“So he is, boy, and as I was going to say, that’s just his way when he wants to overtake a pack of ravaging wolves who have been after our sheep. Well done, dog! Talk about muscles in his legs! I don’t call them muscles; he has legs like springs.”
The chariot horses still tore on at a fast gallop, the sturdy little driver guiding them with admirable skill as they neared obstructions; but fast as they swept over the open ground, with the heavy chariot leaping and bounding behind, their speed was far out-paced by the great dog which stretched out like a greyhound of modern times, and lessened the distance between them more and more, till he was so near that Marcus uttered a cry of horror upon making out as he did that the dog’s flank was marked by a great patch of blood.
“Yes,” said Serge, gravely, “I see, boy, and I could find it in my heart to stop the ponies and take him into the chariot; but there is no need for it. Can’t be a serious wound, and he’ll be close up to us in another minute.”
“To reach us exhausted,” cried Marcus, bitterly; “and I shall always feel that we might have saved his life.”
Serge made no reply, but, frowning heavily, he watched the final efforts the gallant animal was making. For gathering himself together for every spring and putting all his strength in his efforts, Lupe bounded on till he was close behind the chariot, and Marcus uttered an encouraging shout as he went down on one knee, while the next minute Lupe made a tremendous spring, from which he landed in the middle of the rapidly-going vehicle, and then couched down, bent his head over as he let himself fall over on his left side, and began licking his wound as calmly as if nothing had happened more than the receiving of a big scratch.
“Why, Lupe, Lupe, old dog!” cried Marcus, as he knelt beside the wounded animal hard at work over his natural surgery.
Upon hearing the boy’s voice the dog ceased his task, looked up in Marcus’ face with his big intelligent eyes, beat the floor of the chariot a few times heavily with his tail, and then went on again with his dressing of his wound.
“There,” cried Serge, after looking back at the distant Gauls, “they’re not likely to pursue us, so make him ease the ponies down a little. We must not wear them out at the start. That’s better,” he continued, as Marcus touched the driver on the shoulder and signed to him to moderate their speed.
This done, Serge placed his spear in the loops and Marcus’ beside it, before sinking down upon his knees on the other side of the wounded dog.
“Now then,” he said, “let’s see whether it’s very bad or not,” and he laid his great hand upon the dog’s head.