“More ways than one o’ killing a dog.”
“Talking about the dogs,” said the other surlily. “You are making yourself a marked man, my friend. Take care. Who are these—the two who have been in hospital, Mr Groves?”
“I suppose so,” was the reply.
“What’s the matter with you?” said the overseer—for such he proved to be—addressing Pete. “Jump up.”
Pete softly lifted Nic’s head from his knee and rose quickly.
“Was cut down, sir,” said Pete; “but I’m getting better fast now.”
“Good job for you. Now, you, sir; wake up.”
The overseer raised the whip he held, to make a flick at Nic as he lay soundly asleep; but Pete stepped forward to save his companion, and in bending over him received the slight cut himself without flinching, though the lash made him feel as if he had been stung.
“He has been a’most dead, zir,” said Pete sharply; “but he’s getting better now fast. Hasn’t got his zenses, though.”
“Wake him up, then,” said the overseer sharply; “and you can get your meal now.—Here, my lads, bring that stuff here and serve it out.”