# The Dog Crusoe and His Master/Chapter 15

Chapter XV.—Dick “Bags” a Buffalo.
DICK VARLEY’S fears and troubles, in the meantime, were ended. On the day following he awoke refreshed and happy—so happy and light at heart, as he felt the glow of returning health coursing through his veins, that he fancied he must have dreamed it all. In fact, he was so certain that his muscles were strong that he endeavoured to leap up, but was convinced of his condition by the miserable stagger that resulted from the effort.
However, he knew he was recovering, so he rose, and thanking God for his recovery, and for the new hope that was raised in his heart, he went down to the pool and drank deeply of its water. Then he returned, and, sitting down beside his dog, opened the Bible and read long—and, for the first time, earnestly—the story of Christ’s love for sinful man. He at last fell asleep, and when he awakened felt so much refreshed that he determined to pursue his journey.
He had not proceeded far when he came upon a colony of prairie-dogs. Upon this occasion he was little inclined to ​take a humorous view of the vagaries of these curious little creatures, but he shot one, and, as before, ate part of it raw. These creatures are so active that they are difficult to shoot, and even when killed generally fall into their holes and disappear. Crusoe, however, soon unearthed the dead animal on this occasion. That night the travellers came to a stream of fresh water, and Dick killed a turkey, so that he determined to spend a couple of days there to recruit. At the end of that time he again set out, but was able only to advance five miles when he broke down. In fact, it became evident to him that he must have a longer period of absolute repose ere he could hope to continue his journey; but to do so without food was impossible. Fortunately there was plenty of water, as his course lay along a small stream: and, as the arid prairie was now behind, he hoped to fall in with birds, or perhaps deer.
While he was plodding heavily and wearily along, pondering these things, he came to the brow of a wave from which he beheld a most magnificent view of green grassy plains decked with flowers, and rolling out to the horizon, with a stream meandering through it, and clumps of trees scattered everywhere far and wide. It was a glorious sight; but the most glorious object in it to Dick, was a fat buffalo which stood not a hundred yards off. The wind was blowing towards him, so that the animal did not scent him; and, as it was turned away, it did not see him.
Crusoe would have sprung forward in an instant, but his master’s finger imposed silence and caution. Trembling with eagerness, Dick sank flat down in the grass, cocked both barrels of his piece, and resting it on his left hand with his left elbow on the ground, he waited until the animal should present its side. In a few seconds it moved; Dick’s eye glanced along the barrel, but it trembled—his wonted steadiness of aim was gone. He fired, and the buffalo sprang off in terror. With a groan of despair he fired again—almost recklessly—and the buffalo fell. It rose once or twice and stumbled forward a few paces, then it fell again. Dick reloaded and advanced to give it another shot; but it was not needful—the buffalo was already dead.
“Now, Crusoe,” said Dick, sitting down on the buffalo’s shoulder and patting his favourite on the head, “we’re all right at last. You and I shall have a jolly time o’t, pup, from this time for’ard.” Dick paused for breath, and Crusoe wagged his tail looked as if to say—pshaw! “as if!”
​We tell you what it is, reader: it’s of no use at all to go on writing “as if,” when we tell you what Crusoe said. If there is any language in eyes whatever—if there is language in a tail, in a cocked ear, in a mobile eyebrow, in the point of a canine nose; if there is language in any terrestrial thing at all, apart from that which flows from the tongue—then Crusoe spoke. Do we not speak at this moment to you? And if so, then tell me wherein lies a difference between a written letter and a given sign?
Yes, Crusoe spoke. He said to Dick as plain as dog could say it, slowly and emphatically, “That’s my opinion precisely, Dick. You’re the dearest, jolliest fellow that ever walked on two legs, you are; and whatever’s your opinion is mine, no matter how absurd it may be.”
