The St. Mary banner. (Franklin, Parish of St. Mary, La.) 1889-1931, 1916-01-22

| abdomen. lay On his side. f1tchoune
/ 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 in
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-
manned in his masters body. set him
self at work vigorously to awaken a
| sign of life. He attacked Sabron's
| shoulder as though it were a prey; he
worried him, barked in his ear, struck
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 his
| eyes
Sabron's wound was serious, but his
body was vigorous, strong and healthy,
and his mind more so. There was
| film over it just now. He raised him
self with great effort, and in a 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 Pitchoune's
| voice answered him. Sabron paid no
attention to his dog, did not even call
his name. His mind. accustomed to
quick decisions and to a 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 do
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. or
distinction or any renown. The work
of q spahi with a native regiment Is
not q very glorious affair. He was
simply an officer who fell doing his
daily work
Pitchoune barked and cried out to
him: "Courage!"
Il shall die here at the foot Of the
mimosa," Sabron thought; and his
hands hardly had the courage or
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 YVES as
much of a 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 1t 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 a
prayer for safety.
(TO BE CONTINUED)