-full of hatred. Still, lest do we mean that smile and look of intense affection, with which some people, good people too, greet friends and foe alike. And, by which effort to work out their beau ideal of the expression of Christian love, they do so signally damage their cause. By saddening the serious and repelling the gay, much less do we mean that perpetual smile of goodwill, which argues more of personal comfort and self-love than anything else. No, the loving look we speak of is as often grave as gay. Its character depends very much on the face through which it beams, and it cannot be counterfeited. Its ring defies imitation. Like the clouded sun of April, it can pierce through tears of sorrow. Like the noontide sun of summer, it can blaze in warm smiles. Like the northern lights of winter, it can gleam in the depths of woe. But it is always the same, modified, doubtless, and rendered more or less patent to others according to the natural amiability of him or her who bestows it. No one can put it on, still less can anyone put it off. Its range is universal. It embraces all mankind, though, of course, it is intensified on a few favorite objects. Its seat in the depths of a renewed heart and its foundation lies in love to God. Young Varley's mother lived in a cottage, which was the smallest possible dimensions consistent with comfort. It was made of logs, as, indeed, were all other cottages in the valley. The door was in the center, and a passage from it to the back of the dwelling divided it into two rooms. One of these was subdivided by a thin partition, the inner room being Mrs. Varley's bedroom, the outer, dicks. Daniel Hood's dormitory was a corner of the kitchen, which apartment also served as a parlor. The rooms were lighted by two windows, one on each side of the door, which gave to the house the appearance of having a nose and two eyes. Houses of this kind have literally got a sort of expression on, if we may use the word, their countenances. Square windows give the appearance of easy-going placidity, longish ones that of surprise. Mrs. Varley's was a surprised cottage, and this was in keeping with the scene in which it stood, for the clear lake in front studded with islands and the distant hills beyond composed a scene so surprisingly beautiful that it never failed to call forth an expression of astonished admiration from every new visitor to the Mustang Valley. My boy exclaimed Mrs. Varley as her son entered the cottage with a bound. Why so hurried today, dearie me, where got you the grand gun? One at mother. One at my son? I, one at mother, drove the nail almost and would have drove it all together had I been more used to Joe Blunt's rifle. Mrs. Varley's heart beat high and her face flushed with pride as she gazed at her son who laid the rifle on the table for her inspection while he rattled off and animated and somewhat disjointed account of the match. Dearie me, now that was good, that was clever, what's that scraping at the door? Oh, that's fan, I forgot her. Here, here fan, coming in good dog, he cried rising and opening the door. Fan entered and stopped short evidently uncomfortable. My boy, what are you with the mage's dog? One her too mother. One her my son? I, one her and the pup too. See, here it is. And he plucked Crusoe from his bosom. Crusoe, having found his position to be one of great comfort, had fallen into a profound slumber. And on being thus unceremoniously awakened, he gave forth a yelp of discontent that brought fan and a state of frantic sympathy to his side. There you are, fan, take it to a corner and make yourself at home. That's right mother, give her something to eat, she's hungry, I know by the look of her eye. Dearie me, Dick, said Mrs. Varley, who now proceeded to spread the youth's midday meal before him. Did you drive the nail three times? No, only once, and that not perfectly, brought him all down at one shot, rifle, fan and pup. Well, well, now that was clever, but... Here the old woman paused and looked grave. But what, mother? You would be wanting to go off to the mountains now, I fear me boy. Won't now? exclaimed the youth earnestly. I'm always wanting, I've been wanting ever since I could walk, but I won't go till you let me mother, that I won't. And he struck the table with his fists so forcibly that the platters rung again. You're a good boy, Dick, but you're too young yet to venture among the redskins. And yet if I don't venture young, I'd better not venture at all. You know, mother dear, I don't want to leave you, but I was born to be a hunter. And everybody in them's pots is a hunter, and I can't hunt in the kitchen, you know mother. At this point conversation was interrupted by a sound that caused young Varley to spring up and seize his rifle and fan to show her teeth and growl. Hissed mother, that's like horses hooves. He whispered opening the door and gazing intently in the direction whence the sound came. Louder and louder it came until an opening in the forest showed the advancing calvacade to be a party of white men. In another moment they were in full view, a band of about 30 horsemen clad in the leatheren costume and armed with the long rifle of the far west. Some were portions of the gaudy Indian dress which gave to them a brilliant dashing look. They came on straight for the block house and saluted the Varleys with a jovial cheer as they swept past at full speed. Dick returned to the cheer with compound interest and calling out, That trap is mother, I'll be back in about an hour. Bounded off like a deer through the woods taking a shortcut in order to reach the block house before them. He succeeded, for just as he arrived at the house, the calvacade wheeled around the bend in the river, dashed up the slope and came to a sudden halt on the green. Vaulting from their foaming steeds, they tied them to the stockades of the little fortress which they entered in a body. Hot haste was in every motion of these men. They were trappers, they said, on their way to the rocky mountains to hunt and trade furs. But one of their number had been treacherously murdered and scouted by a pony chief, and they resolved to revenge his death by an attack on one of the pony villages. They would teach these red reptiles to respect white men, they would come of it what might, and they had turned aside here to procure an additional supply of powder and lead. In vain did the major endeavor to dissuade these reckless men from their purpose. They scoffed at the idea of returning good for evil and insisted on being supplied. The log hut was a store as well as a place of defense, and as they offered to pay for it, there was no refusing their request, at least so the major thought. The ammunition was therefore given to them, and in half an hour they were away again at full gallop over the plains on their mission of