Marcus: the Young Centurion Part 39

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' b.r.e.a.s.t.s, 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, b.u.mping, 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, hoa.r.s.ely; "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 st.u.r.dy 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.