_Escape from Indians--A discovery--Alone in the desert_.
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 into the bank opposite to that from which he had
plunged, and clambering up to the greensward 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 the 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
farther 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 farther 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
headforemost 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!