Chapter VII.—Crusoe to the Rescue.
FORTUNATELY the day that succeeded the dreary night described in the last chapter was warm and magnificent. The sun rose in splendour, and filled the atmosphere with steam from the moist earth.
The unfortunates in the wet camp were not slow to avail themselves of his cheering rays. They hung up everything on the bushes to dry, and by dint of extreme patience and cutting out the comparatively dry hearts of several pieces of wood, they lighted a fire and boiled some rain water, which was soon converted into soup. This, and the exercise necessary for the performance of these several duties, warmed and partially dried them; so that when they once more rode away, they were in a state of comparative comfort and in excellent spirits.
“I tell ye wot it is,” said Joe Blunt, one fine morning about a week after they had begun to cross the prairie; “it’s my ’pinion that we’ll come on buffaloes soon. Them tracks are fresh, an’ yonder’s one o’ their wallers that’s bin used not long agone.”
“I’ll go and have a look at it,” cried Dick, trotting away as he spoke. Dick had just reached the “wallow” referred to by Joe Blunt, and had reined up his steed to observe it leisurely, when a faint hissing sound reached his ear. Looking quickly back, he observed his two companions crouching on the necks of their horses, and slowly descending into a hollow of the prairie in front of them, as if they wished to bring the rising ground between them and some object in advance. Dick instantly followed their example, and was soon at their heels.
“Ye needn’t look at the waller,” whispered Joe, “for at t’other side o’ the ridge there’s a bull wallerin’.”
“Ye don’t mean it!” exclaimed Dick, as they all dismounted and picketed their horses to the plain.
“Oui,” said Henri, tumbling off his horse, while a grin overspread his good-natured countenance, “it is one fact! One buffalo bull be wollerin’ like a enormerous hog. Also, dere be t’ousands o’ buffaloes farder on.”
“Can ye trust yer dog keepin’ back?” inquired Joe, with a dubious glance at Crusoe.
“Trust him! Ay, I wish I was as sure o’ myself.”
“Look to yer primin’, then, an’ we’ll have tongues
