They rode out of the village in the freshness before sunrise and up long hills, and sometimes they went in the shade of woods and sometimes in a flooding sunshine. Benham now rode in front, preoccupied, intent, regardless of Amanda, a stranger, and she rode close behind him wondering.
“When you get to Monastir, young man,” she told him, inaudibly, “you will go straight to bed and we'll see what has to be done with you.”
“AMMALATO,” said Giorgio confidentially, coming abreast of her.
“MEDICO IN MONASTIR,” said Amanda.
“SI,—MOLTI MEDICI, MONASTIR,” Giorgio agreed.
Then came the inevitable dogs, big white brutes, three in full cry charging hard at Benham and a younger less enterprising beast running along the high bank above yapping and making feints to descend.
The goatherd, reclining under the shadow of a rock, awaited Benham's embarrassment with an indolent malice.
“You UNCIVILIZED Beasts!” cried Benham, and before Amanda could realize what he was up to, she heard the crack of his revolver and saw a puff of blue smoke drift away above his right shoulder. The foremost beast rolled over and the goatherd had sprung to his feet. He shouted with something between anger and dismay as Benham, regardless of the fact that the other dogs had turned and were running back, let fly a second time. Then the goatherd had clutched at the gun that lay on the grass near at hand, Giorgio was bawling in noisy remonstrance and also getting ready to shoot, and the horse-owner and his boy were clattering back to a position of neutrality up the stony road. “BANG!” came a flight of lead within a yard of Benham, and then the goatherd was in retreat behind a rock and Giorgio was shouting “AVANTI, AVANTI!” to Amanda.
She grasped his intention and in another moment she had Benham's horse by the bridle and was leading the retreat. Giorgio followed close, driving the two baggage mules before him.
“I am tired of dogs,” Benham said. “Tired to death of dogs. All savage dogs must be shot. All through the world. I am tired—”