take a humorous view of the vagaries of these curious little creatures, but he shot one, and, as before, ate part of it raw. These creatures are so active that they are difficult to shoot, and even when killed generally fall into their holes and disappear. Crusoe, however, soon unearthed the dead animal on this occasion. That night the travellers came to a stream of fresh water, and Dick killed a turkey, so that he determined to spend a couple of days there to recruit. At the end of that time he again set out, but was able only to advance five miles when he broke down. In fact, it became evident to him that he must have a longer period of absolute repose ere he could hope to continue his journey; but to do so without food was impossible. Fortunately there was plenty of water, as his course lay along a small stream: and, as the arid prairie was now behind, he hoped to fall in with birds, or perhaps deer.
While he was plodding heavily and wearily along, pondering these things, he came to the brow of a wave from which he beheld a most magnificent view of green grassy plains decked with flowers, and rolling out to the horizon, with a stream meandering through it, and clumps of trees scattered everywhere far and wide. It was a glorious sight; but the most glorious object in it to Dick, was a fat buffalo which stood not a hundred yards off. The wind was blowing towards him, so that the animal did not scent him; and, as it was turned away, it did not see him.
Crusoe would have sprung forward in an instant, but his master’s finger imposed silence and caution. Trembling with eagerness, Dick sank flat down in the grass, cocked both barrels of his piece, and resting it on his left hand with his left elbow on the ground, he waited until the animal should present its side. In a few seconds it moved; Dick’s eye glanced along the barrel, but it trembled—his wonted steadiness of aim was gone. He fired, and the buffalo sprang off in terror. With a groan of despair he fired again—almost recklessly—and the buffalo fell. It rose once or twice and stumbled forward a few paces, then it fell again. Dick reloaded and advanced to give it another shot; but it was not needful—the buffalo was already dead.
“Now, Crusoe,” said Dick, sitting down on the buffalo’s shoulder and patting his favourite on the head, “we’re all right at last. You and I shall have a jolly time o’t, pup, from this time for’ard.” Dick paused for breath, and Crusoe wagged his tail looked as if to say—pshaw! “as if!”