vengeance. Vengeance is mine, I will repay, sayeth the Lord. But these men knew not what God said, because they never read his word and did not own his sway. Young Varley's enthusiasm was considerably dampened when he learned the errand on which these trappers were bent. From that time forward, he gave up all desire to visit the mountains and company with such men, but he still retained an intense longing to roam at large among their rocky fastnesses and gallop out upon the wide prairies. Meanwhile, he dutifully tended his mother's cattle and sheep and contended himself with an occasional deer hunt in the neighboring forests. He devoted himself also to the training of his dog, Crusoe, an operation which at first cost him many a deep sigh. Everyone has heard of the sagacity and almost reasoning capabilities of the Newfoundland dog. Indeed, some have even gone the length of saying what is called instinct in these animals is neither more nor less than reason. And in truth, many of the noble, heroic and sagacious deeds that have actually been performed by Newfoundland dogs incline us almost to believe that, like man, they are gifted with reasoning powers. But everyone does not know the trouble and patience that is required in order to get a juvenile dog to understand what its master means when he is endeavoring to instruct it. Crusoe's first lesson wasn't interesting, but not very successful one. We may remark here that Dick Varley had presented fan to his mother to be her watchdog, resolving to devote all his powers to the training of the pup. We may also remark, in reference to Crusoe's appearance, and we did not remark it sooner, cheaply because, up to this period in his eventful history, he was little better than a ball of fat and hair. That his coat was mingled jet black and pure white and remarkably glossy, curly and thick. A week after the shooting match, Crusoe's education began. Having fed him for that period with his own hand in order to gain his affection, Dick took him out one sunny forenoon to the margin of the lake to give him his first lesson. And here again we must pause to remark that, although a dog's heart is generally gained in the first instant through its mouth, yet after it is thoroughly gained, his affection is noble and disinterested. He can scarcely be driven from his master's side by blows, and even when thus harshly repelled is always ready on the shortest notice and with the slightest encouragement to make it up again. Well, Dick Varley began by calling out, Crusoe, Crusoe, come here pup! Of course Crusoe knew his name by this time, for it had been so often used as a prelude to his mills that he naturally expected a feed whenever he heard it. This portal to his brain had already been open for some days, but all the other doors were fast locked, and it required a great deal of careful picking to open them. Now Crusoe, come here! Crusoe bounded clumsily to his master's side, cocked his ears, and wagged his tail. So far his education was perfect. We say he bounded clumsily, for it must be remembered that he was still a very young pup with soft, flabby muscles. Now I'm going to begin your education, pup! Think of that! Whether Crusoe thought of that or not, we cannot say, but he looked up in his master's face as he spoke, cocked his ears very high, and turned his head slowly to one side until it could not turn any further in that direction. Then he turned it as much to the other side, where at his master burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, and Crusoe immediately began barking vociferously. Come, come! said Dick, checking his mirth. We mustn't play, pup! We must work! Drawing a leathered mitten from his belt, the youth held it to Crusoe's nose, and then threw it a yard away, at the same time exclaiming in a loud, distinct tone, fetch it! Crusoe entered at once into the spirit of this part of training. He dashed gleefully at the mitten, and proceeded to worry it with intense gratification. As for fetch it, he neither understood the words nor cared a straw about them. Dick Barley rose immediately, and rescuing the mitten resumed his seat on a rock. Come here, Crusoe, he repeated. Oh, certainly, by all means, said Crusoe. No, he didn't exactly say it, but really he looked these words so evidently that we think it right to let them stand as they are written. If he could have finished the sentence, he would certainly have said, Go on with that game over and over again! Oh, boy, it's quite to my taste the jolliest thing in life, I assure you. At least if we may not positively assert that he would have said that. No one else can absolutely affirm that he wouldn't. Well, Dick Barley did do it over again, and Crusoe worried the mitten over again, utterly regardless of fetch it. Then they did it again, and again, and again, but without the slightest apparent advancement in the path of Canaan knowledge, and then they went home. During all this trying operation, Dick Barley never once betrayed the slightest feeling of irritability or impatience. He did not expect success at first. He was not, therefore, disappointed at failure. Next day he had him out again, and the next, and the next, and the next again, with the like unfavorable result. In short, it seemed at last as if Crusoe's mind had been deeply embedded with the idea that he had been born expressly for the purpose of worrying that mitten, and he meant to fulfill his destiny to the letter. Young Barley had taken several small pieces of meat in his pocket each day, with the intention of rewarding Crusoe when he should at length be prevailed on to fetch the mitten. But as Crusoe was not aware of the treat that awaited him, of course the mitten was never fetched. At last, Dick Barley saw that this system would never do, so he changed his tactics, and the next morning gave Crusoe no breakfast, but took him out at the usual hour to go through his lesson. This new course of conduct seemed to perplex Crusoe, not a little, for on his way down to the beach, he paused frequently and looked back at the cottage, and then expressively up at his master's face. The master was inexorable. He went on and Crusoe followed, for true love had now taken possession of the pup's young heart, and he preferred his master's company to food. Barley now began letting the learner smell a piece of meat, which he eagerly sought to devour, but was prevented to his immense disgust. Then the mitten was thrown as here to for, and Crusoe made a few steps towards it, but being in no mood to play, he turned back. Fetch it, said the teacher. I won't, replied the learner mutely, by means of that expressive sign not doing it. Hereupon, Dick Barley rose, took up the mitten, and put it into the pup's mouth. Then, retiring a couple of yards, he held out the piece of meat and said, Fetch it! Crusoe instantly spat