self, as he flew along. “Crusoe! I'd know ye, dog, among a thousand! A buffalo calf! Ha! git on with ye!”
This last was addressed to his horse, and was followed by a whack that increased the pace considerably.
The space between two such riders was soon devoured.
“Hallo ! Dick— Dick Varley!”
“Eh! why, Marston, my boy!”
The friends reined up so suddenly that one might have fancied them knights of old in the shock of mortal conflict. “Is't yerself, Dick Varley?”
Dick held out his hand, and his eyes glistened, but he could not find words.
Marston seized it, and pushing his horse close up, vaulted off and alighted on Charlie's back behind his friend.
“Off ye go, Dick! I'll take ye to yer mother.”
Without reply Dick shook the reins, and in another minute was in the midst of the hunters.
To the numberless questions that were put to him he only waited to shout aloud, “We're all safe! They'll tell ye all about it," he added, pointing to his comrades, who were now close at hand; and then, made straight for home, with little Marston clinging to his waist like a monkey.
Charlie was fresh, and so was Crusoe, so you may be sure it was not long before they all drew up opposite the door of the widow's cottage. Before Dick could dismount, Marston was already in the kitchen.
“Here's Dick, mother!”
The boy was an orphan, and loved the widow so much that he had come at last to call her mother.
Before another word could be uttered, Dick Varley was in the room. Marston immediately stepped out and softly shut the door. Reader, we shall not open it.
Having shut the door, as we have said, Marston ran down to the edge of the lake and yelled with delight, usually terminating each paroxysm with the Indian war-whoop, with which he was well acquainted. Then he danced, and then he sat down on a rock, and became suddenly aware that there were other hearts there, close beside him, as glad as his own. Another mother of the Mustang Valley was rejoicing over a long-lost son.
Crusoe and his mother Fan were scampering round in a manner that evinced the strength of their mutual affection.
Talk of holding converse! Every hair on Crusoe's body, every motion of his limbs, was eloquent with silent lan-
