The Dog Crusoe and his Master | Page 7

merited, for, on pulling the trigger, the
faithless lock missed fire.

"Lend him another gun," cried several voices. "'Gainst rules laid down
by Major Hope," said Scraggs.
"Well, so it is; try again."
Varley did try again, and so successfully, too, that the ball hit the nail
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 to
which was the better shot of the two.
"There are others to shoot yet," cried the major. "Make way. Look out."
The men fell back, and the few hunters who had not yet fired took their
shots, but without coming nearer the mark.
It was now agreed that Jim Scraggs and Dick Varley, being the two
best shots, should try over again; and it was also agreed that Dick
should have the use of Blunt's rifle. Lots were again drawn for the first
shot, and it fell to Dick, who immediately stepped out, aimed somewhat
hastily, 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 the
most 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 the
line, 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 his
elephantine body on its fore-paw. The horrible and electric yell that
instantly issued from his agonised throat could only be compared, as
Joe Blunt expressed it, "to the last dyin' screech o' a bustin' steam
biler!" We cannot say that the effect was startling, for these
backwoodsmen had been born and bred in the midst of alarms, and

were so used to them that a "bustin' steam biler" itself, unless it had
blown them fairly off their legs, would not have startled them. But the
effect, such as it was, was sufficient to disconcert the aim of Jim
Scraggs, who fired at the same instant, and missed the nail by a
hair'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 innocent
existence of that remarkable dog on the spot, but quick as lightning
Henri interposed the butt of his rifle, and Jim's shin met it with a
violence that caused him to howl with rage and pain.
"Oh! pardon me, broder," cried Henri, shrinking back, with the drollest
expression of mingled pity and glee.
Jim's discretion, on this occasion, was superior to his valour; he turned
away with a coarse expression of anger and left the ground.
Meanwhile the major handed the silver rifle to young Varley. "It
couldn'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 you false.
Only keep it clean, don't overcharge it, aim true, and it will never miss
the mark."
While the hunters crowded round Dick to congratulate him and
examine the piece, he stood with a mingled feeling of bashfulness and
delight at his unexpected good fortune. Recovering himself suddenly he
seized his old rifle, and, dropping quietly to the outskirts of the crowd,
while the men were still busy handling and discussing the merits of the
prize, went up, unobserved, to a boy of about thirteen years of age, and
touched him on the shoulder.
"Here, Marston, you know I often said ye should have the old rifle
when I was rich enough to get a new one. Take it now, lad. It's come to
ye sooner than either o' us expected."
"Dick," said the boy, grasping his friend's hand warmly, "yer true as
heart 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've no
use for, an's worth little, but it makes me right glad to have the chance
to do it."
Marston had longed for a rifle ever since he could walk, but his
prospects of obtaining one were very poor indeed at that time, and it is
a question whether he did not at that moment experience as much joy in
handling the old piece as his friend felt in shouldering the prize.
A difficulty now occurred which had not before been thought of. This
was no less than the absolute refusal of Dick Varley's canine property
to follow him. Fan had no idea of