“Why, Lupe, you here?” cried Marcus, laughing. “Look here, Serge; he was lying here curled up, asleep. Where’s he been all the time?”
“Taking care of himself and waiting for us to come back, I suppose. There, do you want a lesson in campaigning, boy?”
“No, not to-night, thank you. You said I was to go to sleep.”
“Of course; and here’s your lesson all the same. Make Lupe lie down, and use him for a warm, dry pillow. Not a bad thing at a time like this. A deal better than a horse, for it isn’t always you can get them to lie down, and a horse’s hoofs are rather bad company if he gets restless in the night.”
Half irritably in his exalted state Marcus turned away with a gesture of annoyance.
“Down, Lupe! Lie down!” growled the old soldier; and as the dog obediently subsided on the rough ground, the boy thought better of it, sank upon his knees, and then awkwardly in his armour adjusted himself so that he could lay his face with his cheek in the rough hair about the dog’s neck.
There was something comforting and friendly in the deep, satisfied sigh Lupe gave, holding quite rigid as he stretched himself out, while Marcus said to himself:
“Oh, this is stupid! I shall never go to sleep like this;” and he lay staring right before him at the indistinctly seen chariot with its pair of horses standing together, one or the other every now and then giving an impatient stamp or whinnying softly.
Beyond them and their driver all was dark confusion, out of which came murmurs of voices, the jingling of armour, and a suggestion of people passing to and fro.
And then the darkness seemed to lighten and horses were tearing along at full gallop with the enemy in front, and Marcus gave a sudden start, his sharp movement producing a low remonstrant growl from his pillow.