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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Bob, Son of Battle, by Alfred Ollivant
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Bob, Son of Battle
+
+Author: Alfred Ollivant
+
+Posting Date: December 8, 2008 [EBook #2795]
+Release Date: February, 2007
+Last Updated: March 16, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BOB, SON OF BATTLE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer
+
+
+
+
+
+BOB, SON OF BATTLE
+
+By Alfred Ollivant
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+     PART I  THE COMING OF THE TAILLESS TYKE
+     Chapter I. The Gray Dog
+     Chapter II. A Son of Hagar
+     Chapter III. Red Wull
+     Chapter IV. First Blood
+
+
+     PART II THE LITTLE MAN
+     Chapter V. A Man's Son
+     Chapter VI. A Licking or a Lie
+     Chapter VII. The White Winter
+     Chapter VIII. M'Adam and His Coat
+
+
+     PART III THE SHEPHERDS' TROPHY
+     Chapter IX. Rivals,
+     Chapter X. Red Wull Wins
+     Chapter XI. Oor Bob,
+     Chapter XII. How Red Wull Held the Bridge
+     Chapter XIII. The Face in the Frame
+
+
+     PART IV THE BLACK KILLER
+     Chapter XIV. A Mad Man
+     Chapter XV. Death on the Marches,
+     Chapter XVI. The Black Killer
+     Chapter XVII. A Mad Dog
+     Chapter XVIII. How the Killer was Singed
+     Chapter XIX. Lad and Lass
+     Chapter XX. The Snapping of the String
+     Chapter XXI. Horror of Darkness
+
+
+     PART V OWD BOB O' KENMUIR
+     Chapter XXII. A Man and a Maid
+     Chapter XXIII. Th' Owd Un
+     Chapter XXIV. A Shot in the Night
+     Chapter XXV. The Shepherds' Trophy.
+
+
+     PART VI  THE BLACK KILLER
+     Chapter XXVI. Red-handed
+     Chapter XXVII. For the Defence
+     Chapter XXVIII. The Devil's Bowl
+     Chapter XXIX. The Devil's Bowl
+     Chapter XXX. The Tailless Tyke at Bay
+
+
+     Postscript
+
+
+
+
+PART I THE COMING OF THE TAILLESS TYKE
+
+
+
+Chapter I. THE GRAY DOG
+
+
+THE sun stared brazenly down on a gray farmhouse lying, long and low
+in the shadow of the Muir Pike; on the ruins of peel-tower and barmkyn,
+relics of the time of raids, it looked; on ranges of whitewashed
+outbuildings; on a goodly array of dark-thatched ricks.
+
+In the stack-yard, behind the lengthy range of stables, two men were
+thatching. One lay sprawling on the crest of the rick, the other stood
+perched on a ladder at a lower level.
+
+The latter, small, old, with shrewd nut-brown countenance, was Tammas
+Thornton, who had served the Moores of Kenmuir for more than half a
+century. The other, on top of the stack, wrapped apparently in gloomy
+meditation, was Sam'l Todd. A solid Dales--man, he, with huge hands and
+hairy arms; about his face an uncomely aureole of stiff, red hair; and
+on his features, deep-seated, an expression of resolute melancholy.
+
+“Ay, the Gray Dogs, bless 'em!” the old man was saying. “Yo' canna beat
+'em not nohow. Known 'em ony time this sixty year, I have, and niver
+knew a bad un yet. Not as I say, mind ye, as any on 'em cooms up to Rex
+son o' Rally. Ah, he was a one, was Rex! We's never won Cup since his
+day.”
+
+“Nor niver shall agin, yo' may depend,” said the other gloomily.
+
+Tammas clucked irritably.
+
+“G'long, Sam'! Todd!” he cried, “Yo' niver happy onless yo' making'
+yo'self miser'ble. I niver see sich a chap. Niver win agin? Why, oor
+young Bob he'll mak' a right un, I tell yo', and I should know. Not as
+what he'll touch Rex son o' Rally, mark ye! I'm niver saying' so, Sam'l
+Todd. Ah, he was a one, was Rex! I could tell yo' a tale or two o' Rex.
+I mind me hoo--”
+
+The big man interposed hurriedly.
+
+“I've heard it afore, Tammas, I welly 'ave,” he said.
+
+Tammas paused and looked angrily up.
+
+“Yo've heard it afore, have yo', Sam'l Todd?” he asked sharply. “And
+what have yo' heard afore?”
+
+“Yo' stories, owd lad--yo' stories o' Rex son o' Rally.”
+
+“Which on' em
+
+“All on 'em, Tammas, all on 'em--mony a time. I'm fair sick on 'em,
+Tammas, I welly am,” he pleaded.
+
+The old man gasped. He brought down his mallet with a vicious smack.
+
+“I'll niver tell yo' a tale agin, Sam'l Todd, not if yo' was to go on
+yo' bended knees for't. Nay; it bain't no manner o' use talkin'. Niver
+agin, says I.”
+
+“I niver askt yo',” declared honest Sam'l.
+
+“Nor it wouldna ha' bin no manner o' use if yo' had,” said the other
+viciously. “I'll niver tell yo' a tale agin if I was to live to be a
+hunderd.”
+
+“Yo'll not live to be a hunderd, Tammas Thornton, nor near it,” said
+Sam'l brutally.
+
+“I'll live as long as some, I warrant,” the old man replied with spirit.
+“I'll live to see Cup back i' Kenmuir, as I said afore.”
+
+“If yo' do,” the other declared with emphasis, “Sam'l Todd niver spake a
+true word. Nay, nay, lad; yo're owd, yo're wambly, your time's near run
+or I'm the more mistook.”
+
+“For mussy's sake hold yo' tongue, Sam'l Todd! It's clack-clack all
+day--” The old man broke off suddenly, and buckled to his work with
+suspicious vigor. “Mak' a show yo' bin workin', lad,” he whispered.
+“Here's Master and oor Bob.”
+
+As he spoke, a tall gaitered man with weather-beaten face, strong, lean,
+austere, and the blue-gray eyes of the hill-country, came striding into
+the yard. And trotting soberly at his heels, with the gravest, saddest
+eyes ever you saw, a sheep-dog puppy.
+
+A rare dark gray he was, his long coat, dashed here and there with
+lighter touches, like a stormy sea moonlit. Upon his chest an escutcheon
+of purest white, and the dome of his head showered, as it were, with
+a sprinkling of snow. Perfectly compact, utterly lithe, inimitably
+graceful with his airy-fairy action; a gentleman every inch, you could
+not help but stare at him--Owd Bob o' Kenmuir.
+
+At the foot of the ladder the two stopped. And the young dog, placing
+his forepaws on a lower rung, looked up, slowly waving his silvery
+brush.
+
+“A proper Gray Dog!” mused Tammas, gazing down into the dark face
+beneath him. “Small, yet big; light to get about on backs o' his sheep,
+yet not too light. Wi' a coat hard a-top to keep oot Daleland weather,
+soft as sealskin beneath. And wi' them sorrerful eyes on him as niver
+goes but wi' a good un. Amaist he minds me o' Rex son o' Rally.”
+
+“Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” groaned Sam'l. But the old man heard him not.
+
+“Did 'Enry Farewether tell yo' hoo he acted this mornin', Master?” he
+inquired, addressing the man at the foot of the ladder.
+
+“Nay,” said the other, his stern eyes lighting.
+
+“Why, 'twas this way, it seems,” Tammas continued. “Young bull gets
+'isseif loose, somegate and marches oot into yard, o'erturns milkpail,
+and prods owd pigs i' ribs. And as he stands lookin' about un, thinking'
+what he shall be up to next, oor Bob sees un 'An' what yo' doin' here,
+Mr. Bull?' he seems to say, cockin' his ears and trottin' up gay-like.
+Wi' that bull bloats fit to bust 'isseif, lashes wi's tail, waggles his
+head, and gets agate o' chargin' 'im. But Bob leaps oot o' way, quick
+as lightnin' yet cool as butter, and when he's done his foolin drives un
+back agin.”
+
+“Who seed all this?” interposed Sam'l, sceptically.
+
+“'Enry Farewether from the loft. So there, Fat'ead!” Tammas replied, and
+continued his tale. “So they goes on; bull chargin' and Bob drivin'
+un back and back, hoppin' in and oot agin, quiet as a cowcumber, yet
+determined. At last Mr. Bull sees it's no manner o' use that gate, so he
+turns, rares up, and tries to jump wall. Nary a bit. Young dog jumps
+in on un and nips him by tail. Wi' that, bull tumbles down in a hurry,
+turns wi' a kind o' groan, and marches back into stall, Bob after un.
+And then, dang me!”--the old man beat the ladder as he loosed off this
+last titbit,--“if he doesna sit' isseif i' door like a sentrynel till
+'Enry Farewether coom up. Hoo's that for a tyke not yet a year?”
+
+Even Sam'l Todd was moved by the tale.
+
+“Well done, oor Bob!” he cried.
+
+“Good, lad!” said the Master, laying a hand on the dark head at his
+knee.
+
+“Yo' may well say that,” cried Tammas in a kind of ecstasy. “A proper
+Gray Dog, I tell yo'. Wi' the brains of a man and the way of a woman.
+Ah, yo' canna beat 'em nohow, the Gray Dogs o' Kenmuir!”
+
+The patter of cheery feet rang out on the plank-bridge over the stream
+below them. Tammas glanced round.
+
+“Here's David,” he said. “Late this mornin' he be.”
+
+A fair-haired boy came spurring up the slope, his face all aglow with
+the speed of his running. Straightway the young dog dashed off to
+meet him with a fiery speed his sober gait belied. The two raced back
+together into the yard.
+
+“Poor lad!” said Sam'l gloomily, regarding the newcomer.
+
+“Poor heart!” muttered Tammas. While the Master's face softened visibly.
+Yet there looked little to pity in this jolly, rocking lad with the
+tousle of light hair and fresh, rosy countenance.
+
+“G'mornin', Mister Moore! Morn'n, Tammas! Morn'n, Sam'l!” he panted as
+he passed; and ran on through the hay-carpeted yard, round the corner of
+the stable, and into the house.
+
+In the kitchen, a long room with red-tiled floor and latticed windows,
+a woman, white-aproned and frail-faced, was bustling about her morning
+business. To her skirts clung a sturdy, bare-legged boy; while at
+the oak table in the centre of the room a girl with brown eyes and
+straggling hair was seated before a basin of bread and milk.
+
+“So yo've coom at last, David!” the woman cried, as the boy entered;
+and, bending, greeted him with a tender, motherly salutation, which he
+returned as affectionately. “I welly thowt yo'd forgot us this mornin'.
+Noo sit you' doon beside oor Maggie.” And soon he, too, was engaged in a
+task twin to the girl's.
+
+The two children munched away in silence, the little bare-legged boy
+watching them, the while, critically. Irritated by this prolonged stare,
+David at length turned on him.
+
+“Weel, little Andrew,” he said, speaking in that paternal fashion in
+which one small boy loves to address another. “Weel, ma little lad,
+yo'm coomin' along gradely.” He leant back in his chair the better to
+criticise his subject. But Andrew, like all the Moores, slow of speech,
+preserved a stolid silence, sucking a chubby thumb, and regarding his
+patron a thought cynically.
+
+David resented the expression on the boy's countenance, and half rose to
+his feet.
+
+“Yo' put another face on yo', Andrew Moore,” he cried threateningly, “or
+I'll put it for yo'.”
+
+Maggie, however, interposed opportunely.
+
+“Did yo' feyther beat yo' last night?” she inquired in a low voice; and
+there was a shade of anxiety in the soft brown eyes.
+
+“Nay,” the boy answered; “he was a-goin' to, but he never did. Drunk,”
+ he added in explanation.
+
+“What was he goin' to beat yo' for, David?” asked Mrs. Moore.
+
+“What for? Why, for the fun o't--to see me squiggle,” the boy replied,
+and laughed bitterly.
+
+“Yo' shouldna speak so o' your dad, David,” reproved the other as
+severely as was in her nature.
+
+“Dad! a fine dad! I'd dad him an I'd the chance,” the boy muttered
+beneath his breath. Then, to turn the conversation:
+
+“Us should be startin', Maggie,” he said, and going to the door. “Bob!
+Owd Bob, lad! Ar't coomin' along?” he called.
+
+The gray dog came springing up like an antelope, and the three started
+off for school together.
+
+Mrs. Moore stood in the doorway, holding Andrew by the hand, and watched
+the departing trio.
+
+“'Tis a pretty pair, Master, surely,” she said softly to her husband,
+who came up at the moment.
+
+“Ay, he'll be a fine lad if his fether'll let him,” the tall man
+answered.
+
+“Tis a shame Mr. M'Adam should lead him such a life,” the woman
+continued indignantly. She laid a hand on her husband's arm, and looked
+up at him coaxingly.
+
+“Could yo' not say summat to un, Master, think 'ee? Happen he'd 'tend
+to you,” she pleaded. For Mrs. Moore imagined that there could be no one
+but would gladly heed what James Moore, Master of Kenmuir, might say
+to him. “He's not a bad un at bottom, I do believe,” she continued. “He
+never took on so till his missus died. Eh, but he was main fond o' her.”
