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Updated: May 26, 2025
Finden smiled to himself. "Is it a difficult case?" he asked. "Critical and delicate; but it has been my specialty." "One of the local doctors couldn't do it, I suppose?" "They would be foolish to try." "And you are going away at sunrise to-morrow?" "Who told you that?" Varley's voice was abrupt, impatient. "I heard you say so-everybody knows it.... That's a bad man yonder, Varley."
It was not till they had set out on their homeward journey that Dick Varley's spirits revived, and it was not till they reached the beautiful prairies on the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains, and galloped over the green sward towards the Mustang Valley, that Dick ventured to tell Joe Blunt what his feelings had been.
Even Crusoe, since his gallant conduct in saving the Indian child, was "medicine"; and Dick Varley's double-barrelled rifle, which had been an object of wonder ever since his arrival at the village, was tremendous "medicine!"
Crusoe had finished his share of the feast before Dick returned from the pool. Then master and dog lay down together side by side and fell into a long, deep, peaceful slumber. Health and happiness return Incidents of the journey A buffalo shot A wild horse "creased" Dick's battle with a mustang. Dick Varley's fears and troubles, in the meantime, were ended.
In the midst of this exciting scene there was one heart there which beat with a nervous vehemence that well-nigh burst it. This was the heart of Dick Varley's horse, Charlie. Well-known to him was that distant rumbling sound that floated on the night air into the fur-trader's camp where he was picketted close to Cameron's tent.
Then the three saddles were placed in a row; each hunter wrapped himself in his blanket, and, pillowing his head on his saddle, stretched his feet towards the fire and went to sleep, with his loaded rifle by his side and his hunting-knife handy in his belt. Crusoe mounted guard by stretching himself out couchant at Dick Varley's side.
"It's of no manner o' use," he whispered to Joe Blunt as he passed, "I can't depend on my old gun." "Never give in," whispered Blunt encouragingly. Poor Varley's want of confidence in his rifle was 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."
Mrs Varley's was a surprised cottage, and this was in keeping with the scene in which it stood, for the clear lake in front, studded with islands, and the distant hills beyond, composed a scene so surprisingly beautiful that it never failed to call forth an expression of astonished admiration from every new visitor to the Mustang Valley.
Young Varley's enthusiasm was considerably damped when he learned the errand on which the trappers were bent. From that time forward he gave up all desire to visit the mountains in company with such men, but he still retained an intense longing to roam at large among their rocky fastnesses and gallop out upon the wide prairies.
"It's of no manner o' use," he whispered to Joe Blunt as he passed, "I can't depend on my old gun." "Never give in," whispered Blunt, encouragingly. Poor Varley's want of confidence in his rifle was 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."
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