The Dog Crusoe and his Master Read online

  CHAPTER TWO.

  A SHOOTING MATCH AND ITS CONSEQUENCES--NEW FRIENDS INTRODUCED TO THEREADER--CRUSOE AND HIS MOTHER CHANGE MASTERS.

  Shortly after the incident narrated in the last chapter, the squattersof the Mustang Valley lost their leader. Major Hope suddenly announcedhis intention of quitting the settlement, and returning to the civilisedworld. Private matters, he said, required his presence there--matterswhich he did not choose to speak of but which would prevent hisreturning again to reside among them. Go he must, and, being a man ofdetermination, go he did; but before going he distributed all his goodsand chattels among the settlers. He even gave away his rifle, and Fan,and Crusoe. These last, however, he resolved should go together; and asthey were well worth having, he announced that he would give them to thebest shot in the valley. He stipulated that the winner should escorthim to the nearest settlement eastward, after which he might return withthe rifle on his shoulder.

  Accordingly, a long level piece of ground on the river's bank, with aperpendicular cliff at the end of it, was selected as the shootingground, and, on the appointed day, at the appointed hour, thecompetitors began to assemble.

  "Well, lad, first as usual," exclaimed Joe Blunt, as he reached theground and found Dick Varley there before him.

  "I've bin here more than an hour lookin' for a new kind o' flower thatJack Morgan told me he'd seen. And I've found it too. Look here; didyou ever see one like it before?"

  Blunt leaned his rifle against a tree, and carefully examined theflower.

  "Why, yes, I've seed a-many o' them up about the Rocky Mountains, butnever one here-away. It seems to have gone lost itself. The last Iseed, if I remimber rightly, wos near the head-waters o' the YellowstoneRiver, it wos--jest where I shot a grizzly bar."

  "Was that the bar that gave you the wipe on the cheek?" asked Varley,forgetting the flower in his interest about the bear.

  "It was. I put six balls in that bar's carcase, and stuck my knife intoits heart ten times afore it gave out; an' it nearly ripped the shirtoff my back afore I was done with it."

  "I would give my rifle to get a chance at a grizzly!" exclaimed Varley,with a sudden burst of enthusiasm.

  "Whoever got it wouldn't have much to brag of," remarked a burly youngbackwoodsman, as he joined them.

  His remark was true, for poor Dick's weapon was but a sorry affair. Itmissed fire, and it hung fire, and even when it did fire it remained amatter of doubt in its owner's mind whether the slight deviations fromthe direct line made by his bullets were the result of _his_ or _its_bad shooting.

  Further comment upon it was checked by the arrival of a dozen or morehunters on the scene of action. They were a sturdy set of bronzed,bold, fearless men, and one felt, on looking at them, that they wouldprove more than a match for several hundreds of Indians in open fight.A few minutes after, the major himself came on the ground with the prizerifle on his shoulder, and Fan and Crusoe at his heels--the lattertumbling, scrambling, and yelping after its mother, fat and clumsy, andhappy as possible, having evidently quite forgotten that it had beennearly roasted alive only a few weeks before.

  Immediately all eyes were on the rifle, and its merits were discussedwith animation.

  And well did it deserve discussion, for such a piece had never beforebeen seen on the western frontier. It was shorter in the barrel andlarger in the bore than the weapons chiefly in vogue at that time, and,besides being of beautiful workmanship, was silver-mounted. But thegrand peculiarity about it, and that which afterwards rendered it themystery of mysteries to the savages, was, that it had two sets oflocks--one percussion, the other flint--so that, when caps failed, bytaking off the one set of locks and affixing the others, it wasconverted into a flint-rifle. The major, however, took care never torun short of caps, so that the flint locks were merely held as a reservein case of need.

  "Now, lads," cried Major Hope, stepping up to the point whence they wereto shoot, "remember the terms. He who first drives the nail obtains therifle, Fan, and her pup, and accompanies me to the nearest settlements.Each man shoots with his own gun, and draws lots for the chance."

  "Agreed," cried the men.

  "Well, then, wipe your guns and draw lots. Henri will fix the nail.Here it is."

  The individual who stepped, or rather plunged forward to receive thenail was a rare and remarkable specimen of mankind. Like his comrades,he was half a farmer and half a hunter. Like them, too, he was clad indeerskin, and was tall and strong--nay, more, he was gigantic. But,unlike them, he was clumsy, awkward, loose-jointed, and a bad shot.Nevertheless Henri was an immense favourite in the settlement, for hisgood-humour knew no bounds. No one ever saw him frown. Even whenfighting with the savages, as he was sometimes compelled to do inself-defence, he went at them with a sort of jovial rage that was almostlaughable. Inconsiderate recklessness was one of his chiefcharacteristics, so that his comrades were rather afraid of him on thewar-trail or in the hunt, where caution, and frequently _soundless_motion, were essential to success or safety. But when Henri had acomrade at his side to check him he was safe enough, being humble-mindedand obedient. Men used to say he must have been born under a luckystar, for, notwithstanding his natural inaptitude for all sorts ofbackwoods life, he managed to scramble through everything with safety,often with success, and sometimes with credit.

