Marcus: the Young Centurion | Page 7

his face with his arms.
"Here, you are not half done!" cried Serge, poking him in the ribs with the butt end of his crook. "Get up, will you, or I'll make the other fellows stand you in a corner to be thrashed."
"Oh, let him be, Serge," cried Marcus. "I did give it him well, and hit him as hard as I could."
"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."
One minute the boy was resisting and tugging to get his leg free of the crook; the next, as soon as he realised that he was being set free, he dashed off, yelling threats of what he meant to do, till the dog sprang up with a growl, and the yells gave place to a shriek of fear, uttering which he disappeared from view.
"Oh, no, you don't!" cried Serge, as, taking advantage of the dog's back being turned, the others cautiously approached the door, and were about to make a dash for liberty.
As the old soldier spoke he thrust his crook across the doorway, and, as the boys fell back again, the dog resumed its watchful position and the door was closed.
Directly after, to Marcus' great enjoyment, there was a repetition of the previous proceedings, Serge selecting another victim with his crook from the five prisoners, dragging him out into the middle, where Marcus, who now thoroughly enjoyed his task, attacked him as Serge fell back, and, between him and the other lads, the second prisoner was forced to fight; but it was a sorry exhibition of cowardice, resulting in a certain amount of punishment, before he too lay down and howled, and was then set at liberty.
The proceedings were repeated till the other four had received a thrashing, and the last had clashed off, shamming terrible injury one minute till he was outside the door, and yelling defiance the next; and then, as the footsteps died out, Marcus threw himself upon the ground under the shady vines.
"Hallo!" cried Serge, anxiously. "Have they hurt you, boy?"
"No," was the reply; "but I hurt myself a good deal against their thick heads. But I say, Serge, do you think that was fair?"
"Fair? Of course it was!"
"But it seemed so one-sided, and as if I had it all my own way. They couldn't fight because they were afraid of you."
"Of you, you mean, boy, when it was man to man."
"No," said Marcus; "they'd have fought better if you and the dog hadn't been here."
"Yes, and they could all have come on you at once. A set of mongrel young hounds--half savages, that's what they are. You didn't thrash them half enough."
"Quite as much as I wanted to," cried the boy, "for my knuckles are as sore as sore. But oh, I say, Serge, it was comic!"
"They didn't think it was, my lad."
"I mean, to see you hooking them out one after another with your old crook, yelling and squealing like pigs."
"Humph!" grunted the old soldier, with his grim face relaxing. "Well, it has given them a pretty good scaring, and I don't suppose that they will come after our grapes again."
"Yah-h-ah!" came in a defiant chorus from a distance, where the young marauders had gathered together, and the dog sprang upon his feet, growling fiercely, before bursting into a deep, baying bark.
"Hear that?" cried Marcus.
"Hear it, yes! And it would not take much to make me set old Lupe after them. He'd soon catch them up, and then--"
"Yah-h-ah!"
"Fetch them down, boy!" shouted the old soldier, and, with a fierce roar, the dog dashed off in a series of tremendous bounds, but only to be checked by a shrill whistle from Marcus, which stopped the fierce beast and brought him trotting slowly back, to crouch down at his young master's feet.
"Why did you do that, lad?" cried the old soldier, staring.
"Because I didn't want Lupe to get amongst them, worrying and tearing. What would my father have said?"
The old soldier let his crook fall into the hollow of his left arm and pushed off his battered straw hat, to let it slide down between his shoulders, where it hung by its string, while, with his grim sun-tanned face as full of wrinkles as a walnut shell, he slowly swept the drops of moisture from his brow.
"Hah, yes," he said; "I didn't think of that. He wouldn't have liked it. He's got so soft and easy with people since he took to