out the glove and bounded towards the meat, and once more to be disappointed. This was done a second time, and Crusoe came forward with the mitten in his mouth. It seemed as if it had been done accidentally, for he dropped it before coming quite up. If so, it was a fortunate accident, for it served as the tiny fulcrum on which to place the point of that mighty lever, which was destined air long to raise him to the pinnacle of Canaan air eudition. Dick Barley immediately lavished upon him the tenderest caresses and gave him a lump of meat. But he quickly tried it again, lest he should lose the lesson. The dog evidently felt that if he did not fetch that mitten, he should have no meat or caresses. In order, however, to make sure that there was no mistake, Dick laid down the mitten beside the pup, instead of putting it into his mouth and, returning a few paces, cried, Fetch it! Crusoe looked uncertain for a moment, then he picked up the mitten and laid it by his master's feet. The lesson was learned at last. Dick Barley tumbled all the meat out of his pocket on the ground. And, while Crusoe made a hearty breakfast, he sat down on a rock and whistled with glee at having fairly picked the lock and opened another door into one of the many chambers of his dog's intellect. End of Chapter 3 Chapter 4 of The Dog, Crusoe, and His Master This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Allison Hester of Athens, Georgia. The Dog, Crusoe, and His Master by R. M. Ballantyne Chapter 4 Our Hero Enlarged Upon Grumps Two years passed away. The Mustang Valley settlement advanced prosperously, despite one or two attacks made upon it by the savages, who were, however, firmly repelled. Dick Barley had now become a man, and his pup, Crusoe, had become a full-grown dog. The silver rifle, as Dick's weapon had come to be named, was well known among the hunters and the red skins of the borderlands. And in Dick's hands, its bullets were as deadly as its owner's eye was quick and true. Crusoe's education, too, had been completed. Faithfully and patiently had his young master train his mind until he fitted him to be a meat companion in the hunt. To Carrie and Fetch were now but trifling portions of the dog's accomplishments. He could drive a fathom deep in the lake and bring up any article that might have been dropped or thrown in. His swimming powers were marvelous and so powerful were his muscles that he seemed to spurn the water while passing through it with his broad chest high out of a curling wave at a speed that neither man nor beast could keep up with for a moment. His intellect now was sharp and quick as a needle. He never required a second bidding. When Dick went out hunting, he used frequently to drop a mitten or a powder horn unknown to the dog and, after walking miles away from it, would stop short and look down into the mild gentle face of his companion. Crusoe, he said in the same quiet tones with which he would have addressed a human friend, I've dropped my mitten, go fetch it pup! Dick continued to call it pup from habit. Dick a lance of intelligence passed from Crusoe's eye and in a moment he was away at full gallop nor did he rest until the lost article was lying at his master's feet. Dick was loathed to try how far back on his track Crusoe would run if desired. He had often gone back five and six miles at a stretch but his powers did not stop there. He could carry articles back to the spot from which they had been taken he could head the game that his master was pursuing and turn it back and he would guard any object he was desired to watch with unflinching constancy but it would occupy too much of space and time to enumerate all Crusoe's qualities and powers, his biography will unfold them. In personal appearance he was majestic, having grown to an immense size even for a newfoundland. Had his visage been at all wolfish in character his aspect would have been terrible but he possessed an imminent degree that mild, humble expression of face peculiar to his race. When roused or excited and especially when bounding through the forest with the chasing view he was absolutely magnificent. At other times his gait was slow and he seemed to prefer a quiet walk with Dick Varley to anything else under the sun but when Dick was inclined to be boisterous, Crusoe's tail and ears rose at a moment's notice and he was ready for anything. Moreover he obeyed commands instantly and implicitly. In this respect he put to shame most of the boys of the settlement who were by no means famed for their habits of prompt obedience. Crusoe's eye was constantly watching for the face of his master. When Dick said he went, when he said come he came. If he had been in the midst of an excited bound at the throat of a stag and Dick had called out down, Crusoe he would have sunk to the earth like a stone. No doubt it took many months of training to bring the dog to this state of perfection but Dick accomplished it by patience perseverance and love. Besides all this, Crusoe could speak. He spoke by means of the dog's dumb alphabet in a way that defies description. He conversed, so to speak with his extremities, his head and his tail, but his eyes his soft brown eyes were the chief medium of communication. If ever the language of the eyes was carried to perfection it was exhibited in the person of Crusoe but, indeed it would be difficult to say which part of his expressive face expressed most. The cocked ears of expectation, 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 cures 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 whenever the 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 up up, 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 a wealth of wisdom into it, that he felt convinced it understood every word he said. This is capital weather. Crusoe ain't a pup. Crusoe made a motion with his head, which was quite as significant as he nodded. Ha! My pup, I wish that you and I might go and have a slap at the grizzly bars and 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 you like the grip of 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 nothing about them, 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 gold and dollars if there be such things. Crusoe made no reply whatever to this. He regarded it as a truism unworthy of notice. He eventually 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 very 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 neighboring 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 minutes with grave severity of countenance, he walked slowly back and sat down beside his master. The little dog made good at retreat as fast as he could carry it, and the surly dog, having swam 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 Canaan tribes of the Mustang Valley. But Crusoe was not a mere machine. When not actively