and looked at this solitary resting-place of one
who, doubtless like himself, had been a roving hunter. Had he been
young or old when he fell? had he a mother in the distant settlement
who watched and longed and waited for the son that was never more to
gladden her eyes? had he been murdered, or had he died there and been
buried by his sorrowing comrades? These and a thousand questions
passed rapidly through his mind as he gazed at the little cross.

Suddenly he started. "Could it be the grave of Joe or Henri?" For an
instant the idea sent a chill to his heart; but it passed quickly, for
a second glance showed that the grave was old, and that the wooden
cross had stood over it for years.

Dick turned away with a saddened heart; and that night, as he pored
over the pages of his Bible, his mind was filled with many thoughts
about eternity and the world to come. He, too, must come to the grave
one day, and quit the beautiful prairies and his loved rifle. It was a
sad thought; but while he meditated he thought upon his mother. "After
all," he murmured, "there must be happiness _without_ the rifle, and
youth, and health, and the prairie! My mother's happy, yet she don't
shoot, or ride like wild-fire over the plains." Then that word which
had been sent so sweetly to him through her hand came again to his
mind, "My son, give me thine heart;" and as he read God's Book, he met
with the word, "Delight thyself in the Lord, and he shall give thee
the desire of thine heart." "_The desire of thine heart_" Dick
repeated this, and pondered it till he fell asleep.

A misfortune soon after this befell Dick Varley which well-nigh caused
him to give way to despair. For some time past he had been approaching
the eastern slopes of the Rocky Mountains--those ragged, jagged,
mighty hills which run through the whole continent from north to south
in a continuous chain, and form, as it were, the backbone of America.
One morning, as he threw the buffalo robe off his shoulders and sat
up, he was horrified to find the whole earth covered with a mantle
of snow. We say he was horrified, for this rendered it absolutely
impossible any further to trace his companions either by scent or
sight.

For some time he sat musing bitterly on his sad fate, while his dog
came and laid his head sympathizingly on his arm.

"Ah, pup!" he said, "I know ye'd help me if ye could! But it's all up
now; there's no chance of findin' them--none!"

To this Crusoe repli