Carlo got up and wagged his tail in answer, but he evidently was in no mood for running; he followed languidly behind.

“Let us get home,” said Robinson; “there is an old pal of mine that is clever about dogs, he will cut the shot out if there is one in him, and give him some physic.”

The men strode on, and each, to hide his own uneasiness, chatted about other matters; but all of a sudden Robinson cried out, “Why, where is the dog?” They looked back, and there was Carlo some sixty yards in the rear, but he was not sitting this time, he was lying on his belly.

“Oh! this is a bad job,” cried George.  The men ran up in real alarm; Carlo wagged his tail as soon as they came near him, but he did not get up.

“Carlo,” cried George, despairingly, “you wouldn’t do it, you couldn’t think to do it.  Oh, my dear Carlo, it is only making up your mind to live; keep up your heart, old fellow; don’t go to leave us alone among these villains.  My poor, dear, darling dog!  Oh, no! he won’t live, he can’t live; see how dull his poor, dear eye is getting.  Oh, Carlo!  Carlo!”

At the sound of his master’s voice in such distress, Carlo whimpered, and then he began to stretch his limbs out.  At the sight of this Robinson cried hastily: 

“Rub him, George; we did wrong to send him into the water.”

George rubbed him all over.  After rubbing him a while, he said: 

“Tom, I seem to feel him turning to dead under my hand.”

George’s hand in rubbing Carlo came round to the dog’s shoulder, then Carlo turned his head and for the third time began to lick George’s hand.  George let him lick his hand and gave up rubbing him, for where was the use?  Carlo never left off licking his hand, but feebly, very feebly, more and more feebly.

Presently, even while he was licking his hand, the poor thing’s teeth closed slowly on his loving tongue, and then he could lick the beloved hand no more.  Breath fluttered about his body a little while longer; but in truth he had ceased to live when he could no longer kiss his master’s hand.

And so the poor single-hearted soul was gone.

George took it up tenderly in his arms.  Robinson made an effort to console him.  “Don’t speak to me, if you please,” said George, gently but quickly.  He carried it home silently, and laid it silently down in a corner of the tent.

Robinson made a fire and put some steaks on, and made George slice some potatoes to keep him from looking always at what so little while since was Carlo.  Then they sat down silently and gloomily to dinner, it was long past their usual hour and they were workingmen.  Until we die we dine, come what may.  The first part of the meal passed in deep silence.  Then Robinson said sadly: 

“We will go home, George.  I fall into your wishes now.  Gold can’t pay for what we go through in this hellish place.”

“Not it,” replied George, quietly.