engaged in Dick Barley'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 tried it on, Grumps tried it 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 in there. Grumps never helped him. His sole delight was 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 shores of the lake disconsolate when his friend was bathing and waited till he came out. The only time when Grumps was thoroughly non-plus was when Dick Barley's whistle sounded faintly in the far distance. Then Crusoe would prick up his ears and stretch out at full gallop, clearing the ditch and fence and break with his strong elastic bound and leaving Grumps to powder 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 be take himself to his own dwelling, there to lie down and sleep perchance of rambles and gambles with his gigantic friend. End of Chapter 4 Chapter 5 of the Dog Crusoe and His Master This is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This reading by Allison Hester of Athens, Georgia. The Dog Crusoe and His Master by R. M. Valentine Chapter 5 A mission of peace unexpected joys Dick and Crusoe set off for the land of the Redskins and meet with adventures by the way 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 Calvary. They were sent directly to the Block House 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 endeavor to bring about if possible a more friendly state of feeling between the whites and the Indians by means of presence 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 neighboring 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 sages are doing with Joe Blunt. As often happens when an individual is mentioned the worthy refer to open the door at that moment and stepped into the room. Good evening said the stout hunter doffing his cap and resting his rifle in a corner while Dick rose in place to cheer for him. The same to you must master Blunt answered the widow you've just come in good time for a cut of venison. Well thanks mistress I suppose we beholden to the silver rifle for that. To the hen that aimed it rather suggested the widow nay then say raider the dog that turned it said Dick Varley but for Crusoe that buck would have been couched in the woods this night. Oh if it comes to that retorted Joe I'd lay it to the door of fan for she'd never been born another would Crusoe but it's good and tender meat whatever ways you got it housey ever I have other things to talk about just now them sages that are eating buffalo hunks up at the block house as if they'd never eat meat before and didn't hope to eat again for 12 month I what of them interrupted Miss Varley I've been wondering what was their errand of course he was named Varley and I've come here a purpose to tell you they want me to go to the Redskins to make peace between them and us and they've brought us a lot of goods to make them presents with all beads and knives and looking glasses and vermilion paint and sick like just as much as will be a light load for one horse if what you see nothing can be done with the Redskins without gifts Tuesday Blast Mission said the widow I wish it may succeed do you think you'll go go hi that I will huh I only wish they'd made the offer to me said dick with a sigh and so they do make the offer lad they've given me leave to choose two men I'm to take with me and I've come straight to ask you I know for we must be up and away by break of day tomorrow Mrs. Varley started so soon she said with a look of anxiety hi the ponies are at the yellow creek just at this time here they're about to break up camp and away west so we'll need to use haste may I go mother asked it 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 I know the time must come soon and I thank him that your first visit to the red skins will be on air and no peace blessed are the peacemakers for they shall be called the children of God did grasped his mother's hand and pressed it to his cheek and silence at that same moment Crusoe seeing 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 huh I don't know that there's no dependent on a dog keep his tongue quiet in times of danger believe me exclaimed Dick flashing with enthusiasm Crusoe's more trustworthy than I am myself if you can trust the master you safe to trust the pup well lad you may be right we'll take him thanks Joe and who else goes with us I've been casting at my mind for some time and I fixed to take Henry he's not the safest man in the valley but he's the truest that's a fact and now Yunker get your horse and rifle ready and come to the blockhouse at daybreak tomorrow good luck to you mistress till we meet again Joe Blunt rose and taking up his rifle without which he scarcely ever moved a foot from his own door left the cottage with rapid strides my son said Mrs. Varley kissing Dick's cheek as he resumed his seat put this in the little pocket I made for you in your hunting shirt she handed him a small pocket Bible dear mother he said as he placed the book on carefully within the breast of his coat the red skin that takes that from me must take my scout first but don't fear for me you've often said the Lord will protect me so he will mother for sure it's an air and no peace hi that's it murmured the widow in a half soliloquy Dick Varley spent that night and converse with his mother and next morning at daybreak he was at the place of meeting mounted on his sturdy little horse with the silver rifle on his shoulder he said that's right lad that's right nothing like keeping your time said Joe as he let out a pack horse from the gate of the block house while his own charger was held ready saddled by a man named Daniel Brand who had been appointed to the charge of the block house in his absence where's Henry oh here he comes exclaimed Dick as the hunter referred to came thundering up the slope at a charge on a horse that resembled its rider and not a little in clumsiness of appearance ah these boys him's a good one to go cried Henry remarking Dick's smile as he pulled up no horse on the plane can beat this one's servant now then Henry lend a hand to fix this pack we've no time to pull out her by this time they were joined by several of the soldiers and a few hunters who had come to see them start Joe cried one if you don't come back in three months we'll all come out in a band to seek you if we don't come back in less than that time what's left of us won't be worth seeking for said Joe tightening the girth of this saddle put a bit in your own mouth Henry cried another as the Canadian arranged to steed's bridle you'll need it more than your hearse when you get among the red reptiles frame it if mon mot needs one bit yours will need a padlock now lads mount cried Joe Blunt as he vaulted into the saddle Dick Varley spring lightly on his horse and Henry made a rush at his steed and hurled his huge frame across its