hem fell short--only one passed close to his cheek,
and went with a "whip" into the river. He immediately sank again, and
the next time he rose to breathe he was far beyond the reach of his
Indian enemies.

CHAPTER XIII.

_Escape from Indians--A discovery--Alone in the desert_.

Dick Varley had spent so much of his boyhood in sporting about among
the waters of the rivers and lakes near which he had been reared, and
especially during the last two years had spent so much of his leisure
time in rolling and diving with his dog Crusoe in the lake of the
Mustang Valley, that he had become almost as expert in the water as a
South Sea islander; so that when he found himself whirling down the
rapid river, as already described, he was more impressed with a
feeling of gratitude to God for his escape from the Indians than
anxiety about getting ashore.

He was not altogether blind or indifferent to the danger into which he
might be hurled if the channel of the river should be found lower down
to be broken with rocks, or should a waterfall unexpectedly appear.
After floating down a sufficient distance to render pursuit out of the
question, he struck into the bank opposite to that from which he had
plunged, and clambering up to the greensward above, stripped off the
greater part of his clothing and hung it on the branches of a bush to
dry. Then he sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree to consider what
course he had best pursue in his present circumstances.

These circumstances were by no means calculated to inspire him with
hope or comfort. He was in the midst of an unknown wilderness,
hundreds of miles from any white man's settlement; surrounded by
savages; without food or blanket; his companions gone, he knew not
whither--perhaps taken and killed by the Indians; his horse dead; and
his dog, the most trusty and loving of all his friends, lost to him,
probably, for ever! A more veteran heart might have quailed in the
midst of such accumulated evils; but Dick Varley possessed a strong,
young, and buoyant constitution, which, united with a hopefulness
of disposition that almost nothing could overcome, enabled him very
quickly to cast aside the gloomy view of his case and turn to its
brighter aspects.

He still grasped his good rifle, that was some comfort; and as his eye
fell upon it, he turned with anxiety to examine into the condition of
his powder-horn and the few things that he had been fortunate enough
to carry away