CHAPTER XXVI.
Anxious fears followed by a joyful surprise--Safe home at last, and
happy hearts
.
One fine afternoon, a few weeks after the storm of
which we have given an account in the last
chapter, old Mrs. Varley was seated beside her own
chimney corner in the little cottage by the lake, gazing
at the glowing logs with the earnest expression of one
whose thoughts were far away. Her kind face was
paler than usual, and her hands rested idly on her knee,
grasping the knitting-wires to which was attached a half-finished
stocking.
On a stool near to her sat young Marston, the lad to
whom, on the day of the shooting-match, Dick Varley
had given his old rifle. The boy had an anxious look
about him, as he lifted his eyes from time to time to the
widow's face.
"Did ye say, my boy, that they were
all
killed?"
inquired Mrs. Varley, awaking from her reverie with
a deep sigh.
"Every one," replied Marston. "Jim Scraggs, who
brought the news, said they wos all lying dead with
their scalps off. They wos a party o' white men."
Mrs. Varley sighed again, and her face assumed an
expression of anxious pain as she thought of her son
Dick being exposed to a similar fate. Mrs. Varley was
not given to nervous fears, but as she listened to the
boy's recital of the slaughter of a party of white men,
news of which had just reached the valley, her heart
sank, and she prayed inwardly to Him who is the husband
of the widow that her dear one might be protected
from the ruthless hand of the savage.
After a short pause, during which young Marston
fidgeted about and looked concerned, as if he had something
to say which he would fain leave unsaid, Mrs.
Varley continued,--
"Was it far off where the bloody deed was done?"
"Yes; three weeks off, I believe. And Jim Scraggs
said that he found a knife that looked like the one wot
belonged to--to--" the lad hesitated.
"To whom, my boy? Why don't ye go on?"
"To your son Dick."
The widow's hands dropped by her side, and she
would have fallen had not Marston caught her.
"O mother dear, don't take on like that!" he cried,
smoothing down the widow's hair as her head rested on
his breast.
For some time Mrs. Varley suffered the boy to fondle
her in silence, while her breast laboured with anxious
dread.
"Tell me all," she said at last, recovering a little.
"Did Jim see--Dick?"
"No," answered the boy. "He looked at all the
bodies, but did not find his; so he sent me over here to
tell ye that p'r'aps he's escaped."
Mrs. Varley breathed more freely, and earnestly
thanked God; but her fears soon returned when she
thought of his being a prisoner, and recalled the tales
of terrible cruelty often related of the savages.
While she was still engaged in closely questioning
the lad, Jim Scraggs himself entered the cottage, and
endeavoured in a gruff sort of way to reassure the widow.
"Ye see, mistress," he said, "Dick is an oncommon
tough customer, an' if he could only git fifty yards' start,
there's not an Injun in the West as could git hold o' him
agin; so don't be takin' on."
"But what if he's been taken prisoner?" said the
widow.
"Ay, that's jest wot I've comed about. Ye see it's
not onlikely he's bin took; so about thirty o' the lads
o' the valley are ready jest now to start away and give
the red riptiles chase, an' I come to tell ye; so keep up
heart, mistress."
With this parting word of comfort, Jim withdrew,
and Marston soon followed, leaving the widow to weep
and pray in solitude.
Meanwhile an animated scene was going on near the
block-house. Here thirty of the young hunters of the
Mustang Valley were assembled, actively engaged in
supplying themselves with powder and lead, and tightening
their girths, preparatory to setting out in pursuit
of the Indians who had murdered the white men; while
hundreds of boys and girls, and not a few matrons,
crowded round and listened to the conversation, and to
the deep threats of vengeance that were uttered ever
and anon by the younger men.
Major Hope, too, was among them. The worthy
major, unable to restrain his roving propensities, determined
to revisit the Mustang Valley, and had arrived
only two days before.
Backwoodsmen's preparations are usually of the shortest
and simplest. In a few minutes the cavalcade was
ready, and away they went towards the prairies, with
the bold major at their head. But their journey was
destined to come to an abrupt and unexpected close.
A couple of hours' gallop brought them to the edge of
one of those open plains which sometimes break up the
woodland near the verge of the great prairies. It
stretched out like a green lake towards the horizon, on
which, just as the band of horsemen reached it, the sun
was descending in a blaze of glory.
With a shout of enthusiasm, several of the younger
members of the party sprang forward into the plain
at a gallop; but the shout was mingled with one of a
different tone from the older men.
"Hist!--hallo!--hold on, ye catamounts! There's
Injuns ahead!"
The whole band came to a sudden halt at this cry,
and watched eagerly, and for some time in silence, the
motions of a small party of horsemen who were seen in
the far distance, like black specks on the golden sky.
"They come this way, I think," said Major Hope,
after gazing steadfastly at them for some minutes.
Several of the old hands signified their assent to this
suggestion by a grunt, although to unaccustomed eyes
the objects in question looked more like crows than
horsemen, and their motion was for some time scarcely
perceptible.
"I sees pack-horses among them," cried young Marston
in an excited tone; "an' there's three riders; but
there's som'thin' else, only wot it be I can't tell."
"Ye've sharp eyes, younker," remarked one of the
men, "an' I do b'lieve ye're right."
Presently the horsemen approached, and soon there
was a brisk fire of guessing as to who they could be.
