however, he adopted the plan of barking furiously and biting by rapid
yet terrible snaps as he found opportunity, thus keeping the bull
entirely engrossed, and affording Dick an opportunity of reloading his
rifle, which he was not slow to do. Dick then stepped close up, and
while the two combatants were roaring in each other's faces, he shot
the buffalo through the heart. It fell to the earth with a deep groan.

Crusoe's rage instantly vanished on beholding this, and he seemed to
be filled with tumultuous joy at his master's escape, for he gambolled
round him, and whined and fawned upon him in a manner that could not
be misunderstood.

"Good dog; thank'ee, my pup," said Dick, patting Crusoe's head as he
stooped to brush the dust from his leggings. "I don't know what would
ha' become o' me but for your help, Crusoe."

Crusoe turned his head a little to one side, wagged his tail, and
looked at Dick with an expression that said quite plainly, "I'd die
for you, I would--not once, or twice, but ten times, fifty times if
need be--and that not merely to save your life, but even to please
you."

There is no doubt whatever that Crusoe felt something of this sort.
The love of a Newfoundland dog to its master is beyond calculation or
expression. He who once gains such love carries the dog's life in his
hand. But let him who reads note well, and remember that there is only
one coin that can purchase such love, and that is _kindness_. The
coin, too, must be genuine. Kindness merely _expressed_ will not do,
it must be _felt_.