Dick had felt a little wilder in spirit that morning than usual, and on coming to a pretty open plain he gave the rein to Charlie, and with an “Adieu, mes camarade,” he was out of sight in a few minutes.  He rode on several miles in advance without checking speed, and then came to a wood where rapid motion was inconvenient; so he pulled up, and, dismounting, tied Charlie to a tree, while he sauntered on a short way on foot.

On coming to the edge of a small plain he observed two large birds engaged in mortal conflict.  Crusoe observed them too, and would soon have put an end to the fight had Dick not checked him.  Creeping as close to the belligerents as possible, he found that one was a wild turkey-cock, the other a white-headed eagle.  These two stood with their heads down and all their feathers bristling for a moment; then they dashed at each other, and struck fiercely with their spurs, as our domestic cocks do, but neither fell, and the fight was continued for about five minutes without apparent advantage on either side.

Dick now observed that, from the uncertainty of its motions, the turkey-cock was blind, a discovery which caused a throb of compunction to enter his breast for standing and looking on, so he ran forward.  The eagle saw him instantly, and tried to fly away, but was unable from exhaustion.

“At him, Crusoe,” cried Dick, whose sympathies all lay with the other bird.

Crusoe went forward at a bound, and was met by a peck between the eyes that would have turned most dogs; but Crusoe only winked, and the next moment the eagle’s career was ended.

Dick found that the turkey-cock was quite blind, the eagle having thrust out both its eyes, so, in mercy, he put an end to its sufferings.

The fight had evidently been a long and severe one, for the grass all round the spot, for about twenty yards, was beaten to the ground, and covered with the blood and feathers of the fierce combatants.

Meditating on the fight which he had just witnessed, Dick returned towards the spot where he had left Charlie, when he suddenly missed Crusoe from his side.

“Hallo, Crusoe! here, pup! where are you?” he cried.

The only answer to this was a sharp whizzing sound, and an arrow, passing close to his ear, quivered in a tree beyond.  Almost at the same moment Crusoe’s angry roar was followed by a shriek from some one in fear or agony.  Cocking his rifle, the young hunter sprang through the bushes towards his horse, and was just in time to save a Banattee Indian from being strangled by the dog.  It had evidently scented out this fellow, and pinned him just as he was in the act of springing on the back of Charlie, for the halter was cut, and the savage lay on the ground close beside him.

Dick called off the dog, and motioned to the Indian to rise, which he did so nimbly that it was quite evident he had sustained no injury beyond the laceration of his neck by Crusoe’s teeth, and the surprise.