“Dar’s his shingle, what he done drap when he run.”
“Ha!” said Madame pouncing upon the shingle. “Here, Balthasar, here sweetheart!”
The dog came up to her, and she passed her trembling hands over his long ears and whispered to him half crying, half coaxing. “Here, dear heart, do this for me or I die.”
She put the shingle to his nose. He sniffed, raised his long and pointed head. Then she lay upon the ground coaxing him to put his nose down. He sniffed again, took a step to the right, to the left, back, then forward. Madame followed clasping the shingle to her bosom and murmuring cooing words of love to her dog. He raised his great tan head and gave a long deep bay that echoed far and wide.
“Golly! She gwine ter run him down like he nigger slave,” said Napoleon Pompey with a shiver, as he heard the dog’s voice.
Balthasar set off and Madame kept close at his heels. It was easy enough, for the trail was fresh and strong. In three minutes they stood beside the motionless form of Ezra at the brink of the tall weeds, and Balthasar whined in anxiety as Madame lifted his head and called upon him in agonised tones. Just then the sky was lit up with a lurid glare. The first red tongue had tasted the dry fluffy weeds on Weddell’s abandoned farm. Madame, startled by the flame, sprang to her feet and gave one hasty glance around. Ezra lay motionless. She stepped a few paces into the shorter grass of the ordinary prairie and set it on fire. The little ring of flame spread on all sides, like the ripple from a stone cast into still water. Then she paddled out the fire on the side next Ezra, and the ripple of fire continued to spread rapidly in a sort of broken circle. The roar of the burning weeds was like the on-coming of an avalanche. Madame turned to Ezra and seizing him under the shoulders dragged him backwards within the safety of her oasis of burnt prairie. He was a big man and a heavy one, but her arm seemed endowed with more than mortal strength. She dragged him further and further within the circle, and then seeing that he was out of all danger, she sat down beside him and took his head in her lap. She opened his collar and fanned him with her hat. The now brightly burning weeds made it light as day, and she could see that he looked pale even under the blackened smoke that smeared his face, but his pulse was beating, he was only hurt and stunned, not dead.
Balthasar was terrified. Ringed round by fire and with the ground where he stood still smoking hot, what dog would not be alarmed? He lifted up his voice once more in a long howl, and then sniffing at Ezra gave a sweeping lick with his tongue all over his face.
“Ah! Ollie! Where are you? Come!” said Ezra, roused by this combined demonstration. He raised his head in a weak and bewildered way. Madame placed her hand on his forehead as he sank down again. He put his own hand up and taking hers said: “Little wife!”
Madame shivered, and then steadying her voice said, “Olive is quite safe!”
Ezra started up.