Dick evidently understood him perfectly, for he laughed as he looked at him and patted him on the head, and called him a “funny dog.” Then he continued his discourse:—“Yes, pup, we’ll make our camp here for a long bit, old dog, in this beautiful plain. We’ll make a wigwam to sleep in, you and I, jist in yon clump o’ trees, not a stone’s-throw to our right, where we’ll have a run o’ pure water beside us, and be near our buffalo at the same time. For, ye see, we’ll need to watch him lest the wolves take a notion to eat him. That’ll be your duty, pup. Then I’ll skin him when I get strong enough, which’ll be in a day or two, I hope, and we’ll put one-half of the skin below us and t’other half above us i’ the camp, an’ sleep, an’ eat, an’ take it easy for a week or two—won’t we, pup?”
“Hoora-a-a-y!” shouted Crusoe, with a wag of his tail, that no human arm with hat, or kerchief ever equalled.
Poor Dick Varley! He smiled to think how earnestly he had been talking to the dog; but he did not cease to do it, for although he entered into discourses the drift of which Crusoe’s limited education did not permit him to follow, he found comfort in hearing his own voice, and in knowing that it fell pleasantly on another ear.
Our hero now set about his preparations as vigorously as he could. He cut out the buffalo’s tongue—a matter of great difficulty to one in his weak state—and carried it to a pleasant spot near to the stream, where the turf was level and green. Here he resolved to make his camp.
His first care was to select a bush whose branches were long enough to form a canopy over his head when bent, and the ends thrust into the ground. The completing ​of this exhausted him greatly, but after a rest he resumed his labours. The next thing was to light a fire—a comfort which he had not enjoyed for many weary days. Not that he required it for warmth, for the weather was extremely warm, but he required it to cook with.
When the fire was lighted he filled his pannikin at the brook and put it on to boil, and cutting several slices of buffalo tongue, he thrust short stakes through them and set them up before the fire to roast. By this time the water was boiling, so he took it off with difficulty, nearly burning his fingers and singeing the tail of his coat in so doing. Into the pannikin he put a lump of maple sugar, and stirred it about with a stick, and tasted it. It seemed to him even better than tea or coffee. It was delicious.
Really one has no notion what he can do if he makes believe very hard. The human mind is a nicely balanced and extremely complex machine, and when thrown a little off the balance can be made to believe almost anything, as we see in the case of some poor monomaniacs, who have fancied that they were made of all sorts of things—glass and porcelain, and such like. No wonder that poor Dick, after so much hardship, came to regard that sirup as the most delicious beverage he ever drank.
During all these operations Crusoe sat on his haunches beside him and looked. And you haven’t, no, you haven’t got the most distant notion of the way in which that dog manoeuvred with his head and face. He opened his eyes wide, and cocked his ears, and turned his head first a little to one side, then a little to the other. After that he turned it a good deal to one side, and then a good deal more to the other. Then he brought it straight, and raised one eyebrow a little, and then the other a little, and then both together very much. Then, when Dick paused to rest and did nothing, Crusoe looked mild for a moment, and yawned vociferously. Presently Dick moved; up went the ears again, and Crusoe came, in military parlance, “to the position of attention.” At last supper was ready.
Dick had purposely kept the dog’s supper back from him, in order that they might eat it in company. And between every bite and sup that Dick took he gave a bite—but not a sup—to Crusoe. Thus lovingly they ate together; and when Dick lay that night under the willow branches, looking up through them at the stars, with his feet to the fire and Crusoe close along his side, he thought ​it the best and sweetest supper he ever ate, and the happiest evening he ever spent.
Two weeks after this “Richard was himself again.” The muscles were springy, and the blood coursed fast and free, as was its wont. Only a slight feeling of weakness remained, to remind him that young muscles might become more helpless than those of an aged man or a child.
Dick had left his encampment a week ago, and was now advancing by rapid stages towards the Rocky Mountains, closely following the trail of his lost comrades, which he had no difficulty in finding and keeping now that Crusoe was with him. The skin of the buffalo that he had killed was now strapped to his shoulders, and the skin of another animal that he had shot a few days after was cut up into a long line and slung in a coil round his neck. Crusoe also had a little bundle of meat slung on each side of him.
For some time past numerous herds of mustangs, or wild horses, had crossed their path, and Dick was now on the look-out for a chance to crease one of them.