+
+Her husband shook his head “Nay, mother,” he said “'Twould nob' but
+mak' it worse for t' lad. M'Adam'd listen to no one, let alone me.” And,
+indeed, he was right; for the tenant of the Grange made no secret of his
+animosity for his straight-going, straight-speaking neighbor.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Owd Bob, in the mean time, had escorted the children to the larch-copse
+bordering on the lane which leads to the village. Now he crept
+stealthily back to the yard, and established himself behind the
+water-butt.
+
+How he played and how he laughed; how he teased old Whitecap till that
+gray gander all but expired of apoplexy and impotence; how he ran the
+roan bull-calf, and aroused the bitter wrath of a portly sow, mother of
+many, is of no account.
+
+At last, in the midst of his merry mischief-making, a stern voice
+arrested him.
+
+“Bob, lad, I see 'tis time we larned you yo' letters.”
+
+So the business of life began for that dog of whom the simple
+farmer-folk of the Daleland still love to talk,--Bob, son of Battle,
+last of the Gray Dogs of Kenmuir.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter II. A SON OF HAGAR
+
+
+It is a lonely country, that about the Wastrel-dale.
+
+Parson Leggy Hornbut will tell you that his is the smallest church in
+the biggest parish north of the Derwent, and that his cure numbers more
+square miles than parishioners. Of fells and ghylls it consists, of
+becks and lakes; with here a scattered hamlet and there a solitary hill
+sheep-farm. It is a country in which sheep are paramount; and every
+other Dalesman is engaged in that profession which is as old as Abel.
+And the talk of the men of the land is of wethers and gimmers, of
+tup-hoggs, ewe tegs in wool, and other things which are but fearsome
+names to you and me; and always of the doings or misdoings, the
+intelligence or stupidity, of their adjutants, the sheep-dogs.
+
+Of all the Daleland, the country from the Black Water to Grammoch Pike
+is the wildest. Above the tiny stone-built village of Wastrel-dale the
+Muir Pike nods its massive head. Westward, the desolate Mere Marches,
+from which the Sylvesters' great estate derives its name, reach away in
+mile on mile of sheep infested, wind-swept moorland. On the far side of
+the Marches is that twin dale where flows the gentle Silver Lea. And it
+is there in the paddocks at the back of the Dalesman's Daughter, that,
+in the late summer months, the famous sheep-dog Trials of the North are
+held. There that the battle for the Dale Cup, the world-known Shepherds'
+Trophy, is fought out.
+
+Past the little inn leads the turnpike road to the market-centre of the
+district--Grammoch-town. At the bottom of the paddocks at the back of
+the inn winds the Silver Lea. Just there a plank bridge crosses the
+stream, and, beyond, the Murk Muir Pass crawls up the sheer side of the
+Scaur on to the Mere Marches.
+
+At the head of the Pass, before it debouches on to those lonely
+sheep-walks which divide the two dales, is that hollow, shuddering with
+gloomy possibilities, aptly called the Devil's Bowl. In its centre the
+Lone Tarn, weirdly suggestive pool, lifts its still face to the sky. It
+was beside that black, frozen water, across whose cold surface the storm
+was swirling in white snow-wraiths, that, many, many years ago (not in
+this century), old Andrew Moore came upon the mother of the Gray Dogs of
+Kenmuir.
+
+In the North, every one who has heard of the Muir Pike--and who has
+not?--has heard of the Gray Dogs of Kenmuir, every one who has heard
+of the Shepherd's Trophy--and who has not?--knows their fame. In that
+country of good dogs and jealous masters the pride of place has long
+been held unchallenged. Whatever line may claim to follow the Gray Dogs
+always lead the van. And there is a saying in the land: “Faithfu' as the
+Moores and their tykes.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On the top dresser to the right of the fireplace in the kitchen
+of Kenmuir lies the family Bible. At the end you will find a loose
+sheet--the pedigree of the Gray Dogs; at the beginning, pasted on the
+inside, an almost similar sheet, long since yellow with age--the family
+register of the Moores of Kenmuir.
+
+Running your eye down the loose leaf, once, twice, and again it will be
+caught by a small red cross beneath a name, and under the cross the one
+word “Cup.” Lastly, opposite the name of Rex son of Rally, are two of
+those proud, tell-tale marks. The cup referred to is the renowned Dale
+Cup--Champion Challenge Dale Cup, open to the world. Had Rex won it but
+once again the Shepherds' Trophy, which many men have lived to win, and
+died still striving after, would have come to rest forever in the little
+gray house below the Pike.
+
+It was not to be, however. Comparing the two sheets, you read beneath
+the dog's name a date and a pathetic legend; and on the other sheet,
+written in his son's boyish hand, beneath the name of Andrew Moore the
+same date and the same legend.
+
+From that day James Moore, then but a boy, was master of Kenmuir.
+
+So past Grip and Rex and Rally, and a hundred others, until at the foot
+of the page you come to that last name--Bob, son of Battle.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+From the very first the young dog took to his work in a manner to
+amaze even James Moore. For a while he watched his mother, Meg, at her
+business, and with that seemed to have mastered the essentials of sheep
+tactics.
+
+Rarely had such fiery élan been seen on the sides of the Pike; and with
+it the young dog combined a strange sobriety, an admirable patience,
+that justified, indeed, the epithet. “Owd.” Silent he worked, and
+resolute; and even in those days had that famous trick of coaxing the
+sheep to do his wishes;--blending, in short, as Tammas put it, the
+brains of a man with the way of a woman.
+
+Parson Leggy, who was reckoned the best judge of a sheep or sheep-dog
+'twixt Tyne and Tweed, summed him up in the one word “Genius.” And James
+Moore himself, cautious man, was more than pleased.
+
+In the village, the Dalesmen, who took a personal pride in the Gray Dogs
+of Kenmuir, began to nod sage heads when “oor” Bob was mentioned. Jim
+Mason, the postman, whose word went as far with the villagers as Parson
+Leggy's with the gentry, reckoned he'd never seen a young un as so took
+his fancy.
+
+That winter it grew quite the recognized thing, when they had gathered
+of a night round the fire in the Sylvester Arms, with Tammas in the
+centre, old Jonas Maddox on his right, Rob Saunderson of the Holt on the
+left, and the others radiating away toward the sides, for some one to
+begin with:
+
+“Well, and what o' oor Bob, Mr. Thornton?”
+
+To which Tammas would always make reply:
+
+“Oh, yo' ask Sam'l there. He'll tell yo' better'n me, “--and would
+forthwith plunge, himself, into a yarn.
+
+And the way in which, as the story proceeded, Tupper of Swinsthwaite
+winked at Ned Hoppin of Fellsgarth, and Long Kirby, the smith, poked Jem
+Burton, the publican, in the ribs, and Sexton Ross said, “Ma word, lad!”
+ spoke more eloquently than many words.
+
+One man only never joined in the chorus of admiration. Sitting always
+alone in the background, little M'Adam would listen with an incredulous
+grin on his sallow face.
+
+“Oh, ma certes! The devil's in the dog! It's no cannie ava!” he would
+continually exclaim, as Tammas told his tale.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the Daleland you rarely see a stranger's face. Wandering in the wild
+country about the twin dales at the time of this story, you might have
+met Parson Leggy, striding along with a couple of varmint terriers at
+his heels, and young Cyril Gilbraith, whom he was teaching to tie flies
+and fear God, beside him; or Jim Mason, postman by profession, poacher
+by predilection, honest man and sportsman by nature, hurrying along with
+the mail-bags on his shoulder, a rabbit in his pocket, and the faithful
+Betsy a yard behind. Besides these you might have hit upon a quiet
+shepherd and a wise-faced dog; Squire Sylvester, going his rounds upon
+a sturdy cob; or, had you been lucky, sweet Lady Eleanour bent upon some
+errand of mercy to one of the many tenants.
+
+It was while the Squire's lady was driving through the village on a
+visit* to Tammas's slobbering grandson--it was shortly after Billy
+Thornton's advent into the world--that little M'Adam, standing in the
+door of the Sylvester Arms, with a twig in his mouth and a sneer fading
+from his lips, made his ever-memorable remark:
+
+“Sall!” he said, speaking in low, earnest voice; “'tis a muckle wumman.”
+
+     Note:* It was this visit which figured in the Grammoch-town
+     _Argus_ (local and radical) under the heading of “Alleged
+     Wholesale Corruption by Tory Agents.” And that is why, on
+     the following market day, Herbert Trotter, journalist,
+     erstwhile gentleman, and Secretary of the Dale Trials, found
+     himself trying to swim in the public horse-trough.
+
+“What? What be sayin', mon?” cried old Jonas, startled out of his usual
+apathy.
+
+M'Adam turned sharply on the old man.
+
+“I said the wumman wears a muckle hat!” he snapped.
+
+Blotted out as it was, the observation still remains--a tribute of
+honest admiration. Doubtless the Recording Angel did not pass it by.
+That one statement anent the gentle lady of the manor is the only
+personal remark ever credited to little M'Adam not born of malice and
+all uncharitableness. And that is why it is ever memorable.
+
+The little Scotsman with the sardonic face had been the tenant of the
+Grange these many years; yet he had never grown acclimatized to the
+land of the Southron. With his shrivelled body and weakly legs he looked
+among the sturdy, straight-limbed sons of the hill-country like some
+brown, wrinkled leaf holding its place midst a galaxy of green. And as
+he differed from them physically, so he did morally.
+
+He neither understood them nor attempted to. The North-country character
+was an unsolved mystery to him, and that after ten years' study.
+“One-half o' what ye say they doot, and they let ye see it; t'ither half
+they disbelieve, and they tell ye so,” he once said. And that explained
+his attitude toward them, and consequently theirs toward him.
+
+He stood entirely alone; a son of Hagar, mocking. His sharp, ill tongue
+was rarely still, and always bitter. There was hardly a man in the land,
+from Langholm How to the market-cross in Grammoch-town, but had at
+one time known its sting, endured it in silence--for they are slow of
+speech, these men of the fells and meres--and was nursing his resentment
+till a day should bring that chance which always comes. And when at
+the Sylvester Arms, on one of those rare occasions when M'Adam was not
+present, Tammas summed up the little man in that historic phrase of his,
+“When he's drunk he's wi'lent, and when he bain't he's wicious,” there
+was an applause to gratify the blasé heart of even Tammas Thornton.
+
+Yet it had not been till his wife's death that the little man had
+allowed loose rein to his ill-nature. With her firmly gentle hand no
+longer on the tiller of his life, it burst into fresh being. And alone
+in the world with David, the whole venom of his vicious temperament was
+ever directed against the boy's head. It was as though he saw in his
+fair-haired son the unconscious cause of his ever-living sorrow. All
+the more strange this, seeing that, during her life, the boy had been
+to poor Flora M'Adam as her heart's core. And the lad was growing up the
+very antithesis of his father. Big and hearty, with never an ache or ill
+in the whole of his sturdy young body; of frank, open countenance; while
+even his speech was slow and burring like any Dale-bred boy's. And
+the fact of it all, and that the lad was palpably more Englishman than
+Scot--ay, and gloried in it--exasperated the little man, a patriot
+before everything, to blows. While, on top of it, David evinced an
+amazing pertness fit to have tried a better man than Adam M'Adam.
+
+On the death of his wife, kindly Elizabeth Moore had, more than once,
+offered such help to the lonely little man as a woman only can give in
+a house that knows no mistress. On the last of these occasions, after
+crossing the Stony Bottom, which divides the two farms, and toiling up
+the hill to the Grange, she had met M'Adam in the door.
+
+“Yo' maun let me put yo' bit things straight for yo', mister,” she had
+said shyly; for she feared the little man.
+
+“Thank ye, Mrs. Moore,” he had answered with the sour smile the Dalesmen
+knew so well, “but ye maun think I'm a waefu' cripple.” And there he had
+stood, grinning sardonically, opposing his small bulk in the very centre
+of the door.
+
+Mrs. Moore had turned down the hill, abashed and hurt at the reception
+of her offer; and her husband, proud to a fault, had forbidden her
+to repeat it. Nevertheless her motherly heart went out in a great
+tenderness for the little orphan David. She knew well the desolateness
+of his life; his father's aversion from him, and its inevitable
+consequences.
+
+It became an institution for the boy to call every morning at Kenmuir,
+and trot off to the village school with Maggie Moore. And soon the lad
+came to look on Kenmuir as his true home, and James and Elizabeth Moore
+as his real parents. His greatest happiness was to be away from the
+Grange. And the ferret-eyed little man there noted the fact, bitterly
+resented it, and vented his ill-humor accordingly.
+
+It was this, as he deemed it, uncalled-for trespassing on his authority
+which was the chief cause of his animosity against James Moore. The
+Master of Kenmuir it was at whom he was aiming when he remarked one
+day at the Arms: “Masel', I aye prefaire the good man who does no go to
+church, to the bad man who does. But then, as ye say, Mr. Burton, I'm
+peculiar.”
+
+The little man's treatment of David, exaggerated as it was by eager
+credulity, became at length such a scandal to the Dale that Parson Leggy
+determined to bring him to task on the matter.
