As something had to be done, Dick put the buffalo robe on
his steed, and mounting said, as he was in the habit of doing each
morning, "Lead on, pup."
Crusoe put his nose to the ground and ran forward a few paces, then he
returned and ran about snuffing and scraping up the snow. At last he
looked up and uttered a long melancholy howl.
"Ah! I knowed it," said Dick, pushing forward. "Come on, pup; you'll
have to _follow_ now. Any way we must go on."
The snow that had fallen was not deep enough to offer the slightest
obstruction to their advance. It was, indeed, only one of those
occasional showers common to that part of the country in the late
autumn, which season had now crept upon Dick almost before he was
aware of it, and he fully expected that it would melt away in a few
days. In this hope he kept steadily advancing, until he found himself
in the midst of those rocky fastnesses which divide the waters that
flow into the Atlantic from those that flow into the Pacific Ocean.
Still the slight crust of snow lay on the ground, and he had no means
of knowing whether he was going in the right direction or not.
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