_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_.
There is a proverb--or a saying--or at least somebody or book has told
us, that some Irishman once said, "Be aisy; or, if ye can't be aisy,
be as aisy as ye can."
Now, we count that good advice, and strongly recommend it to all and
sundry. Had we been at the side of Dick Varley on the night after his
taming of the wild horse, we would have strongly urged that advice
upon him. Whether he would have listened to it or not is quite another
question; we rather think not. Reader, if you wish to know why, go and
do what he did, and if you feel no curious sensations about the region
of the loins after it, we will tell you why Dick Varley wouldn't have
listened to that advice. Can a man feel as if his joints were wrenched
out of their sockets, and listen to advice--be that advice good or
bad? Can he feel as though these joints were trying to re-set and
re-dislocate themselves perpetually, and listen to advice? Can he feel
as if he were sitting down on red-hot iron, when he's not sitting down
at all, and listen to advice? Can he--but no! why pursue the subject.
Poor Dick spent that night in misery, and the greater part of the
following day in sleep, to make up for it.
When he got up to breakfast in the afternoon he felt much better, but
shaky.
"Now, pup," he said, stretching himself, "we'll go and see our horse.
_Ours_, pup; yours and mine: didn't you help to catch him, eh, pup?"
Crusoe acknowledged the fact with a wag and a playful
"bow-wow--wow-oo-ow!" and followed his master to the place where
the horse had been picketed. It was standing there quite quiet, but
looking a little timid.
Dick went boldly up to it, and patted its head and stroked its nose,
for nothing is so likely to alarm either a tame or a wild horse as any
appearance of timidity or hesitation on the part of those who approach
them.
After treating it thus for a short time, he stroked down its neck,
and then its shoulders--the horse eying him all the time nervously.
Gradually he stroked its back and limbs gently, and walked quietly
round and round it once or twice, sometimes approaching and sometimes
going away, but never either hesitating or doing anything abruptly.
This done, he went down to the stream and filled his cap with water
and carried it to the horse, which snuffed suspiciously and backed a
little; so he laid the cap down, and went up and patted him again.
Presently he took up the cap and carried it to his nose. The poor
creature was almost choking with thirst, so that, the moment he
understood what was in the cap, he buried his lips in it and sucked it
up.
This was a great point gained: he had accepted a benefit at the hands
of his new master; he had become a debtor to man, and no doubt he felt
the obligation. Dick filled the cap and the horse emptied it again,
and again, and again, until its burning thirst was slaked. Then Dick
went up to his shoulder, patted him, undid the line that fastened him,
and vaulted lightly on his back!
We say _lightly_, for it was so, but it wasn't _easily_, as Dick could
have told you! However, he was determined not to forego the training
of his steed on account of what _he_ would have called a "little bit
pain."
At this unexpected act the horse plunged and reared a good deal, and
seemed inclined to go through the performance of the day before over
again; but Dick patted and stroked him into quiescence, and having
done so, urged him into a gallop over the plains, causing the dog to
gambol round in order that he might get accustomed to him. This tried
his nerves a good deal, and no wonder, for if he took Crusoe for a
wolf, which no doubt he did, he must have thought him a very giant of
the pack.
By degrees they broke into a furious gallop, and after breathing him
well, Dick returned and tied him to the tree. Then he rubbed him down
again, and gave him another drink. This time the horse smelt his new
master all over, and Dick felt that he had conquered him by kindness.
No doubt the tremendous run of the day before could scarcely be called
kindness, but without this subduing run he never could have brought
the offices of kindness to bear on so wild a steed.
During all these operations Crusoe sat looking on with demure
sagacity--drinking in wisdom and taking notes. We know not whether any
notes made by the canine race have ever been given to the world, but
certain are we that, if the notes and observations made by Crusoe on
that journey were published, they would, to say the least, surprise
us!
Next day Dick gave the wild horse his second lesson, and his name.
He called him "Charlie," after a much-loved companion in the Mustang
Valley. And long and heartily did Dick Varley laugh as he told the
horse his future designation in the presence of Crusoe, for it struck
him as somewhat ludicrous that a mustang which, two days ago, pawed
the earth in all the pride of independent freedom, should suddenly
come down so low as to carry a hunter on his back and be named
Charlie.
The next piece of instruction began by Crusoe being led up under
Charlie's nose, and while Dick patted the dog with his right hand he
patted the horse with his left. It backed a good deal at first and
snorted, but Crusoe walked slowly and quietly in front of him several
times, each time coming nearer, until he again stood under his nose;
then the horse smelt him nervously, and gave a sigh of relief when he
found that Crusoe paid no attention to him whatever. Dick then ordered
the dog to lie down at Charlie's feet, and went to the camp to fetch
his rifle, and buffalo robe, and pack of meat. These and all the other
things belonging to him were presented for inspection, one by one, to
the horse, who arched his neck, and put forward his ears, and eyed
them at first, but smelt them all over, and seemed to feel more easy
in his mind.