+
+Now M'Adam was the parson's pet antipathy. The bluff old minister, with
+his brusque manner and big heart, would have no truck with the man who
+never went to church, was perpetually in liquor, and never spoke good of
+his neighbors. Yet he entered upon the interview fully resolved not to
+be betrayed into an unworthy expression of feeling; rather to appeal to
+the little man's better nature.
+
+The conversation had not been in progress two minutes, however, before
+he knew that, where he had meant to be calmly persuasive, he was fast
+become hotly abusive.
+
+“You, Mr. Hornbut, wi' James Moore to help ye, look after the lad's
+soul, I'll see to his body,” the little man was saying.
+
+The parson's thick gray eyebrows lowered threateningly over his eyes.
+
+“You ought to be ashamed of yourself to talk like that. Which d'you
+think the more important, soul or body? Oughtn't you, his father, to be
+the very first to care for the boy's soul? If not, who should? Answer
+me, sir.”
+
+The little man stood smirking and sucking his eternal twig, entirely
+unmoved by the other's heat.
+
+“Ye're right, Mr. Hornbut, as ye aye are. But my argiment is this: that
+I get at his soul best through his leetle carcase.”
+
+The honest parson brought down his stick with an angry thud.
+
+“M'Adam, you're a brute--a brute!” he shouted. At which outburst the
+little man was seized with a spasm of silent merriment.
+
+“A fond dad first, a brute afterward, aiblins--he! he! Ah, Mr. Hornbut!
+ye 'ford me vast diversion, ye do indeed, 'my loved, my honored,
+much-respected friend.”
+
+“If you paid as much heed to your boy's welfare as you do to the bad
+poetry of that profligate ploughman--”
+
+An angry gleam shot into the other's eyes. “D'ye ken what blasphemy is,
+Mr. Hornbut?” he asked, shouldering a pace forward.
+
+For the first time in the dispute the parson thought he was about to
+score a point, and was calm accordingly.
+
+“I should do; I fancy I've a specimen of the breed before me now. And
+d'you know what impertinence is?”
+
+“I should do; I fancy I've--I awd say it's what gentlemen aften are
+unless their mammies whipped 'em as lads.”
+
+For a moment the parson looked as if about to seize his opponent and
+shake him.
+
+“M'Adam,” he roared, “I'll not stand your insolences!”
+
+The little man turned, scuttled indoors, and came running back with a
+chair.
+
+“Permit me!” he said blandly, holding it before him like a haircutter
+for a customer.
+
+The parson turned away. At the gap in the hedge he paused.
+
+“I'll only say one thing more,” he called slowly. “When your wife, whom
+I think we all loved, lay dying in that room above you, she said to you
+in my presence--”
+
+It was M'Adam's turn to be angry. He made a step forward with burning
+face.
+
+“Aince and for a', Mr. Hornbut,” he cried passionately, “onderstand I'll
+not ha' you and yer likes lay yer tongues on ma wife's memory whenever
+it suits ye. You can say what ye like aboot me--lies, sneers, snash--and
+I'll say naethin'. I dinna ask ye to respect me; I think ye might do sae
+muckle by her, puir lass. She never harmed ye. Gin ye canna let her bide
+in peace where she lies doon yonder”--he waved in the direction of the
+churchyard--“ye'll no come on ma land. Though she is dead she's mine.”
+
+Standing in front of his house, with flushed face and big eyes, the
+little man looked almost noble in his indignation. And the parson,
+striding away down the hill, was uneasily conscious that with him was
+not the victory.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter III. RED WULL
+
+
+THE winter came and went; the lambing season was over, and spring
+already shyly kissing the land. And the back of the year's work broken,
+and her master well started on a fresh season, M'Adam's old collie,
+Cuttie Sark, lay down one evening and passed quietly away.
+
+The little black-and-tan lady, Parson Leggy used to say, had been
+the only thing on earth M'Adam cared for. Certainly the two had been
+wondrously devoted; and for many a market-day the Dalesmen missed the
+shrill, chuckling cry which heralded the pair's approach: “Weel done,
+Cuttie Sark!”
+
+The little man felt his loss acutely, and, according to his wont, vented
+his ill-feeling on David and the Dalesmen. In return, Tammas, whose
+forte lay in invective and alliteration, called him behind his back,
+“A wenomous one!” and “A wiralent wiper!” to the applause of tinkling
+pewters.
+
+A shepherd without his dog is like a ship without a rudder, and M'Adam
+felt his loss practically as well as otherwise. Especially did he
+experience this on a day when he had to take a batch of draft-ewes over
+to Grammoch-town. To help him Jem Burton had lent the services of his
+herring-gutted, herring-hearted, greyhound lurcher, Monkey. But before
+they had well topped Braithwaite Brow, which leads from the village
+on to the marches, M'Adam was standing in the track with a rock in his
+hand, a smile on his face, and the tenderest blandishments in his voice
+as he coaxed the dog to him. But Master Monkey knew too much for that.
+However, after gamboling a while longer in the middle of the flock, a
+boulder, better aimed than its predecessors, smote him on the hinder
+parts and sent him back to the Sylvester Arms, with a sore tail and a
+subdued heart.
+
+For the rest, M'Adam would never have won over the sheep-infested
+marches alone with his convoy had it not been for the help of old
+Saunderson and Shep, who caught him on the way and aided him.
+
+It was in a very wrathful mood that on his way home he turned into the
+Dalesman's Daughter in Silverdale.
+
+The only occupants of the tap-room, as he entered, were Teddy Bolstock,
+the publican, Jim Mason, with the faithful Betsy beneath his chair and
+the post-bags flung into the corner, and one long-limbed, drover-like
+man--a stranger.
+
+“And he coom up to Mr. Moore,” Teddy was saying, “and says he, 'I'll gie
+ye twal' pun for yon gray dog o' yourn.' 'Ah,' says Moore, 'yo' may gie
+me twal' hunner'd and yet you'll not get ma Bob.'--Eh, Jim?”
+
+“And he did thot,” corroborated Jim. “'Twal' hunner'd,' says he.”
+
+“James Moore and his dog agin” snapped M'Adam. “There's ithers in the
+warld for bye them twa.”
+
+“Ay, but none like 'em,” quoth loyal Jim.
+
+“Na, thanks be. Gin there were there'd be no room for Adam M'Adam in
+this 'melancholy vale.'”
+
+There was silence a moment, and then--:
+
+“You're wantin' a tyke, bain't you, Mr. M'Adam?” Jim asked.
+
+The little man hopped round all in a hurry.
+
+“What!” he cried in well-affected eagerness, scanning the yellow mongrel
+beneath the chair. “Betsy for sale! Guid life! Where's ma check-book?”
+ Whereat Jim, most easily snubbed of men, collapsed.
+
+M'Adam took off his dripping coat and crossed the room to hang it on a
+chair-back. The stranger drover followed the meagre, shirt-clad figure
+with shifty eyes; then he buried his face in his mug.
+
+M'Adam reached out a hand for the chair; and as he did so, a bomb in
+yellow leapt out from beneath it, and, growling horribly, attacked his
+ankles.
+
+“Curse ye!” cried M'Adam, starting back.
+
+“Ye devil, let me alone!” Then turning fiercely on the drover, “Yours,
+mister?” he asked. The man nodded. “Then call him aff, can't ye? D--n
+ye!” At which Teddy Bolstock withdrew, sniggering; and Jim Mason slung
+the post-bags on to his shoulder and plunged out into the rain, the
+faithful Betsy following, disconsolate.
+
+The cause of the squall, having beaten off the attacking force, had
+withdrawn again beneath its chair. M'Adam stooped down, still cursing,
+his wet coat on his arm, and beheld a tiny yellow puppy, crouching
+defiant in the dark, and glaring out with fiery light eyes. Seeing
+itself remarked, it bared its little teeth, raised its little bristles,
+and growled a hideous menace.
+
+A sense of humor is many a man's salvation, and was M'Adam's one
+redeeming feature. The laughableness of the thing--this ferocious atomy
+defying him--struck home to the little man. Delighted at such a display
+of vice in so tender a plant, he fell to chuckling.
+
+“Ye leetle devil!” he laughed. “He! he! ye leetle devil!” and flipped
+together finger and thumb in vain endeavor to coax the puppy to him.
+
+But it growled, and glared more terribly.
+
+“Stop it, ye little snake, or I'll flatten you!” cried the big drover,
+and shuffled his feet threateningly. Whereat the puppy, gurgling like
+hot water in a kettle, made a feint as though to advance and wipe them
+out, these two bad men.
+
+M'Adam laughed again, and smote his leg.
+
+“Keep a ceevil tongue and yer distance,” says he, “or I'll e'en ha' to
+mak' ye. Though he is but as big as a man's thumb, a dog's a dog for
+a' that--he! he! the leetle devil.” And he fell to flipping finger and
+thumb afresh.
+
+“Ye're maybe wantin' a dog?” inquired the stranger. “Yer friend said as
+much.”
+
+“Ma friend lied; it's his way,” M'Adam replied.
+
+“I'm willin' to part wi' him,” the other pursued.
+
+The little man yawned. “Weel, I'll tak' him to oblige ye,” he said
+indifferently.
+
+The drover rose to his feet.
+
+“It's givin' 'im ye, fair givin' im ye, mind! But I'll do it!”--he
+smacked a great fist into a hollow palm. “Ye may have the dog for a
+pun'--I'll only ask _you_ a pun',” and he walked away to the window.
+
+M'Adam drew back, the better to scan his would-be benefactor; his lower
+jaw dropped, and he eyed the stranger with a drolly sarcastic air.
+
+“A poun', man! A pouxi'--for yon noble dorg!” he pointed a crooked
+forefinger at the little creature, whose scowling mask peered from
+beneath the chair. “Man, I couldna do it. Na, na; ma conscience wadna
+permit me. 'Twad be fair robbin' ye. Ah, ye Englishmen!” he spoke half
+to himself, and sadly, as if deploring the unhappy accident of his
+nationality; “it's yer grand, open-hairted generosity that grips a
+puir Scotsman by the throat. A poun'! and for yon!” He wagged his head
+mournfully, cocking it sideways the better to scan his subject.
+
+“Take him or leave him,” ordered the drover truculently, still gazing
+out of the window.
+
+“Wi' yer permission I'll leave him,” M'Adam answered meekly.
+
+“I'm short o' the ready,” the big man pursued, “or I wouldna part with
+him. Could I bide me time there's many'd be glad to give me a tenner
+for one o' that bree--” he caught himself up hastily--“for a dog sic as
+that.”
+
+“And yet ye offer him me for a poun'! Noble indeed!”
+
+Nevertheless the little man had pricked his ears at the other's slip
+and quick correction. Again he approached the puppy, dangling his coat
+before him to protect his ankles; and again that wee wild beast sprang
+out, seized the coat in its small jaw, and worried it savagely.
+
+M'Adam stooped quickly and picked up his tiny assailant; and the
+puppy, suspended by its neck, gurgled and slobbered; then, wriggling
+desperately round, made its teeth meet in its adversary's shirt. At
+which M'Adam shook it gently and laughed. Then he set to examining it.
+
+Apparently some six weeks old; a tawny coat, fiery eyes, a square head
+with small, cropped ears, and a comparatively immense jaw; the whole
+giving promise of great strength, if little beauty. And this effect
+was enhanced by the manner of its docking. For the miserable relic of
+a tail, yet raw, looked little more than a red button adhering to its
+wearer's stern.
+
+M'Adam's inspection was as minute as it was apparently absorbing; he
+omitted nothing from the square muzzle to the lozenge-like scut. And
+every now and then he threw a quick glance at the man at the window, who
+was watching the careful scrutiny a thought uneasily.
+
+“Ye've cut him short,” he said at length, swinging round on the drover.
+
+“Ay; strengthens their backs,” the big man answered with averted gaze.
+
+M'Adam's chin went up in the air; his mouth partly opened and his
+eyelids partly closed as he eyed his informant.
+
+“Oh, ay,” he said.
+
+“Gie him back to me,” ordered the drover surlily. He took the puppy
+and set it on the floor; whereupon it immediately resumed its former
+fortified position. “Ye're no buyer; I knoo that all along by that face
+on ye,” he said in insulting tones.
+
+“Ye wad ha' bought him yerseif', nae doot?” M'Adam inquired blandly.
+
+“In course; if you says so.”
+
+“Or airblins ye bred him?”
+
+“'Appen I did.”
+
+“Ye'll no be from these parts?”
+
+“Will I no?” answered the other.
+
+A smile of genuine pleasure stole over M'Adam's face. He laid his hand
+on the other's arm.
+
+“Man,” he said gently, “ye mind me o' hame.” Then almost in the same
+breath: “Ye said ye found him?”
+
+It was the stranger's turn to laugh.
+
+“Ha! ha! Ye teekle me, little mon. Found 'im? Nay; I was give 'im by a
+friend. But there's nowt amiss wi' his breedin', ye may believe me.”
+
+The great fellow advanced to the chair under which the puppy lay. It
+leapt out like a lion, and fastened on his huge boot.
