A Daring Operation
IT all happened in such a brief space, and so unexpectedly, that
Captain M'Bride and Webb had but a hazy notion of what had taken
place.
A crowd had gathered quickly, but by the time Laddie was pulled off
the prostrate Greek the would-be assassin was dead.
"Narrow squeak, by Jove!" remarked Captain M'Bride. "The beggar tried
to knife you, Osborne. Hallo, what's happened to the dog?"
"What's happened to the dog?" repeated Osborne in a voice that hardly
sounded like his own. "Laddie, boy, what has the brute done to you?"
"He's broken his jaw," declared Webb.
"Yes, a double fracture," added a young officer in the uniform of the
Veterinary Corps. "You ought to have him shot, sir, and put him out
of his misery."
Poor Laddie seemed the least concerned of any of the group. His jaw
had dropped, and he presented a rather pathetic figure, with his
wide-open eyes fixed upon his master.
Osborne leant heavily upon his chum's shoulder. "Tom," he whispered.
"Don't have him shot if it can be possibly avoided. I--I----"
Then, with a stifled groan, he collapsed insensible at the feet of
the astonished and horrified Sub-lieutenant.
A stretcher was quickly upon the scene, and, attended by a couple of
surgeons, Osborne was removed to the Naval Sick Quarters. Examination
revealed the presence of a deep knife-thrust that had narrowly missed
the left lung.
"It's a case of revenge, without doubt," declared the senior medical
officer to Captain M'Bride. "Mr. Osborne was the principal witness
against the spy Hymettus, and one of the Greek's relatives or
associates has tried the vendetta touch. Dangerous? Yes; it's no use
mincing matters. Even if complications do not ensue--and these Greeks
are not at all particular as to the antiseptic condition of their
knives--Osborne will have a hard struggle for his life. One thing his
appearance tells me: that he is a clean-living fellow, and that's
greatly in his favour. By all means look in this evening, and I'll
tell you how he is progressing."
Throughout the rest of the day Osborne lay unconscious. Towards night
he began to speak, wildly and disjointedly. The nurse on duty noticed
that in the midst of his incoherence he seemed to be imploring
someone to save Laddie from being shot.
"That's his pet dog," said the principal medical officer when the
sister reported the circumstance. "I've heard all about it from
Captain M'Bride. He seemed devotedly attached to the animal, and, I
believe, if the dog has to be destroyed, it seems likely that Mr.
Osborne's chances will be greatly diminished. It's certainly
remarkable, but the fact remains. If, when he recovers consciousness,
he can be convinced that the dog is alive, half the battle will be
won."
That night the Lieutenant was in the throes of fever, battling,
although unconscious, with the grim Angel of Death.
* * * * * *
Sub-lieutenant Webb sat in the verandah of his quarters, nervously
handling his heavy Service revolver. Not once, but many times, he had
borne himself manfully in tight corners. He had been cheek by jowl
with death without flinching. But now he was confronted with a
problem that taxed his resolution almost to the uttermost.
With Osborne's words ringing in his ears he sat and fumbled
irresolutely with the loaded weapon. Such a lot depended upon the
next few moments, when a veterinary officer would arrive and give his
verdict upon Laddie. If the dog's case were considered hopeless, Webb
would be the executioner of his chum's pet. Osborne, he knew, would
wish it. And yet, if anything could be done----
A shadow fell athwart the verandah.
Webb looked up enquiringly. A young fellow in military uniform stood
without.
"Hallo!" remarked the stranger with a slight drawl. "I say, put that
pistol away, you won't need it. You don't seem to remember me?"
"I can't," replied Webb.
"I was in that little affair when your chum was stabbed," continued
the army officer. "It was I who suggested the dog should be shot--but
I've changed my opinion. You and I, Mr. Webb, are going to save that
animal--and we start at once."
"You think he's a chance?" enquired Tom hopefully.
"It's a pure experiment on my part," continued the veterinary
officer. "I have hopes that it will succeed. It depends largely upon
the dog. Compound fracture of an animal's jaw is considered 'na poo'.
You see it takes eighteen days for the bones to set, and in that time
the brute's starved to death. How long are you here?"
"About a month, I expect, Mr.----?"
"Dixon, my name. A month? Plenty of time on your hands? Good. Same
here. We're having quite a slack after a most unholy rush. Hope it'll
last. If not, you'll have to continue the treatment single-handed."
"I say, it's awfully good of you," began Webb.
