Dick Varley had spent so much of his boyhood in sporting about among the
waters of the rivers and lakes near which he had been reared, and
especially during the last two years had spent so much of his leisure
time in rolling and diving with his dog Crusoe in the lake of the
Mustang Valley, that he had become almost as expert in the water as a
south-sea islander; so that when he found himself whirling down the
rapid river, as already described, he was more impressed with a feeling
of gratitude to God for his escape from the Indians, than anxiety about
getting ashore.
He was not altogether blind, or indifferent, to the danger into which he
might be hurled if the channel of the river should be found lower down
to be broken with rocks, or should a waterfall unexpectedly appear.
After floating down a sufficient distance to render pursuit out of the
question, he struck in to the bank opposite to that from which he had
plunged, and, clambering up to the green sward above, stripped off the
greater part of his clothing and hung it on the branches of a bush to
dry. Then he sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree to consider what
course he had best pursue in his present circumstances.
These circumstances were by no means calculated to inspire him with hope
or comfort. He was in the midst of an unknown wilderness, hundreds of
miles from any white man's settlement; surrounded by savages; without
food or blanket; his companions gone, he knew not whither; perhaps taken
and killed by the Indians; his horse dead, and his dog, the most trusty
and loving of all his friends, lost to him, probably, for ever! A more
veteran heart might have quailed in the midst of such accumulated evils,
but Dick Varley possessed a strong, young, and buoyant constitution,
which, united with a hopefulness of disposition that almost nothing
could overcome, enabled him very quickly to cast aside the gloomy view
of his case and turn to its brighter aspects.
He still grasped his good rifle, that was some comfort, and as his eye
fell upon it, he turned with anxiety to examine into the condition of
his powder-horn and the few things that he had been fortunate enough to
carry away with him about his person.
The horn in which western hunters carry their powder is usually that of
an ox. It is closed up at the large end with a piece of hard wood
fitted tightly into it, and the small end is closed with a wooden peg or
stopper. It is, therefore, completely water-tight, and may be for hours
immersed without the powder getting wet unless the stopper should chance
to be knocked out. Dick found, to his great satisfaction, that the
stopper was fast, and the powder perfectly dry. Moreover, he had by
good fortune filled it full two days before from the package that
contained the general stock of ammunition, so that there were only two
or three charges out of it. His percussion caps, however, were
completely destroyed, and even though they had not been, it would have
mattered little, for he did not possess more than half a dozen. But
this was not so great a misfortune as at first it might seem, for he had
the spare flint locks and the little screw-driver necessary for fixing
and unfixing them stowed away in his shot pouch.
To examine his supply of bullets was his next care, and slowly he
counted them out, one by one, to the number of thirty. This was a
pretty fair supply, and with careful economy would last him many days.
Having relieved his mind on these all-important points, he carefully
examined every pouch and corner of his dress to ascertain the exact
amount and value of his wealth.
Besides the leather-leggings, moccasins, deerskin hunting shirt, cap,
and belt which composed his costume, he had a short heavy hunting-knife,
a piece of tinder, a little tin pannikin, which he had been in the habit
of carrying at his belt, and a large cake of maple sugar. This last is
a species of sugar which is procured by the Indians from the maple-tree.
Several cakes of it had been carried off from the Pawnee village, and
Dick usually carried one in the breast of his coat. Besides these
things, he found that the little Bible, for which his mother had made a
small inside breast pocket, was safe. Dick's heart smote him when he
took it out and undid the clasp, for he had not looked at it until that
day. It was firmly bound with a brass clasp, so that although the
binding and edges of the leaves were soaked, the inside was quite dry.
On opening the book to see if it had been damaged, a small paper fell
out. Picking it up quickly, he unfolded it, and read, in his mother's
handwriting, "_Call upon me in the time of trouble, and I will deliver
thee, and thou shalt glorify me. My son, give me thine heart_."
Dick's eyes filled with tears while the sound, as it were, of his
mother's voice thus reached him unexpectedly in that lonely wilderness.
