While supper was being prepared the boys wandered about the reed-grass in a fruitless search for some ducks they had seen settle in the creek.  Private Tom Clary, who was acting as our cook, having spread our meal of fried bacon, bread, and coffee upon a blanket to the windward of the fire, called them to supper.  While sugaring and stirring our coffee, the cook stood by the fire holding two long rods in his hands, upon the ends of which were slices of bacon broiling before the glowing coals.  Suddenly he exclaimed: 

“Look there, sergeant laddies! look there!” raising and pointing with both sticks and the rashers of bacon towards the reed-grass behind us.

There in its very edge sat Mistress Vic, winking her eyes and twitching her ears deprecatingly, plainly in doubt as to her reception.

“Stop, boys! keep quiet!” I said, to prevent a movement in her direction.  “Vic, you bad girl, how dared you follow me?”

No reply, only a slow closing and opening of the eyes and an accompanying forward and backward movement of the ears.

“Go home!  Go!”

The setter rose, dropped her head, and, turning dejectedly, disappeared with drooping tail into the tall grass.  Both boys exclaimed at once: 

“Don’t drive her off, sir!  Poor little Vic!”

“Well, go and see if you can coax her back.  If she returns with you she may go to La Paz.”

The boys ran eagerly into the grass, and soon I heard them soothing and pitying the dog, telling her that it was all right, and that she could go.  But it was evident she doubted their authority to speak for me, for Henry presently came running towards me.

“She won’t come, sir.  Keeps moving slowly back in the direction of the fort.  She looks so sorry and so tired.  Only think how badly she feels, and it is a long distance to Whipple!  Can’t she stay with us until morning?”

“Then she will not come with you?”

“No.  She is your dog, and knows it.  She never disobeys you.”

“But she followed me here; that looks very much like disobedience.”

“But you did not tell her not to come.”

“I believe you are right.  I forgot to tell her to stay.”

“And she did not hear you tell the corporal to tie her, sir.  You told him in your room, and she was outside.”

“Then you think she is not to blame for following us?”

“Of course not.  She’s a military dog, and always obeys orders.”

“But how guilty she looked.”

“It was not guilt made her look so, sir; it was disappointment.”

“Yes, I think you are right, Henry.  I’ll let her go with us.  Let us try an experiment, and see if she understands ordinary conversation.  You know some people think dogs do.”

“Yes, sir; I know Vic does.”

“I’ll speak to her without altering my tone of voice.  Now watch.  ‘Here, Vicky, little girl, it’s all right; you may go with us.’”