moss, submissively
placing his chin on his fore-paws, and watching his master as he stepped
noiselessly through the wood. In a few minutes Dick emerged from among
the trees, and, creeping from bush to bush, succeeded in getting to
within six hundred yards of the deer, which was a beautiful little
antelope. Beyond the bush behind which he now crouched all was bare
open ground, without a shrub or hillock large enough to conceal the
hunter. There was a slight undulation in the ground, however, which
enabled him to advance about fifty yards further, by means of lying down
quite flat and working himself forward like a serpent. Further than
this he could not move without being seen by the antelope, which browsed
on the ridge before him in fancied security. The distance was too great
even for a long shot, but Dick knew of a weak point in this little
creature's nature which enabled him to accomplish his purpose--a weak
point which it shares in common with animals of a higher order,--namely,
curiosity.

The little antelope of the North American prairies is intensely curious
about everything that it does not quite understand, and will not rest
satisfied until it has endeavoured to clear up the mystery. Availing
himself of this propensity, Dick did what both Indians and hunters are
accustomed to do on these occasions,--he put a piece of rag on the end
of his ramrod, and, keeping his person concealed and perfectly still,
waved this miniature flag in the air. The antelope noticed it at once,
and, pricking up its ears, began to advance, timidly and slowly, step by
step, to see what remarkable phenomenon it could be. In a few seconds
the flag was lowered, a sharp crack followed, and the antelope fell dead
upon the plain.

"Ha, boy! that's a good supper, anyhow," cried Joe, as he galloped up
and dismounted.

"Goot! dat is better nor dried meat," added Henri. "Give him to me; I
will put him on my hoss, vich is strongar dan yourn. But ver is your
hoss?"

"He'll be here in a minute," replied Dick, putting his fingers to his
mouth and giving forth a shrill whistle.

The instant Crusoe heard the sound he made a savage and apparently
uncalled-for dash at the horse's heels. This wild act, so contrary to
the dog's gentle nature, was a mere piece of acting. He knew that the
horse would not advance without getting a fright, so he gave him one in
this way which sent him off at a gallop. Crusoe followed close at his
heels, so