ick into his mother's cottage, and the door
was shut, Grumps stretched his ruffled, battered, ill-used, and
dishevelled little body down on the door-step, thrust his nose against
the opening below the door, and lay in humble contentment all night,
for he knew that Crusoe was there.

Of course such an occasion could not pass without a shooting-match.
Rifles were brought out after the feast was over, just before the sun
went down into its bed on the western prairies, and "the nail" was
soon surrounded by bullets, tipped by Joe Blunt and Jim Scraggs, and
of course driven home by Dick Varley, whose "silver rifle" had now
become in its owner's hand a never-failing weapon. Races, too, were
started, and here again Dick stood pre-eminent; and when night
spread her dark mantle over the scene, the two best fiddlers in the
settlement were placed on empty beer-casks, and some danced by the
light of the monster fires, while others listened to Joe Blunt as
he recounted their adventures on the prairies and among the Rocky
Mountains.

There were sweethearts, and wives, and lovers at the feast, but we
question if any heart there was so full of love, and admiration, and
gratitude, as that of the Widow Varley as she watched her son Dick
throughout that merry evening.

* * * * *

Years rolled by, and the Mustang Valley prospered. Missionaries went
there, and a little church was built, and to the blessings of a
fertile land were added the far greater blessings of Christian light
and knowledge. One sad blow fell on the Widow Varley's heart. Her only
brother, Daniel Hood, was murdered by the Indians. Deeply and long she
mourned, and it required all Dick's efforts and those of the pastor of
the settlement to comfort her. But from the first the widow's heart
was sustained by the loving Hand that dealt the blow, and when time
blunted the keen edge of her feelings her face became as sweet and
mild, though not so lightsome, as before.

Joe Blunt and Henri became leading men in the councils of the Mustang
Valley; but Dick Varley preferred the woods, although, as long as his
mother lived, he hovered round her cottage--going off sometimes for a
day, sometimes for a week, but never longer. After her head was laid
in the dust, Dick took altogether to the woods, with Crusoe and
Charlie, the wild horse, as his only companions, and his mother's
Bible in the breast of his hunting-shirt. And soon Dick, the bold
hunter,