Lupe ceased the licking upon the instant, and raised his head to gaze intelligently in the old soldier’s eyes.
“Good dog!” said the latter, speaking with gruff gentleness. “I won’t hurt you more than I can help.”
As if he comprehended the old soldier’s words and placed full confidence in his knowledge and power, Lupe stretched himself out fully upon his left side, extended his head, and, half closing his eyes, lay perfectly still as if dead.
“Poor old Lupe!” said Marcus, softly, and he took hold of the dog’s right forepaw, with the result that the poor animal winced, but only whined a little and did not try to withdraw his leg, but at the same time began again to beat the floor of the chariot with his tail, keeping up the latter, as Serge carefully examined the injury.
“Nasty place!” growled Serge.
“Not dangerous?” cried Marcus, anxiously.
“Dangerous? No, not it. He had got himself into the right position when the spear thrust was made. It’s bad enough, of course—”
“Oh, Serge!” cried Marcus.
“But there’s no likelihood of its being dangerous. The spear caught him on the flank and went right in alongside his ribs, from the thick hair above his shoulder right away to the front of his hind jumper.”
“Deep in the flesh, Serge?”