# The Dog Crusoe and His Master/Chapter 12

Chapter XII.—Chased by Indians.
FOR many days the three hunters wandered over the trackless prairie in search of a village of the Sioux Indians, but failed to find one, for the Indians were in the habit of shifting their ground and following the buffalo. Several times they saw small isolated bands of Indians; but these they carefully avoided, fearing they might turn out to be war parties, and if they fell into their hands the white men could not expect civil treatment, whatever nation the Indians might belong to.
During the greater portion of this time they met with numerous herds of buffalo and deer, and were well supplied with food; but they had to cook it daring the day, being afraid to light a fire at night while Indians were about.
One night they halted near the bed of a stream which was almost dry. They had travelled a day and a night without water, and both men and horses were almost choking, so that when they saw the trees on the horizon which indicated a stream, they pushed forward with frantic haste.
“Hope it’s not dry,” said Joe anxiously as they galloped up to it. “No, there’s water, lads,” and they dashed forward to a pool that had not yet been dried up. They drank long and eagerly before they noticed that the pool was strongly impregnated with salt. Many streams in those parts of the prairies are quite salt; but fortunately this was not undrinkable, though it was very unpalatable.
“We’ll make it better, lads,” said Joe, digging a deep hole in the sand with his hands, a little below the pool. In a short time the water filtered through, and though not rendered fresh, it was much improved.
​“We may light a fire to-night, d’ye think?” inquired Dick; “we’ve not seed Injuns for some days.”
“P’raps ’twould be better not,” said Joe; “but I daresay we’re safe enough.”
A fire was therefore lighted in as sheltered a spot as could be found, and the three friends bivouacked. Towards dawn they were aroused by an angry growl from Crusoe.
“It’s a wolf likely,” said Dick, but all three seized and cocked their rifles nevertheless.
Again Crusoe growled more angrily than before, and springing out of the camp snuffed the breeze anxiously.
“Up, lads! catch the nags! There’s something in the wind, for the dog niver did that afore.”
In a few seconds the horses were saddled and the packs secured.
“Call in the dog,” whispered Joe Blunt; “if he barks they’ll find out our whereabouts.”
“Here, Crusoe, come—”
It was too late; the dog barked loudly and savagely at the moment, and a troop of Indians came coursing over the plain. On hearing the unwonted sound they wheeled directly and made for the camp.
“It’s a war party; fly, lads! Nothin’ ’ll save our scalps now but our horses’ heels,” cried Joe.
In a moment they vaulted into the saddle and urged their steeds forward at the utmost speed. The savages observed them, and with an exulting yell dashed after them. Feeling that there was now no need of concealment, the three horsemen struck off into the open prairie, intending to depend entirely on the speed and stamina of their horses. They were good ones; but the Indians soon proved that they were equally well if not better mounted.
“It’ll be a hard run,” said Joe in a low, muttering tone, and looking furtively over his shoulder. “The varmints are mounted on wild horses—least ways they were wild not long agone. Them chaps can throw the lasso and trip a mustang as well as a Mexican. Mind the badger-holes, Dick. Hold in a bit, Henri; a foot in a hole just now would cost us our scalps. Keep down by the creek, lads.”
“Ha! now dey yell,” said Henri in a savage tone, looking back, and shaking his rifle at them. “Dis old pack-hoss give me moche trobel.”
The pace was now tremendous. Pursuers and pursued rose and sank on the prairie billows as they swept along, ​till they came to what is termed a “dividing ridge,” which is a cross wave, as it were, that cuts the others in two, thus forming a continuous level. Here they advanced more easily; but the advantage was equally shared with their pursuers, who continued the headlong pursuit with occasional yells, showing they at least did not gain ground.
A little to the right of the direction in which they were flying a blue line was seen on the horizon. This indicated the existence of trees to Joe’s practised eyes, and feeling that if the horses broke down they could better make a last manful stand in the wood than on the plain he urged his steed towards it. The savages noticed the movement at once, and uttered a yell, for they regarded it as an evidence that the fugitives doubted the strength of their horses.
“Ye haven’t got us yet,” muttered Joe, with a sardonic grin. “If they get near us, Dick, keep yer eyes open an’ look out for yer neck, else they’ll drop a noose over it, they will, an’ haul ye off like a sack.”