back with a violence that ought to have brought it to the ground but the tall raw bone broad-chested ron was accustomed to the eccentricities of his master and stood the shock bravely being appointed to lead the pack horse Henry seized its halter and then the three cavaliers shook their reins and waving their hands to their comrades they spring into the woods at full gallop and laid their course for the far west for some time they galloped side by side in silence each occupied with his own thoughts crew so keeping close behind his master's horse the two elder hunters evidently ruminated on the object of their mission and the prospects of success for their countenances were grave and their eyes cast on the ground Dick Varley too thought upon the red man but his musings were deeply tinged with the bright hues of a first adventure the mountains the plains the Indians the bears the buffaloes and a thousand other objects danced wildly before his mind's eye and his blood careened through his veins and flushed his forehead as he thought of what he should see and do and felt the elastic vigor of youth respond in sympathy to the light spring of his active little steed he was a lover of nature too and his flashing eyes glanced observantly from side to side as they swept along sometimes through glades of forest trees sometimes through belts of more open ground and shrubbery anon by the margin of his stream or along the shores of a little lake and often over short stretches of flowering prairie land while the firm elastic turf sent up a muffled sound from the tramp of their meddlesome chargers it was a scene of wild, luxuriant beauty that might almost one could fancy have drawn in voluntary homage to its bountiful creator from the lips even of an infidel after a time Joe Blunt reigned up and they waited at an easily ambling pace Joe and his friend Henry were so used to these beautiful scenes that they had long ceased to be enthusiastically affected by them, though they never ceased to delight in them I hope, said Joe that damn sarger will go their way soon. I have no notion of them chaps when they're left at a place with nothing to do but whittle sticks why Joe exclaimed Dick Varley in a tone of surprise I thought you were admiring the beautiful face and nature all this time and you're only thinking about the sogers now that's strange not so strange after all, lad answered Joe when a man's used to a thing he gets to admire and enjoy it without speaking much about it but it is true boy that mankind gets in course of time to think of the little bliss since he's used to whee whee I heard Henry emphatically well Joe blunt it may be so but I'm thankful I'm not used to this sort of thing yet exclaimed Varley let's have another gallop so ho come along crew so shouted the youth as he shook his reins and blew over a long stretch of prairie on which at that moment they entered Joe smiled as he followed his enthusiastic companion but after a short run he pulled up hold on youngster he cried ye must learn to do as your bid lad is trouble enough to be among wild engines and wild buffaloes as I hope soon to be without having wild comrades to look after Dick laughed and reigned in his panting horse I'll be as obedient as crew so he said and no one can beat him besides continued Joe the horses won't travel far again running all the wind out of him well I think we must give him to the pack cost for to lead a not a bad notion Henry we'll make that the penalty of running off again so look out master dick I'm down replied dick with a modest air obedient as a baby and won't run off again till the next time by the way Joe how many days provisions did you bring two that's enough to carry us to the great prairie which is three weeks distance from this our own good rifles must make up the difference and keep us when we get there and suppose we neither find deer nor buffalo suggested dick I suppose we'll have to stop Dott is comfortable to think upon remarked Henry more comfortable to thank other than to undergo said dick but I suppose there's little chance of that well not much replied Joe blunt patting his horse's neck but do you see you never can count for starting on anything the deer and the buffalo ought to be thick in them planes at this time and when the buffalo are thick they covers the planes so you can hardly see the end of but you see sometimes the rascally redskins takes it into their heads to burn the prairies and sometimes you find a place that should have been black with buffalo black as a coal with fire for miles and miles on end at other times the redskins go hunting in tequila places and sweep some cleaner every hoof that don't get away sometimes to the animals seem to take a scun at a place and keeps out of the way but one way another men generally managed to scramble through look yonder Joe exclaimed Dick pointing to the summit of a distant ridge where a small black object was seen moving against the sky that's a deer ain't it Joe shaded his eyes with his hand and gazed earnestly at the object in question you're right boy and by good luck we've got the wind of them cut and take a chance now as a long strip of wood as I'll let you get close to them before the sentence was well finished Dick and Crusoe were off at full gallop for a hundred yards they coursed along the bottom of a hollow then turning to the right they entered the strip of wood and in a few minutes gained the edge of it here Dick dismounted you can't help me here Crusoe stay where you are pup and hold my horse Crusoe sees the end of the line which was fastened to the horse's nose in his mouth and lay down on a hillock of moss submissively placing his chin on his forepaws and watching his master as he stepped noiselessly through the wood in a few minutes Dick emerged from among the trees and creeping from bush to bush succeeded in getting to within 600 yards of the deer which was a beautiful little antelope beyond the bush behind which he now crouched all was bare open ground without a shrub or hillock large enough to conceal the hunter there was a slight undulation in the ground however which enabled him to advance about 50 yards further by means of lying down quite flat and working himself forward like a serpent further than this he could not move without being seen by the antelope which browsed on the ridge before him and fancied security the distance was too great even for a long shot but Dick knew of a weak point in this little creature's nature which enabled him to accomplish his purpose a weak point which it shares in common with animals of a higher order namely curiosity the little antelope of the North American prairies is intensely curious about everything that it does not quite understand and will not rest satisfied until it has endeavored to clear up the mystery availing himself of this propensity