Dog Crusoe and his Master, by
R.M. Ballantyne
Project Gutenberg's The Dog Crusoe and his Master, by R.M.
Ballantyne This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and
with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away
or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: The Dog Crusoe and his Master
Author: R.M. Ballantyne
Release Date: June 7, 2007 [EBook #21728]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DOG
CRUSOE AND HIS MASTER ***
Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England
THE DOG CRUSOE AND HIS MASTER, BY R.M. BALLANTYNE.
CHAPTER ONE.
THE BACKWOODS SETTLEMENT--CRUSOE'S PARENTAGE
AND EARLY HISTORY--THE AGONISING PAINS AND
SORROWS OF HIS PUPPYHOOD, AND OTHER INTERESTING
MATTERS.
The dog Crusoe was once a pup. Now do not, courteous reader, toss
your head contemptuously, and exclaim, "Of course he was; I could
have told you that." You know very well that you have often seen a
man above six feet high, broad and powerful as a lion, with a bronzed
shaggy visage and the stern glance of an eagle, of whom you have said,
or thought, or heard others say, "It is scarcely possible to believe that
such a man was once a squalling baby." If you had seen our hero in all
the strength and majesty of full-grown doghood, you would have
experienced a vague sort of surprise had we told you--as we now
repeat-- that the dog Crusoe was once a pup--a soft, round, sprawling,
squeaking pup, as fat as a tallow candle, and as blind as a bat.
But we draw particular attention to the fact of Crusoe's having once
been a pup, because in connection with the days of his puppyhood there
hangs a tale. This peculiar dog may thus be said to have had two
tails--one in connection with his body, the other with his career. This
tale, though short, is very harrowing, and, as it is intimately connected
with Crusoe's subsequent history, we will relate it here. But before
doing so we must beg our reader to accompany us beyond the civilised
portions of the United States of America--beyond the frontier
settlements of the "far west," into those wild prairies which are watered
by the great Missouri river--the Father of Waters--and his numerous
tributaries.
Here dwell the Pawnees, the Sioux, the Delawares, the Crows, the
Blackfeet, and many other tribes of Red Indians, who are gradually
retreating step by step towards the Rocky Mountains as the advancing
white man cuts down their trees and ploughs up their prairies. Here, too,
dwell the wild horse and the wild ass, the deer, the buffalo, and the
badger; all, men and brutes alike, wild as the power of untamed and
ungovernable passion can make them, and free as the wind that sweeps
over their mighty plains.
There is a romantic and exquisitely beautiful spot on the banks of one
of the tributaries above referred to--a long stretch of mingled woodland
and meadow, with a magnificent lake lying like a gem in its green
bosom--which goes by the name of the Mustang Valley. This remote
vale, even at the present day, is but thinly peopled by white men, and is
still a frontier settlement round which the wolf and the bear prowl
curiously, and from which the startled deer bounds terrified away. At
the period of which we write the valley had just been taken possession
of by several families of squatters, who, tired of the turmoil and the
squabbles of the then frontier settlements, had pushed boldly into the
far west to seek a new home for themselves, where they could have
"elbow room," regardless alike of the dangers they might encounter in
unknown lands and of the Red-skins who dwelt there.
The squatters were well armed with axes, rifles, and ammunition. Most
of the women were used to dangers and alarms, and placed implicit
reliance in the power of their fathers, husbands, and brothers to protect
them--and well they might, for a bolder set of stalwart men than these
backwoodsmen never trod the wilderness. Each had been trained to the
use of the rifle and the axe from infancy, and many of them had spent
so much of their lives in the woods, that they were more than a match
for the Indian in his own peculiar pursuits of hunting and war. When
the squatters first issued from the woods bordering the valley, an
immense herd of wild horses or mustangs were browsing on the plain.
These no sooner beheld the cavalcade of white men, than, uttering a
wild neigh, they tossed their flowing manes in the breeze and dashed
away like a whirlwind. This incident procured
Continue reading on your phone by scaning this QR Code
Tip: The current page has been bookmarked automatically. If you wish to continue reading later, just open the
Dertz Homepage, and click on the 'continue reading' link at the bottom of the page.