ied there and been buried by his sorrowing
comrades? These and a thousand questions passed rapidly through his
mind as he gazed at the little cross.

Suddenly he started. "Could it be the grave of Joe or Henri?" For an
instant the idea sent a chill to his heart; but it passed quickly, for a
second glance showed that the grave was old, and that the wooden cross
had stood over it for years.

Dick turned away with a saddened heart; and that night, as he pored over
the pages of his Bible, his mind was filled with many thoughts about
eternity and the world to come. He, too, must come to the grave one
day, and quit the beautiful prairies and his loved rifle. It was a sad
thought; but while he meditated he thought upon his mother. "After
all," he murmured, "there must be happiness _without_ the rifle, and
youth, and health, and the prairie! My mother's happy, yet she don't
shoot, or ride like wildfire over the plains." Then that word which had
been sent so sweetly to him through her hand came again to his mind, "My
son, give me thine heart;" and as he read God's book, he met with the
word, "Delight thyself in the Lord, and he shall give thee the desire of
thine heart."

"The _desire of thine heart_." Dick repeated this, and pondered it till
he fell asleep.

A misfortune soon after this befell Dick Varley, which well-nigh caused
him to give way to despair. For some time past he had been approaching
the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains--those ragged, jagged, mighty
hills, which run through the whole continent from north to south in a
continuous chain, and form, as it were, the backbone of America. One
morning, as he threw the buffalo robe off his shoulders and sat up, he
was horrified to find the whole earth covered with a mantle of snow. We
say he was horrified, for this rendered it absolutely impossible any
further to trace his companions either by scent or sight.

For some time he sat musing bitterly on his sad fate, while his dog came
and laid his head sympathisingly on his arm.

"Ah! pup," he said, "I know ye'd help me if ye could! But it's all up
now; there's no chance of findin' them--none."

To this Crusoe replied by a low whine. He knew full well that something
distressed his master, but he hadn't yet ascertained what it was. As
something had to be done, Dick put the buffalo robe on his steed, and,
mounting, said, as he was in the habit of doing each morning, "Lead on,
pup."

Crusoe put his