sently he
took up the cap and carried it to his nose; the poor creature was almost
choking with thirst, so that, the moment he understood what was in the
cap, he buried his lips in it and sucked it up.

This was a great point gained, he had accepted a benefit at the hands of
his new master; he had become a debtor to man, and no doubt he felt the
obligation. Dick filled the cap, and the horse emptied it again, and
again, and again, until its burning thirst was slaked. Then Dick went
up to his shoulder, patted him, undid the line that fastened him, and
vaulted lightly on his back!

We say _lightly_, for it was so, but it wasn't _easily_, as Dick could
have told you! However, he was determined not to forego the training of
his steed on account of what _he_ would have called a "little bit pain."

At this unexpected act the horse plunged and reared a good deal, and
seemed inclined to go through the performance of the day before over
again, but Dick patted and stroked him into quiescence, and having done
so, urged him into a gallop over the plains, causing the dog to gambol
round in order that he might get accustomed to him. This tried his
nerves a good deal, and no wonder, for if he took Crusoe for a wolf,
which no doubt he did, he must have thought him a very giant of the
pack.

By degrees they broke into a furious gallop, and after breathing him
well, Dick returned and tied him to the tree. Then he rubbed him down
again, and gave him another drink. This time the horse smelt his new
master all over, and Dick felt that he had conquered him by kindness.
No doubt the tremendous run of the day before could scarcely be called
kindness, but without this subduing run he never could have brought the
offices of kindness to bear on so wild a steed.

During all these operations Crusoe sat looking on with demure sagacity--
drinking in wisdom and taking notes. We know not whether any notes made
by the canine race have ever been given to the world, but certain are we
that, if the notes and observations made by Crusoe on that journey were
published, they would--to say the least--surprise us!

Next day Dick gave the wild horse his second lesson, and his name. He
called him "Charlie," after a much loved companion in the Mustang
Valley. And long and heartily did Dick Varley laugh as he told the
horse his future designation in the presence of Crusoe, for it struck
him as somewhat ludicrous that a mustang, which, two days ago, p