AS Pep trotted away into the shell-raked woods he was probably the most heartbroken dog that ever slunk away to do his master’s bidding. He had traveled so far to find his beloved master, his feet had been sore and his tongue parched with the long journey and he had watched so faithfully by the doctor’s side all through the long night. And now his master had sent him away. He knew that his master needed him also, for he was so weak he could not even bring his canteen with water, or hold up his head to drink. The blow on his shoulder had been a very light one, but it had wounded Pep more than any blow he had ever received before.
Why did his master send him away? He had been a faithful dog. What should he[106] do? Where should he go? He was not quite sure of the way back to the hospital. The woods were full of frightful sounds, full of lightning and thunder, the kind that tore the limbs from great trees, stripped the leaves from their branches and plowed holes in the ground, holes so deep that if he ever fell into one of them he might not be able to get out again.
For several seconds he stood whimpering under a bush, uncertain, but his terrier fighting blood soon asserted itself and he began picking his way slowly forward in the direction which he thought would take him back to the road that led to the hospital.
For fifteen minutes he went forward managing by his clever dog instinct to keep going in the same direction, where a human being might have gone round and round in a circle. Then something happened that quite changed his course. It came so suddenly that he did not know where it came from. He only realized in a dim way that it was a part of this terrible night, more of the frightfulness that was all about him, only this time it nearly got him.
[107]Suddenly, and without any warning, there was a bright flash of light over among the bushes. The air was filled with broken limbs and flying leaves and dust, and hundreds of small missiles, and one of these which was really a fragment of shrapnel, caught Pep in his hind leg, and left that member limp and broken, as useless as a stick.
He was so stunned and shaken and the breath was so knocked out of him that he lay still for several minutes, but finally he dragged himself up on three legs and tried to discover what had happened to him, and where he was. There was such a tangle of brush about him that it was difficult to extricate himself, but finally he dug his way out. Then it was that he discovered the accident to his leg. It pained him frightfully and the blow had partially paralyzed his back, so it was many minutes before he could even drag himself forward, a few feet at a time.
Soon his tongue came out and he was panting and lolling as though it had been noonday in summer, instead of the cool of the morning. It was now so hard to travel that[108] he did not think he could even reach the smooth road, for he had to lie down and rest every few rods.
Once he found a cool, green spot under a great tree where war had not devastated nature. Here he lay for half an hour resting and then, feeling better, he went forward faster.
He had come almost to the edge of the woods when he heard men’s voices. He listened eagerly. Perhaps they were friends. If they were, he would go to them. Soon he made out the voices plainly. They were not far away, so he crept forward eagerly.
At last he made them out. They were friends. They wore uniforms like the men at the hospital. He wagged his tail frantically and crept still closer. He would make sure. There were so many things to be afraid of here in this strange land to which he and his master had come.
Presently the men came so close that he could see them plainly. They were talking in low voices. They were two Red Cross men carrying a wounded soldier on a litter. He was very sure they were good men, for[109] their dress was just like that of the men who unloaded the ambulances at the hospital. With a glad yelp Pep limped forward. He felt very sure they would be good to him. The Red Cross men had often petted him at the hospital.
The men were so busy with the wounded soldier that they did not notice him until he rubbed against the leg of one of them. That made the man stop and cry out.
His companion laughed. “’E won’t ’urt you, Bill,” he heard the other man say. “’E is just a poor wounded bull terrier. ’E just came out of the bush.” The two men laid down the stretcher to rest and one of them called Pep to him.
“Poor Perp,” he said. “You ’ev got it in your ’ind leg. War is ’ell all right, eh old dog?”
Pep assented and licked the man’s hand. There was something he wanted the man to do. He could not think what it was, but the man’s next words reminded him.
“Where’s your master, old sport? You air lost. Whose dog are you, Perp, any how?”
[110]It was not so much the words as the way the man said them and the way he rubbed Pep’s muzzle that really reminded him of his master, wounded and weak, away off in the terrible woods.
Pep whimpered and sniffed and the man who loved dogs saw that he had struck a sympathetic chord.
“W’at’s your name, Perp? You looks like a good fighting English bull terrier all right. You are a thoroughbred or I ain’t no judge of dorgs.”
Pep whimpered again and turned and licked his flank.
“Yes, I see you air hit. So is this poor devil in this air stretcher. Come, Bill, we must get him out of this.”
Together they took up the stretcher and started forward. P............