The cur made another attempt to get his teeth into Logie, and almost succeeded.
Ferrier raised his pistol again, but James thrust it back.
“The world needs a few such creatures as that in it,” said he. “Lord! Ferrier, what a heart there is in the poor brute!”
“Stand away from him, Logie, he is half mad.”
“We must get away from this place,” said James, unheeding, “or that man who has ridden away will bring the whole country about our ears. It has been a narrow escape for you, Gourlay,” he said to the released prisoner. “We must leave the old vagabond lying where he is.”
“There is no burying him with that devil left alive!” cried Ferrier. “I promise you I will not venture to touch him.”
“My poor fellow,” said James, turning to the dog, “it is of no use; you cannot save him. God help you for the truest friend that a man ever had!”
He pulled off his coat and approached him. The men stood round, looking on in amazement as he flung it over the yellow body. The dog yelled as Logie grasped and lifted him, holding him fast in his arms; but his jaws were muffled in the coat, and the pain of the broken limb was weakening his struggles.
Ferrier looked on with his hands on his hips. He admired the dog, but did not always understand James.
“You are going to hamper yourself with him now?” he exclaimed.