Next, the buffalo robe was rubbed over his nose, then over his eyes
and head, then down his neck and shoulder, and lastly was placed on
his back. Then it was taken off and _flung_ on; after that it was
strapped on, and the various little items of the camp were attached to
it. This done, Dick took up his rifle and let him smell it; then he
put his hand on Charlie's shoulder, vaulted on to his back, and rode
away.
Charlie's education was completed. And now our hero's journey began
again in earnest, and with some prospect of its speedy termination.
In this course of training through which Dick put his wild horse, he
had been at much greater pains and had taken far longer time than is
usually the case among the Indians, who will catch, and "break," and
ride a wild horse into camp in less than _three hours_. But Dick
wanted to do the thing well, which the Indians are not careful to
do; besides, it must be borne in remembrance that this was his
first attempt, and that his horse was one of the best and most
high-spirited, while those caught by the Indians, as we have said, are
generally the poorest of a drove.
Dick now followed the trail of his lost companions at a rapid pace,
yet not so rapidly as he might have done, being averse to exhausting
his good dog and his new companion. Each night he encamped under the
shade of a tree or a bush when he could find one, or in the open
prairie when there were none, and, picketing his horse to a short
stake or pin which he carried with him for the purpose, lit his fire,
had supper, and lay down to rest. In a few days Charlie became so
tame and so accustomed to his master's voice that he seemed quite
reconciled to his new life. There can be no doubt whatever that he had
a great dislike to solitude; for on one occasion, when Dick and Crusoe
went off a mile or so from the camp, where Charlie was tied, and
disappeared from his view, he was heard to neigh so loudly that Dick
ran back, thinking the wolves must have attacked him. He was all
right, however, and exhibited evident tokens of satisfaction when they
returned.
On another occasion his fear of being left alone was more clearly
demonstrated.
Dick had been unable to find wood or water that day, so he was obliged
to encamp upon the open plain. The want of water was not seriously
felt, however, for he had prepared a bladder in which he always
carried enough to give him one pannikin of hot sirup, and leave
a mouthful for Crusoe and Charlie. Dried buffalo dung formed a
substitute for fuel. Spreading his buffalo robe, he lit his fire, put
on his pannikin to boil, and stuck up a piece of meat to roast, to the
great delight of Crusoe, who sat looking on with much interest.
Suddenly Charlie, who was picketed a few hundred yards off in a grassy
spot, broke his halter close by the headpiece, and with a snort of
delight bounded away, prancing and kicking up his heels!
Dick heaved a deep sigh, for he felt sure that his horse was gone.
However, in a little Charlie stopped, and raised his nose high in the
air, as if to look for his old equine companions. But they were gone;
no answering neigh replied to his; and he felt, probably for the first
time, that he was really alone in the world. Having no power of smell,
whereby he might have traced them out as the dog would have done, he
looked in a bewildered and excited state all round the horizon. Then
his eye fell on Dick and Crusoe sitting by their little fire. Charlie
looked hard at them, and then again at the horizon; and then, coming
to the conclusion, no doubt, that the matter was quite beyond his
comprehension, he quietly took to feeding.
Dick availed himself of the chance, and tried to catch him; but he
spent an hour with Crusoe in the vain attempt, and at last they gave
it up in disgust and returned to the fire, where they finished their
supper and went to bed.
Next morning they saw Charlie feeding close at hand, so they took
breakfast, and tried to catch him again. But it was of no use; he was
evidently coquetting with them, and dodged about and defied their
utmost efforts, for there were only a few inches of line hanging to
his head. At last it occurred to Dick that he would try the experiment
of forsaking him. So he packed up his things, rolled up the buffalo
robe, threw it and the rifle on his shoulder, and walked deliberately
away.
"Come along, Crusoe!" he cried, after walking a few paces.
But Crusoe stood by the fire with his head up, and an expression on
his face that said, "Hallo, man! what's wrong? You've forgot Charlie!
Hold on! Are you mad?"
"Come here, Crusoe!" cried his master in a decided tone.
Crusoe obeyed at once. Whatever mistake there might be, there was
evidently none in that command; so he lowered his head and tail
humbly, and trotted on with his master, but he perpetually turned his
head as he went, first on this side and then on that, to look and
wonder at Charlie.
When they were far away on the plain, Charlie suddenly became aware
that something was wrong. He trotted to the brow of a slope, with his
head and tail very high up indeed, and looked after them; then he
looked at the fire, and neighed; then he trotted quickly up to it, and
seeing that everything was gone he began to neigh violently, and at
last started off at full speed, and overtook his friends, passing
within a few feet of them, and, wheeling round a few yards off, stood
trembling like an aspen leaf.
Dick called him by his name and advanced, while Charlie met him
half-way, and allowed himself to be saddled, bridled, and mounted
forthwith.
After this Dick had no further trouble with his wild horse.
At his next camping-place, which was in the midst of a cluster of
bushes close beside a creek, Dick came unexpectedly upon a little
wooden cross which marked the head of a grave. There was no
inscription on it, but the Christian symbol told that it was the grave
of a white man. It is impossible to describe the rush of mingled
feelings that filled the soul of the young hunter as he leaned on the
muzzle of his rifle and looked at this solitary resting-place of one
who, doubtless like himself, had been a roving hunter. Had he been
young or old when he fell? had he a mother in the distant settlement
who watched and longed and waited for the son that was never more to
gladden her eyes? had he been murdered, or had he died there and been
buried by his sorrowing comrades? These and a thousand questions
passed rapidly through his mind as he gazed at the little cross.