It was evident that the strangers observed the cavalcade
of white men, and regarded them as friends, for they
did not check the headlong speed at which they approached.
In a few minutes they were clearly made out
to be a party of three horsemen driving pack-horses
before them, and
somethin
' which some of the hunters
guessed was a buffalo calf.
Young Marston guessed too, but his guess was different.
Moreover, it was uttered with a yell that would
have done credit to the fiercest of all the savages.
"Crusoe!" he shouted, while at the same moment he
brought his whip heavily down on the flank of his little
horse, and sprang over the prairie like an arrow.
One of the approaching horsemen was far ahead of
his comrades, and seemed as if encircled with the flying
and voluminous mane of his magnificent horse.
"Ha! ho!" gasped Marston in a low tone to himself,
as he flew along. "Crusoe! I'd know ye, dog,
among a thousand! A buffalo calf! Ha! git on with
ye!"
This last part of the remark was addressed to his
horse, and was followed by a whack that increased the
pace considerably.
The space between two such riders was soon devoured.
"Hallo! Dick--Dick Varley!"
"Eh! why, Marston, my boy!"
The friends reined up so suddenly that one might
have fancied they had met like the knights of old in the
shock of mortal conflict.
"Is't yerself, Dick Varley?"
Dick held out his hand, and his eyes glistened, but he
could not find words.
Marston seized it, and pushing his horse close up,
vaulted nimbly off and alighted on Charlie's back behind
his friend.
"Off ye go, Dick! I'll take ye to yer mother."
Without reply, Dick shook the reins, and in another
minute was in the midst of the hunters.
To the numberless questions that were put to him he
only waited to shout aloud, "We're all safe! They'll
tell ye all about it," he added, pointing to his comrades,
who were now close at hand; and then, dashing onward,
made straight for home, with little Marston clinging to
his waist like a monkey.
Charlie was fresh, and so was Crusoe, so you may be
sure it was not long before they all drew up opposite
the door of the widow's cottage. Before Dick could
dismount, Marston had slipped off, and was already in
the kitchen.
"Here's Dick, mother!"
The boy was an orphan, and loved the widow so much
that he had come at last to call her mother.
Before another word could be uttered, Dick Varley
was in the room. Marston immediately stepped out and
softly shut the door. Reader, we shall not open it!
Having shut the door, as we have said, Marston ran
down to the edge of the lake and yelled with delight--usually
terminating each paroxysm with the Indian war-whoop,
with which he was well acquainted. Then he
danced, and then he sat down on a rock, and became
suddenly aware that there were other hearts there, close
beside him, as glad as his own. Another mother of the
Mustang Valley was rejoicing over a long-lost son.
Crusoe and his mother Fan were scampering round
each other in a manner that evinced powerfully the
strength of their mutual affection.
Talk of holding converse! Every hair on Crusoe's
body, every motion of his limbs, was eloquent with
silent language. He gazed into his mother's mild eyes
as if he would read her inmost soul (supposing that she
had one). He turned his head to every possible angle,
and cocked his ears to every conceivable elevation, and
rubbed his nose against Fan's, and barked softly, in
every imaginable degree of modulation, and varied these
proceedings by bounding away at full speed over the
rocks of the beach, and in among the bushes and out
again, but always circling round and round Fan, and
keeping her in view!
It was a sight worth seeing, and young Marston sat
down on a rock, deliberately and enthusiastically, to
gloat over it. But perhaps the most remarkable part
of it has not yet been referred to. There was yet
another heart there that was glad--exceeding glad that
day. It was a little one too, but it was big for the
body that held it. Grumps was there, and all that
Grumps did was to sit on his haunches and stare at Fan
and Crusoe, and wag his tail as well as he could in so
awkward a position! Grumps was evidently bewildered
with delight, and had lost nearly all power to express
it. Crusoe's conduct towards him, too, was not calculated
to clear his faculties. Every time he chanced to pass
near Grumps in his elephantine gambols, he gave him
a passing touch with his nose, which always knocked
him head over heels; whereat Grumps invariably got
up quickly and wagged his tail with additional energy.
Before the feelings of those canine friends were calmed,
they were all three ruffled into a state of comparative
exhaustion.
Then young Marston called Crusoe to him, and
Crusoe, obedient to the voice of friendship, went.
"Are you happy, my dog?"
"You're a stupid fellow to ask such a question; however
it's an amiable one. Yes, I am."
"What do
you
want, ye small bundle o' hair?"
This was addressed to Grumps, who came forward
innocently, and sat down to listen to the conversation.
On being thus sternly questioned the little dog put
down its ears flat, and hung its head, looking up at the
same time with a deprecatory look, as if to say, "Oh
dear, I beg pardon. I--I only want to sit near Crusoe,
please; but if you wish it, I'll go away, sad and lonely,
with my tail
very
much between my legs; indeed I will,
only say the word, but--but I'd
rather
stay if I might."
"Poor bundle!" said Marston, patting its head, "you
can stay then. Hooray! Crusoe, are you happy, I
say? Does your heart bound in you like a cannon ball
that wants to find its way out, and can't, eh?"
Crusoe put his snout against Marston's cheek, and in
the excess of his joy the lad threw his arms round the
dog's neck and hugged it vigorously--a piece of impulsive
affection which that noble animal bore with characteristic
meekness, and which Grumps regarded with idiotic
satisfaction.