  To see Henri stalk a deer was worth a long day's journey. Joe Bluntused to say he was "all jints together, from the top of his head to thesole of his moccasin." He threw his immense form into the mostinconceivable contortions, and slowly wound his way, sometimes on handsand knees, sometimes flat, through bush and brake, as if there was not abone in his body, and without the slightest noise. This sort of workwas so much against his plunging nature, that he took long to learn it,but when, through hard practice and the loss of many a fine deer, hecame at length to break himself in to it, he gradually progressed toperfection, and ultimately became the best stalker in the valley. This,and this alone, enabled him to procure game, for, being short-sighted,he could hit nothing beyond fifty yards, except a buffalo or a barndoor.

  Yet that same lithe body, which seemed as though totally unhinged, couldno more be bent, when the muscles were strung, than an iron post. Noone wrestled with Henri unless he wished to have his back broken. Fewcould equal and none could beat him at running or leaping except DickVarley. When Henri ran a race even Joe Blunt laughed outright, for armsand legs went like independent flails. When he leaped, he hurledhimself into space with a degree of violence that seemed to insure asomersault--yet he always came down with a crash on his feet. Plungingwas Henri's forte. He generally lounged about the settlement, whenunoccupied, with his hands behind his back, apparently in a reverie, andwhen called on to act, he seemed to fancy he must have lost time, andcould only make up for it by _plunging_. This habit got him into manyawkward scrapes, but his herculean power as often got him out of them.He was a French-Canadian, and a particularly bad speaker of the Englishlanguage.

  We offer no apology for this elaborate introduction of Henri, for he wasas good-hearted a fellow as ever lived, and deserves special notice.

  But to return. The sort of rifle practice called "driving the nail," bywhich this match was to be decided, was, and we believe still is, commonamong the hunters of the far west. It consisted in this,--an ordinarylarge-headed nail was driven a short way into a plank or a tree, and thehunters, standing at a distance of fifty yards or so, fired at it untilthey succeeded in driving it home. On the present occasion the majorresolved to test their shooting by making the distance seventy yards.

  Some of the older men shook their heads.

  "It's too far," said one; "ye might as well try to snuff the nose o' amosquito."

  "Jim Scraggs is the only man as'll hit that," said another.

  The man referred to was a long, lank, lantern-jawed fellow with across-grained expression of countenance. He used the long, heavy,Kentucky rifle, which, from the ball being little larger than a pea, wascal
led a pea-rifle. Jim was no favourite, and had been named Scraggs byhis companions on account of his appearance.

  In a few minutes the lots were drawn, and the shooting began. Eachhunter wiped out the barrel of his piece with his ramrod as he steppedforward; then, placing a ball in the palm of his left hand, he drew thestopper of his powder-horn with his teeth, and poured out as much powderas sufficed to cover the bullet. This was the regular _measure_ amongthem. Little time was lost in firing, for these men did not "hang" ontheir aim. The point of the rifle was slowly raised to the object, and,the instant the sight covered it, the ball sped to its mark. In a fewminutes the nail was encircled by bullet-holes, scarcely two of whichwere more than an inch distant from the mark, and one--fired by JoeBlunt--entered the tree close beside it.

  "Ah, Joe!" said the major, "I thought you would have carried off theprize."

  "So did not I, sir," returned Blunt, with a shake of his head. "Had ita-bin a half-dollar at a hundred yards, I'd ha' done better, but I never_could_ hit the nail. It's too small to _see_."

  "That's cos ye've got no eyes," remarked Jim Scraggs, with a sneer, ashe stepped forward.

  All tongues were now hushed, for the expected champion was about tofire. The sharp crack of the rifle was followed by a shout, for Jim hadhit the nail-head on the edge, and part of the bullet stuck to it.

  "That wins if there's no better," said the major, scarce able to concealhis disappointment. "Who comes next?"

  To this question Henri answered by stepping up to the line, straddlinghis legs, and executing preliminary movements with his rifle, thatseemed to indicate an intention on his part to throw the weapon bodilyat the mark. He was received with a shout of mingled laughter andapplause. After gazing steadily at the mark for a few seconds, a broadgrin overspread his countenance, and, looking round at his companions,he said--"Ha! mes boys, I cannot behold de nail at all!"

  "Can ye `behold' the _tree_?" shouted a voice, when the laugh thatfollowed this announcement had somewhat abated.

  "Oh! oui," replied Henri quite coolly; "I can see _him_, an' a gootsmall bit of de forest beyond."

  "Fire at it, then. If ye hit the tree ye desarve the rifle--leastwiseye ought to get the pup."

  Henri grinned again, and fired instantly, without taking aim.

  The shot was followed by an exclamation of surprise, for the bullet wasfound close beside the nail!

  "It's more be good luck than good shootin'," remarked Jim Scraggs.

  "Possiblement," answered Henri modestly, as he retreated to the rear andwiped out his rifle; "mais I have kill most of my deer by dat same gootluck."

  "Bravo! Henri," said Major Hope as he passed; "you _deserve_ to win,anyhow. Who's next?"

