THE DOG CRUSOE

AND

HIS MASTER

A Story of Adventure in the Western Prairies

By

Robert Michael Ballantyne

Author of "The Coral Island," "The Young Fur-Traders," "Ungava,"

"The Gorilla-Hunters," "The World of Ice,"

"Martin Rattler."

Etc.

1894

CONTENTS

.

CHAPTER I.

The backwoods settlement--Crusoe's parentage and early history--The
agonizing pains and sorrows of his puppyhood, and other interesting
matters

.

CHAPTER II.

A shooting-match and its consequences--New friends introduced to
the reader--Crusoe and his mother change masters

.

CHAPTER III.

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

.

CHAPTER IV.

Our hero enlarged upon

--

Grumps

.

CHAPTER V.

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--in the wild woods

.

CHAPTER VI.

The great prairies of the far west--A remarkable colony discovered,
and a miserable night endured

.

CHAPTER VII.

The "wallering" peculiarities of buffalo bulls--The first buffalo
hunt
and its consequences--Crusoe comes to the rescue--Pawnees
discovered--A monster buffalo hunt--Joe acts the part of
ambassador

.

CHAPTER VIII.

Dick and his friends visit the Indians and see many
wonders--Crusoe,
too, experiences a few surprises, and teaches Indian dogs a lesson--An
Indian dandy--A foot-race

.

CHAPTER IX.

Crusoe acts a conspicuous and humane part--A friend gained--A great
feast

.

CHAPTER X.

Perplexities--Our hunters plan their escape--Unexpected
interruption--The tables turned--Crusoe mounts guard--The escape

.

CHAPTER XI.

Evening meditations and morning reflections--Buffaloes, badgers,
antelopes, and accidents--An old bull and the wolves--"Mad
tails"--Henri floored,
etc

.

CHAPTER XII.

Wanderings on the prairie--A war party--Chased by Indians--A bold
leap for life

.

CHAPTER XIII.

Escape from Indians--A discovery--Alone in the desert

.

CHAPTER XIV.

Crusoe's return, and his private adventures among the Indians--Dick
at a very low ebb--Crusoe saves him

.

CHAPTER XV.

Health and happiness return--Incidents of the journey--A buffalo
shot--A wild horse "creased"--Dick's battle with a mustang

.

CHAPTER XVI.

Dick becomes a horse tamer--Resumes his journey--Charlie's
doings--Misfortunes which lead to, but do not terminate in, the Rocky
Mountains--A grizzly bear

.

CHAPTER XVII.

Dick's first fight with a grizzly--Adventure with a deer--A
surprise

.

CHAPTER XVIII.

A surprise, and a piece of good news--The fur-traders--Crusoe
proved, and the Peigans pursued>.

CHAPTER XIX.

Adventures with the Peigans--Crusoe does good service as a
discoverer--The savages outwitted--The rescue

.

CHAPTER XX.

New plans--Our travellers join the fur-traders, and see many
strange things--A curious fight--A narrow escape, and a
prisoner taken

.

CHAPTER XXI.

Wolves attack the horses, and Cameron circumvents the wolves--A
bear-hunt, in which Henri shines conspicuous--Joe and the
"Natter-list"--An alarm--A surprise and a capture

.

CHAPTER XXII.

Charlie's adventures with savages and bears--Trapping life

.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Savage sports--Living cataracts--An alarm--Indians and their
doings--The stampede--Charlie again

.

CHAPTER XXIV.

Plans and prospects--Dick becomes home-sick, and Henri
metaphysical--The Indians attack the camp--A blow-up

.

CHAPTER XXV.

Dangers of the prairie--Our travellers attacked by Indians, and
delivered in a remarkable manner

.

CHAPTER XXVI.

Anxious fears followed by a joyful surprise--Safe home at last, and
happy hearts

.

CHAPTER XXVII.

Rejoicings--The feast at the block-house--Grumps and Crusoe come
out strong--The closing scene

.

THE DOG CRUSOE.

CHAPTER I.

The backwoods settlement--Crusoe's parentage, and early
history--The agonizing pains and sorrows of his puppyhood,
and other interesting matters

.

The dog Crusoe 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 bronzed 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 full-grown doghood,

you would have experienced a vague sort of surprise

had we told you--as we now repeat--that the dog

Crusoe was once a pup--a soft, round, sprawling,

squeaking pup, as fat as a tallow candle, and as blind

as a bat.

But we draw particular attention to the fact of

Crusoe's having once been a pup, because in connection

with the days of his puppyhood there hangs a tale.

This peculiar dog may thus be said to have had two

tails--one in connection with his body, the other with

his career. This tale, though short, is very harrowing,

and as it is intimately connected with Crusoe'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 Pawnees, the Sioux, the Delawarers,

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 ploughs 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--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 the Mustang Valley.

This remote vale, 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

then

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 in the power

of their fathers, husbands, and brothers to protect them;

and well they might, for a bolder set of stalwart men

than these backwoodsmen never trod the wilderness.

Each had been trained to the use of the rifle and the

axe from infancy, and 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

manes in the breeze and dashed away like a whirlwind.

This incident procured the valley its name.

The new-comers 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 that 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 it

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 encroachments 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 barrack 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

unencumbered with a family. His first act on reaching

the site of the new settlement was to commence the

erection of a block-house, to which the people might

retire in case of a general attack by the Indians.

In this block-house 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 block-house 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 present 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, junior, was born, he was born, of

course, without a name. That was given to him afterwards

in honour 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 block-house--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 block-house. A

young hunter stood leaning against the gate-post of the

palisades, watching the movements of the Indians, who,

having just finished a long "palaver" or talk with

Major Hope, were now in the act of preparing supper.

A fire had been kindled on the greensward in front of

the tent, and above it stood a tripod, from which depended

a large tin camp-kettle. Over this hung an ill-favoured

Indian woman, or squaw, who, besides attending

to the contents of the pot, bestowed sundry cuffs and

kicks upon her little child, which sat near to her playing

with several Indian curs that gambolled round the fire.

The master of the family and his two sons reclined on

buffalo robes, smoking their stone pipes or calumets 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 referred to was very unlike, in many

respects, to what we are accustomed to suppose a backwoods

hunter should be. He did not possess that quiet

gravity and staid demeanour which often characterize

these men. True, he was tall and strongly made, but

no one would have called him stalwart, and 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