ed 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 nose to the ground and ran forward a few paces, then he
returned and ran about snuffing and scraping up the snow. At last he
looked up and uttered a long melancholy howl.

"Ah! I knowed it," said Dick, pushing forward. "Come on, pup; you'll
have to _follow_ now. Any way we must go on."

The snow that had fallen was not deep enough to offer the slightest
obstruction to their advance. It was, indeed, only one of those
occasional showers common to that part of the country in the late
autumn, which season had now crept upon Dick almost before he was
aware of it, and he fully expected that it would melt away in a few
days. In this hope he kept steadily advancing, until he found himself
in the midst of those rocky fastnesses which divide the waters that
flow into the Atlantic from those that flow into the Pacific Ocean.
Still the slight crust of snow lay on the ground, and he had no means
of knowing whether he was going in the right direction or not.

Game was abundant, and there was no lack of wood now, so that his
night bivouac was not so cold or dreary as might have been expected.

Travelling, however, had become difficult, and even dangerous, owing
to the rugged nature of the ground over which he proceeded. The
scenery had completely changed in its character. Dick no longer
coursed over the free, open plains, but he passed through beautiful
valleys filled with luxuriant trees, and hemmed in by stupendous
mountains, whose rugged sides rose upward until the snow-clad peaks
pierced the clouds.

There was something awful in these dark solitudes, quite overwhelming
to a youth of Dick's temperament. His heart began to sink lower and
lower every day, and the utter impossibility of making up his mind
what to do became at length agonizing. To have turned and gone back
the hundreds of miles over which he had travelled would have caused
him some anxiety under any circumstances, but to do so while Joe and
Henri were either wandering about there or in the power of the savages
was, he felt, out of the question. Yet in which way should he go?
Whatever course he took might lead him farther and farther away from
them.

In this dilemma he came to the d