Then young Marston called Crusoe to him, and Crusoe, obedient to the voice of friendship, went.

“Are you happy, my dog?”

“You’re a stupid fellow to ask such a question; however it’s an amiable one.  Yes, I am.”

“What do you want, ye small bundle o’ hair?”

This was addressed to Grumps, who came forward innocently, and sat down to listen to the conversation.

On being thus sternly questioned the little dog put down its ears flat, and hung its head, looking up at the same time with a deprecatory look, as if to say, “Oh dear, I beg pardon.  I—­I only want to sit near Crusoe, please; but if you wish it, I’ll go away, sad and lonely, with my tail very much between my legs; indeed I will, only say the word, but—­but I’d rather stay if I might.”

“Poor bundle!” said Marston, patting its head, “you can stay then.  Hooray!  Crusoe, are you happy, I say?  Does your heart bound in you like a cannon ball that wants to find its way out, and can’t, eh?” Crusoe put his snout against Marston’s cheek, and in the excess of his joy the lad threw his arms round the dog’s neck and hugged it vigorously—­a piece of impulsive affection which that noble animal bore with characteristic meekness, and which Grumps regarded with idiotic satisfaction.

CHAPTER XXVII.

Rejoicings—­The feast at the block-house—­Grumps and Crusoe come out strong—­The closing scene_.

The day of Dick’s arrival with his companions was a great day in the annals of the Mustang Valley, and Major Hope resolved to celebrate it by an impromptu festival at the old block-house; for many hearts in the valley had been made glad that day, and he knew full well that, under such circumstances, some safety-valve must be devised for the escape of overflowing excitement.

A messenger was sent round to invite the population to assemble without delay in front of the block-house.  With backwoods-like celerity the summons was obeyed; men, women, and children hurried towards the central point, wondering, yet more than half suspecting, what was the major’s object in calling them together.

They were not long in doubt.  The first sight that presented itself, as they came trooping up the slope in front of the log-hut, was an ox roasting whole before a gigantic bonfire.  Tables were being extemporized on the broad level plot in front of the gate.  Other fires there were, of smaller dimensions, on which sundry steaming pots were placed, and various joints of wild horse, bear, and venison roasted, and sent forth a savoury odour as well as a pleasant hissing noise.  The inhabitants of the block-house were self-taught brewers, and the result of their recent labours now stood displayed in a row of goodly casks of beer—­the only beverage with which the dwellers in these far-off regions were wont to regale themselves.