escape from indians--a discovery--alone in the desert.
dick varley had spent so much of his boyhoodin sporting about among the waters of the riversand lakes near which he had been reared, and especiallyduring the last two years had spent so much of hisleisure time in rolling and diving with his dog crusoein the lake of the mustang valley, that he had becomealmost as expert in the water as a south sea islander;so that when he found himself whirling down the rapidriver, as already described, he was more impressed witha feeling of gratitude to god for his escape from theindians than anxiety about getting ashore.
he was not altogether blind or indifferent to thedanger into which he might be hurled if the channel ofthe river should be found lower down to be broken withrocks, or should a waterfall unexpectedly appear. afterfloating down a sufficient distance to render pursuitout of the question, he struck into the bank opposite tothat from which he had plunged, and clambering upto the greensward above, stripped off the greater partof his clothing and hung it on the branches of a bush todry. then he sat down on the trunk of a fallen treeto consider what course he had best pursue in his presentcircumstances.
these circumstances were by no means calculated toinspire him with hope or comfort. he was in themidst of an unknown wilderness, hundreds of milesfrom any white man's settlement; surrounded bysavages; without food or blanket; his companionsgone, he knew not whither--perhaps taken and killedby the indians; his horse dead; and his dog, the mosttrusty and loving of all his friends, lost to him, probably,for ever! a more veteran heart might havequailed in the midst of such accumulated evils; butdick varley possessed a strong, young, and buoyantconstitution, which, united with a hopefulness of dispositionthat almost nothing could overcome, enabled himvery quickly to cast aside the gloomy view of his caseand 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 toexamine into the condition of his powder-horn and thefew things that he had been fortunate enough to carryaway with him about his person.
the horn in which western hunters carry their powderis usually that of an ox. it is closed up at the largeend with a piece of hard wood fitted tightly into it, andthe small end is closed with a wooden peg or stopper.
it is therefore completely water-tight, and may be forhours immersed without the powder getting wet, unlessthe stopper should chance to be knocked out. dickfound, to his great satisfaction, that the stopper wasfast and the powder perfectly dry. moreover, he had by good fortunefilledit full two days before from thepackage 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 matteredlittle, for he did not possess more than half-a-dozen.
but this was not so great a misfortune as at first itmight seem, for he had the spare flint locks and the littlescrew-driver necessary for fixing and unfixing themstowed 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 thenumber of thirty. this was a pretty fair supply, andwith careful economy would last him many days. havingrelieved his mind on these all-important points,he carefully examined every pouch and corner of hisdress to ascertain the exact amount and value of hiswealth.
besides the leather leggings, moccasins, deerskin hunting-shirt,cap, and belt which composed his costume, hehad a short heavy hunting-knife, a piece of tinder, alittle tin pannikin, which he had been in the habit ofcarrying at his belt, and a large cake of maple sugar.
this last is a species of sugar which is procured by theindians from the maple-tree. several cakes of it hadbeen carried off from the pawnee village, and dickusually carried one in the breast of his coat. besidesthese things, he found that the little bible, for whichhis mother had made a small inside breast-pocket, wassafe. dick's heart smote him when he took it out andundid the clasp, for he had not looked at it until thatday. it was firmly bound with a brass clasp, so that,although the binding and the edges of the leaves weresoaked, the inside was quite dry. on opening the bookto see if it had been damaged, a small paper fell out.
picking it up quickly, he unfolded it, and read, in hismother's handwriting: "call upon me in the time oftrouble; and i will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorifyme. my son, give me thine heart."dick's eyes filled with tears while the sound, as itwere, of his mother's voice thus reached him unexpectedlyin that lonely wilderness. like too many whosehearts are young and gay, dick had regarded religion, ifnot as a gloomy, at least as not a cheerful thing. buthe felt the comfort of these words at that moment, andhe resolved seriously to peruse his mother's parting giftin time to come.
the sun was hot, and a warm breeze gently shookthe leaves, so that dick's garments were soon dry. afew minutes served to change the locks of his rifle, drawthe wet charges, dry out the barrels, and re-load. thenthrowing it across his shoulder, he entered the wood andwalked lightly away. and well he might, poor fellow,for at that moment he felt light enough in person if notin heart. his worldly goods were not such as to oppresshim; but the little note had turned his thoughts towardshome, and he felt comforted.
traversing the belt of woodland that marked thecourse of the river, dick soon emerged on the wideprairie beyond, and here he paused in some uncertaintyas to how he should proceed.
he was too good a backwoodsman, albeit so young, tofeel perplexed as to the points of the compass. heknew pretty well what hour it was, so that the sunshowed him the general bearings of the country, and heknew that when night came he could correct his courseby the pole star. dick's knowledge of astronomy waslimited; he knew only one star by name, but that onewas an inestimable treasure of knowledge. his perplexitywas owing to his uncertainty as to the directionin which his companions and their pursuers had gone;for he had made up his mind to follow their trail ifpossible, and render all the succour his single armmight afford. to desert them, and make for the settlement,he held, would be a faithless and cowardlyact.
while they were together joe blunt had often talkedto him about the route he meant to pursue to the rockymountains, so that, if they had escaped the indians, hethought there might be some chance of finding them atlast. but, to set against this, there was the probabilitythat they had been taken and carried away in a totallydifferent direction; or they might have taken to theriver, as he had done, and gone farther down withouthis observing them. then, again, if they had escaped,they would be sure to return and search the countryround for him, so that if he left the spot he might missthem.
