“I’m shot through the hips. It is dark. I was lost, and faithful Pep came and found me. He’s a good dog, faithful old Pep.”
At the sound of his name Pep renewed his frantic kissing of his master’s face.
“Pep he sticks by me. He is a good dog. God, how weak I am! I am burning up. If I only had a drop of water.”
His hand went instinctively to his canteen. With a great effort after many trials he found it, but the hand was too weak to carry it to his lips. Pep watched these feeble efforts with dismay, his master was usually so strong and decided in his movements. He had seen men in the hospital act just like this. His master must be sick, indeed.
Again the doctor rested and Pep waited, not knowing what to do.
Finally, with a deep sigh, the physician raised the canteen slowly to his lips. He was at least a minute in performing this simple act, but when his fevered, parched lips closed over the nozzle, the canteen was found to be entirely empty. With a groan he let it fall and sank back discouraged. Pep was quick to notice the distress in his master’s voice when he again addressed him.
“Pep, old comrade, I am dying for the want of a little water. Water, Pep, I want some water.”
The dog listened intently, but could not catch the man’s meaning, so he gave him another score of dog kisses.
The doctor reached down and lifted up the empty canteen. “See here, Pep, old comrade, I want water. I am dying for water.”
Pep whimpered softly, echoing his master’s agonized tones. Then the gleam of a wonderful idea shot through the doctor’s brain. It was an inspiration, a thought the good God who watched over all his children had given him. He laughed as he considered it dazedly. It seemed feasible. Anyhow it was his only hope. He would try it.