Dick did what both Indians and hunters are accustomed to do on these occasions he put a piece of rag on the end of his ramrod and keeping his person concealed and perfectly steel waved this miniature flag in the air the antelope noticed it at once and, pricking up its ears began to advance timidly and slowly, step by step to see what the remarkable phenomenon it could be in a few seconds the flag was lowered a sharp crack followed and the antelope fell dead upon the plane ah boy that's good supper anyhow cried Joe as he galloped up and dismounted good that is better nor dried meat cried Henry give him to me I would put him on my horse which is stronger than yawn but where is your horse he'll be here in a minute replied Dick putting his fingers to his mouth and giving forth a shrill whistle the instant Crusoe heard the sound he made a savage and apparently uncalled for dash at the horse's heels this wild act so contrary to the dog's gentle nature was a mere piece of acting he knew that the horse would not advance without getting a fright so he gave him one in this way which sent him off at a gallop Crusoe followed close at his heels so as to bring the line alongside of the nags body and thereby prevent its getting entangled but despite its best efforts the horse got on one side of a tree and he on the other so he wisely let go his hold of the line and waited till more open ground enabled him to catch it again then he hung heavily back gradually checked the horse's speed and finally trided him up to his master's side it is a clever curve good sooth exclaimed Joe Blunt in surprise ah Joe you haven't seen much of Crusoe yet he's as good a man as any day I've done little else but train him for two years gone by and he can do most anything but shoot he can't handle the rifle know how huh then I think perhaps him could if he was try said Henry plunging on his horse with a laugh and arranging the carcass of the antelope across the pommel of his saddle thus they hunted and galloped and trotted and ambled on through wood and plain all day until the sun began to descend below the treetops of the bluffs on the west then Joe Blunt looked about him for a place on which to camp and finally fixed on a spot under the shadow of a noble birch by the margin of a little stream the carpet of grass on its banks was soft like green velvet and the rippling waters of the brook were as clear as crystal very different from the muddy Missouri into which it flowed while Dick Varley failed and cut up firewood Henry unpacked the horses and turned them loose to grays and Joe kindled the fire and prepared venison steaks and hot tea for supper in excursions of this kind it is customary to hobble the horses that is to tie their four legs together so that they cannot run either fast or far but are free enough to amble about with a clumsy sort of hop in search of food this is deemed a sufficient check on their tendency to roam although some of the knowing horses sometimes learn to hop so fast with their hobbles as to give their owners much trouble to recapture them but when out in the prairies where Indians are known or supposed to be in the neighborhood the horses are picketed by means of a pen or steak attached to the end of their long lyriats as well as hobbled for Indians deem it no disgrace to steal or tell lies though they think it disgraceful to be found out in doing either and so expert are these dark skin natives of the western prairies that they will creep into the midst of an enemy's camp cut the lyriats and hobbles of several horses spring suddenly on their backs and gallop away they not only steal from white men but tribes that are at enmity steal from each other and the boldness with which they do this is most remarkable when Indians are traveling in a country where enemies are prowling they guard their camps at night with jealous care the horses in particular are both hobbled and picketed and sentries posted all around the camp yet in spite of these precautions hostile Indians manage to elude these sentries and creep into the camp when a thief thus succeeds in affecting an entrance his chief danger is past he rises boldly to his feet and wrapping his blanket or buffalo around him he walks up and down as if he were a member of the tribe at the same time he dexterously cuts the lyriats of such horses as he observes are not hobbled he dare not stoop to cut the hobbles as the action would be observed and suspicion would be instantly aroused he then leaps on the best horse he can find and uttering a terrific war root darts away into the plains driving the loosened horses before him no such dark thieves were supposed to be near the camp under the birch tree however so Joe and Dick and Henry ate their supper in comfort and let their horses browse at will on the rich pasture inch a bright ruddy fire was soon kindled which created as it were a little ball of light in the midst of the surrounding darkness for the special use of our hearty hunters within this magic circle all was warm comfortable and cheery outside all was dark and cold injury by contrast when the substantial part of supper was disposed of tea and pipes were introduced and conversation began to flow then the three saddles were placed in a row each hunter wrapped himself in his blanket and pillowing his head on his saddle stretched his feet towards the fire and went to sleep with his loaded rifle by his side and his hunting knife handy in his hands. Crusoe mounted guard by stretching himself out couchant at Dick Burley's side the faithful dog slept lightly and never moved all night but had anyone observed him closely he would have seen that every pitful flame that burst from the sinking fire every unusual puff of wind and every motion of the horses that fed or rested hard by had the effect of revealing a speck of glittering white in Crusoe's watchful eye end of chapter 5 the dog Crusoe and his master chapter 6 this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org this reading by Allison Hester of Athens, Georgia the dog Crusoe and his master by RM Valentine chapter 6 the great prairies of the far west a remarkable colony discovered and a miserable night endured of all the hours of the night or day the hour that succeeds the dawn is the purest, most joyous and the best at least so we think and so think hundreds and thousands of the human family and so thought Dick Varley as he sprung suddenly into a sitting position next morning and threw his arms with an exulting feeling light round the neck of Crusoe who instantly sat up to greet him this was an unusual piece of enthusiasm on the part of Dick but the dog received it with marked satisfaction rubbed his big cheek against that of his young master and arose from his sedentary position in order to afford free scope for the use of his tail oh Joe Blunt Henry up boys