Little wonder, then, that Crusoe was beloved by great and small among the well-disposed of the canine tribe of the Mustang Valley.

But Crusoe was not a mere machine.  When not actively engaged in Dick Varley’s service, he busied himself with private little matters of his own.  He undertook modest little excursions into the woods or along the margin of the lake, sometimes alone, but more frequently with a little friend whose whole heart and being seemed to be swallowed up in admiration of his big companion.  Whether Crusoe botanized or geologized on these excursions we will not venture to say.  Assuredly he seemed as though he did both, for he poked his nose into every bush and tuft of moss, and turned over the stones, and dug holes in the ground—­and, in short, if he did not understand these sciences, he behaved very much as if he did.  Certainly he knew as much about them as many of the human species do.

In these walks he never took the slightest notice of Grumps (that was the little dog’s name), but Grumps made up for this by taking excessive notice of him.  When Crusoe stopped, Grumps stopped and sat down to look at him.  When Crusoe trotted on, Grumps trotted on too.  When Crusoe examined a bush, Grumps sat down to watch him; and when he dug a hole, Grumps looked into it to see what was there.  Grumps never helped him; his sole delight was in looking on.  They didn’t converse much, these two dogs.  To be in each other’s company seemed to be happiness enough—­at least Grumps thought so.

There was one point at which Grumps stopped short, however, and ceased to follow his friend, and that was when he rushed headlong into the lake and disported himself for an hour at a time in its cool waters.  Crusoe was, both by nature and training, a splendid water-dog.  Grumps, on the contrary, held water in abhorrence; so he sat on the shore of the lake disconsolate when his friend was bathing, and waited till he came out.  The only time when Grumps was thoroughly nonplussed was when Dick Varley’s whistle sounded faintly in the far distance.  Then Crusoe would prick up his ears and stretch out at full gallop, clearing ditch, and fence, and brake with his strong elastic bound, and leaving Grumps to patter after him as fast as his four-inch legs would carry him.  Poor Grumps usually arrived at the village to find both dog and master gone, and would betake himself to his own dwelling, there to lie down and sleep, and dream, perchance, of rambles and gambols with his gigantic friend.

CHAPTER V.

A mission of peace—­Unexpected joys—­Dick and Crusoe set off for the land of the Redskins, and meet with adventures by the way as a matter of course—­Night in the wild woods.

One day the inhabitants of Mustang Valley were thrown into considerable excitement by the arrival of an officer of the United States army and a small escort of cavalry.  They went direct to the blockhouse, which, since Major Hope’s departure, had become the residence of Joe Blunt—­that worthy having, by general consent, been deemed the fittest man in the settlement to fill the major’s place.