+
+“A rare bred un, look 'ee! a rare game un. Ma word, he's a big-hearted
+un! Look at the back on him; see the jaws to him; mark the pluck of
+him!” He shook his booted foot fiercely, tossing his leg to and fro like
+a tree in a wind. But the little creature, now raised ceilingward, now
+dashed to the ground, held on with incomparable doggedness, till its
+small jaw was all bloody and muzzle wrinkled with the effort.
+
+“Ay, ay, that'll do,” M'Adam interposed, irritably.
+
+The drover ceased his efforts.
+
+“Now, I'll mak' ye a last offer.” He thrust his head down to a level
+with the other's, shooting out his neck. “It's throwin' him at ye, mind.
+'Tain't buyin' him ye'll be--don't go for to deceive yourself. Ye may
+have him for fifteen shillin'. Why do I do it, ye ask? Why, 'cos I think
+ye'll be kind to him,” as the puppy retreated to its chair, leaving a
+spotted track of red along its route.
+
+“Ay, ye wadna be happy gin ye thocht he'd no a comfortable hame,
+conseederate man?” M'Adam answered, eyeing the dark track on the floor.
+Then he put on his coat.
+
+“Na, na, he's no for me. Weel, I'll no detain ye. Good-nicht to ye,
+mister!” and he made for the door.
+
+“A gran' worker he'll be,” called the drover after him.
+
+“Ay; muckle wark he'll mak' amang the sheep wi' sic a jaw and sic a
+temper. Weel, I maun be steppin'. Good-nicht to ye.”
+
+“Ye'll niver have sich anither chanst.”
+
+“Nor niver wush to. Na, na; he'll never mak' a sheep-dog”; and the
+little man turned up the collar of his coat.
+
+“Will he not?” cried the other scornfully. “There niver yet was one o'
+that line--” he stopped abruptly.
+
+The little man spun round.
+
+“Iss?” he said, as innocent as any child; “ye were sayin'?”
+
+The other turned to the window and watched the rain falling
+monotonously.
+
+“Ye'll be wantin' wet,” he said adroitly.
+
+“Ay, we could do wi' a drappin'. And he'll never mak' a sheep-dog.”
+ He shoved his cap down on his head. “Weel, good-nicht to ye!” and he
+stepped out into the rain.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was long after dark when the bargain was finally struck.
+
+Adam M'Adam's Red Wull became that little man's property for the
+following realizable assets: ninepence in cash--three coppers and a
+doubtful sixpence; a plug of suspicious tobacco in a well-worn pouch;
+and an old watch.
+
+“It's clean givin' 'im ye,” said the stranger bitterly, at the end of
+the deal.
+
+“It's mair the charity than aught else mak's me sae leeberal,” the other
+answered gently. “I wad not like to see ye pinched.”
+
+“Thank ye kindly,” the big man replied with some acerbity, and plunged
+out into the darkness and rain. Nor was that long-limbed drover-man ever
+again seen in the countryside. And the puppy's previous history--whether
+he was honestly come by or no, whether he was, indeed, of the famous Red
+McCulloch* strain, ever remained a mystery in the Daleland.
+
+     *N. B.--You may know a Red McCulloch anywhere by the ring of
+     white upon his tail some two inches from the root.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter IV. FIRST BLOOD
+
+
+AFTER that first encounter in the Dalesman's Daughter, Red Wull, for
+so M'Adam called him, resigned himself complacently to his lot;
+recognizing, perhaps, his destiny.
+
+Thenceforward the sour little man and the vicious puppy grew, as it
+were, together. The two were never apart. Where M'Adam was, there was
+sure to be his tiny attendant, bristling defiance as he kept ludicrous
+guard over his master.
+
+The little man and his dog were inseparable. M'Adam never left him even
+at the Grange.
+
+“I couldna trust ma Wullie at hame alone wi' the dear lad,” was his
+explanation. “I ken weel I'd come back to find a wee corpse on the
+floor, and David singin':
+
+     'My heart is sair, I daur na tell,
+     My heart is sair for somebody.'
+
+Ay, and he'd be sair elsewhere by the time I'd done wi' him--he! he!”
+
+The sneer at David's expense was as characteristic as it was unjust.
+For though the puppy and the boy were already sworn enemies, yet the
+lad would have scorned to harm so small a foe. And many a tale did David
+tell at Kenmuir of Red Wull's viciousness, of his hatred of him (David),
+and his devotion to his master; how, whether immersed in the pig-bucket
+or chasing the fleeting rabbit, he would desist at once, and bundle,
+panting, up at his master's call; how he routed the tomcat and drove him
+from the kitchen; and how he clambered on to David's bed and pinned him
+murderously by the nose.
+
+Of late the relations between M'Adam and James Moore had been unusually
+strained. Though they were neighbors, communications between the two
+were of the rarest; and it was for the first time for many a long
+day that, on an afternoon shortly after Red Wull had come into his
+possession, M'Adam entered the yard of Kenmuir, bent on girding at the
+master for an alleged trespass at the Stony Bottom.
+
+“Wi' yer permission, Mr. Moore,” said the little man, “I'll wheestle ma
+dog,” and, turning, he whistled a shrill, peculiar note like the cry of
+a disturbed peewit.
+
+Straightway there came scurrying desperately up, ears back, head down,
+tongue out, as if the world depended on his speed, a little tawny beetle
+of a thing, who placed his forepaws against his master's ankles
+and looked up into his face; then, catching sight of the strangers,
+hurriedly he took up his position between them and M'Adam, assuming his
+natural attitude of grisly defiance. Such a laughable spectacle he made,
+that martial mite, standing at bay with bristles up and teeth bared,
+that even James Moore smiled.
+
+“Ma word! Ha' yo' brought his muzzle, man?” cried old Tammas, the
+humorist; and, turning, climbed all in a heat on to an upturned bucket
+that stood by. Whereat the puppy, emboldened by his foe's retreat,
+advanced savagely to the attack, buzzing round the slippery pail like a
+wasp on a windowpane, in a vain attempt to reach the old man.
+
+Tammas stood on the top, hitching his trousers and looking down on his
+assailant, the picture of mortal fear.
+
+“'Elp! Oh, 'elp!” he bawled. “Send for the sogers! Fetch the p'lice!
+For lawk-amussy's sake call him off, man!” Even Sam'l Todd, watching
+the scene from the cart-shed, was tickled and burst into a loud guffaw,
+heartily backed by 'Enry and oor Job. While M'Adam remarked: “Ye're
+fitter for a stage than a stable-bucket, Mr. Thornton.”
+
+“How didst come by him?” asked Tammas, nodding at the puppy.
+
+“Found him,” the little man replied, sucking his twig. “Found him in
+ma stockin' on ma birthday. A present from ma leetle David for his auld
+dad, I doot.”
+
+“So do I,” said Tammas, and was seized with sudden spasm of seemingly
+causeless merriment. For looking up as M'Adam was speaking, he had
+caught a glimpse of a boy's fair head, peering cautiously round the
+cow-shed, and, behind, the flutter of short petticoats. They disappeared
+as silently as they had come; and two small figures, just returned from
+school, glided away and sought shelter in the friendly darkness of a
+coal-hole.
+
+“Coom awa', Maggie, coom awa'! 'Tis th' owd un, 'isself,” whispered a
+disrespectful voice.
+
+M'Adam looked round suspiciously.
+
+“What's that?” he asked sharply.
+
+At the moment, however, Mrs. Moore put her head out of the kitchen
+window.
+
+“Coom thy ways in, Mister M'Adam, and tak' a soop o' tea,” she called
+hospitably.
+
+“Thank ye kindly, Mrs. Moore, I will,” he answered, politely for him.
+And this one good thing must be allowed of Adam M'Adam: that, if there
+was only one woman of whom he was ever known to speak well, there was
+also only one, in the whole course of his life, against whom he ever
+insinuated evil--and that was years afterward, when men said his brain
+was sapped. Flouts and jeers he had for every man, but a woman, good or
+bad, was sacred to him. For the sex that had given him his mother and
+his wife he had that sentiment of tender reverence which, if a man still
+preserve, he cannot be altogether bad. As he turned into the house he
+looked back at Red Wull.
+
+“Ay, we may leave him,” he said. “That is, gin ye're no afraid, Mr.
+Thornton?”
+
+Of what happened while the men were within doors, it is enough to tell
+two things. First, that Owd Bob was no bully. Second, this: In the code
+of sheep-dog honor there is written a word in stark black letters; and
+opposite it another word, writ large in the color of blood. The first
+is “Sheep-murder”; the second, “Death.” It is the one crime only to
+be wiped away in blood; and to accuse of the crime is to offer the one
+unpardonable insult. Every sheep-dog knows it, and every shepherd.
+
+That afternoon, as the men still talked, the quiet echoes of the
+farm rung with a furious animal cry, twice repeated: “Shot for
+sheep-murder”--“Shot for sheep-murder”; followed by a hollow stillness.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The two men finished their colloquy. The matter was concluded
+peacefully, mainly owing to the pacifying influence of Mrs. Moore.
+Together the three went out into the yard; Mrs. Moore seizing the
+opportunity to shyly speak on David's behalf.
+
+“He's such a good little lad, I do think,” she was saying.
+
+“Ye should ken, Mrs. Moore,” the little man answered, a thought
+bitterly; “ye see enough of him.”
+
+“Yo' mun be main proud of un, mester,” the woman continued, heedless of
+the sneer: “an' 'im growin' such a gradely lad.”
+
+M'Adam shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“I barely ken the lad,” he said. “By sight I know him, of course, but
+barely to speak to. He's but seldom at hame.”
+
+“An' hoo proud his mother'd be if she could see him,” the woman
+continued, well aware of his one tender place. “Eh, but she was fond o'
+him, so she was.”
+
+An angry flush stole over the little man's face. Well he understood the
+implied rebuke; and it hurt him like a knife.
+
+“Ay, ay, Mrs. Moore,” he began. Then breaking off, and looking about
+him--“Where's ma Wullie?” he cried excitedly. “James Moore!” whipping
+round on the Master, “ma Wullie's gone--gone, I say!”
+
+Elizabeth Moore turned away indignantly. “I do declar' he tak's more
+fash after yon little yaller beastie than iver he does after his own
+flesh,” she muttered.
+
+“Wullie, ma we doggie! Wullie, where are ye? James Moore, he's gone--ma
+Wullie's gone!” cried the little man, running about the yard, searching
+everywhere.
+
+“Cannot 'a' gotten far,” said the Master, reassuringly, looking about
+him.
+
+“Niver no tellin',” said Sam'l, appearing on the scene, pig-bucket
+in hand. “I misdoot yo'll iver see your dog agin, mister.” He turned
+sorrowfully to M'Adam.
+
+That little man, all dishevelled, and with the perspiration standing on
+his face, came hurrying out of the cow-shed and danced up to the Master.
+
+“It's robbed I am--robbed, I tell ye!” he cried recklessly. “Ma wee
+Wull's bin stolen while I was ben your hoose, James Moore!”
+
+“Yo' munna say that, ma mon. No robbin' at Kenmuir,” the Master answered
+sternly.
+
+“Then where is he? It's for you to say.”
+
+“I've ma own idee, I 'aye,” Sam'l announced opportunely, pig-bucket
+uplifted.
+
+M'Adam turned on him.
+
+“What, man? What is it?”
+
+“I misdoot yo'll iver see your dog agin, mister,” Sam'l repeated, as if
+he was supplying the key to the mystery.
+
+“Noo, Sam'l, if yo' know owt tell it,” ordered his master.
+
+Sam'l grunted sulkily.
+
+“Wheer's oor Bob, then?” he asked.
+
+At that M'Adam turned on the Master.
+
+“'Tis that, nae doot. It's yer gray dog, James Moore, yer ---- dog. I
+might ha' kent it,”--and he loosed off a volley of foul words.
+
+“Sweerin' will no find him,” said the Master coldly. “Noo, Sam'l.”
+
+The big man shifted his feet, and looked mournfully at M'Adam.
+
+“'Twas 'appen 'aif an hour agone, when I sees oor Bob goin' oot o'
+yard wi' little yaller tyke in his mouth. In a minnit I looks agin--and
+theer! little yaller 'un was gone, and oor Bob a-sittin' a-lickin'
+his chops. Gone foriver, I do reck'n. Ah, yo' may well take on, Tammas
+Thornton!” For the old man was rolling about the yard, bent double with
+merriment.
+
+M'Adam turned on the Master with the resignation of despair.
+
+“Man, Moore,” he cried piteously, “it's yer gray dog has murdered ma wee
+Wull! Ye have it from yer ain man.”
+
+“Nonsense,” said the Master encouragingly. “'Tis but yon girt oof.”
+
+Sam'l tossed his head and snorted.
+
+“Coom, then, and i'll show yo',” he said, and led the way out of the
+yard. And there below them on the slope to the stream, sitting like
+Justice at the Courts of Law, was Owd Bob.
+
+Straightway Sam'l whose humor was something of the calibre of old
+Ross's, the sexton, burst into horse-merriment. “Why's he sittin' so
+still, think 'ee? Ho! Ho! See un lickin' his chops--ha! ha!”--and he
+roared afresh. While from afar you could hear the distant rumbling of
+'Enry and oor Job.