On one occasion a band of mustangs galloped close up to him before they were aware of his presence, and stopped short with a wild snort of surprise on beholding him; then wheeling round, they dashed away at full gallop, their long tails and manes flying wildly in the air, and their hoofs thundering on the plain. Dick did not attempt to crease one upon this occasion, fearing that his recent illness might have rendered his hand too unsteady.
In order to crease a wild horse the hunter requires to be a perfect shot, and it is not every man of the west who carries a rifle that can do it successfully. Creasing consists in sending a bullet through the gristle of the mustang’s neck, just above the bone, so as to stun the animal. If the ball enters a hair’s-breadth too low, the horse falls dead instantly. If it hits the exact spot, the horse falls as instantaneously, and dead to all appearance; but, in reality, he is only stunned, and if left for a few minutes will rise and gallop away nearly as well as ever. When hunters crease a horse they put a rope round his under jaw and hobbles round hip feet, so that when he rises he is secured, and reduced to obedience.
The mustangs which roam in wild freedom on the prairies of the far west are descended from the noble Spanish steeds that were brought over by the wealthy cavaliers who accompanied Fernando Cortez, the conqueror of Mexico, ​in his expedition to the New World in 1518. These bold, and, we may add, lawless cavaliers were mounted on the finest horses that could be procured from Barbary and the deserts of the Old World. The poor Indians of the New World were struck with amazement and terror at these awful beings, for, never having seen horses before, they believed that horse and rider were one animal. During the wars that followed many of the Spaniards were killed, and their steeds bounded into the wilds of the new country, to enjoy a life of unrestrained freedom. These were the forefathers of the present race of magnificent creatures which are found in immense droves from the Gulf of Mexico to the confines of the snowy regions.
At first the Indians beheld these horses with awe and terror, but gradually they became accustomed to them, and finally succeeded in capturing great numbers and reducing them to a state of servitude. Not, however, to the service of the cultivated field, but to the service of the chase and war. The savages soon acquired the method of capturing wild horses by means of the lasso—as the long line of raw hide with a noose at the end is termed—which they adroitly threw over the heads of the animals and secured them, having previously run them down. Many of the savage tribes almost live upon horseback, and without these useful creatures they could scarcely subsist, as they are almost indispensable in the chase of the buffalo.
Mustangs are regularly taken by the Indians to the settlements of the white men for trade, but very poor specimens are these of the breed of wild horses. This arises from two causes. First, the Indian cannot overtake the finest of a drove of wild mustangs, because his own steed is inferior to the best among the wild ones, besides being weighted with a rider, so that only the weak and inferior animals are captured. And, secondly, when the Indian does succeed in lassoing a first-rate horse he keeps it for his own use. Thus, those who have not visited the prairies and seen the mustang in freedom, can form no adequate idea of its beauty, fleetness, and strength.
The horse, however, was not the only creature imported by Cortez. There were priests in his army who rode upon asses, and although we cannot imagine that the “fathers” charged with the cavaliers and were unhorsed, or, rather, unassed in battle, yet, somehow, the asses got rid of their riders and joined the Spanish chargers in their joyous ​bound into a new life of freedom. Hence wild asses also are found in the western prairies. But think not, reader, of those poor miserable wretches we see at home, which seem little better than rough door-mats sewed up and stuffed, with head, tail, and legs attached, and just enough of life infused to make them move! No, the wild ass of the prairie is a large, powerful, swift creature. He has the same long ears, it is true, and the same hideous, exasperating bray; but for all that he is a very fine animal, and often wages successful warfare with the wild horse.
But to return. The next drove of mustangs that Dick and Crusoe saw were feeding quietly and unsuspectingly in a rich green hollow in the plain. Dick’s heart leaped up as his eyes suddenly fell on them, for he had almost discovered himself before he was aware of their presence.
“Down, pup!” he whispered, as he sank among the grass, which was just long enough to cover him.
Crusoe crouched immediately, and his master made his observations of the drove, and the dispositions of the ground that might favour his approach, for they were not within rifle range. Having done so he crept slowly back until the undulation of the prairie hid him from view; then he sprang to his feet, and ran a considerable distance along the bottom until he gained the extreme end of a belt of low bushes, which would conceal him while he approached to within a hundred yards or less of the troop.
