as the rush that he well-nigh pulled the bull down
on its side. One toss of its head, however, sent Crusoe high into the
air, but it accomplished this feat at the expense of its nose, which was
torn and lacerated by the dog's teeth.

Scarcely had Crusoe touched the ground, which he did with a sounding
thump, than he sprang up and flew at his adversary again. This time,
however, he adopted the plan of barking furiously and biting by rapid
yet terrible snaps as he found opportunity, thus keeping the bull
entirely engrossed, and affording Dick an opportunity of re-loading his
rifle, which he was not slow to do. Dick then stepped close up, and,
while the two combatants were roaring in each other's face; he shot the
buffalo through the heart. It fell to the earth with a deep groan.

Crusoe's rage instantly vanished on beholding this, and he seemed to be
filled with tumultuous joy at his master's escape, for he gambolled
round him, and whined and fawned upon him in a manner that could not be
misunderstood.

"Good dog; thank'ee, my pup," said Dick, patting Crusoe's head as he
stooped to brush the dust from his leggings; "I don't know what would
ha' become o' me but for your help, Crusoe."

Crusoe turned his head a little to one side, wagged his tail, and looked
at Dick with an expression that said quite plainly, "I'd die for you, I
would--not once, or twice, but ten times, fifty times if need be--and
that not merely to save your life, but even to please you."

There is no doubt whatever that Crusoe felt something of this sort. The
love of a Newfoundland dog to its master is beyond calculation or
expression. He who once gains such love carries the dog's life in his
hand. But let him who reads note well, and remember, that there is only
one coin that can purchase such love, and that is _kindness_; the coin,
too, must be genuine. Kindness merely _expressed_ will not do, it must
be _felt_.

"Hallo! boy, ye've bin i' the wars!" exclaimed Joe, raising himself from
his task as Dick and Crusoe returned.

"You look more like it than I do," retorted Dick, laughing.

This was true, for cutting up a buffalo carcase with no other instrument
than a large knife is no easy matter. Yet western hunters and Indians
can do it without cleaver or saw, in a way that would surprise a
civilised butcher not a little. Joe was covered with blood up to the
elbows. His hair, happening to have a knack of getting into his eyes,
had been s