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 such good aim that he had hit the luckless Pierre on the head.

He fled down the regimental street followed by missiles and curses.

Two other dogs who had seen him running joined in the chase and he was run out of camp in disgrace.

Pierre was astonished, angry and disgusted. These soldier-men were surely different from those he had known. He, a War Dog, driven out of camp like an ordinary thief.

By night-time he was ravenously hungry and cold, and it was beginning to rain.

A couple of raw eggs and some steak would taste good. He had seen about enough of the world, anyway. He would go back to his mistress. What a scare he had given her!

So he threaded his way carefully on