The dogs began to leap and bound about the place, while their master turned to Pete.
“Why didn’t you call me?” he said. “Have they bitten him?”
“No; haven’t hurt him a bit,” said Pete quietly.
“Lucky for him,” said the man. “There, you see what they’re like, and know what you have to expect—What?”
“I said, are they your dogs?”
Pete stared, for it was Nic who spoke, perfectly calmly, though in a feeble voice.
“Yes,” replied Saunders. “Why?”
“I could not help admiring them. They are magnificent beasts.”
“I am glad you like them, sir,” said Saunders, with a mocking laugh; and he turned and strode away, to order the men to take some of the food they had brought to the other two prisoners, leaving Nic gazing after him.
“Rather brusque,” he said, half to himself, and then he passed his hand over his eyes, drew a long, deep, restful breath, and turned over as if to go to sleep again; but he started up on his elbow instead as he encountered Pete’s face, and a look of horror and dislike contracted his own.