An awful crash was followed by two crunches--and it was gone! and Crusoe looked up in the old squaw's face with a look that said plainly, "Another of the same, please, and as quick as possible." The old woman gave him another, and then a lump of meat, which latter went down with a gulp; but he coughed after it! and it was well he didn't choke.

After this the squaw left him, and Crusoe spent the remainder of that night gnawing the cords that bound him.

So diligent was he that he was free before morning and walked deliberately out of the tent.

Then he shook himself, and with a yell that one might have fancied was intended for defiance he bounded joyfully away, and was soon out of sight.
To a dog with a good appetite which had been on short allowance for several days, the mouthful given to him by the old squaw was a mere nothing.

All that day he kept bounding over the plain from bluff to bluff in search of something to eat, but found nothing until dusk, when he pounced suddenly and most unexpectedly on a prairie-hen fast asleep.