zly bars, and a look at the Rocky Mountains. Wouldn't it be nuts,
pup?"

Crusoe looked dubious.

"What, you don't agree with me! Now tell me, pup, wouldn't ye like to
grip a bar?"

Still Crusoe looked dubious, but made a gentle motion with his tail,
as though he would have said, "I've seen neither Rocky Mountains nor
grizzly bars, and know nothin' about 'em, but I'm open to conviction."

"You're a brave pup," rejoined Dick, stroking the dog's huge head
affectionately. "I wouldn't give you for ten times your weight in
golden dollars--if there be sich things."

Crusoe made no reply whatever to this. He regarded it as a truism
unworthy of notice; he evidently felt that a comparison between love
and dollars was preposterous.

At this point in the conversation a little dog with a lame leg hobbled
to the edge of the rocks in front of the spot where Dick was seated,
and looked down into the water, which was deep there. Whether it did
so for the purpose of admiring its very plain visage in the liquid
mirror, or finding out what was going on among the fish, we cannot
say, as it never told us; but at that moment a big, clumsy,
savage-looking dog rushed out from the neighbouring thicket and began
to worry it.

"Punish him, Crusoe," said Dick quickly.

Crusoe made one bound that a lion might have been proud of, and
seizing the aggressor by the back, lifted him off his legs and held
him, howling, in the air--at the same time casting a look towards his
master for further instructions.

"Pitch him in," said Dick, making a sign with his hand.

Crusoe turned and quietly dropped the dog into the lake. Having
regarded his struggles there for a few moments with grave severity of
countenance, he walked slowly back and sat down beside his master.

The little dog made good its retreat as fast as three legs would carry
it; and the surly dog, having swum ashore, retired sulkily, with his
tail very much between his legs.

Little wonder, then, that Crusoe was beloved by great and small among
the well-disposed of the canine tribe of the Mustang Valley.

But Crusoe was not a mere machine. When not actively engaged in Dick
Varley's service, he busied himself with private little matters of his
own. He undertook modest little excursions into the woods or along the
margin of the lake, sometimes alone, but more frequently with a little
friend whose whole heart and being seemed to be swallowed up in
admiration of his big companion. Wheth