nd; so they took
breakfast, and tried to catch him again. But it was of no use; he was
evidently coquetting with them, and dodged about and defied their utmost
efforts, for there was only a few inches of line hanging to his head.
At last it occurred to Dick that he would try the experiment of
forsaking him. So he packed up his things, rolled up the buffalo robe,
threw it and the rifle on his shoulder, and walked deliberately away.

"Come along, Crusoe!" he cried, after walking a few paces.

But Crusoe stood by the fire with his head up, and an expression on his
face that said, "Hello, man! what's wrong? You've forgot Charlie! Hold
on! Are you mad?"

"Come here, Crusoe!" cried his master in a decided tone.

Crusoe obeyed at once. Whatever mistake there might be, there was
evidently none in that command; so he lowered his head and tail humbly,
and trotted on with his master; but he perpetually turned his head as he
went, first on this side and then on that, to look and wonder at
Charlie.

When they were far away on the plain, Charlie suddenly became aware that
something was wrong. He trotted to the brow of a slope with his head
and tail very high up indeed, and looked after them; then he looked at
the fire and neighed; then he trotted quickly up to it, and, seeing that
everything was gone, he began to neigh violently, and at last started
off at full speed, and overtook his friends, passing within a few feet
of them, and wheeling round a few yards off, stood trembling like an
aspen leaf.

Dick called him by his name and advanced, while Charlie met him
half-way, and allowed himself to be saddled, bridled, and mounted
forthwith.

After this Dick had no further trouble with his wild horse.

At his next camping-place, which was in the midst of a cluster of bushes
close beside a creek, Dick came unexpectedly upon a little wooden cross,
which marked the head of a grave. There was no inscription on it, but
the Christian symbol told that it was the grave of a white man. It is
impossible to describe the rush of mingled feelings that filled the soul
of the young hunter as he leaned on the muzzle of his rifle and looked
at this solitary resting-place of one who, doubtless like himself, had
been a roving hunter. Had he been young or old when he fell?--had he a
mother in the distant settlement, who watched, and longed, and waited
for the son that was never more to gladden her eyes?--had he been
murdered, or had he d