Here he made his arrangements. Throwing down his buffalo robe, he took the coil of line and cut off a piece of about three yards in length. On this and on the longer line he made a running noose. These he threw over his arm.
He also made a pair of hobbles, and placed them in the breast of his coat, and then, taking up his rifle, advanced cautiously through the bushes, Crusoe following close behind him. In a few minutes he was gazing in admiration at the mustangs, which were now within easy shot, and ignorant of man, for Dick had approached in such a way that the wind did not carry the scent of him in their direction.
And well might he admire them. The wild horse of these regions is not very large, but it is exceedingly powerful, with prominent eye, sharp nose, distended nostril, small feet, and a delicate leg. Their beautiful manes hung at great length down their arched necks, and their thick tails swept the ground. One magnificent fellow ​attracted Dick. He was of a dark-brown colour, with black mane and tail, and seemed the leader of the drove.
Although not the nearest to him, he resolved to crease this horse. It is said that creasing generally destroys or damages the spirit of the horse, so Dick determined to try whether his powers of close shooting would not serve him on this occasion. Going down on one knee he aimed at the creature’s neck, just a hair’s-breadth above the spot where he had been told that hunters usually hit them, and fired. The effect upon the group was absolutely tremendous. With wild cries and snorting terror they tossed their proud heads in the air, uncertain for one moment in which direction to fly; then there was a rush as if a hurricane swept over the place, and they were gone.
But the brown horse was down. Dick did not wait until the others had fled. He dropped his rifle, and with the speed of a deer sprang towards the fallen horse, and affixed the hobbles to his legs. His aim had been true. Although scarcely half a minute elapsed between the shot and the fixing of the hobbles, the animal recovered, and with a frantic exertion rose on his haunches, just as Dick had fastened the noose of the short line in his under jaw. But this was not enough. If the horse had gained his feet before the longer line was placed round his neck, he would have escaped. As the mustang made the second violent plunge that placed it on its legs, Dick flung the noose hastily; it caught on one ear, and would have fallen off, had not the horse shaken its head, and unwittingly sealed its own fate by bringing the noose round its neck.
And now the struggle began. Dick knew well enough, from hearsay, the method of “breaking down” a wild horse. He knew that the Indians choke them with the noose round the neck until they fall down exhausted and covered with foam, when they creep up, fix the hobbles, and the line in the lower jaw, and then loosen the lasso to let the horse breathe, and resume its plungings till it is almost subdued, when they gradually draw near and breathe into its nostrils. But the violence and strength of this animal rendered this an apparently hopeless task. We have already seen that the hobbles and noose in the lower jaw had been fixed, so that Dick had nothing now to do but to choke his captive, and tire him out, while Crusoe remained a quiet though excited spectator of the scene.
​But there seemed to be no possibility of choking this horse. Either the muscles of his neck were too strong, or there was something wrong with the noose which prevented it from acting, for the furious creature dashed and bounded backwards and sideways in its terror for nearly an hour, dragging Dick after it, till he was almost exhausted; and yet, at the end of that time, although flecked with foam and panting with terror, it seemed as strong as ever. Dick held both lines, for the short one attached to its lower jaw gave him great power over it. At last he thought of seeking assistance from his dog.
“Crusoe,” he cried, “lay hold, pup!”
The dog seized the long line in his teeth and pulled with all his might. At the same moment Dick let go the short line and threw all his weight upon the long one. The noose tightened suddenly under this strain, and the mustang, with a gasp, fell choking to the ground.
Dick had often heard of the manner in which the Mexicans “break” their horses, so he determined to abandon the method which had already almost worn him out, and adopt the other, as far as the means in his power rendered it possible. Instead, therefore, of loosening the lasso and recommencing the struggle, he tore a branch from a neighbouring bush, cut the hobbles, strode with his legs across the fallen steed, seized the end of the short line or bridle, and then, ordering Crusoe to quit his hold, he loosened the noose which compressed the horse’s neck and had already well-nigh terminated its existence.