Like too many whose hearts are young and gay, Dick had regarded
religion, if not as a gloomy, at least as not a cheerful thing. But he
felt the comfort of these words at that moment, and he resolved
seriously to peruse his mother's parting gift in time to come.
The sun was hot, and a warm breeze gently shook the leaves, so that
Dick's garments were soon dry. A few minutes served to change the locks
of his rifle, draw the wet charges, dry out the barrels, and re-load.
Then, throwing it across his shoulder, he entered the wood, and walked
lightly away. And well he might, poor fellow, for at that moment he
felt light enough in person if not in heart. His worldly goods were not
such as to oppress him, but the little note had turned his thoughts
towards home, and he felt comforted.
Traversing the belt of woodland that marked the course of the river,
Dick soon emerged on the wide prairie beyond, and here he paused in some
uncertainty as to how he should proceed.
He was too good a backwoodsman, albeit so young, to feel perplexed as to
the points of the compass. He knew pretty well what hour it was, so
that the sun showed him the general bearings of the country, and he knew
that when night came he could correct his course by the pole star.
Dick's knowledge of astronomy was limited; he knew only one star by
name, but that one was an inestimable treasure of knowledge. His
perplexity was owing to his uncertainty as to the direction in which his
companions and their pursuers had gone, for he had made up his mind to
follow their trail if possible, and render all the succour his single
arm might afford. To desert them, and make for the settlement, he held,
would be a faithless and cowardly act.
While they were together Joe Blunt had often talked to him about the
route he meant to pursue to the Rocky Mountains, so that, if they had
escaped the Indians, he thought there might be some chance of finding
them at last. But, to set against this, there was the probability that
they had been taken and carried away in a totally different direction,
or they might have taken to the river, as he had done, and gone further
down without his observing them. Then, again, if they had escaped, they
would be sure to return and search the country round for him, so that if
he left the spot he might miss them.
"Oh, for my dear pup Crusoe!" he exclaimed aloud in this dilemma; but
the faithful ear was shut now, and the deep silence that followed his
cry was so oppressive that the young hunter sprang forward at a run over
the plain, as if to fly from solitude. He soon became so absorbed,
however, in his efforts to find the trail of his companions, that he
forgot all other considerations, and ran straight forward for hours
together, with his eyes eagerly fixed on the ground. At last he felt so
hungry, having tasted no food since supper-time the previous evening,
that he halted for the purpose of eating a morsel of maple sugar. A
line of bushes in the distance indicated water, so he sped on again, and
was soon seated beneath a willow, drinking water from the cool stream.
No game was to be found here; but there were several kinds of berries,
among which wild grapes and plums grew in abundance. With these and
some sugar he made a meal, though not a good one, for the berries were
quite green, and intensely sour.
All that day Dick Varley followed up the trail of his companions, which
he discovered at a ford in the river. They had crossed, therefore, in
safety, though still pursued, so he ran on at a regular trot, and with a
little more hope than he had felt during the day. Towards night,
however, Dick's heart sank again, for he came upon innumerable buffalo
tracks, among which those of the horses soon became mingled up, so that
he lost them altogether. Hoping to find them again more easily by broad
daylight, he went to the nearest clump of willows he could find, and
encamped for the night.
Remembering the use formerly made of the tall willows, he set to work to
construct a covering to protect him from the dew. As he had no blanket
or buffalo-skin, he used leaves and grass instead, and found it a better
shelter than he had expected, especially when the fire was lighted, and
a pannikin of hot sugar and water smoked at his feet; but as no game was
to be found, he was again compelled to sup off unripe berries. Before
lying down to rest he remembered his resolution, and, pulling out the
little Bible, read a portion of it by the fitful blaze of the fire, and
felt great comfort in its blessed words. It seemed to him like a friend
with whom he could converse in the midst of his loneliness.
The plunge into the river having broken Dick's pipe and destroyed his
tobacco, he now felt the want of that luxury very severely, and, never
having wanted it before, he was greatly surprised to find how much he
had become enslaved to the habit. It cost him more than an hour's rest
that night, the craving for his wonted pipe.
