Quickly the lads hurried back to Alexis and as quickly sought out a surgeon. Chester laid Marquis gently on the ground, and the surgeon bent over him. After a brief examination he arose and shook his head.
“No hope,” he said quietly. “The bullet pierced his jugular vein.”
“Isn’t there something you can do?” pleaded Chester, tears streaming down his face.
The surgeon shook his head sadly.
“Nothing,” he said, and hurried away.
Chester picked Marquis up again, and followed by Hal and Alexis, made his way toward the rear, where the troops were more scattered, and where there was none to bother them. Hal drew off his coat, and Chester laid the dog on it.
Marquis did not whimper. He, as well as his three friends, seemed to know that death was not far off, and he was prepared to meet the end bravely, as a soldier-dog should. He turned slightly and licked Chester’s hand that lay upon his head. Chester patted him gently, but he was beyond words.
Alexis extended a huge hand and softly stroked the dog’s soft body.
“Poor fellow!” he said to himself.
Marquis’ keen ears caught these words, and he turned feebly toward the giant Cossack, and strained slightly toward him. At the same time he slowly raised a paw. Chester saw the movement.