"oh for my dear pup crusoe!" he exclaimed aloudin this dilemma; but the faithful ear was shut now,and the deep silence that followed his cry was so oppressivethat the young hunter sprang forward at a runover the plain, as if to fly from solitude. he soon becameso absorbed, however, in his efforts to find thetrail of his companions, that he forgot all other considerations,and ran straight forward for hours togetherwith his eyes eagerly fixed on the ground. at last hefelt so hungry, having tasted no food since supper-timethe previous evening, that he halted for the purpose ofeating a morsel of maple sugar. a line of bushes inthe distance indicated water, so he sped on again, andwas soon seated beneath a willow, drinking water fromthe cool stream. no game was to be found here, butthere were several kinds of berries, among which wildgrapes and plums grew in abundance. with these andsome sugar he made a meal, though not a good one, forthe berries were quite green and intensely sour.
all that day dick varley followed up the trail of hiscompanions, 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 littlemore hope than he had felt during the day. towardsnight, however, dick's heart sank again, for he cameupon innumerable buffalo tracks, among which those ofthe horses soon became mingled up, so that he lost themaltogether. hoping to find them again more easily bybroad daylight, he went to the nearest clump of willowshe 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 protecthim from the dew. as he had no blanket or buffaloskin, he used leaves and grass instead, and found it abetter shelter than he had expected, especially when thefire was lighted, and a pannikin of hot sugar and watersmoked at his feet; but as no game was to be found, hewas again compelled to sup off unripe berries. beforelying down to rest he remembered his resolution, andpulling out the little bible, read a portion of it by thefitful blaze of the fire, and felt great comfort in its blessedwords. it seemed to him like a friend with whom hecould converse in the midst of his loneliness.
the plunge into the river having broken dick's pipeand destroyed his tobacco, he now felt the want of thatluxury very severely, and, never having wanted it before,he was greatly surprised to find how much he hadbecome enslaved to the habit. it cost him more thanan hour's rest that night, the craving for his wontedpipe.
the sagacious reader will doubtless not fail here toask himself the question, whether it is wise in man tocreate in himself an unnatural and totally unnecessaryappetite, which may, and often does, entail hours--ay,sometimes months--of exceeding discomfort; but wewould not for a moment presume to suggest such aquestion to him. we have a distinct objection to theordinary method of what is called "drawing a moral."it is much better to leave wise men to do this forthemselves.
next morning dick rose with the sun, and startedwithout breakfast, preferring to take his chance of findinga bird or animal of some kind before long, to feedingagain on sour berries. he was disappointed, however,in finding the tracks of his companions. the groundhere was hard and sandy, so that little or no impressionof a distinct kind was made on it; and as buffaloeshad traversed it in all directions, he was soon utterlybewildered. he thought it possible that, by runningout for several miles in a straight line, and then takinga wide circuit round, he might find the tracks emergingfrom the confusion made by the buffaloes. but he wasagain 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 eatingsuch poor fare, that he gave up all hope of discoveringthe tracks, and was compelled to push forward at hisutmost speed in order to reach a less barren district,where he might procure fresh meat; but the farther headvanced the worse and more sandy did the districtbecome. for several days he pushed on over this aridwaste without seeing bird or beast, and, to add to hismisery, he failed at last to find water. for a day anda night he wandered about in a burning fever, and histhroat so parched that he was almost suffocated. towardsthe close of the second day he saw a slight lineof bushes away down in a hollow on his right. witheager steps he staggered towards them, and, on drawingnear, beheld--blessed sight!--a stream of water glancingin the beams of the setting sun.
dick tried to shout for joy, but his parched throatrefused to give utterance to the voice. it matterednot. exerting all his remaining strength he rusheddown the bank, dropped his rifle, and plunged headforemostinto 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 tooverflowing. crawling out of the stream, he sank downon the bank in a species of lethargic torpor, from which,he awakened next morning in a raging fever. deliriumsoon rendered him insensible to his sufferings. thesun rose like a ball of fire, and shone down with scorchingpower on the arid plain. what mattered it todick? he was far away in the shady groves of themustang valley, chasing the deer at times, but morefrequently cooling his limbs and sporting with crusoein the bright blue lake. now he was in his mother'scottage, telling her how he had thought of her whenfar away on the prairie, and what a bright, sweet wordit 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 timesdick would spring with almost supernatural strengthfrom the ground, and run madly over the burning plain;but, as if by a species of fascination, he always returnedto the salt river, and sank exhausted by its side, orplunged helplessly into its waters.
these sudden immersions usually restored him for ashort time to reason, and he would crawl up the bankand gnaw a morsel of the maple sugar; but he could noteat much, for it was in a tough, compact cake, whichhis jaws had not power to break. all that day andthe next night he lay on the banks of the salt stream,or rushed wildly over the plain. it was about noon ofthe second day after his attack that he crept slowlyout of the water, into which he had plunged a fewseconds before. his mind was restored, but he felt anindescribable sensation of weakness, that seemed to himto be the approach of death. creeping towards theplace where his rifle lay, he fell exhausted beside it,and laid his cheek on the bible, which had fallen outof his pocket there.
while his eyes were closed in a dreamy sort of half-wakingslumber, he felt the rough, hairy coat of an animalbrush against his forehead. the idea of being tornto pieces by wolves flashed instantly across his mind,and with a shriek of terror he sprang up--to be almostoverwhelmed by the caresses of his faithful dog.
yes, there he was, bounding round his master, barkingand whining, and giving vent to every possibleexpression of canine joy!