Suddenly he started. "Could it be the grave of Joe or Henri?" For an
instant the idea sent a chill to his heart; but it passed quickly, for
a second glance showed that the grave was old, and that the wooden
cross had stood over it for years.
Dick turned away with a saddened heart; and that night, as he pored
over the pages of his Bible, his mind was filled with many thoughts
about eternity and the world to come. He, too, must come to the grave
one day, and quit the beautiful prairies and his loved rifle. It was a
sad thought; but while he meditated he thought upon his mother. "After
all," he murmured, "there must be happiness _without_ the rifle, and
youth, and health, and the prairie! My mother's happy, yet she don't
shoot, or ride like wild-fire over the plains." Then that word which
had been sent so sweetly to him through her hand came again to his
mind, "My son, give me thine heart;" and as he read God's Book, he met
with the word, "Delight thyself in the Lord, and he shall give thee
the desire of thine heart." "_The desire of thine heart_" Dick
repeated this, and pondered it till he fell asleep.
A misfortune soon after this befell Dick Varley which well-nigh caused
him to give way to despair. For some time past he had been approaching
the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains--those ragged, jagged,
mighty hills which run through the whole continent from north to south
in a continuous chain, and form, as it were, the backbone of America.
One morning, as he threw the buffalo robe off his shoulders and sat
up, he was horrified to find the whole earth covered with a mantle
of snow. We say he was horrified, for this rendered it absolutely
impossible any further to trace his companions either by scent or
sight.
For some time he sat musing bitterly on his sad fate, while his dog
came and laid his head sympathizingly on his arm.
"Ah, pup!" he said, "I know ye'd help me if ye could! But it's all up
now; there's no chance of findin' them--none!"
To this Crusoe replied by a low whine. He knew full well that
something distressed his master, but he hadn't yet ascertained what
it was. As something had to be done, Dick put the buffalo robe on
his steed, and mounting said, as he was in the habit of doing each
morning, "Lead on, pup."
Crusoe put his nose to the ground and ran forward a few paces, then he
returned and ran about snuffing and scraping up the snow. At last he
looked up and uttered a long melancholy howl.
"Ah! I knowed it," said Dick, pushing forward. "Come on, pup; you'll
have to _follow_ now. Any way we must go on."
The snow that had fallen was not deep enough to offer the slightest
obstruction to their advance. It was, indeed, only one of those
occasional showers common to that part of the country in the late
autumn, which season had now crept upon Dick almost before he was
aware of it, and he fully expected that it would melt away in a few
days. In this hope he kept steadily advancing, until he found himself
in the midst of those rocky fastnesses which divide the waters that
flow into the Atlantic from those that flow into the Pacific Ocean.
Still the slight crust of snow lay on the ground, and he had no means
of knowing whether he was going in the right direction or not.
Game was abundant, and there was no lack of wood now, so that his
night bivouac was not so cold or dreary as might have been expected.
Travelling, however, had become difficult, and even dangerous, owing
to the rugged nature of the ground over which he proceeded. The
scenery had completely changed in its character. Dick no longer
coursed over the free, open plains, but he passed through beautiful
valleys filled with luxuriant trees, and hemmed in by stupendous
mountains, whose rugged sides rose upward until the snow-clad peaks
pierced the clouds.
There was something awful in these dark solitudes, quite overwhelming
to a youth of Dick's temperament. His heart began to sink lower and
lower every day, and the utter impossibility of making up his mind
what to do became at length agonizing. To have turned and gone back
the hundreds of miles over which he had travelled would have caused
him some anxiety under any circumstances, but to do so while Joe and
Henri were either wandering about there or in the power of the savages
was, he felt, out of the question. Yet in which way should he go?
Whatever course he took might lead him farther and farther away from
them.
In this dilemma he came to the determination of remaining where he
was, at least until the snow should leave the ground.
He felt great relief even when this hopeless course was decided
upon, and set about making himself an encampment with some degree of
cheerfulness. When he had completed this task, he took his rifle, and
leaving Charlie picketed in the centre of a dell, where the long, rich
grass rose high above the snow, went off to hunt.
On turning a rocky point his heart suddenly bounded into his throat,
for there, not thirty yards distant, stood a huge grizzly bear!
Yes, there he was at last, the monster to meet which the young hunter
had so often longed--the terrible size and fierceness of which he had
heard so often spoken about by the old hunters. There it stood at
last; but little did Dick Varley think that the first time he should
meet with his foe should be when alone in the dark recesses of the
Rocky Mountains, and with none to succour him in the event of the
battle going against him. Yes, there was one. The faithful Crusoe
stood by his side, with his hair bristling, all his formidable teeth
exposed, and his eyes glaring in their sockets. Alas for poor Crusoe
had he gone into that combat alone! One stroke of that monster's paw
would have hurled him dead upon the ground.