Gray hurried forward to meet it. He saw the dog leap up when it caught sight of him, and make a dash forwards, but before it had gone a dozen steps it slackened its pace again and began to drag itself slowly forward as if utterly worn out.
It was a pitiable object to look at. Its beautiful coat was matted with blood and dust. One of its ears was almost torn away, and its body was covered with wounds. But it dragged itself onward, moaning now and then, until it got near Gray. Then it sank down on the grass and lay there, faintly wagging its tail, and fixing its eyes on Gray with a pathetic, supplicating glance.
It was plain to see that the dog had been attacked and sorely wounded. Gray surmised that one or more of the herd had turned savage, and in conflict with them Watch had got his wounds. He bent over the dog and unfastened its spiked collar.
"Poor old fellow, what—?"
He broke off suddenly. A scrap of paper fastened by a string to the collar caught his eye. Some words were scrawled on it:
"Badly hurt. Watch will show—"
There was an attempt at another word or two but they were illegible.
Gray read the paper and let it flutter from his fingers to the ground. The next moment he picked it up again, and crushed it between his fingers.
He had not made up his mind what to do; but the thought flashed through him as he saw the paper lying on the ground, that it might be necessary to destroy it, if—
If what? Gray hardly dared finish the thought, even in the secrecy of his own soul.