With a gasping cry I knelt down by his side. I knew what had happened.
Far back in the soft belly, the slashing, razor-sharp claws of the lion had cut into the hollow.
In my inspections I had overlooked the wound. His entrails had worked out and had become entangled in the bush.
The forward motion of his body had done the rest. He whimpered as I laid my hand on his head.
A warm, red tongue flicked out at it. With tears in my eyes, I started talking to him.
“Hang on, boy,” I said. “Everything will be all right. I’ll take care of you.”
With trembling hands, I unwound the entrails from the bush.
With my handkerchief I wiped away the gravel, leaves, and pine needles.
With fingers that shook, I worked the entrails back into the wound.
Knowing that I couldn’t carry him and the ax and lantern, I stuck the ax deep in the side of a white oak tree.
I blew out the lantern and hung the handle over the other blade.
I wrapped my dog in my old sheepskin coat and hurried for home.
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