"
"Is it to cook my dog Watch you mean?" asked Crow. (Here Watch went
to his master, and lay down at his feet, looking up in his face and
patting the ground with his tail.) "I tell you what it is, Sparrow,
you are not going to ate my dog. What has the poor fellow done to
you, I'd like to know? You may cook Spiller if you like, to-day or
to-morrow, it's all the same to me--and I grant he well deserves it
--but if you meddle with Watch you'll have to deal with me."
"It's no use going on this way, mates," said Brown. "We might as
well be moving while we have strength enough to do so. Come along."
The men began to rise to their feet. Macnamara suddenly snatched
Spiller's gun, and fired off both barrels; he then said, "Now hand
over your shot and powder." Spiller, half scared to death, handed
them over.
"Now," said Macnamara, "you are my prisoner. I am going to take care
of you until you are wanted; and if I see you so much as wink the
wrong way I'll blow your brains out, if you have any. Here's your
empty gun. Now march."
All the men followed. The country was full of scrub, and they walked
through it in Indian file. Not a bird or beast was killed that day
or the next. A consultation was held at night, and it was agreed to
kill Watch in the morning if nothing else turned up, Crow by this
time being too hungry to say another word in favour of his dog.
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