Part 65 (1/2)

”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.