+
+At the sight, M'Adam burst into a storm of passionate invective, and
+would have rushed on the dog had not James Moore forcibly restrained
+him.
+
+“Bob, lad,” called the Master, “coom here!”
+
+But even as he spoke, the gray dog cocked his ears, listened a moment,
+and then shot down the slope. At the same moment Tammas hallooed: “Theer
+he be! yon's yaller un coomin' oot o' drain! La, Sam'l!” And there,
+indeed, on the slope below them, a little angry, smutty-faced figure was
+crawling out of a rabbit-burrow.
+
+“Ye murderin' devil, wad ye duar touch ma Wullie?” yelled M'Adam, and,
+breaking away, pursued hotly down the hill; for the gray dog had picked
+up the puppy, like a lancer a tent-peg, and was sweeping on, his captive
+in his mouth, toward the stream.
+
+Behind, hurried James Moore and Sam'l, wondering what the issue of the
+comedy would be. After them toddled old Tammas, chuckling. While over
+the yard-wall was now a little cluster of heads: 'Enry, oor Job, Maggie
+and David, and Vi'let Thornton, the dairy-maid.
+
+Straight on to the plank-bridge galloped Owd Bob. In the middle he
+halted, leant over, and dropped his prisoner; who fell with a cool plop
+into the running water beneath.
+
+Another moment and M'Adam had reached the bank of the stream. In he
+plunged, splashing and cursing, and seized the struggling puppy; then
+waded back, the waters surging about his waist, and Red Wull, limp as
+a wet rag, in his hand. The little man's hair was dripping, for his cap
+was gone; his clothes clung to him, exposing the miserableness of his
+figure; and his eyes blazed like hot ashes in his wet face.
+
+He sprang on to the bank, and, beside himself with passion, rushed at
+Owd Bob.
+
+“Curse ye for a ----”
+
+“Stan' back, or yo'll have him at your throat!” shouted the Master,
+thundering up. “Stan' back, I say, yo' fule!” And, as the little man
+still came madly on, he reached forth his hand and hurled him back; at
+the same moment, bending, he buried the other hand deep in Owd Bob's
+shaggy neck. It was but just in time; for if ever the fierce desire of
+battle gleamed in gray eyes, it did in the young dog's as M'Adam came
+down on him.
+
+The little man staggered, tottered, and fell heavily. At the shock, the
+blood gushed from his nose, and, mixing with the water on his face, ran
+down in vague red streams, dripping off his chin; while Red Wull, jerked
+from his grasp, was thrown afar, and lay motionless.
+
+“Curse ye!” M'Adam screamed, his face dead-white save for the running
+red about his jaw. “Curse ye for a cowardly Englishman!” and, struggling
+to his feet, he made at the Master.
+
+But Sam'l interposed his great bulk between the two.
+
+“Easy, little mon,” he said leisurely, regarding the small fury before
+him with mournful interest. “Eh, but thee do be a little spit-cat,
+surely!”
+
+James Moore stood, breathing deep, his hand still buried in Owd Bob's
+coat.
+
+“If yo'd touched him,” he explained, “I couldna ha' stopped him. He'd
+ha' mauled yo' afore iver I could ha' had him off. They're bad to hold,
+the Gray Dogs, when they're roosed.”
+
+“Ay, ma word, that they are!” corroborated Tammas, speaking from the
+experience of sixty years. “Once on, yo' canna get 'em off.”
+
+The little man turned away.
+
+“Ye're all agin me,” he said, and his voice shook. A pitiful figure he
+made, standing there with the water dripping from him. A red stream was
+running slowly from his chin; his head was bare, and face working.
+
+James Moore stood eyeing him with some pity and some contempt. Behind
+was Tammas, enjoying the scene. While Sam'l regarded them all with an
+impassive melancholy.
+
+M'Adam turned and bent over Red Wull, who still lay like a dead thing.
+As his master handled him, the button-tail quivered feebly; he opened
+his eyes, looked about him, snarled faintly, and glared with devilish
+hate at the gray dog and the group with him.
+
+The little man picked him up, stroking him tenderly. Then he turned away
+and on to the bridge. Half-way across he stopped. It rattled feverishly
+beneath him, for he still trembled like a palsied man.
+
+“Man, Moore!” he called, striving to quell the agitation in his
+voice--“I wad shoot yon dog.”
+
+Across the bridge he turned again. “Man, Moore!” he called and paused.
+“Ye'll not forget this day.” And with that the blood flared up a dull
+crimson into his white face.
+
+
+
+
+PART II THE LITTLE MAN
+
+
+
+
+Chapter V. A MAN'S SON
+
+
+THE storm, long threatened, having once burst, M'Adam allowed loose rein
+to his bitter animosity against James Moore.
+
+The two often met. For the little man frequently returned home from the
+village by the footpath across Kenmuir. It was out of his way, but
+he preferred it in order to annoy his enemy and keep a watch upon his
+doings.
+
+He haunted Kenmuir like its evil genius. His sallow face was perpetually
+turning up at inopportune moments. When Kenmuir Queen, the prize
+short-horn heifer, calved unexpectedly and unattended in the dip by the
+lane, Tammas and the Master, summoned hurriedly by Owd Bob, came running
+up to find the little man leaning against the stile, and shaking with
+silent merriment. Again, poor old Staggy, daring still in his dotage,
+took a fall while scrambling on the steep banks of the Stony Bottom.
+There he lay for hours, unnoticed and kicking, until James Moore and
+Owd Bob came upon him at length, nearly exhausted. But M'Adam was before
+them. Standing on the far bank with Red Wull by his side, he called
+across the gulf with apparent concern: “He's bin so sin' yesternight.”
+ Often James Moore, with all his great strength of character, could
+barely control himself.
+
+There were two attempts to patch up the feud. Jim Mason, who went about
+the world seeking to do good, tried in his shy way to set things right.
+But M'Adam and his Red Wull between them soon shut him and Betsy up.
+
+“You mind yer letters and yer wires, Mr. Poacher-Postman. Ay, I saw 'em
+baith: th' ain doon by the Haughs, t'ither in the Bottom. And there's
+Wullie, the humorsome chiel, havin' a rare game wi' Betsy.” There,
+indeed, lay the faithful Betsy, suppliant on her back, paws up, throat
+exposed, while Red Wull, now a great-grown puppy, stood over her, his
+habitually evil expression intensified into a fiendish grin, as with
+wrinkled muzzle and savage wheeze he waited for a movement as a pretext
+to pin: “Wullie, let the leddy be--ye've had yer dinner.”
+
+Parson Leggy was the other would-be mediator; for he hated to see the
+two principal parishioners of his tiny cure at enmity. First he tackled
+James Moore on the subject; but that laconic person cut him short with,
+“I've nowt agin the little mon,” and would say no more. And, indeed, the
+quarrel was none of his making.
+
+Of the parson's interview with M'Adam, it is enough to say here that,
+in the end, the angry old minister would of a surety have assaulted his
+mocking adversary had not Cyril Gilbraith forcibly withheld him.
+
+And after that the vendetta must take its course unchecked.
+
+David was now the only link between the two farms. Despite his father's
+angry commands, the boy clung to his intimacy with the Moores with a
+doggedness that no thrashing could overcome. Not a minute of the day
+when out of school, holidays and Sundays included, but was passed at
+Kenmuir. It was not till late at night that he would sneak back to the
+Grange, and creep quietly up to his tiny bare room in the roof--not
+supperless, indeed, motherly Mrs. Moore had seen to that. And there he
+would lie awake and listen with a fierce contempt as his father, hours
+later, lurched into the kitchen below, lilting liquorishly:
+
+     “We are na fou, we're nae that fou,
+     But just a drappie in our e'e;
+     The cock may craw, the day may daw',
+     And ay we'll taste the barley bree!”
+
+And in the morning the boy would slip quietly out of the house while his
+father still slept; only Red Wull would thrust out his savage head as
+the lad passed, and snarl hungrily.
+
+Sometimes father and son would go thus for weeks without sight of one
+another. And that was David's aim--to escape attention. It was only his
+cunning at this game of evasion that saved him a thrashing.
+
+The little man seemed devoid of all natural affection for his son. He
+lavished the whole fondness of which his small nature appeared capable
+on the Tailless Tyke, for so the Dalesmen called Red Wull. And the dog
+he treated with a careful tenderness that made David smile bitterly.
+
+The little man and his dog were as alike morally as physically they were
+contrasted. Each owed a grudge against the world and was determined to
+pay it. Each was an Ishmael among his kind.
+
+You saw them thus, standing apart, leper-like, in the turmoil of life;
+and it came quite as a revelation to happen upon them in some quiet spot
+of nights, playing together, each wrapped in the game, innocent, tender,
+forgetful of the hostile world.
+
+The two were never separated except only when M'Adam came home by the
+path across Kenmuir. After that first misadventure he never allowed his
+friend to accompany him on the journey through the enemy's country; for
+well he knew that sheep-dogs have long memories.
+
+To the stile in the lane, then, Red Wull would follow him. There he
+would stand, his great head poked through the bars, watching his master
+out of sight; and then would turn and trot, self-reliant and defiant,
+sturdy and surly, down the very centre of the road through the
+village--no playing, no enticing away, and woe to that man or dog who
+tried to stay him in his course! And so on, past Mother Ross's shop,
+past the Sylvester Arms, to the right by Kirby's smithy, over the
+Wastrel by the Haughs, to await his master at the edge of the Stony
+Bottom.
+
+The little man, when thus crossing Kenmuir, often met Owd Bob, who had
+the free run of the farm. On these occasions he passed discreetly by;
+for, though he was no coward, yet it is bad, single-handed, to attack
+a Gray Dog of Kenmuir; while the dog trotted soberly on his way, only
+a steely glint in the big gray eyes betraying his knowledge of the
+presence of his foe. As surely, however, as the little man, in his
+desire to spy out the nakedness of the land, strayed off the public
+path, so surely a gray figure, seeming to spring from out the blue,
+would come fiercely, silently driving down on him; and he would turn and
+run for his life, amid the uproarious jeers of any of the farm-hands who
+were witness to the encounter.
+
+On these occasions David vied with Tammas in facetiousness at his
+father's expense.
+
+“Good on yo', little un!” he roared from behind a wall, on one such
+occurrence.
+
+“Bain't he a runner, neither?” yelled Tammas, not to be outdone.
+
+“See un skip it--ho! ho! Look to his knees a-wamblin'! from the
+undutiful son in ecstasy. An' I'd knees like yon, I'd wear petticoats.”
+ As he spoke, a swinging box on the ear nearly knocked the young
+reprobate down.
+
+“D'yo' think God gave you a dad for you to jeer at? Y'ought to be
+ashamed o' yo'self. Serve yo' right if he does thrash yo' when yo' get
+home.” And David, turning round, found James Moore close behind him, his
+heavy eyebrows lowering over his eyes.
+
+Luckily, M'Adam had not distinguished his son's voice among the others.
+But David feared he had; for on the following morning the little man
+said to him:
+
+“David, ye'll come hame immediately after school to-day.”
+
+“Will I?” said David pertly.
+
+''Ye will.
+
+“Why?”
+
+“Because I tell ye to, ma lad”; and that was all the reason he would
+give. Had he told the simple fact that he wanted help to drench a
+“husking” ewe, things might have gone differently. As it was, David
+turned away defiantly down the hill.
+
+The afternoon wore on. Schooltime was long over; still there was no
+David.
+
+The little man waited at the door of the Grange, fuming, hopping from
+one leg to the other, talking to Red Wull, who lay at his feet, his head
+on his paws, like a tiger waiting for his prey.
+
+At length he could restrain himself no longer; and started running down
+the hill, his heart burning with indignation.
+
+“Wait till we lay hands on ye, ma lad,” he muttered as he ran. “We'll
+warm ye, we'll teach ye.”
+
+At the edge of the Stony Bottom he, as always, left Red Wull. Crossing
+it himself, and rounding Langholm How, he espied James Moore, David, and
+Owd Bob walking away from him and in the direction of Kenmuir. The gray
+dog and David were playing together, wrestling, racing, and rolling. The
+boy had never a thought for his father.
+
+The little man ran up behind them, unseen and unheard, his feet softly
+pattering on the grass. His hand had fallen on David's shoulder before
+the boy had guessed his approach.
+
+“Did I bid ye come hame after school, David?” he asked, concealing his
+heat beneath a suspicious suavity.
+
+“Maybe. Did I say I would come?”
+
+The pertness of tone and words, alike, fanned his father's resentment
+into a blaze. In a burst of passion he lunged forward at the boy with
+his stick. But as he smote, a gray whirlwind struck him fair on the
+chest, and he fell like a snapped stake, and lay, half stunned, with a
+dark muzzle an inch from his throat.
+
+“Git back, Bob!” shouted James Moore, hurrying up. “Git back, I tell
+yo'!” He bent over the prostrate figure, propping it up anxiously.
+
+“Are yo' hurt, M'Adam? Eh, but I am sorry. He thought yo' were going for
+to strike the lad.”
+
+David had now run up, and he, too, bent over his father with a very
+scared face.
