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Updated: May 6, 2025
"What!" now came in a deep voice from behind Marcus. "Why, Lupe, dog, have you found your way here?"
Lupe sprang on in front and disappeared, but at the end of a few minutes they came upon him again, standing gazing straight before him, motionless, while as the ponies reached him, they too stopped short. "What does that mean?" whispered the old soldier. "Has he seen anything to scare him?" Serge had hardly spoken when from somewhere in front there came the distant whinnying of a horse.
The ponies were led out, and in the gloom Lupe was just seen as he stepped out in front of the chariot and started off as if to lead the way, while directly after the low, dull trampling of the ponies and the soft, crushing sound of the chariot wheels rose in the moist evening air, the ponies following the dog and the latter acting as if he perfectly well knew where his master meant to go.
"No-o," said Marcus, thoughtfully, as he stooped to pat the dog's head, a favour which Lupe responded to by leaning himself as hard as he could against his young master's legs. "I should like to have him with us, Serge." "So should I, boy, if it comes to that. He'd have been splendid with us, and saved us scouting when those rough uns were hanging round.
But they'd better not try; you'd pin some of them, wouldn't you, Lupe?" The dog uttered a low, deep, thundering growl. "That's right, boy. Now, Marcus, my lad, if you feel too tired, say so, and we'll keep them till the master comes." "Oh, don't do that," cried the boy. "He'd only talk to them and scold them, and then let them go, after forgiving them for stealing the grapes."
The fellows were quiet for a moment after they had droned out the chorus, each one putting his own meaning into that sweet old song of farewell, and then, to break the charm, a small voice with a Spanish roll in it, piped "Tamales!" at the crack in the door. "Hey! Lupe! make him sing!"
"Oh, very well," said the old soldier, hooking the boy again and dragging him, resisting all he could, to the door. "Just hold it open, Marcus, my lad. That'll do. No, no, Lupe, we don't want you. Now then, young fellow, off you go, and if ever I see you here again I'll set the dog at you, and if he once gets hold he won't let you off so easily as I do."
"Stop outside, Lupe, my lad," said the old soldier, quietly; and the dog turned back to his former position and crouched once more, while the door was shut from the inside, the six boys backing to the far side, beyond the great stone hewn-out press, empty now, dry and clean, for the time of grape harvest was not yet. "Now then, my fine fellows," growled Serge; "you want to fight, do you?"
"Lúpe will make a beaten track to his door fast enough," prophesied Norman, "when he finds we want to buy more animals. I'll send word to-night to him to set his traps for those coyotes and foxes." That evening after supper, Jack wheeled himself out on to the porch. It was the first time he had attempted it, and when he had made the trip successfully, he sat a few minutes watching the stars.
"What, can't you find him, Lupe?" cried Marcus, as there came a scratching at the door, which was forced open, and the dog came in again, to utter a piteous whimper which increased into a howl. "Poor old Lupe!" sighed Marcus. "Can't you find him, boy? No, and you never will. I dare say he will never come back here again.
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