“Le’s foller him an’ see what he wants,” Joe whispered. “The poor brute’s ’bout as near crazy as we are.”
On reaching the gate, the dog scratched upon it, telling as well as he could that he desired them to follow him without the walls.
“Poor critter!” Farley said feelingly. “You want us to go with you an’ hunt y’r master, don’t you, purp?”
Duke bayed loudly, and scratched the earth in a frenzy of delight at being understood.
“Ugh! Duke him want find master,” Bright Wing observed sagely.
Again the dumb brute manifested his joy.
“’Tain’t no use, purp!” Joe sobbed softly, stooping and patting the dog’s head. “If y’r master’s over in them woods, he’s dead—’r a pris’ner, which is a dang sight worse. If he’s dead, we can’t do him no good; an’ if he’s a pris’ner, we hain’t no chance o’ rescuin’ him this time. The redskins is buzzin’ ’round over there thicker’n flies ’round a dead carcass. ’Tain’t no use, purp! We’ll keep you—me an’ the Injin will—an’ treat you well, fer y’r own sake an’ y’r master’s. But he’s gone—an’ we can’t bring him back. Dodrot war, anyhow! It’s an awful—awful thing!”
The homely face underwent a spasm, and the pale eyes were wet.
Regaining control of himself, he continued musingly:
“Yit I may be wrong; I was wrong once before, when I saw him dyin’ with my own eyes. He was jest wounded that time—an’ that may be the trouble now. He may be layin’ over there in the woods, lollin’ his parched tongue an’ moanin’ fer a drink o’ water. Dogs knows a heap; an’ this purp is tryin’ hard to tell us somethin’. Dang-it-all-to-dingnation! Why can’t a dog talk?”