"He must have kicked him," said Jacques.
"Who knows? Not only that, but the Colonel says he has been having reports about you and him and your doings in the town, says that the Legion has enough blackguards in it without enlisting four-footed ones, and there you are, the order is promulgated, the dog has to go."
"Catch him, then," said Jacques.
Klein, a big man, in spite of his name, came towards Choc, who was busy with his bone. Jacques whistled shrilly between his teeth, and the dog, picking up his treasure, started for the barrack gate. Flying pebbles and dust marked his path, and he was gone.
Klein laughed. He was a good-natured man, a friend of Jacques' and he had no grudge against the dog.
"All the same," said he, "the dog has to go, you know what it is. The order has been given and once the order has been given there is no staying it."
Jacques knew quite well what it was. He knew the Colonel and he knew the Legion.
Choc might evade capture, but caught he would be, sooner or later.
He said nothing, however. The bugle call for soup rang through the yard, and as he was orderly of his room he had to rush off to the kitchen, from where in a moment he returned, bearing a steaming can for his men; then he had to return for bread.
No one noticed the least change in him, and if there had been a change in him nobody would have bothered. The Legion never bothers about anything, and the most monstrous happenings pass with scarcely a comment from the hearers and beholders.