up the sun will have the start of us I'll catch the nags so saying Dick bounded away into the woods with Crusoe gambling joyously at his heels Dick soon caught his own horse and Crusoe caught Joe's then the former mounted and quickly brought in the other two returning to the camp he found everything packed and ready to strap on the back of the pack horse that's the way to do it lad cried Joe here Henry look alive and get your beast ready I do believe you're gonna take another snooze Henry was indeed at that moment indulging in a gigantic stress and a canaveral young but he finished both hastily and rushed at his poor horse as if he intended to slay it on the spot he only threw the saddle on its back however and then threw himself on the saddle now then all ready I we yes and away they went at full stretch and began on their journey thus day after day they traveled in night after night they laid them down to sleep under the trees of the forest until at length they reached the edge of the great prairie it was a great memorable day in the life of Dick Varley that on which he first beheld the prairie the vast boundless prairie he had heard of it talked of it dreamed about it but he had never no he had never realized it tis always thus our conceptions of things that we have not seen are almost invariably wrong Dick's eyes glittered and his heart swelled and his cheeks flushed and his breath came thick and quick there it is he gasped as the great rolling plane broke suddenly on his enraptured gaze day at see it oh Dick uttered a yell that would have done credit to the theorist chief of the ponies and being unable to utter another word he swung his cap in the air and sprang like an arrow from a bow over the mighty ocean of grass the sun had just risen to send a flood of golden glory over the scene the horses were fresh so the elder hunters glidened by the beauty of all around them and inspired by the irresistible enthusiasm of their young companion gave the reigns to the horses and flew after him it was a glorious gallop that first headlong dash over the boundless prairie of the far west the prairies have often been compared most justly to the ocean there is the same wide circle of space bounded on all sides by the horizon there is the same swell or undulation or succession of long low unbroken waves that marks the ocean when it is calm they are canopy by the same pure sky and swept by the same untrammeled breezes there are the islands too clumps of trees and willow bushes which rise out of this grassy ocean to break and relieve its uniformity and these varying size and numbers as do the aisles of the ocean being numerous in some places while in others they are so scarce that the traveler does not meet one in a long day's journey thousands of beautiful flowers decked the green sword and the layers of little birds hopped about among them now lads said Joe Blunt raining up our troubles began today our troubles our joys you mean exclaimed Dick Barley perhaps I don't mean nothing of the sort retorted Joe man was never intended to swallow his joys without a strong mixture of troubles you see we've got to the prairie now one blind horse might see that interrupted Henry and we may or may not discover Buffalo and water scarce too so we'll need to look out for it pretty sharp I guess else we'll lose our horses in which case we may as well give out at once besides there's rattlesnakes about in sandy places we'll need to look out for them and there's badger holes we'll need to look sharp for them lest the horses put their feet in them and there's engines who'll look out pretty sharp for us if they get wind that wind them pots wee yes mees boys and there's rain and thunder and lightning added Henry pointing to a dark cloud which was seen rising on the horizon ahead of them remarked Joe but there's no thunder in the air just now we'll make up for yonder clump of bushes and lay by till it's past turning a little to the right of the course they had been following the hunters galloped along one of the hollows between the prairie waves before mentioned in the direction of a clump of willows before reaching it however they passed over a bleak and barren plain where there was neither flower nor bird where they were suddenly arrested by a most extraordinary sight at least it was so to Dick Varley who had never seen the like before this was a colony of what Joe called prairie dogs on first beholding them Crusoe ordered a sort of half growl half bark of surprise cocked his tail and ears and instantly prepared to charge but he cleansed up at his master first for permission his finger and his look commanded silence he dropped his tail at once instead to the rear he did not however ceased to regard the prairie dogs with intense curiosity these remarkable little creatures have been egregiously misnamed by the hunters of the west for they bear not the slightest resemblance to dogs either in formation or habits they are in fact the marmot and in size are a little larger than squirrels which animals they resemble in some degree they burrow under the light soil and throw it up in mounds like moles thousands of them were running about among their dwellings when Dick first beheld them but the moment they caught sight of the horsemen riding over the ridge they set up a tremendous hubbub of consternation each little beast instantly mounted guard on top of its house and prepared as it were to receive calvary the most ludicrous thing about them was that although the most timid and cowardly creatures in the world they seemed the most impertinent things that ever lived knowing that their holes afforded them a perfectly safe retreat they sat close beside them and as the hunters slowly approached they elevated their heads wagged their little tails showed their teeth and shouted at them like monkeys the nearer they came the more angry and furious the more prairie dogs become until Dick Varley almost fell off his horse with suppressed laughter they let the hunters come close up waxing louder and louder in their wrath but the instant a hand was raised to throw a stone or point a gun a thousand little heads dived into a thousand holes and a thousand little tails wriggled for an instant in the air then a dead silence rained over the deserted scene bien, thems have dive into de boiles of diat, said Henry with a broad grin presently a thousand noses appeared and nervously disappeared like the wink of an eye then they appeared again and a thousand pairs of eyes followed instantly like Jack in the box they were all on the top of their hillocks again chattering and wagging their little tails as vigorously as ever you cannot say that you saw them jump out of their holes suddenly as if by magic they were out then Dick tossed up his arms and suddenly as if by magic they were gone their number was incredible