Sappers and Miners Part 65

"Nipped?" said Gwyn. "Then it wasn't a fall?"

"Nay, sir; Harry Vores and me thinks he must ha' missed you, and thought you'd gone down the mine, and waited his chance and jumped on to the up-and-down to go down himself."

"Oh, but the dog wouldn't have had sense enough to do that."

"I dunno, sir. Grip's got a wonderful lot o' sense of his own! 'Member how he found you two young gents in the mine! Well, he's seen how the men step on and off the up-and-down, and he'd know how to do it. He must, you know."

"But some of the men would know," said Gwyn.

"Dessay they do, sir, but they're all off work now, and we don't know who did. Well, he must have had a hunt for you, and not smelling you, come back to the foot o' the shaft, and began to mount last thing, till he were close to the top, and then made a slip and got nipped. That's how we think it was--eh, Harry?"

"Yes, sir; that's all I can make of it," said Vores. "I was coming by here when the men were all up, and the engine was stopped, and I heard a yowling, and last of all made out that it was down the shaft here; and I fetched Master Hardock and we got the engine started, and I went and found the poor dog four steps down, just ready to lick my hand, but he couldn't wag his tail, and that's what makes me think he's nipped."

But just then Grip moved his tail feebly, a mere ghost of a wag.

"There!" cried Hardock, triumphantly; "see that? Why, if he'd been caught across the lines he'd have never wagged his tail again."

"Poor old Grip," said Gwyn, tenderly; "that must have been it. He tried too much. Caught while coming up. Here, let's look at your paw."

The boy tenderly took hold of the dog's right paw, and he whined with pain, but made no resistance, only looked appealingly at his masters to let them examine the left leg.

"Oh, there's no doubt about it, Joe; both legs have been crushed."

Joe drew a low, hissing breath through his teeth.

"It's 'most a wonder as both legs warn't chopped right off," said Vores.

"Better for him, pore chap, if they had been."

"Hadn't we better put him out of his misery, sir?" said Hardock.

"Out of his misery!" cried Gwyn, indignantly. "I should like to put you out of your misery."

"Nay, you don't mean that, sir," said the captain, with a chuckle.

"Kill my dog!" cried Gwyn.

"You'll take his legs right off, won't you, sir, with a sharp knife?"

said Vores.

"No, I won't," cried Gwyn, fiercely.

"Better for him, sir," said Vores. "They'd heal up then."

"But you can't give a dog a pair of wooden legs, matey," said Hardock, solemnly. "If you cuts off his front legs, you'd have to cut off his hind-legs to match. Well, he'd only be like one o' them turnspitty dogs then; and it always seems to me a turnspitty to let such cripply things live."

"We must take him home, Joe," said Gwyn, who did not seem to heed the words uttered by the men.

"Yes," said Joe. "Poor old chap!" and he bent down to softly stroke the dog's head.

"Better do it here, Master Gwyn," said Hardock. "We'll take him into the engine-house to the wood block. I know where the chopper's kept."

"What!" cried Gwyn, in horror. "Oh, you wretch!"

"Nay, sir, not me. It's the kindest thing you can do to him. You needn't come. Harry Vores'll hold him to the block, and I'll take off all four legs clean at one stroke and make a neat job of it, so as the wounds can heal."

Gwyn leaped to his feet, seized the basket from where it had been placed upon the floor, tilted it upside down, so that the fish flew out over to one side of the shed, and turned sharply to Joe,--"Catch hold!" he said, as he let the great basket down; and setting the example, he took hold of one end of the flannel couch on which poor Grip lay. Joe took the other, and together they lifted the dog carefully into the basket, where he subsided without a whine, his eyes seeming to say,--

"Master knows best."

"I'll carry him to the house, Mr Gwyn, sir," said Vores.

"No, thank you," said the boy, shortly; "we can manage."

"Didn't mean to offend you, sir," said the man, apologetically. "Wanted to do what was best."

"Ay, sir, that we did," said Hardock. "I'm afeard if you get binding up his legs, they'll go all mortificatory and drop off; and a clear cut's better than that, for if his legs mortify like, he'll die. If they're ampitated, he'll bleed a bit, but he'll soon get well."

"Thank you both," said Gwyn, quietly. "I know you did not mean harm, but we can manage to get him right, I think. Come along, Joe."

They lifted the basket, one at each end, swinging the dog between them, and started off, Grip whining softly, but not attempting to move.

"Shall we bring on the fish, sir?" shouted Hardock.

"Bother the fish!" cried Gwyn. "No; take it yourselves."

CHAPTER FORTY.

A BIT OF SURGERY.

"Oh, Gwyn, my dear boy," cried Mrs Pendarve, who was picking flowers for the supper-table as the boys came up to the gate, "what is the matter?"

"Grip's legs broken," said the boy, abruptly. "Where's father?"

"In the vinery, my dear. What are you going to do? Let me see if--"

"No, no, mother, we'll manage," said Gwyn; "come along, Joe."

They hurried down the garden, and up to where the sloping gla.s.s structure stood against the wall, from out of which came the sound of the Colonel's manly voice, as he trolled out a warlike ditty in French, with a chorus of "Marchons! Marchons!" and at every word grapeshot fell to the ground, for the Colonel, in spite of the suggestions of war, was peacefully engaged, being seated on the top of a pair of steps thinning out the grapes which hung from the roof.

"Here, father, quick!" cried Gwyn, as they entered the vinery.

"Eh? Hullo! What's the matter?"

"Grip's been on the man-engine and got his fore-legs crushed."

"Dear me! Poor old dog!" said the Colonel, descending from the ladder and sticking his long scissors like a dagger through the bottom b.u.t.ton-hole of his coat. "Then we must play the part of surgeon, my boy. Not the first time, Joe. Clap the lid on the tank."