"Not at all," expostulated Dixon. "I saw how concerned Osborne was. A
fellow who can conceal his own injuries in his anxiety for his pet is
a pal worth having. He's some grit, has Osborne. Where's the dog?"
"In there," replied the Sub, indicating his private room.
The two men entered. Laddie was lying on a folded blanket, with his
injured jaw supported by his paw.
"He does not seem in much pain," remarked Webb.
"No, it's too early. The nervous system of a dumb animal is somewhat
different to ours. When mortification sets in--but we mustn't give
that a chance," said Dixon. "I've had a dental training, you know,
and that's why I think I'll be able to fix it up all right. The first
job is to take an impression. Steady his head, will you?"
Gently but firmly Dixon pressed a lump of soft wax against the inside
of Laddie's jaw. The dog submitted without protest. Instinctively he
realized that what was being done was for his good.
"Ripping fine impression!" declared the operator, regarding the wax
model with professional satisfaction. "That'll do for the present.
I'll nip off to the work-room and make a plate."
Before long, Dixon returned with a vulcanite plate that exactly
fitted the inside of the patient's jaw. Then the under side of the
dog's mouth was encased in plaster of Paris, the whole being secured
with india-rubber straps.
"That'll do," remarked the veterinary officer. "Feed him with
beef-tea and arrowroot. I'll be round early to-morrow."
The grave report concerning Osborne which reached Webb that night
urged the Sub to even greater efforts. He would willingly give up his
rest in order to save Laddie, knowing that Osborne's life depended
largely upon the success of the daring experiment.
Next morning Dixon looked grave. "H'm!" he remarked. "That plate's
cracked. Part of the dog's jaw has dropped an eighth of an inch."
"Is it a failure?" asked Webb anxiously.
"Never say die till you're dead," said the other. "Failure? Not if I
know it. I'll make something that won't crack."
He was as good as his word, for within an hour he was back with a
second plate, made, this time, out of hard dental alloy.
Once more Laddie's jaw was set, and from that time things went well.
Other vets., hearing of the weird operation, came to visit the canine
patient, and all expressed their opinion that Dixon would win through
with his case.
Unremittingly Webb attended to his part of the contract, keeping
Laddie well supplied with nourishing liquids. One morning--it was the
seventh day of Osborne's illness--Captain M'Bride came to Webb's
quarters.
"I've just seen the principal medical officer," he announced, hardly
able to conceal the state of his mind. "Osborne recovered
consciousness at four this morning. His first enquiry was whether
Laddie were alive; and, of course, he could be truthfully informed
that he was, and that the animal was well on the road to recovery.
Osborne is, I believe, now out of danger. We'll be able to see him in
another ten days, I hope, and bring Laddie restored to health as
tangible evidence. And, by the by, here's something of a personal
nature that will interest you--a copy of a part of to-day's Orders."
"Oh, I say!" exclaimed Webb, the wind completely shaken out of his
sails. "What's that for?"
"Bravery and discretion under circumstances of great peril," replied
Captain M'Bride. "You've won it fairly, Webb. I congratulate you."
For Webb, Sub-lieutenant no longer, had been specially promoted to
Lieutenant and awarded the D.S.O. for services in connection with the
rescue of the crew of the mined _Portchester Castle_.
"And Osborne--and Haynes?" asked Webb. "They did quite as much as I."
Captain M'Bride shrugged his shoulders.
"I cannot offer any opinion," he replied. "All I know is that they
were mentioned in my dispatch. Perhaps recognition in their case will
come later."
On the seventeenth day following Laddie's operation, the plate and
the plaster of Paris were removed. To everyone's satisfaction the
operation was perfectly successful.
"Good old boy!" exclaimed Webb. "Now we'll take you to your master."
Osborne was reported to be fit to receive visitors that afternoon. A
regular crowd of officers expressed their intention of paying
congratulatory calls, but at the suggestion of the surgeon the number
was limited to three--Captain M'Bride, and the two men who had been
chiefly instrumental in Laddie's recovery, Webb and Dixon.
"I think, in view of previous experience, it would be as well to walk
in the centre of the street," said Captain M'Bride, as the trio made
their way along the lane where Osborne had been treacherously struck
down.
"Rather, sir!" agreed Webb; then--"Oh, dash it all! Now what's going
to happen?"
For a large native cur, emerging from a squalid hovel, had suddenly
hurled himself upon the unsuspecting Laddie, and in an instant both
dogs were engaged in a terrific combat.