and their cities were full of riotous activity what their occupations were the hunters could not ascertain but it was perfectly evident that they visited a great deal and gossips tremendously for they ran about from house to house in groups but it was also observed that they never went far from their own houses each seemed to have a circle of acquaintance in the immediate neighborhood of his own residence to which in case of sudden danger he always fled but another thing about these prairie dogs perhaps considering their size we should call them prairie doggies another thing about them we say was that each doggie lived with an owl lived with each doggie this is such an extraordinary fact that we could scarce hope that men would believe us were our statement not supported by dozens of trustworthy travelers who have visited and written about these regions the whole plain was covered with these owls each hole seemed to be the residence of an owl and a doggie and these incongruous couples lived together apparently in perfect harmony we have not been able to ascertain from travelers why the owls have gone to live with these doggies so we beg humbly to offer our own private opinion to the reader we assume then that owls find it absolutely needful to have holes probably prairie owls cannot dig holes for themselves having discovered however a race of little creatures that could they very likely determined to take forcible possession of the holes made by them finding no doubt that when they did so they were too timid to object and discovering moreover that they were sweet innocent little creatures the owls resolved to take them into partnership and so the thing was settled that's how it came about no doubt of it there is a report that rattlesnakes live in these holes also but we cannot certify our reader of the truth of this still it is well to be acquainted with the report that is current among men of the backwoods if it be true we are of opinion this family is the most miscellaneous and remarkable on the face of or as Henry said in the bowels of the earth Dick and his friends were so deeply absorbed in watching these curious little creatures that they did not observe the rapid spread of the black clouds over the sky a few heavy drops of rain now warned them to seek shelter so wheeling around they dashed off at speed for the clump of willows which they gained just as the rain began to descend in torrents now lads do it slick off packs and saddles cried Joe Blunt jumping from his horse I'll make a hut for you right off a hut Joe what sort of hut can you make here inquire dick you'll see boy in a minute ah lend me a hand here dick debacle am tight as the horses on skin I die hello what's this exclaimed dick as Crusoe advanced with something in his mouth I declare it's a bird of some sort a prairie hen remarked Joe as Crusoe laid the bird at Dick's feet capital full supper ah that chin is suburb good dog come here I will clap you but Crusoe refused to be a rest meanwhile Joe and Dick formed a sort of beehive looking hut by bending down the stems of a tall bush and thrusting their points into the ground over this they threw the largest buffalo robe and placed another one on the ground below it on which they laid their packs of goods these they further secured against wet by placing several robes over them in a skin of parchment then they sat down on this pile to rest and consider what should be done next just a bad lookout said Joe shaking his head I fear it is replied Dick in a melancholy tone Henry said nothing but he sighed deeply on looking up at the sky which was now of a uniform watery gray while black clouds drove a thwarted the rain was pouring in torrents and the winds began to sweep it in broad sheets over the plains and under their slight covering so that in a short time they were wet to the skin the horses stood meekly beside them their tails and heads equally pendulous and Crusoe sat before his master looking at him with an expression that seemed to say couldn't you put a stop to this if you were to try this will never do I try to get up a fire said Dick jumping up in desperation you may save yourself the trouble remarked Joe dryly at least as dryly as was possible in the circumstances however Dick did try but he failed signally everything was soaked and saturated there were no large trees most of the bushes were green and the dead ones were soaked the coverings were slobbery the skins they sat on were slobbery the earth itself was slobbery so Dick through his blanket also slobbery round his shoulders and sat beside his companions to grin and bear it as for Joe and Henry they were old hands and accustomed to such circumstances from the first they had resigned themselves to their fate and wrapping their wet blankets around them sat down side by side widely to endure the evils that they could not cure there is an old rhyme by whom composed it we know not and it matters little for every evil under the sun there is a remedy or there is none if there is try and find it if there isn't never mind it there is deep wisdom here in small compass the principle involved deserves to be heartily recommended Dick never heard of the lines but he knew the principle well so he began to never mind it by sitting down beside his companions and whistling vociferously as the wind rendered this a difficult beat he took to singing instead after that he said lay at sea to bite Joe and then go to bayon they all means said Joe who produced a mass of dried deer's meat from a wallet it's cold grub said Dick and tough but the hunters teeth were sharp and strong so they ate a hearty supper and washed it down with a drink of rain water collected from a pool on top of their hut they now tried to sleep for the night was advancing and it was so dark they could scare see their hands when they held up before their faces they sat back to back and thus in the form of a tripod began to snooze Joe's and Henry's seasoned frames would have remained stiff as post till morning but Dick's body was young and pliant so he hadn't been asleep a few seconds when he fell forward into the mud and effectually awakened the others Joe gave a grunt and Henry exclaimed but Dick was too sleepy and miserable to say anything Crusoe however rose up to show his sympathy and laid his wet head on his master's knee as he resumed his place this catastrophe happened three times in the space of an hour and by the third time they were all wakened up so thoroughly that they gave up the attempt to sleep and amused each other by recounting their hunting experiences and telling stories so engrossed did they become that the day broke sooner than they had expected and just in proportion as the grey light of dawn rose higher into the eastern sky did these spirits of these weary men rise with their soaking bodies End of Chapter 6