The sagacious reader will doubtless not fail here to ask himself the
question, whether it is wise in man to create in himself an unnatural
and totally unnecessary appetite, which may, and often does, entail
hours--ay, sometimes months--of exceeding discomfort; but we would not
for a moment presume to suggest such a question to him. We have a
distinct objection to the ordinary method of what is called "drawing a
moral." It is much better to leave wise men to do this for themselves.
Next morning Dick rose with the sun, and started without breakfast,
preferring to take his chance of finding a bird or animal of some kind
before long, to feeding again on sour berries. He was disappointed,
however, in finding the tracks of his companions. The ground here was
hard and sandy, so that little or no impression of a distinct kind was
made on it; and, as buffaloes had traversed it in all directions, he was
soon utterly bewildered. He thought it possible that, by running out
for several miles in a straight line, and then taking a wide circuit
round, he might find the tracks emerging from the confusion made by the
buffaloes. But he was again disappointed, for the buffalo tracks still
continued, and the ground became less capable of showing a footprint.
Soon Dick began to feel so ill and weak from eating such poor fare, that
he gave up all hope of discovering the tracks, and was compelled to push
forward at his utmost speed in order to reach a less barren district,
where he might procure fresh meat; but the further he advanced the worse
and more sandy did the district become. For several days he pushed on
over this arid waste without seeing bird or beast, and, to add to his
misery, he failed at last to find water. For a day and a night he
wandered about in a burning fever, and his throat so parched that he was
almost suffocated. Towards the close of the second day he saw a slight
line of bushes away down in a hollow on his right. With eager steps he
staggered towards them, and, on drawing near, beheld--blessed sight!--a
stream of water glancing in the beams of the setting sun.
Dick tried to shout for joy, but his parched throat refused to give
utterance to the voice. It mattered not; exerting all his remaining
strength he rushed down the bank, dropped his rifle, and plunged
head-foremost into the stream.
The first mouthful sent a thrill of horror to his heart; it was salt as
brine.
The poor youth's cup of bitterness was now full to overflowing.
Crawling out of the stream, he sank down on the bank in a species of
lethargic torpor, from which he awakened next morning in a raging fever.
Delirium soon rendered him insensible to his sufferings. The sun rose
like a ball of fire, and shone down with scorching power on the arid
plain. What mattered it to Dick? He was far away in the shady groves
of the Mustang Valley, chasing the deer at times, but more frequently
cooling his limbs and sporting with Crusoe in the bright blue lake. Now
he was in his mother's cottage, telling her how he had thought of her
when far away on the prairie, and what a bright, sweet word it was she
had whispered in his ear,--so unexpectedly, too. Anon he was scouring
over the plains on horseback, with the savages at his heels; and at such
times Dick would spring with almost supernatural strength from the
ground, and run madly over the burning plain; but, as if by a species of
fascination, he always returned to the salt river, and sank exhausted by
its side, or plunged helplessly into its waters.
These sudden immersions usually restored him for a short time to reason,
and he would crawl up the bank and gnaw a morsel of the maple sugar; but
he could not eat much, for it was in a tough, compact cake, which his
jaws had not power to break. All that day and the next night he lay on
the banks of the salt stream, or rushed wildly over the plain. It was
about noon of the second day after his attack that he crept slowly out
of the water, into which he had plunged a few seconds before. His mind
was restored, but he felt an indescribable sensation of weakness, that
seemed to him to be the approach of death. Creeping towards the place
where his rifle lay, he fell exhausted beside it, and laid his cheek on
the Bible, which had fallen out of his pocket there.
While his eyes were closed in a dreamy sort of half-waking slumber, he
felt the rough, hairy coat of an animal brush against his forehead. The
idea of being torn to pieces by wolves flashed instantly across his
mind, and with a shriek of terror he sprang up,--to be almost
overwhelmed by the caresses of his faithful dog.
Yes, there he was, bounding round his master, barking and whining, and
giving vent to every possible expression of canine joy.