It mattered not. Exerting all his remaining
strength he rushed down the bank, dropped his rifle, and plunged
headforemost into the stream.

The first mouthful sent a thrill of horror to his heart; it was salt
as brine!

The poor youth's cup of bitterness was now full to overflowing.
Crawling out of the stream, he sank down on the bank in a species of
lethargic torpor, from which, he awakened next morning in a raging
fever. Delirium soon rendered him insensible to his sufferings. The
sun rose like a ball of fire, and shone down with scorching power on
the arid plain. What mattered it to Dick? He was far away in the shady
groves of the Mustang Valley, chasing the deer at times, but more
frequently cooling his limbs and sporting with Crusoe in the bright
blue lake. Now he was in his mother's cottage, telling her how he had
thought of her when far away on the prairie, and what a bright, sweet
word it was she had whispered in his ear--so unexpectedly, too. Anon
he was scouring over the plains on horseback, with the savages at his
heels; and at such times Dick would spring with almost supernatural
strength from the ground, and run madly over the burning plain; but,
as if by a species of fascination, he always returned to the salt
river, and sank exhausted by its side, or plunged helplessly into its
waters.

These sudden immersions usually restored him for a short time to
reason, and he would crawl up the bank and gnaw a morsel of the maple
sugar; but he could not eat much, for it was in a tough, compact cake,
which his jaws had not power to break. All that day and the next night
he lay on the banks of the salt stream, or rushed wildly over the
plain. It was about noon of the second day after his attack that he
crept slowly out of the water, into which he had plunged a few seconds
before. His mind was restored, but he felt an indescribable sensation
of weakness, that seemed to him to be the approach of death. Creeping
towards the place where his rifle lay, he fell exhausted beside it,
and laid his cheek on the Bible, which had fallen out of his pocket
there.

While his eyes were closed in a dreamy sort of half-waking slumber, he
felt the rough, hairy coat of an animal brush against his forehead.
The idea of being torn to pieces by wolves flashed instantly across
his mind, and with a shriek of terror he sprang up--to be almost
overwhelmed by the caresses of his faithful dog.

Yes, there he was, bounding round his master,