+
+“Are yo' hurt, feyther?” he asked, his voice trembling.
+
+The little man rose unsteadily to his feet and shook off his supporters.
+His face was twitching, and he stood, all dust-begrimed, looking at his
+son.
+
+“Ye're content, aiblins, noo ye've seen yer father's gray head bowed in
+the dust,” he said.
+
+“'Twas an accident,” pleaded James Moore. “But I _am_ sorry. He thought
+yo' were goin' to beat the lad.”
+
+“So I was--so I will.”
+
+“If ony's beat it should be ma Bob here tho' he nob'but thought he was
+doin' right. An' yo' were aff the path.”
+
+The little man looked at his enemy, a sneer on his face.
+
+“Ye canna thrash him for doin' what ye bid him. Set yer dog on me, if ye
+will, but dinna beat him when he does yer biddin'!”
+
+“I did not set him on yo', as you know,” the Master replied warmly.
+
+M'Adam shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“I'll no argie wi' ye, James Moore,” he said. “I'll leave you and
+what ye call yer conscience to settle that. My business is not wi'
+you.--David!” turning to his son.
+
+A stranger might well have mistaken the identity of the boy's father.
+For he stood now, holding the Master's arm; while a few paces above
+them was the little man, pale but determined, the expression on his face
+betraying his consciousness of the irony of the situation.
+
+“Will ye come hame wi' me and have it noo, or stop wi' him and wait till
+ye get it?” he asked the boy.
+
+“M'Adam, I'd like yo' to--”
+
+“None o' that, James Moore.--David, what d'ye say?”
+
+David looked up into his protector's face.
+
+“Yo'd best go wi' your feyther, lad,” said the Master at last, thickly.
+The boy hesitated, and clung tighter to the shielding arm; then he
+walked slowly over to his father.
+
+A bitter smile spread over the little man's face as he marked this new
+test of the boy's obedience to the other.
+
+“To obey his frien' he foregoes the pleasure o' disobeyin' his father,”
+ he muttered. “Noble!” Then he turned homeward, and the boy followed in
+his footsteps.
+
+James Moore and the gray dog stood looking after them.
+
+“I know yo'll not pay off yer spite agin me on the lad's head, M'Adam,”
+ he called, almost appealingly.
+
+“I'll do ma duty, thank ye, James Moore, wi'oot respect o' persons,” the
+little man cried back, never turning.
+
+Father and son walked away, one behind the other, like a man and his
+dog, and there was no word said between them. Across the Stony Bottom,
+Red Wull, scowling with bared teeth at David, joined them. Together the
+three went up the bill to the Grange.
+
+In the kitchen M'Adam turned.
+
+“Noo, I'm gaein' to gie ye the gran'est thrashin' ye iver dreamed of.
+Tak' aff yer coat!”
+
+The boy obeyed, and stood up in his thin shirt, his face white and set
+as a statue's. Red Wull seated himself on his haunches close by, his
+ears pricked, licking his lips, all attention.
+
+The little man suppled the great ash-plant in his hands and raised it.
+But the expression on the boy's face arrested his arm.
+
+“Say ye're sorry and I'll let yer aff easy.”
+
+“I'll not.”
+
+“One mair chance--yer last! Say yer 'shamed o' yerself'!”
+
+“I'm not.”
+
+The little man brandished his cruel, white weapon, and Red Wull shifted
+a little to obtain a better view.
+
+“Git on wi' it,” ordered David angrily.
+
+The little man raised the stick again and--threw it into the farthest
+corner of the room.
+
+It fell with a rattle on the floor, and M'Adam turned away.
+
+“Ye're the pitifulest son iver a man had,” he cried brokenly. “Gin
+a man's son dinna haud to him, wha can he expect to?--no one. Ye're
+ondootiful, ye're disrespectfu', ye're maist ilka thing ye shouldna be;
+there's but ae thing I thocht ye were not--a coward. And as to that,
+ye've no the pluck to say ye're sorry when, God knows, ye might be. I
+canna thrash ye this day. But ye shall gae nae mair to school. I send
+ye there to learn. Ye'll not learn--ye've learnt naethin' except
+disobedience to me--ye shall stop at hame and work.”
+
+His father's rare emotion, his broken voice and working face, moved
+David as all the stripes and jeers had failed to do. His conscience
+smote him. For the first time in his life it dimly dawned on him that,
+perhaps, his father, too, had some ground for complaint; that, perhaps,
+he was not a good son.
+
+He half turned.
+
+“Feyther--”
+
+“Git oot o' ma sight!” M'Adam cried.
+
+And the boy turned and went.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter VI. A LICKING OR A LIE
+
+
+THENCEFORWARD David buckled down to work at home, and in one point only
+father and son resembled--industry. A drunkard M'Adam was, but a drone,
+no.
+
+The boy worked at the Grange with tireless, indomitable energy; yet he
+could never satisfy his father.
+
+The little man would stand, a sneer on his face and his thin lips
+contemptuously curled, and flout the lad's brave labors.
+
+“Is he no a gran' worker, Wullie? 'Tis a pleasure to watch him, his
+hands in his pockets, his eyes turned heavenward!” as the boy snatched
+a hard-earned moment's rest. “You and I, Wullie, we'll brak' oorsel's
+slavin' for him while he looks on and laffs.”
+
+And so on, the whole day through, week in, week out; till he sickened
+with weariness of it all.
+
+In his darkest hours David thought sometimes to run away. He was
+miserably alone on the cold bosom of the world. The very fact that he
+was the son of his father isolated him in the Daleland. Naturally of a
+reserved disposition, he had no single friend outside Kenmuir. And it
+was only the thought of his friends there that withheld him. He could
+not bring himself to part from them; they were all he had in the world.
+
+So he worked on at the Grange, miserably, doggedly, taking blows and
+abuse alike in burning silence. But every evening, when work was ended,
+he stepped off to his other home beyond the Stony Bottom. And on Sundays
+and holidays--for of these latter he took, unasking, what he knew to be
+his due--all day long, from cock-crowing to the going down of the sun,
+he would pass at Kenmuir. In this one matter the boy was invincibly
+stubborn. Nothing his father could say or do sufficed to break him of
+the habit. He endured everything with white-lipped, silent doggedness,
+and still held on his way.
+
+Once past the Stony Bottom, he threw his troubles behind him with a
+courage that did him honor. Of all the people at Kenmuir two only ever
+dreamed the whole depth of his unhappiness, and that not through David.
+James Moore suspected something of it all, for he knew more of M'Adam
+than did the others. While Owd Bob knew it as did no one else. He could
+tell it from the touch of the boy's hand on his head; and the story was
+writ large upon his face for a dog to read. And he would follow the lad
+about with a compassion in his sad gray eyes greater than words.
+
+David might well compare his gray friend at Kenmuir with that other at
+the Grange.
+
+The Tailless Tyke had now grown into an immense dog, heavy of muscle and
+huge of bone. A great bull head; undershot jaw, square and lengthy and
+terrible; vicious, yellow-gleaming eyes; cropped ears; and an expression
+incomparably savage. His coat was a tawny, lion-like yellow, short,
+harsh, dense; and his back, running up from shoulder to loins, ended
+abruptly in the knob-like tail. He looked like the devil of a dogs'
+hell. And his reputation was as bad as his looks. He never attacked
+unprovoked; but a challenge was never ignored, and he was greedy of
+insults. Already he had nigh killed Rob Saunderson's collie, Shep; Jem
+Burton's Monkey fled incontinently at the sound of his approach; while
+he had even fought a round with that redoubtable trio, the Vexer, Venus,
+and Van Tromp.
+
+Nor, in the matter of war, did he confine himself to his own kind.
+His huge strength and indomitable courage made him the match of almost
+anything that moved. Long Kirby once threatened him with a broomstick;
+the smith never did it again. While in the Border Ram he attacked Big
+Bell, the Squire's underkeeper, with such murderous fury that it took
+all the men in the room to pull him off.
+
+More than once had he and Owd Bob essayed to wipe out mutual memories,
+Red Wull, in this case only, the aggressor. As yet, however, while they
+fenced a moment for that deadly throat-grip, the value of which each
+knew so well, James Moore had always seized the chance to intervene.
+
+“That's right, hide him ahint yer petticoats,” sneered M'Adam on one of
+these occasions.
+
+“Hide? It'll not be him I'll hide, I warn you, M'Adam,” the Master
+answered grimly, as he stood, twirling his good oak stick between the
+would-be duellists. Whereat there was a loud laugh at the little man's
+expense.
+
+It seemed as if there were to be other points of rivalry between the two
+than memories. For, in the matter of his own business--the handling of
+sheep--Red Wull bid fair to be second only throughout the Daleland to
+the Gray Dog of Kenmuir. And M'Adam was patient and painstaking in the
+training of his Wullie in a manner to astonish David. It would have been
+touching, had it not been so unnatural in view of his treatment of his
+own blood, to watch the tender carefulness with which the little man
+moulded the dog beneath his hands. After a promising display he would
+stand, rubbing his palms together, as near content as ever he was.
+
+“Weel done, Wullie! Weel done. Bide a wee and we'll show 'em a thing or
+two, you and I, Wullie.
+
+     “'The warld's wrack we share o't,
+     The warstle and the care o't.'
+
+For it's you and I alane, lad.” And the dog would trot up to him, place
+his great forepaws on his shoulders, and stand thus with his great head
+overtopping his master's, his ears back, and stump tail vibrating.
+
+You saw them at their best when thus together, displaying each his one
+soft side to the other.
+
+From the very first David and Red Wull were open enemies: under the
+circumstances, indeed, nothing else was possible. Sometimes the great
+dog would follow on the lad's heels with surly, greedy eyes, never
+leaving him from sunrise to sundown, till David could hardly hold his
+hands.
+
+So matters went on for a never-ending year. Then there came a climax.
+
+One evening, on a day throughout which Red Wull had dogged him thus
+hungrily, David, his work finished, went to pick up his coat, which he
+had left hard by. On it lay Red Wull.
+
+“Git off ma coat!” the boy ordered angrily, marching up. But the great
+dog never stirred: he lifted a lip to show a fence of white, even teeth,
+and seemed to sink lower in the ground; his head on his paws, his eyes
+in his forehead.
+
+“Come and take it!” he seemed to say.
+
+Now what, between master and dog, David had endured almost more than he
+could bear that day.
+
+“Yo' won't, won't yo', girt brute!” he shouted, and bending, snatched
+a corner of the coat and attempted to jerk it away. At that, Red Wull
+rose, shivering, to his feet, and with a low gurgle sprang at the boy.
+
+David, quick as a flash, dodged, bent, and picked up an ugly stake,
+lying at his feet. Swinging round, all in a moment, he dealt his
+antagonist a mighty buffet on the side of the head. Dazed with the blow,
+the great dog fell; then, recovering himself, with a terrible, deep roar
+he sprang again. Then it must have gone hard with the boy, fine-grown,
+muscular young giant though he was. For Red Wull was now in the first
+bloom of that great strength which earned him afterward an undying
+notoriety in the land.
+
+As it chanced, however, M'Adam had watched the scene from the kitchen.
+And now he came hurrying out of the house, shrieking commands and curses
+at the combatants. As Red Wull sprang, he interposed between the two,
+head back and eyes flashing. His small person received the full shock
+of the charge. He staggered, but recovered, and in an imperative voice
+ordered the dog to heel.
+
+Then he turned on David, seized the stake from his hand, and began
+furiously belaboring the boy.
+
+“I'll teach ye to strike--a puir--dumb--harmless--creetur,
+ye--cruel--cruel---lad!” he cried. “Hoo daur ye strike--ma----Wullie?
+yer--father's----Wullie? Adam--M 'Adam's--Red Wull?” He was panting from
+his exertions, and his eyes were blazing. “I pit up as best I can wi'
+all manner o' disrespect to masel'; but when it comes to takin' ma puir
+Wullie, I canna thole it. Ha' ye no heart?” he asked, unconscious of the
+irony of the question.
+
+“As much as some, I reck'n,” David muttered.
+
+“Eh, what's that? What d'ye say?”
+
+“Ye may thrash me till ye're blind; and it's nob'but yer duty; but if
+only one daurs so much as to look at yer Wullie ye're mad,” the boy
+answered bitterly. And with that he turned away defiantly and openly in
+the direction of Kenmuir.
+
+M'Adam made a step forward, and then stopped.
+
+“I'll see ye agin, ma lad, this evenin',” he cried with cruel
+significance.
+
+“I doot but yo'll be too drunk to see owt--except, 'appen, your bottle,”
+ the boy shouted back; and swaggered down the hill.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At Kenmuir that night the marked and particular kindness of Elizabeth
+Moore was too much for the overstrung lad. Overcome by the contrast of
+her sweet motherliness, he burst into a storm of invective against his
+father, his home, his life--everything.
+
+“Don't 'ee, Davie, don't 'ee, dearie!” cried Mrs. Moore, much
+distressed. And taking him to her she talked to the great, sobbing boy
+as though he were a child. At length he lifted his face and looked up;
+and, seeing the white, wan countenance of his dear comforter, was struck
+with tender remorse that he had given way and pained her, who looked so
+frail and thin herself.
