Oscar told the story as calmly as though it concerned some one quite other than himself. He would indeed have dropped the narrative there had Hugh not urged him on with impatient questions.
“Yes, by the third day we were badly off. So when it was twilight I let little Hendrik out to go down to the spring and drink. Would you think it mattered to them whether a little black dog lived or not? They knew that I—I liked him a good deal, I suppose, for they killed him halfway across the clearing. I heard a shot and a yelp and ran out to him, but when I got there he was dead.”
“You ran out? Didn't they shoot at you?” Hugh exclaimed.
“Yes, and hit me too, but I didn't even notice it at the time. I carried little Hendrik back, and if I was determined to hold out before, I was a hundred times more determined then. It rained that night and I caught a little water in a bucket by the window, so I had that to go on, but I never really knew quite how long the fight lasted. The