One or two deep sobs restored it, and in a moment it leaped to its feet with Dick firmly on its back. To say that the animal leaped and kicked in its frantic efforts to throw this intolerable burden would be a tame manner of expressing what took place. Words cannot adequately describe the scene. It reared, plunged, shrieked, vaulted into the air, stood straight up on its hind legs, and then almost as straight upon its fore ones; but its rider held on like a burr. Then the mustang raced wildly forwards a few paces then as wildly back, and then stood still and trembled violently. But this was only a brief lull, so Dick saw the time was come to assert his superiority.
“Stay back, Crusoe, and watch my rifle, pup,” he cried, and raising his heavy switch he brought it down with a sharp cut across the horse’s flank, at the same time loosening the rein which hitherto he had held tight.
​The wild horse uttered a passionate cry, and sprang forward like the bolt from a cross-bow.
And now commenced a race which, if not so prolonged, was at least as furious as that of the far-famed Mazeppa. Dick was a splendid rider, however—at least as far as “sticking on” goes. He might not have come up to the precise pitch desiderated by a riding-master in regard to carriage, etc., but he rode that wild horse of the prairie with as much ease as he had formerly ridden his own good steed, whose bones had been picked by the wolves not long ago.
The pace was tremendous, for the youth’s weight was nothing to that muscular frame, which bounded with cat-like agility from wave to wave of the undulating plain in ungovernable terror. In a few minutes the clump of willows where Crusoe and his rifle lay was out of sight behind; but it mattered not, for Dick had looked up at the sky and noted the position of the sun at the moment of starting. Away they went on the wings of the wind, mile after mile over the ocean-like waste, curving slightly aside now and then to avoid the bluffs that occasionally appeared on the scene for a few minutes and then swept out of sight behind them. Then they came to a little rivulet. It was a mere brook of a few feet wide, and two or three yards, perhaps, from bank to bank. Over this they flew so easily that the spring was scarcely felt, and continued the headlong course. And now a more barren country was around them: Sandy ridges and scrubby grass appeared everywhere reminding Dick of the place where he had been so ill. Rocks, too, were scattered about, and at one place the horse dashed with clattering hoofs between a couple of rocky sand-hills, which, for a few seconds, hid the prairie from view. Here the mustang suddenly shied with such violence that his rider was nearly thrown, while a rattlesnake darted from the path. Soon they emerged from this pass, and again the plains became green and verdant. Presently a distant line of trees showed that they were approaching water, and in a few minutes they were close on it. For the first time Dick felt alarm. He sought to check his steed, but no force he could exert had the smallest influence on it.
Trees and bushes flew past in bewildering confusion. The river was before him; what width, he could not tell, but he was reckless now, like his charger, which he struck with the willow rod with all his force as they came up ​One tremendous bound, and they were across, but Dick had to lie flat on the mustang’s back as it crashed through the bushes to avoid being scraped off by the trees. Again they were on the open plain, and the wild horse began to show signs of exhaustion.
Now was its rider’s opportunity to assert his dominion. He plied the willow rod and urged the panting horse on, until it was white with foam and laboured a little in its gait. Then Dick gently drew the halter, and it broke into a trot; still tighter, and it walked, and in another minute stood still, trembling in every limb. Dick now quietly rubbed its neck, and spoke to it in soothing tones; then he wheeled it gently round, and urged it forward. It was quite subdued and docile. In a little time they came to the river and forded it, after which they went through the belt of woodland at a walk. By the time they reached the open prairie the mustang was recovered sufficiently to feel its spirits returning, so Dick gave it a gentle touch with the switch, and away they went on their return journey.
But it amazed Dick not a little to find how long that journey was. Very different was the pace, too, from the previous mad gallop, and often would the poor horse have stopped had Dick allowed him. But this might not be. The shades of night were approaching, and the camp lay a long way ahead.
At last it was reached, and Crusoe came out with great demonstrations of joy, but was sent back lest he should alarm the horse. Then Dick jumped off his back, stroked his head, put his cheek close to his mouth and whispered softly to him, after which he fastened him to a tree and rubbed him down slightly with a bunch of grass. Having done this, he left him to graze as far as his tether would permit; and, after supping with Crusoe, lay down to rest, not a little elated with his success in this first attempt at “creasing” and “breaking” a mustang.
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