Dick
Varley tumbled all the meat out of his pocket on the ground, and, while
Crusoe made a hearty breakfast, he sat down on a rock and whistled with
glee at having fairly picked the lock, and opened _another_ door into
one of the many chambers of his dog's intellect!

CHAPTER FOUR.

OUR HERO ENLARGED UPON--GRUMPS.

Two years passed away--the Mustang Valley settlement advanced
prosperously, despite one or two attacks made upon it by the savages,
who were, however, firmly repelled; Dick Varley had now become a man,
and his pup Crusoe had become a full-grown dog. The "silver rifle," as
Dick's weapon had come to be named, was well-known among the hunters and
the Red-skins of the border-lands, and in Dick's hands its bullets were
as deadly as its owner's eye was quick and true.

Crusoe's education, too, had been completed. Faithfully and patiently
had his young master trained his mind, until he fitted him to be a meet
companion in the hunt. To "carry" and "fetch" were now but trifling
portions of the dog's accomplishments. He could dive a fathom deep in
the lake and bring up any article that might have been dropped or thrown
in. His swimming powers were marvellous, and so powerful were his
muscles, that he seemed to spurn the water while passing through it,
with his broad chest high out of the curling wave, at a speed that
neither man nor beast could keep up with for a moment. His intellect
now was sharp and quick as a needle; he never required a second bidding.
When Dick went out hunting he used frequently to drop a mitten or a
powder-horn unknown to the dog, and, after walking miles away from it,
would stop short and look down into the mild, gentle face of his
companion.

"Crusoe," he said, in the same quiet tones with which he would have
addressed a human friend, "I've dropped my mitten, go fetch it, pup."
Dick continued to call it "pup" from habit.

One glance of intelligence passed from Crusoe's eye, and in a moment he
was away at full gallop; nor did he rest until the lost article was
lying at his master's feet. Dick was loath to try how far back on his
track Crusoe would run if desired. He had often gone back five and six
miles at a stretch; but his powers did not stop here. He could carry
articles back to the spot from which they had been taken and leave them
there. He could head the game that his master was pursuing and turn it
back; and he would guard any object he was desired to "watch" with