That night Dyke slept as he had not slept for weeks, and woke up the next morning wondering that he could feel so fresh and well, and expecting to see Kaffir Jack at the other end of the wagon, curled up in a blanket; but though the dog was in his old quarters, Jack was absent, and Dyke supposed that he was asleep beneath.
Chapter Fourteen.
A Resting-Place.
“You are petter as offer you vas, heh?” cried the old trader, thrusting his face in between the canvas curtains of the wagon end. “Yes, quite well. Good-morning.”
“Ach zo. It is a goot mornings. Ant how is der tog? You vill say how to you are to dem alt Oom Morgenstern. He is goot tog ten, and getting himself mended ferry quickly. How vas it he shall pe scratch and pite all ofer hims, heh?”
The old man patted and stroked the dog with his big fat hand, as he spoke in a soft soothing tone, which had the effect of making him the best of friends with Duke, who whined and licked at the hand, and kept up a regular throbbing pat-pat-pat upon the floor of the wagon.
“Ach yes, ten, he is a ferry goot togs, and he shall pe effer zo much petter zoon. Ant zo der pig spotty gat gom und dake him, heh?”
“Yes, poor fellow, one of the great brutes pounced upon him suddenly, and fetched him from right under the wagon,” said Dyke. “You were bad, weren’t you, Duke, old chap?”