+
+He mastered himself with an effort; and, for the rest of the evening,
+was his usual cheery self. He teased Maggie into tears; chaffed stolid
+little Andrew; and bantered Sam'l Todd until that generally impassive
+man threatened to bash his snout for him.
+
+Yet it was with a great swallowing at his throat that, later, he turned
+down the slope for home.
+
+James Moore and Parson Leggy accompanied him to the bridge over the
+Wastrel, and stood a while watching as he disappeared into the summer
+night.
+
+“Yon's a good lad,” said the Master half to himself.
+
+“Yes,” the parson replied; “I always thought there was good in the boy,
+if only his father'd give him a chance. And look at the way Owd Bob
+there follows him. There's not another soul outside Kenmuir he'd do that
+for.”
+
+“Ay, sir,” said the Master. “Bob knows a mon when he sees one.”
+
+“He does,” acquiesced the other. “And by the by, James, the talk in the
+village is that you've settled not to run him for the Cup. Is, that so?”
+
+The Master nodded.
+
+“It is, sir. They're all mad I should, but I mun cross 'em. They say
+he's reached his prime--and so he has o' his body, but not o' his brain.
+And a sheep-dog--unlike other dogs--is not at his best till his brain
+is at its best--and that takes a while developin', same as in a mon, I
+reck'n.”
+
+“Well, well,” said the parson, pulling out a favorite phrase, “waiting's
+winning--waiting's winning.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+David slipped up into his room and into bed unseen, he hoped. Alone with
+the darkness, he allowed himself the rare relief of tears; and at length
+fell asleep. He awoke to find his father standing at his bedside. The
+little man held a feeble dip-candle in his hand, which lit his sallow
+face in crude black and white. In the doorway, dimly outlined, was the
+great figure of Red Wull.
+
+“Whaur ha' ye been the day?” the little man asked. Then, looking down on
+the white stained face beneath him, he added hurriedly: “If ye like to
+lie, I'll believe ye.”
+
+David was out of bed and standing up in his night-shirt. He looked at
+his father contemptuously.
+
+“I ha' bin at Kenmuir. I'll not lie for yo' or your likes,” he said
+proudly.
+
+The little man shrugged his shoulders.
+
+“'Tell a lee and stick to it,' is my rule, and a good one, too, in
+honest England. I for one 'll no think ony the worse o' ye if yer memory
+plays yer false.”
+
+“D'yo' think I care a kick what yo' think o' me?” the boy asked
+brutally. “Nay; there's 'nough liars in this fam'ly wi'oot me.”
+
+The candle trembled and was still again.
+
+“A lickin' or a lie--tak' yer choice!”
+
+The boy looked scornfully down on his father. Standing on his naked
+feet, he already towered half a head above the other and was twice the
+man.
+
+“D'yo' think I'm fear'd o' a thrashin' fra yo'? Goo' gracious me!” he
+sneered. “Why, I'd as lief let owd Grammer Maddox lick me, for all I
+care.”
+
+A reference to his physical insufficiencies fired the little man as
+surely as a lighted match powder.
+
+“Ye maun be cauld, standin' there so. Rin ye doon and fetch oor little
+frien'”--a reference to a certain strap hanging in the kitchen. “I'll
+see if I can warm ye.”
+
+David turned and stumbled down the unlit, narrow stairs. The hard, cold
+boards struck like death against his naked feet. At his heels followed
+Red Wull, his hot breath fanning the boy's bare legs.
+
+So into the kitchen and back up the stairs, and Red Wull always
+following.
+
+“I'll no despair yet o' teachin' ye the fifth commandment, though I kill
+masel' in doin' it!” cried the little man, seizing the strap from the
+boy's numb grasp.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When it was over, M'Adam turned, breathless, away. At the threshold
+of the room he stopped and looked round: a little, dim-lit, devilish
+figure, framed in the door; while from the blackness behind, Red Wull's
+eyes gleamed yellow.
+
+Glancing back, the little man caught such an expression on David's
+face that for once he was fairly afraid. He banged the door and hobbled
+actively down the stairs.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter VII. THE WHITE WINTER
+
+
+M'ADAM--in his sober moments at least--never touched David again;
+instead, he devoted himself to the more congenial exercise of the
+whiplash of his tongue. And he was wise; for David, who was already
+nigh a head the taller of the two, and comely and strong in proportion,
+could, if he would, have taken his father in the hollow of his hand and
+crumpled him like a dry leaf. Moreover, with his tongue, at least, the
+little man enjoyed the noble pleasure of making the boy wince. And so
+the war was carried on none the less vindictively.
+
+Meanwhile another summer was passing away, and every day brought fresh
+proofs of the prowess of Owd Bob. Tammas, whose stock of yarns anent Rex
+son of Rally had after forty years' hard wear begun to pall on the
+loyal ears of even old Jonas, found no lack of new material now. In
+the Dalesman's Daughter in Silverdale and in the Border Ram at
+Grammoch-town, each succeeding market day brought some fresh tale. Men
+told how the gray dog had outdone Gypsy Jack, the sheep-sneak; how he
+had cut out a Kenmuir shearling from the very centre of Londesley's
+pack; and a thousand like stories.
+
+The Gray Dogs of Kenmuir have always been equally heroes and favorites
+in the Daleland. And the confidence of the Dalesmen in Owd Bob was now
+invincible. Sometimes on market days he would execute some unaccountable
+maneuvre, and... strange shepherd would ask: “What's the gray dog at?”
+ To which the nearest Dalesman would reply: “Nay, I canno tell ye! But
+he's reet enough. Yon's Owd Bob o' Kenmuir.”
+
+Whereon the stranger would prick his ears and watch with close
+attention.
+
+“Yon's Owd Bob o' Kenmuir, is he?” he would say; for already among the
+faculty the name was becoming known. And never in such a case did the
+young dog fail to justify the faith of his supporters.
+
+It came, therefore, as a keen disappointment to every Dalesman, from
+Herbert Trotter, Secretary of the Trials, to little Billy Thornton, when
+the Master persisted in his decision not to run the dog for the Cup in
+the approaching Dale Trials; and that though parson, squire, and even
+Lady Eleanour essayed to shake his purpose. It was nigh fifty years
+since Rex son o' Rally had won back the Trophy for the land that gave
+it birth; it was time, they thought, for a Daleland dog, a Gray Dog of
+Kenmuir--the terms are practically synonymous--to bring it home again.
+And Tammas, that polished phrase-maker, was only expressing the feelings
+of every Dalesman in the room when, one night at the Arms, he declared
+of Owd Bob that “to ha' run was to ha' won.” At which M'Adam sniggered
+audibly and winked at Red Wull. “To ha' run was to ha' one--lickin'; to
+rin next year'll be to--”
+
+“Win next year.” Tammas interposed dogmatically. “Onless”--with
+shivering sarcasm--“you and yer Wullie are thinkin' o' winnin'.”
+
+The little man rose from his solitary seat at the back of the room and
+pattered across. “Wullie and I are thinkin' o' t,” he whispered loudly
+in the old man's ear. “And mair: what Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull think
+o' doin', that, ye may remairk, Mr. Thornton, they do. Next year we rin,
+and next year--we win. Come, Wullie, we'll leave 'em to chew that”; and
+he marched out of the room amid the jeers of the assembled topers.
+
+When quiet was restored, it was Jim Mason who declared: “One thing
+certain, win or no, they'll not be far off.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Meanwhile the summer ended abruptly. Hard on the heels of a sweltering
+autumn the winter came down. In that year the Daleland assumed very
+early its white cloak. The Silver Mere was soon ice-veiled; the Wastrel
+rolled sullenly down below Kenmuir, its creeks and quiet places tented
+with jagged sheets of ice; while the Scaur and Muir Pike raised hoary
+heads against the frosty blue. It was the season still remembered in the
+North as the White Winter--the worst, they say, since the famous 1808.
+
+For days together Jim Mason was stuck with his bags in the Dalesman's
+Daughter, and there was no communication between the two Dales. On
+the Mere Marches the snow massed deep and impassable in thick, billowy
+drifts. In the Devil's Bowl men said it lay piled some score feet deep.
+And sheep, seeking shelter in the ghylls and protected spots, were
+buried and lost in their hundreds.
+
+That is the time to test the hearts of shepherds and sheep-dogs, when
+the wind runs ice-cold across the waste of white, and the low woods on
+the upland walks shiver black through a veil of snow, and sheep must be
+found and folded or lost: a trial of head as well as heart, of resource
+as well as resolution.
+
+In that winter more than one man and many a dog lost his life in the
+quiet performance of his duty, gliding to death over the slippery
+snow-shelves, or overwhelmed beneath an avalanche of the warm,
+suffocating white: “smoored,” as they call it. Many a deed was done,
+many a death died, recorded only in that Book which holds the names of
+those--men or animals, souls or no souls--who tried.
+
+They found old Wrottesley, the squire's head shepherd, lying one morning
+at Gill's foot, like a statue in its white bed, the snow gently blowing
+about the venerable face, calm and beautiful in death. And stretched
+upon his bosom, her master's hands blue, and stiff, still clasped about
+her neck, his old dog Jess. She had huddled there, as a last hope, to
+keep the dear, dead master warm, her great heart riven, hoping where
+there was no hope.
+
+That night she followed him to herd sheep in a better land. Death from
+exposure, Dingley, the vet., gave it; but as little M'Adam, his eyes
+dimmer than their wont, declared huskily; “We ken better, Wullie.”
+
+Cyril Gilbraith, a young man not overburdened with emotions, told with
+a sob in his voice how, at the terrible Rowan Rock, Jim Mason had stood,
+impotent, dumb, big-eyed, watching Betsy--Betsy, the friend and partner
+of the last ten years--slipping over the ice-cold surface, silently
+appealing to the hand that had never failed her before--sliding to
+Eternity.
+
+In the Daleland that winter the endurance of many a shepherd and his
+dog was strained past breaking-point. From the frozen Black Water to
+the white-peaked Grammoch Pike two men only, each always with his shaggy
+adjutant, never owned defeat; never turned back; never failed in a thing
+attempted.
+
+In the following spring, Mr. Tinkerton, the squire's agent, declared
+that James Moore and Adam M'Adam--Owd Bob, rather, and Red Wull--had
+lost between them fewer sheep than any single farmer on the whole March
+Mere Estate--a proud record.
+
+Of the two, many a tale was told that winter. They were invincible,
+incomparable; worthy antagonists.
+
+It was Owd Bob who, when he could not drive the band of Black Faces over
+the narrow Razorback which led to safety, induced them to _follow_ him
+across that ten-inch death-track, one by one, like children behind
+their mistress. It was Red Wull who was seen coming down the precipitous
+Saddler's How, shouldering up that grand old gentleman, King o' the
+Dale, whose leg was broken.
+
+The gray dog it was who found Cyril Gilbraith by the White Stones, with
+a cigarette and a sprained ankle, on the night the whole village was out
+with lanterns searching for the well-loved young scapegrace. It was the
+Tailless Tyke and his master who one bitter evening came upon little
+Mrs. Burton, lying in a huddle beneath the lea of the fast-whitening
+Druid's Pillar with her latest baby on her breast. It was little M'Adam
+who took off his coat and wrapped the child in it; little M'Adam who
+unwound his plaid, threw it like a breastband across the dog's great
+chest, and tied the ends round the weary woman's waist. Red Wull it was
+who dragged her back to the Sylvester Arms and life, straining like a
+giant through the snow, while his master staggered behind with the babe
+in his arms. When they reached the inn it was M'Adam who, with a smile
+on his face, told the landlord what he thought of him for sending _his_
+wife across the Marches on such a day and on his errand. To which: “I'd
+a cauld,” pleaded honest Jem.
+
+For days together David could not cross the Stony Bottom to Kenmuir.
+His enforced confinement to the Grange led, however, to no more frequent
+collisions than usual with his father. For M'Adam and Red Wull were out,
+at all hours, in all weathers, night and day, toiling at their work of
+salvation.
+
+At last, one afternoon, David managed to cross the Bottom at a point
+where a fallen thorn-tree gave him a bridge over the soft snow. He
+stayed but a little while at Kenmuir, yet when he started for home it
+was snowing again.
+
+By the time he had crossed the ice-draped bridge over the Wastrel, a
+blizzard was raging. The wind roared past him, smiting him so that he
+could barely stand; and the snow leaped at him so that he could not see.
+But he held on doggedly; slipping, sliding, tripping, down and up
+again, with one arm shielding his face. On, on, into the white darkness,
+blindly on sobbing, stumbling, dazed.
+
+At length, nigh dead, he reached the brink of the Stony Bottom. He
+looked up and he looked down, but nowhere in that blinding mist could he
+see the fallen thorn-tree. He took a step forward into the white morass,
+and 'sank up to his thigh. He struggled feebly to free himself, and sank
+deeper. The snow wreathed, twisting, round him like a white flame, and
+he collapsed, softly crying, on that soft bed.
+
+“I canna--I canna!” he moaned.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Little Mrs. Moore, her face whiter and frailer than ever, stood at the
+window, looking out into the storm.