  "Dick Varley," cried several voices; "where's Varley? Come on,youngster, an' take yer shot."

  The youth came forward with evident reluctance. "It's of no manner o'use," he whispered to Joe Blunt as he passed, "I can't depend on my oldgun."

  "Never give in," whispered Blunt encouragingly. Poor Varley's want ofconfidence in his rifle was merited, for, on pulling the trigger, thefaithless lock missed fire.

  "Lend him another gun," cried several voices. "'Gainst rules laid downby Major Hope," said Scraggs.

  "Well, so it is; try again."

  Varley did try again, and so successfully, too, that the ball hit thenail on the head, leaving a portion of the lead sticking to its edge.

  Of course this was greeted with a cheer, and a loud dispute began as towhich was the better shot of the two.

  "There are others to shoot yet," cried the major. "Make way. Lookout."

  The men fell back, and the few hunters who had not yet fired took theirshots, but without coming nearer the mark.

  It was now agreed that Jim Scraggs and Dick Varley, being the two bestshots, should try over again; and it was also agreed that Dick shouldhave the use of Blunt's rifle. Lots were again drawn for the firstshot, and it fell to Dick, who immediately stepped out, aimed somewhathastily, and fired.

  "Hit again!" shouted those who had run forward to examine the mark."_Half_ the bullet cut off by the nail-head!"

  Some of the more enthusiastic of Dick's friends cheered lustily, but themost of the hunters were grave and silent, for they knew Jim's powers,and felt that he would certainly do his best. Jim now stepped up to theline, and, looking earnestly at the mark, threw forward his rifle.

  At that moment our friend Crusoe--tired of tormenting his mother--waddled stupidly and innocently into the midst of the crowd of men, and,in so doing, received Henri's heel and the full weight of hiselephantine body on its fore-paw. The horrible and electric yell thatinstantly issued from his agonised throat could only be compared, as JoeBlunt expressed it, "to the last dyin' screech o' a bustin' steambiler!" We cannot say that the effect was startling, for thesebackwoodsmen had been born and bred in the midst of alarms, and were soused to them that a "bustin' steam biler" itself, unless it had blownthem fairly off their legs, would not have startled them. But theeffect, such as it was, was sufficient to disconcert the aim of JimScraggs, who fired at the same instant, and missed the nail by ahair's-breadth.

  Turning round in towering wrath, Scraggs aimed a kick at the poor pup,which, had it taken effect, would certainly have terminated the innocentexistence of that remarkable dog on the spot, but quick as lightningHenri interposed the butt of his rifle, and Jim's shin met it with aviolence that caused him to howl with rage and pain.

  "Oh! pardon me, broder," cried Henri, shrinking back, with the drollestexpression of mingled pity and glee.

  Jim's discretion, on this occasion, was superior to his valour; heturned away with a coarse expression of anger and left the ground.

  Meanwhile the major handed the silver rifle to young Varley. "Itcouldn't have fallen into better hands," he said. "You'll do it credit,lad, I know that full well, and let me assure you it will never play youfalse. Only keep it clean, don't overcharge it, aim true, and it willnever miss the mark."

  While the hunters crowded round Dick to congratulate him and examine thepiece, he stood with a mingled feeling of bashfulness and delight at hisunexpected good fortune. Recovering himself suddenly he seized his oldrifle, and, dropping quietly to the outskirts of the crowd, while themen were still busy handling and discussing the merits of the prize,went up, unobserved, to a boy of about thirteen years of age, andtouched him on the shoulder.

  "Here, Marston, you know I often said ye should have the old rifle whenI was rich enough to get a new one. Take it _now_, lad. It's come toye sooner than either o' us expected."

  "Dick," said the boy, grasping his friend's hand warmly, "yer true asheart of oak. It's good of 'ee, that's a fact."

  "Not a bit, boy; it costs me nothin' to give away an old gun that I'veno use for, an's worth little, but it makes me right glad to have thechance to do it."

  Marston had longed for a rifle ever since he could walk, but hisprospects of obtaining one were very poor indeed at that time, and it isa question whether he did not at that moment experience as much joy inhandling the old piece as his friend felt in shouldering the prize.

  A difficulty now occurred which had not before been thought of. Thiswas no less than the absolute refusal of Dick Varley's canine propertyto follow him. Fan had no idea of changing masters without her consentbeing asked, or her inclination being consulted.

  "You'll have to tie her up for a while, I fear," said the major.

  "No fear," answered the youth. "Dog natur's like human natur'!"

  Saying this he seized Crusoe by the neck, stuffed him comfortably intothe bosom of his hunting shirt, and walked rapidly away with the prizerifle on his shoulder.

  Fan had not bargained for this. She stood irresolute, gazing now to theright and now to the left, as the major retired in one direction andDick with Crusoe in another. Suddenly Crusoe, who, although comfortablein body, was ill at ease in spirit, gave utterance to a melancholy howl.The mother's love instantly prevailed. For one moment s
he pricked upher ears at the sound, and then, lowering them, trotted quietly afterher new master, and followed him to his cottage on the margin of thelake.