To have the horses turned, and gallop back along the narrow river bed
for their lives, was Marcus' first thought. His second, braver and
better, was to shout to the driver at his elbow to urge the horses on at
their greatest speed.
The man hardly needed telling, for as the first words of command were
buzzing in his ear he was shaking the reins and calling upon the brave
little beasts to exert themselves to the utmost.
"Forward, my beauties," he yelled, "or the barbarians will have you, and
before to-morrow you will be roasted and eaten. Gallop--gallop away!"
There was no time for Serge to talk, but he acted, and acted well.
Picking up instantly two of the spears which hung at the chariot side in
loops, he thrust one into Marcus' hand, retained the other, and stood
ready to thrust. Marcus followed his example. Neither thought of using
their shields, but stood fierce and staring of aspect, watching the
party of men barring their way and shouting to them to stop.
It seemed like the next moment that the enemy, who fully expected the
strangers in the chariot to surrender, found that to give up was the
last thought in their expected prisoners' breasts, and thereupon some
dropped their spears, others were in the act of turning to fly, when
with a dull, strange sound the chariot horses were upon them. Literally
upon them, for the gallant little beasts obeyed their natural instinct,
as they galloped and rose to leap the pale of human obstacles and spears
in front, but only to come down quite short, trampling and spurning down
the enemy, over whom the chariot rolled, bumping, leaping and splashing,
and directly after, untouched by the long spears held by the uninjured,
the driver turned the horses slightly, and their next bounds were upon
dry land, rough and rugged enough, but free from any great impediments.
Then away and away as hard as they could go, while the more active of
those who were not hurt, recovering themselves a little from the shock
and scare, came after the charioteers in chase with levelled spears.
"Splendid, Marcus, boy!" cried Serge. "Bah! You need not look back;
they'll give up running directly. You did not think they would catch us
up?"
"No," replied Marcus, breathing hard, "but stop! Stop! Lupe is
fighting with them, and they'll spear him if we don't go to his help."
"Eh? Go back, boy? To certain death!" cried the old soldier, fiercely.
"It couldn't be done if it was to save the finest dog in the world."
"Oh, Serge!" cried Marcus, wildly.
"The message to Julius and your father, boy. We must not think of
either ourselves or the dog at a time like this."
"You are right, Serge," said Marcus, bitterly. "But poor old Lupe!" he
continued, as he held on to the side of the chariot with his left hand
and gazed back. "He'll kill no more wolves when they come down from the
mountains over the wintry snow."
"Why not?" growled Serge.
"Because the enemy are spearing him."
"I haven't heard him yelp," cried the old soldier, "but I can hear
somebody shouting as if Lupe was spearing him."
"Do you think so?" cried Marcus.
"Ay, that I do, boy. It wouldn't be an easy job to stick a long-handled
spear into old Lupe when he is bounding about attacking legs, and
waiting his chance to tackle throats. Like as not we shall find him
coming after us, scratched and bleeding perhaps, but not hurt more than
I can doctor him and set him right again, same as I've done more than
once when he has had a turn with the wolves."
"Ah, look, look!" shouted Marcus, joyously. "Why, here he comes!"
For all at once Lupe, who had been lost to sight, hidden as he was by
those of the enemy who had not taken up the pursuit, and who had
resented the dog's attacks by endeavouring to pin him to the earth with
their long spears, now dashed into sight, proving that he was uninjured
by the bounds and springs he kept on making, barking furiously the while
at those who were keeping up their pursuit of the chariot, but whose
attention was now diverted so that they turned the points of their
spears to repulse the dog's attack.
"Yah! Just like him!" cried Serge, angrily. "You ugly old idiot, you!
Whether it's men or wolves, you always would have the last bite. Come
away, stupid! Come here!" he roared again, quite oblivious of the fact
that even if the distance had not prevented the dog from hearing, the
noise of the horses' beating hoofs would have effectually drowned
Serge's voice.
"Ought we not to stop and help him, Serge?" cried Marcus.
"No, boy; you know we ought not. We've got to get on with that message,
and we must think of nothing else now we are clear. We must not even
slacken while the path is so good; so keep on. You wanted a big gallop,
so take it and be content, for the horses are going fast enough to
satisfy anyone."
"Yes," sighed Marcus. "But poor old Lupe!"
"He must take care of himself, boy," growled Serge. "Look at him,
charging at the enemy as he is, when he is doing no good and running the
risks for nothing."
"He has stopped the pursuit," said Marcus.
"Yes; but why can't he be content now he has done it, and come on,
instead of asking them as plainly as a dog can speak, to thrust a spear
through his ribs?"
"But he knows no better," pleaded Marcus, who was watching all that was
going on, and feeling proud of the dog's bravery in charging the enemy
furiously from time to time, and escaping every thrust as if by a
miracle. "I don't want to lose time, Serge," cried Marcus, raising his
voice so that his companion could hear, "but I am going to check the
horses for a few moments so that I can shout to Lupe. If he hears my
voice calling him he will come."
"He's coming without, boy," cried Serge, angrily. "Oh! Poor old
fellow! But it's his own fault. I knew he'd get it at last, and he
has. That thrust has been too much for him. Look!"
Marcus was already looking sharply enough to have seen, at the same
moment as his companion, Lupe make a rush at the halting enemy, whose
spears flashed in the bright light; and then the dog rushed away again,
to stand apparently barking furiously at his enemies, before dashing off
after the chariot for about a hundred yards, and then stopping short to
roll over and over.
