It was truly a touching spectacle, and Henry was
hardly less moved by it than I. When Edmund and Jack came back, having
superintended the preparations, Jack was cut to the heart by the sight.
Immediately he declared that the "dog" must accompany us in the car, and
Edmund assented by a grave inclination of the head. The animal followed
us to the grave, and remained there watching us intently. He seemed to
have dismissed his fear, as if he comprehended that we were friends of
his master.
There were not more than twenty of the natives present at the interment,
and none of them showed signs of sorrow. And when the grave was closed
and we turned away, the little creature followed at our heels. Edmund had
carved on a flat stone the word "JUBA," and left it lying on the grave,
and Jack, having nothing else, threw a silver dollar on top of it. The
natives probably regarded these things as talismans, or religious
symbols, for they treated them with the greatest deference, and no doubt
they lie there yet, and will continue to lie there through all the eons,
for in those dry caverns the progress of decay can hardly be perceptible
even after the passage of ages.
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