Dick nodded in reply, but did not speak, for at that moment his eye was fixed on a small creek ahead which they must necessarily leap or dash across. It was lined with clumps of scattered shrubbery, and he glanced rapidly for the most suitable place to pass. Joe and Henri did the same, and having diverged a little to the different points chosen, they dashed through the shrubbery and were hid from each other’s view. On approaching the edge of the stream, Dick found, to his consternation, that the bank was twenty feet high opposite him, and too wide for any horse to clear. Wheeling aside without checking speed, at the risk of throwing his steed, he rode along the margin of the stream for a few hundred yards until he found a ford—at least such a spot as might be cleared by a bold leap. The check, however, had enabled an Indian to gain so close upon his heels that his exulting yell sounded close in his ear.
With a vigorous bound his gallant little horse went over. Crusoe could not take it, but he rushed down the one bank and up the other, so that he only lost a few yards. These few yards, however, were sufficient to bring the Indian close upon him as he cleared the stream at full gallop. The savage whirled his lasso swiftly round for a second, and in another moment Crusoe uttered a tremendous roar as he tripped up violently on the plain.
Dick heard the cry of his faithful dog, and turned quickly round, just in time to see him spring at the horse’s ​throat, and bring both steed and rider down upon him, Dick’s heart leaped to his throat. Had a thousand savages been rushing on him he would have flown to the rescue of his favourite; but an unexpected obstacle came in the way. His fiery little steed, excited by the headlong race and the howls of the Indians, had taken the bit in his teeth and was now unmanageable. Dick tore at the reins like a maniac, and in the height of his frenzy even raised the butt of his rifle with the intent to strike the poor horse to the earth, but his better nature prevailed. He checked the uplifted hand, and with a groan dropped the reins, and sank almost helplessly forward on the saddle; for several of the Indians had left the main body and were pursuing him alone, so that there would have been now no chance of his reaching the place.
Spiritless, and utterly indifferent to what his fate might be, Dick Varley rode along with his head drooping, and keeping his seat almost mechanically, while the mettlesome little steed flew on over wave and hollow. Gradually he awakened from this state of despair to a sense of danger. Glancing round he observed that the Indians were now far behind him, though still pursuing. He also observed that his companions were galloping miles away on the horizon to the left, and that he had foolishly allowed the savages to get between him and them. The only chance that remained for him was to outride his pursuers, and circle round towards his comrades; and this he hoped to accomplish, for his little horse had now proved itself to be superior to those of the Indians.
Urging him forward, therefore, he soon, left the savages still farther behind, and feeling confident that they could not now overtake him he reined up and dismounted. The pursuers quickly drew near, but short though it was the rest did his horse good. Vaulting into the saddle, he again stretched out, and now skirted along the margin of a wood which seemed to mark a river of considerable size.
At this moment his horse put his foot into a badger-hole, and both of them came heavily to the ground. In an instant Dick rose, picked up his gun, and leaped unhurt into the saddle. But on urging his poor horse forward he found that its shoulder was badly sprained. There was no room for mercy, however—life and death were in the balance—so he plied the lash vigorously, and the noble steed warmed into something like a run, when again it ​stumbled, and fell with a crash on the ground, while the blood burst from its mouth and nostrils. Dick could hear the shout of triumph uttered by his pursuers.
“My poor, poor horse!” he exclaimed, while he stooped and stroked its foam-studded neck.
The dying, steed raised its head for a moment, it almost seemed as if to acknowledge the tones of affection, then it sank down with a gurgling groan.
Dick sprang up, for the Indians were now upon him, and bounded like an antelope into the thickest of the shrubbery; which was nowhere thick enough, however, to prevent the Indians following. Still, it sufficiently retarded them to render the chase a more equal one than could have been expected. In a few minutes Dick gained a strip of open ground beyond, and found himself on the bank of a broad river, whose evidently deep waters rushed impetuously along their unobstructed channel. The bank at the spot where he reached it was a sheer precipice of between thirty and forty feet high. Glancing up and down the river he retreated a few paces, turned round and shook his clinched fist at the savages, and then running to the edge of the bank, sprang far out into the boiling flood and sank.
The Indians pulled up on reaching the spot. There was no possibility of galloping down the wood-encumbered banks after the fugitive; but quick as thought each Red-man leaped to the ground, and fitting an arrow to his bow, awaited Dick’s reappearance with eager gaze.
Young though he was, and unskilled in such wild warfare, Dick knew well enough what sort of reception he would meet with on coming to the surface, so he kept under water as long as he could, and struck out as vigorously as the care of his rifle would permit. At last he rose for a few seconds, and immediately half a dozen arrows whizzed through the air; but most of them fell short—only one passed close to his cheek, and went with a “whip” into the river. He sank, and the next time he rose to breathe he was far beyond the reach of his Indian enemies.
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