"Killed!" cried Marcus, in a voice full of anguish.
"No," said Serge, hoarsely; "he's up again and tearing after us."
But the next minute the dog had dropped again, and as far as those in
the chariot could make out in the increasing distance, was busily
engaged in licking his flank, and Marcus said so.
"Not sure," cried Serge, "but I'm afraid he has got an ugly dig. Is he
going to lie down and die?"
"Surely not!" cried Marcus, excitedly. "No, he is up again, and here he
comes."
"Then perhaps it is not so bad as I thought, boy. Yes, here he comes as
hard as he can pelt. He can't be very bad, unless this is his last
struggle to get to your side."
"And yours, Serge," said Marcus, mournfully.
"No, boy; it's you that he wants to reach," said the old soldier, with a
grim smile. "He likes me, but you need not talk--he loves you; and if
he's very badly hurt he is putting all the strength he has left in him
to get here to you."
"Oh, Serge," cried Marcus, as the ponies tore on, with the dog in full
pursuit, "it can't be so bad as you think!"
"Well, boy, I'm beginning to think you're right. He can't be so very
bad, or he wouldn't be able to stretch himself out like that and come
over the ground faster than the horses are going, and that isn't slow.
Look at the brave old fellow; that's just the stride he takes--"
"Stride!" cried Marcus, proudly. "He's coming on in bounds."
"So he is, boy, and as I was going to say, that's just his way when he
wants to overtake a pack of ravaging wolves who have been after our
sheep. Well done, dog! Talk about muscles in his legs! I don't call
them muscles; he has legs like springs."
The chariot horses still tore on at a fast gallop, the sturdy little
driver guiding them with admirable skill as they neared obstructions;
but fast as they swept over the open ground, with the heavy chariot
leaping and bounding behind, their speed was far out-paced by the great
dog which stretched out like a greyhound of modern times, and lessened
the distance between them more and more, till he was so near that Marcus
uttered a cry of horror upon making out as he did that the dog's flank
was marked by a great patch of blood.
"Yes," said Serge, gravely, "I see, boy, and I could find it in my heart
to stop the ponies and take him into the chariot; but there is no need
for it. Can't be a serious wound, and he'll be close up to us in
another minute."
"To reach us exhausted," cried Marcus, bitterly; "and I shall always
feel that we might have saved his life."
Serge made no reply, but, frowning heavily, he watched the final efforts
the gallant animal was making. For gathering himself together for every
spring and putting all his strength in his efforts, Lupe bounded on till
he was close behind the chariot, and Marcus uttered an encouraging shout
as he went down on one knee, while the next minute Lupe made a
tremendous spring, from which he landed in the middle of the
rapidly-going vehicle, and then couched down, bent his head over as he
let himself fall over on his left side, and began licking his wound as
calmly as if nothing had happened more than the receiving of a big
scratch.
"Why, Lupe, Lupe, old dog!" cried Marcus, as he knelt beside the wounded
animal hard at work over his natural surgery.
Upon hearing the boy's voice the dog ceased his task, looked up in
Marcus' face with his big intelligent eyes, beat the floor of the
chariot a few times heavily with his tail, and then went on again with
his dressing of his wound.
"There," cried Serge, after looking back at the distant Gauls, "they're
not likely to pursue us, so make him ease the ponies down a little. We
must not wear them out at the start. That's better," he continued, as
Marcus touched the driver on the shoulder and signed to him to moderate
their speed.
This done, Serge placed his spear in the loops and Marcus' beside it,
before sinking down upon his knees on the other side of the wounded dog.
"Now then," he said, "let's see whether it's very bad or not," and he
laid his great hand upon the dog's head.
Lupe ceased the licking upon the instant, and raised his head to gaze
intelligently in the old soldier's eyes.
"Good dog!" said the latter, speaking with gruff gentleness. "I won't
hurt you more than I can help."
As if he comprehended the old soldier's words and placed full confidence
in his knowledge and power, Lupe stretched himself out fully upon his
left side, extended his head, and, half closing his eyes, lay perfectly
still as if dead.
"Poor old Lupe!" said Marcus, softly, and he took hold of the dog's
right forepaw, with the result that the poor animal winced, but only
whined a little and did not try to withdraw his leg, but at the same
time began again to beat the floor of the chariot with his tail, keeping
up the latter, as Serge carefully examined the injury.
"Nasty place!" growled Serge.
"Not dangerous?" cried Marcus, anxiously.
"Dangerous? No, not it. He had got himself into the right position
when the spear thrust was made. It's bad enough, of course--"
"Oh, Serge!" cried Marcus.
"But there's no likelihood of its being dangerous. The spear caught him
on the flank and went right in alongside his ribs, from the thick hair
above his shoulder right away to the front of his hind jumper."
"Deep in the flesh, Serge?"
"No, no; only just under the loose skin."
"Has it bled much?" said Marcus, anxiously.
"Plenty, my lad, but he won't die of it. Do you hear, Lupe, old boy?
Your doctor says he is not going to do anything in the way of tying you
up, for this is the sort of wound that has done bleeding and will heal
up without any more help than you can give it with your tongue; so go on
and do what you like to it, just the same as you began when you were
stopped."
The dog ceased beating the floor of the chariot as Serge went on talking
to him, and as soon as the old soldier had given him a final pat or two
he resumed the application of Nature's remedy, paying no heed to those
in the chariot, which was now rolling steadily on and leaving the scene
of the late encounter farther and farther behind.