The Holly chieftain., 1915-09-17

abdomen, lay on his side. Pitchouh
smelled him from head to foot, ad-
dressed himself to his restoration IN
his own way. He licked his face and
hands and ears. sat sentinel at the be-
loved head where the forehead was
covered with sweat and blood. he
barked feverishly and to his attentive
ears there came no answer whatso
ever, either from the wounded man IL
the bed of the African river or from
the silent plains.
Sabron was deserted. He had fallen
and not been missed and his regiment
routed by the Arabs. had been driven
into retreat. Finally the little dog
who knew by instinct that life re
mained In his masters body, set him
self at work vigorously to awaken
sign of life. He attacked Sabronf
shoulder as though 1t were prey; he
worried him, barked in his ear. strAcs
him lightly with his paw. and finally
awakening to dreadful pain, to fever
and to isolation. awakening perhaps
to the battle for life, to the attentions
of his friend, the spahi opened hif
eyes.
Sabron's wound was serious, but his
body was vigorous, strong and healthy
and his mind more so. There was o
film over it just now. He raised him
self with great effort, and in moment
realized where he was and that to
linger there was horrible death. On
each side of the river rose an inclined
bank, not very high and thickly grown
with mimosa bush. This meant to him
that beyond it and probably within
easy reach, there would be shade from
the intense and dreadful glare beat
ing down upon him, with death in
every ray. He groaned and Pitchounef
voice answered him. Sabron paid nc
attention to his dog, did not even call
his name. His mind, accustomed tc
quick decisions and to matter-of-fact
consideration of life, instantly took its
proper course. He must get out OF the
river bed or die there, rot there.
What there was before him to dc
was SO stupendous an undertaking that
it made him almost unconscious Of the
pain in his loins. He could not stand,
could not thoroughly raise himself;
but by great and painful effort, bleed.
ing at every move, he could crawl; he
did so, and the sun beat down upon
him. Pitchoune walked by his side,
whining, talking to him, encouraging
him, and the spahi, ashen pale, his
bright gray uniform ripped and stained
all alone in the desert, with death
above him and death on every hand,
crawled, dragged, hitched along out Of
the river to the bank. cheered, en-.
couraged by his little dog.
For a drop of water he would have
given-oh, what had he to give? For
little shade he would have given
about all he had to give had been
given to his duty In this engagement
which could never bring him glory, OF
distinction or any renown. The work
Of spahi with native regiment ia
not very glorious affair. He was
simply an officer who fell doing hie
daily work.
Pitchoune barked and cried out tH
him: "Courage!"
II shall die here at the foot of the
mimosa," Sabron thought; and his
hands hardly had the courage OF
strength to grasp the first bushes by
which he meant to pull himself up on
the bank. The little dog was close to
him, leaping, springing near him, and
Sabron did not know how tired and
thirsty and exhausted his brave little
companion was, or that perhaps in
that heroic little body there was as
much of soldiers soul as in his own
human form.
The sun was SO hot that it seemed
to sing in the bushes. Its torrid fever
struck on his brown, struck on his
chest; why did it not kill him? He
was not even delirious, and yet the
bushes sang dry and cracking. What
was their melody? He knew it. Just
one melody haunted him always, and
now he knew the words: they were q
prayer for safety.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Or He Believes So.