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Updated: May 6, 2025
"Is it never going to be night?" groaned the boy at last, and then he started violently, for something cold and moist touched one of his hands. "You, Lupe?" he said, with a sigh, as he realised his disturber, and he looked gently at the great dog, whose eyes were fixed enquiringly and wistfully on his. "He's gone, old boy gone gone gone and, yes, the place does seem lonely and sad."
His lips were very close to the younger man's ear, his voice hardly more than a breath. Travis shook his head slightly. The Red's actions were a complete mystery. Unless, now disabled and afoot, he was trying to summon aid. Though there was no landing place for a helicopter here. Now was the time to try and reach Lupe.
"Poor old Lupe!" said Marcus, softly, and he took hold of the dog's right forepaw, with the result that the poor animal winced, but only whined a little and did not try to withdraw his leg, but at the same time began again to beat the floor of the chariot with his tail, keeping up the latter, as Serge carefully examined the injury. "Nasty place!" growled Serge.
"What's the matter, Lupe? Thirsty?" asked Marcus, as the dog raised himself up, looked over the front of the chariot, and then turned to gaze wistfully in his master's eyes. "Want water, old fellow?" The dog gave the speaker an intelligent look and then sprang out of the chariot, and after trotting alongside for a time, bounded silently forward and disappeared.
Lupe gave vent to an impatient growl, and the ponies from time to time stamped uneasily as if eager to advance, while away to right and left rose, all the more horrible for the darkness, the clash of arms and roar of voices, mingled with the loud braying of trumpets, followed by the responsive shouts of the soldiery.
A later writer, annotating Waldron's work rather more than a quarter of a century ago, refers to the vessel in question as a paten; he states that it was still preserved in the church, and that it bore engraved the legend: "Sancte Lupe ora pro nobis." There are no fewer than eleven saints named Lupus in the calendar.
In his capacity of quarter-master he had already picked up a little Spanish enough to hold Don Cosme in check over the wine; while Clayley and myself, with "Lupe" and "Luz", walked out into the verandah to "take a peep at the moon". Her light was alluring, and we could not resist the temptation of a stroll through the gardens.
Ahead the Tatars twisted and writhed, mouthed tortured cries, then dropped out of their saddles to lie limply on the ground as if the arrows aimed at the master had instead struck each to the heart. Either the Red was lucky, or his reactions were quick. He had somehow rolled clear of the struggling horse as Lupe leaped from behind a boulder, knife out and ready.
He said as much, and Buck accepted his determination as final. They dispatched a scouting party to infiltrate the territory to the north, to watch and wait their chance of capture. Travis strove to regain his feet, to be ready to move when the moment came. Five days later he was able to reach the ridge beyond which lay the wrecked ship. With him were Jil-Lee, Lupe, and Manulito.
But when they returned, pulling between them the limp space suit, both men were pale, the shiny sheen of sweat on their foreheads, their hands shaking. Lupe sat down on the ground before Travis. "Evil spirits," he said, giving to this modern phenomenon the old name. "Truly ghosts and witches walk in there."
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