The Vast Abyss

“Don’t make that row; I’m as bad as you. Come: get up.”

He turned then to enforce his order with a little stirring up with his foot, but a sharp snarl made him start back in wonder, for there, after creeping quietly up among the furze, was Pete’s thin cur seated upon his master’s chest, and ready to defend him now against any one’s approach.

“Well done, dog!” thought Tom. “I never liked you before. Here then, old fellow,” he cried aloud, as he thought of the way in which the master used the dog, brutally as a rule. “I’m not going to hurt him. Let’s get him to sit up.”

But the dog barked fiercely as it rose on four legs, and showed its teeth, while Tom pressed a hand over one eye, tried to keep the other open, and burst out laughing at the sight before him.

“Oh dear! I mustn’t laugh, it hurts so,” he cried; and then he laughed again. For there was Pete’s distorted comically swollen face in the bright sunshine, and in front of it the dog’s, puffed up in the most extraordinary one-sided manner, making the head look like some fancy sketch of a horrible monster drawn by an artist in fun.

“It must be from the adder’s bite,” thought Tom, as a feeling of compassion was extended now to the dog, who, in spite of his menaces, looked giddy and half stupefied.

“Here, are you going to lie howling there all day?” cried Tom.

“Ow – ow – ow! I want a doctor,” groaned the lad; and he threw out his arms and legs again, nearly dislodging the dog from his chest.

“No, you don’t,” cried Tom. “Here then, old fellow, let’s look at your nose,” he said softly, as he advanced closer, and the dog snarled again, but not so fiercely.

“Get out! I don’t want to hurt you,” said Tom gently. “Let’s have a look at your nose then.”

The dog looked up at him with one eye, – the other was completely shut, – and Tom put his hand closer. Then the poor animal uttered a faint howl, not unlike his master’s; and as Tom touched the swollen side of its head, it leaned it heavily in his hand, and whined softly, looking up piteously the while.

“Poor old chap then!” said Tom, forgetting his own sufferings as the dog stepped slowly off its master’s chest, staggered, and then leaned up against the friendly legs so near, drooping head and tail the while.

“Here, Pete,” cried Tom excitedly, “your dog’s dying.”

“Eh?” cried Pete, sitting up suddenly, and looking very like the poor brute as he managed to open one eye.

“That adder bit him. Look at his swollen head.”

“So it has,” said Pete. “Come here, young un!”

But the dog did not stir.

“Where’s there some water?” said Tom.

“Down by the ford,” replied Pete, quietly enough now.

“People would see us there. Is there none nearer?”

“There’s some in the frog pond,” replied Pete.

“Stop a minute; I know,” said Tom. “Ah, poor old chap, then!” he cried excitedly, for the dog suddenly gave a lurch and fell upon its side.

“I say,” cried Pete wildly, as he rose to his knees, and caught hold of one of the forelegs; “he arn’t going to croak, is he?”

“I don’t know; I’m afraid so. But look here, the adder’s bite was poison; wouldn’t it do good to let some of the poison out?”

“Does good if you’ve got a thorn in your foot,” said Pete, who seemed to have forgotten all about his broken ribs, and the fact that he was dying.

“Shall I open the place with my sharp penknife?”

“Couldn’t do no harm.”

Tom hesitated a moment, and took hold of the dog’s muzzle, when the poor brute whined softly, looked at him with its half-closed eyes, and made a feeble effort to lick his hand.

Tom hesitated no longer. He opened the keen blade of his penknife, raised the dog’s head upon his knee, and examined a whitish spot terribly swollen round, upon the dog’s black nose.

“Mind he don’t bite yer,” said Pete, in a tone full of caution.

Tom looked at him sharply. “He has got some good in him after all,” he thought.

“That’s where the adder bit him,” continued Pete. “I was bit once in the leg, and my! it was bad for days. Mind – he’ll bite.”

“No, he won’t,” said Tom firmly. “Poor old fellow, then. It’s to do it good.”

As he spoke he thrust the knife point right into the centre of the white patch, fully half an inch; and the dog, utterly stupefied by the poison, or else from some misty knowledge that it was being helped, hardly winced, but lay with one eye open, looking up at Tom, who laid the head down upon the grass. For a few moments there was nothing to see but the little gaping cut. Then a tiny drop of black blood appeared, then very slowly another, and soon after a little thread of discoloured blood trickled gently away.

“He’s a-goin’ to croak,” said Pete hoarsely, and he looked in an agonised way at Tom.

“I hope not. That may do him good.”

“But oughtn’t you to tie it up with a handkychy?”

“No; that must be better out of him. I say, look here – can’t you carry him to that hole of yours under the fir-trees?”

Pete looked at him sharply.

“Well, I know where it is,” said Tom. “If you lay him down there, out of the sun, perhaps he’ll get better.”

Pete nodded, and passing his hands under the dog, lifted it in his arms, to begin tramping through the furze-bushes toward the distant pines, from which he had seen and stalked Tom not so long before.

“Shall I come with you?” said Tom.

“If yer like,” was the reply, and Tom followed; and when after a time Pete stopped to rest, he relieved him, and carried the dog for some distance, holding it too when the pit was reached, and Pete lowered himself down to take it, and creep in with it to place it on his fir-needle bed.

Tom followed, and the two lads knelt there in the semi-darkness looking at the patient, which lay for some minutes just as it had been placed.

“He is a-going to croak,” said Pete suddenly, for the door gave a feeble whine, and then stretched itself out.

“No, he isn’t – he’s going to sleep,” said Tom, for the dog yawned, and then curled itself up tightly, apparently falling into a stupor at once, for it did not stir.

“Perhaps he’ll come round,” said Tom, backing out of the hole. “Now, show me where the nearest water is.”

“It ain’t fur now,” said Pete, following him. “It’s where I gets water to drink;” and starting off for the edge of the fir-wood, Tom followed, feeling puzzled at the change that had come over the scene.

Chapter Thirty Five

In a few minutes Pete stopped at the edge of a hollow, where, half covered by sedge rushes and bog plantain, there lay a good-sized pool of clear water, down to which Tom made his way, followed by his companion, and after taking a hearty draught, which was wonderfully clear and refreshing, he began to bathe his cuts and bruises, and rid himself of the half-dried blood.