The Dog Crusoe and His Master: A Story of Adventure in the Western PrairiesBallantyne, R. M. (Robert Michael)
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The Dog Crusoe and His Master: A Story of Adventure in the Western Prairies
Ballantyne, R. M. (Robert Michael)
Adventure stories; Dogs -- Fiction
The caution was needed, for in the confusion of the moment Henri was
making preparation to sell his life as dearly as possible. Before
another word could be uttered, they were surrounded by a troop of
about twenty yelling Blackfeet Indians. They were, fortunately, not a
war party, and, still more fortunately, they were peaceably disposed,
and listened to the preliminary address of Joe Blunt with exemplary
patience; after which the two parties encamped on the spot, the
council fire was lighted, and every preparation made for a long
palaver.
We will not trouble the reader with the details of what was said on
this occasion. The party of Indians was a small one, and no chief of
any importance was attached to it. Suffice it to say that the pacific
overtures made by Joe were well received, the trifling gifts made
thereafter were still better received, and they separated with mutual
expressions of good-will.
Several other bands which were afterwards met with were equally
friendly, and only one war party was seen. Joe's quick eye observed
it in time to enable them to retire unseen behind the shelter of some
trees, where they remained until the Indian warriors were out of
sight.
The next party they met with, however, were more difficult to manage,
and, unfortunately, blood was shed on both sides before our travellers
escaped.
It was at the close of a beautiful day that a war party of Blackfeet
were seen riding along a ridge on the horizon. It chanced that the
prairie at this place was almost destitute of trees or shrubs large
enough to conceal the horses. By dashing down the grassy wave into
the hollow between the two undulations, and dismounting, Joe hoped to
elude the savages, so he gave the word; but at the same moment a shout
from the Indians told that they were discovered.
"Look sharp, lads! throw down the packs on the highest point of the
ridge," cried Joe, undoing the lashings, seizing one of the bales of
goods, and hurrying to the top of the undulation with it; "we must
keep them at arm's-length, boys--be alive! War parties are not to be
trusted."
Dick and Henri seconded Joe's efforts so ably that in the course of
two minutes the horses were unloaded, the packs piled in the form of a
wall in front of a broken piece of ground, the horses picketed close
beside them, and our three travellers peeping over the edge, with
their rifles cocked, while the savages--about thirty in number--came
sweeping down towards them.
"I'll try to git them to palaver," said Joe Blunt; "but keep yer eye
on 'em, Dick, an' if they behave ill, shoot the _horse_ o' the leadin'
chief. I'll throw up my left hand, as a signal. Mind, lad, don't hit
human flesh till my second signal is given, and see that Henri don't
draw till I git back to ye."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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