“Well, I know where it is,” said Tom. “If you lay him down there, out of the sun, perhaps he’ll get better.”
Pete nodded, and passing his hands under the dog, lifted it in his arms, to begin tramping through the furze-bushes toward the distant pines, from which he had seen and stalked Tom not so long before.
“Shall I come with you?” said Tom.
“If yer like,” was the reply, and Tom followed; and when after a time Pete stopped to rest, he relieved him, and carried the dog for some distance, holding it too when the pit was reached, and Pete lowered himself down to take it, and creep in with it to place it on his fir-needle bed.
Tom followed, and the two lads knelt there in the semi-darkness looking at the patient, which lay for some minutes just as it had been placed.
“He is a-going to croak,” said Pete suddenly, for the door gave a feeble whine, and then stretched itself out.
“No, he isn’t—he’s going to sleep,” said Tom, for the dog yawned, and then curled itself up tightly, apparently falling into a stupor at once, for it did not stir.
“Perhaps he’ll come round,” said Tom, backing out of the hole. “Now, show me where the nearest water is.”
“It ain’t fur now,” said Pete, following him. “It’s where I gets water to drink;” and starting off for the edge of the fir-wood, Tom followed, feeling puzzled at the change that had come over the scene.