+
+“I canna rest for thinkin' o' th' lad,” she said. Then, turning, she saw
+her husband, his fur cap down over his ears, buttoning his pilot-coat
+about his throat, while Owd Bob stood at his feet, waiting.
+
+“Ye're no goin', James?” she asked, anxiously.
+
+“But I am, lass,” he answered; and she knew him too well to say more.
+
+So those two went quietly out to save life or lose it, nor counted the
+cost.
+
+Down a wind-shattered slope--over a spar of ice--up an eternal hill--a
+forlorn hope.
+
+In a whirlwind chaos of snow, the tempest storming at them, the white
+earth lashing them, they fought a good fight. In front, Owd Bob, the
+snow clogging his shaggy coat, his hair cutting like lashes of steel
+across eyes, his head lowered as he followed the finger of God; and
+close behind, James Moore, his back stern against the storm, stalwart
+still, yet swaying like a tree before the wind.
+
+So they battled through to the brink of the Stony Bottom--only to arrive
+too late.
+
+For, just as the Master peering about him, had caught sight of a
+shapeless lump lying motionless in front, there loomed across the
+snow-choked gulf through the white riot of the storm a gigantic figure
+forging, doggedly forward, his great head down to meet the hurricane.
+And close behind, buffeted and bruised, stiff and staggering, a little
+dauntless figure holding stubbornly on, clutching with one hand at the
+gale; and a shrill voice, whirled away on the trumpet tones of the wind,
+crying:
+
+     'Noo, Wullie, wi' me!
+     Scots wha' hae wi' Wallace bled!
+     Scots wham Bruce has often led!
+     Welcome to ----!'
+
+“Here he is, Wullie!”
+
+     '--or to victorie!”
+
+The brave little voice died away. The quest; was over; the lost sheep
+found. And the last James Moore saw of them was the same small, gallant
+form, half carrying, half dragging the rescued boy out of the Valley of
+the Shadow and away.
+
+David was none the worse for his adventure, for on reaching home M'Adam
+produced a familiar bottle.
+
+“Here's something to warm yer inside, and”--making a feint at the strap
+on the walls--' “here's something to do the same by yer ----. But,
+Wullie, oot again!”
+
+And out they went--unreckoned heroes.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was but a week later, in the very heart of the bitter time, that
+there came a day when, from gray dawn to grayer eve, neither James Moore
+nor Owd Bob stirred out into the wintry white. And the Master's face was
+hard and set as it always was in time of trouble.
+
+Outside, the wind screamed down the Dale; while the snow fell
+relentlessly; softly fingering the windows, blocking the doors, and
+piling deep against the walls. Inside the house there was a strange
+quiet; no sound save for hushed voices, and upstairs the shuffling of
+muffled feet.
+
+Below, all day long, Owd Bob patrolled the passage like some silent,
+gray spectre.
+
+Once there came a low knocking at the door; and David, his face and hair
+and cap smothered in the all-pervading white, came in with an eddy of
+snow. He patted Owd Bob, and moved on tiptoe into the kitchen. To him
+came Maggie softly, shoes in hand, with white, frightened face. The two
+whispered anxiously awhile like brother and sister as they were; then
+the boy crept quietly away; only a little pool of water on the floor and
+wet, treacherous foot-dabs toward the door testifying to the visitor.
+
+Toward evening the wind died down, but the mourning flakes still fell.
+
+With the darkening of night Owd Bob retreated to the porch and lay down
+on his blanket. The light from the lamp at the head of the stairs shone
+through the crack of open door on his dark head and the eyes that never
+slept.
+
+The hours passed, and the gray knight still kept his vigil. Alone in the
+darkness--alone, it almost seemed, in the house--he watched. His head
+lay motionless along his paws, but the steady gray eyes never flinched
+or drooped.
+
+Time tramped on on leaden foot, and still he waited; and ever the pain
+of hovering anxiety was stamped deeper in the gray eyes.
+
+At length it grew past bearing; the hollow stillness of the house
+overcame him. He rose, pushed open the door, and softly pattered across
+the passage.
+
+At the foot of the stairs he halted, his forepaws on the first step, his
+grave face and pleading eyes uplifted, as though he were praying. The
+dim light fell on the raised head; and the white escutcheon on his
+breast shone out like the snow on Salmon.
+
+At length, with a sound like a sob, he dropped to the ground, and stood
+listening, his tail dropping and head raised. Then he turned and began
+softly pacing up and down, like some velvet-footed sentinel at the gate
+of death.
+
+Up and down, up and down, softly as the falling snow, for a weary, weary
+while.
+
+Again he stopped and stood, listening intently, at the foot of the
+stairs; and his gray coat quivered as though there were a draught.
+
+Of a sudden, the deathly stillness of the house was broken. Upstairs,
+feet were running hurriedly. There was a cry, and again silence.
+
+A life was coming in; a life was going out.
+
+The minutes passed; hours passed; and, at the sunless dawn, a life
+passed.
+
+And all through that night of age-long agony the gray figure stood,
+still as a statue, at the foot of the stairs. Only, when, with the first
+chill breath of the morning, a dry, quick-quenched sob of a strong man
+sorrowing for the helpmeet of a score of years, and a tiny cry of a
+new-born child wailing because its mother was not, came down to his
+ears, the Gray Watchman dropped his head upon his bosom, and, with a
+little whimpering note, crept back to his blanket.
+
+A little later the door above opened, and James Moore tramped down the
+stairs. He looked taller and gaunter than his wont, but there was no
+trace of emotion on his face.
+
+At the foot of the stairs Owd Bob stole out to meet him. He came
+crouching up, head and tail down, in a manner no man ever saw before or
+since. At his master's feet he stopped.
+
+Then, for one short moment, James Moore's whole face quivered.
+
+“Well, lad,” he said, quite low, and his voice broke; “she's awa'!”
+
+That was all; for they were an undemonstrative couple.
+
+Then they turned and went out together into the bleak morning.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter VIII. M'ADAM AND HIS COAT
+
+
+To David M'Adam the loss of gentle Elizabeth Moore was as real a grief
+as to her children. Yet he manfully smothered his own aching heart and
+devoted himself to comforting the mourners at Kenmuir.
+
+In the days succeeding Mrs. Moore's death the boy recklessly neglected
+his duties at the Grange. But little M'Adam forbore to rebuke him. At
+times, indeed, he essayed to be passively kind. David, however, was too
+deeply sunk in his great sorrow to note the change.
+
+The day of the funeral came. The earth was throwing off its ice-fetters;
+and the Dale was lost in a mourning mist.
+
+In the afternoon M'Adam was standing at the window of the kitchen,
+contemplating the infinite weariness of the scene, when the door of the
+house opened and shut noiselessly. Red Wull raised himself on to the
+sill and growled, and David hurried past the window making for Kenmuir.
+M'Adam watched the passing figure indifferently; then with an angry oath
+sprang to the window.
+
+“Bring me back that coat, ye thief!” he cried, tapping fiercely on the
+pane. “Tak' it aff at onst, ye muckle gowk, or I'll come and tear it aff
+ye. D'ye see him, Wullie? the great coof has ma coat--me black coat, new
+last Michaelmas, and it rainin' 'nough to melt it.”
+
+He threw the window up with a bang and leaned out.
+
+“Bring it back, I tell ye, ondootiful, or I'll summons ye. Though ye've
+no respect for me, ye might have for ma claithes. Ye're too big for yer
+ain boots, let alane ma coat. D'ye think I had it cut for a elephant?
+It's burst-in', I tell ye. Tak' it aff! Fetch it here, or I'll e'en send
+Wullie to bring it!”
+
+David paid no heed except to begin running heavily down the hill. The
+coat was stretched in wrinkled agony across his back; his big, red
+wrists protruded like shank-bones from the sleeves; and the little tails
+flapped wearily in vain attempts to reach the wearer's legs.
+
+M'Adam, bubbling over with indignation, scrambled half through the open
+window. Then, tickled at the amazing impudence of the thing, he paused,
+smiled, dropped to the ground again, and watched the uncouth, retreating
+figure with chuckling amusement.
+
+“Did ye ever see the like o' that, Wullie?” he muttered. “Ma puir
+coat--puir wee coatie! it gars me greet to see her in her pain. A man's
+coat, Wullie, is aften unco sma' for his son's back; and David there
+is strainin' and stretchin' her nigh to brakin', for a' the world as he
+does ma forbearance. And what's he care aboot the one or t'ither?--not a
+finger-flip.”
+
+As he stood watching the disappearing figure there began the slow
+tolling of the minute-bell in the little Dale church. Now near, now far,
+now loud, now low, its dull chant rang out through the mist like the
+slow-dropping tears of a mourning world.
+
+M'Adam listened, almost reverently, as the bell tolled on, the only
+sound in the quiet Dale. Outside, a drizzling rain was falling; the
+snow dribbled down the hill in muddy tricklets; and trees and roofs and
+windows dripped.
+
+And still the bell tolled on, calling up relentlessly sad memories of
+the long ago.
+
+It was on just such another dreary day, in just such another December,
+and not so many years gone by, that the light had gone forever out of
+his life.
+
+The whole picture rose as instant to his eyes as if it had been but
+yesterday. That insistent bell brought the scene surging back to him:
+the dismal day; the drizzle; the few mourners; little David decked out
+in black, his fair hair contrasting with his gloomy clothes, his face
+swollen with weeping; the Dale hushed, it seemed in death, save for the
+tolling of the bell; and his love had left him and gone to the happy
+land the hymn-books talk of.
+
+Red Wull, who had been watching him uneasily, now came up and shoved
+his muzzle into his master's hand. The cold touch brought the little man
+back to earth. He shook himself, turned wearily away from the window,
+and went to the door of the house.
+
+He stood there looking out; and all round him was the eternal drip, drip
+of the thaw. The wind lulled, and again the minute-bell tolled out clear
+and inexorable, resolute to recall what was and what had been.
+
+With a choking gasp the little man turned into the house, and ran up the
+stairs and into his room. He dropped on his knees beside the great chest
+in the corner, and unlocked the bottom drawer, the key turning noisily
+in its socket.
+
+In the drawer he searched with feverish fingers, and produced at length
+a little paper packet wrapped about with a stained yellow ribbon. It was
+the ribbon she had used to weave on Sundays into her soft hair.
+
+Inside the packet was a cheap, heart-shaped frame, and in it a
+photograph.
+
+Up there it was too dark to see. The little man ran down the stairs, Red
+Wull jostling him as he went, and hurried to the window in the kitchen.
+
+It was a sweet, laughing face that looked up at him from the frame,
+demure yet arch, shy yet roguish--a face to look at and a face to love.
+
+As he looked a wintry smile, wholly tender, half tearful, stole over the
+little man's face.
+
+“Lassie,” he whispered, and his voice was infinitely soft, “it's lang
+sin' I've daured look at ye. But it's no that ye're forgotten, dearie.”
+
+Then he covered his eyes with his hand as though he were blinded.
+
+“Dinna look at me sae, lass!” he cried, and fell on his knees, kissing
+the picture, hugging it to him and sobbing passionately.
+
+Red Wull came up and pushed his face compassionately into his master's;
+but the little man shoved him roughly away, and the dog retreated into a
+corner, abashed and reproachful.
+
+Memories swarmed back on the little man.
+
+It was more than a decade ago now, and yet he dared barely think of that
+last evening when she had lain so white and still in the little room
+above.
+
+“Pit the bairn on the bed, Adam man,” she had said in low tones. “I'll
+be gaein' in a wee while noo. It's the lang good-by to you--and him.”
+
+He had done her bidding and lifted David up. The tiny boy lay still a
+moment, looking at this white-faced mother whom he hardly recognized.
+
+“Minnie!” he called piteously. Then, thrusting a small, dirty hand into
+his pocket, he pulled out a grubby sweet.
+
+“Minnie, ha' a sweetie--ain o' Davie's sweeties!” and he held it out
+anxiously in his warm plump palm, thinking it a certain cure for any
+ill.
+
+“Eat it for mither,” she said, smiling tenderly; and then: “Davie, ma
+heart, I'm leavin' ye.”
+
+The boy ceased sucking the sweet, and looked at her, the corners of his
+mouth drooping pitifully.
+
+“Ye're no gaein' awa', mither?” he asked, his face all working. “Ye'll
+no leave yen wee laddie?”
+
+“Ay, laddie, awa'--reet awa'. HE's callin' me.” She tried to smile; but
+her mother's heart was near to bursting.
+
+“Ye'll tak' yen wee Davie wi' ye mither!” the child pleaded, crawling up
+toward her face.
+
+The great tears rolled, unrestrained, down her wan cheeks, and M'Adam,
+at the head of the bed, was sobbing openly.
+
+“Eh, ma bairn, ma bairn, I'm sair to leave ye!” she cried brokenly.
+“Lift him for me, Adam.”
+
+He placed the child in her arms; but she was too weak to hold him. So he
+laid him upon his mother's pillows; and the boy wreathed his soft arms
+about her neck and sobbed tempestuously.
+
+And the two lay thus together.
+
+Just before she died, Flora turned her head and whispered:
+
+“Adam, ma man, ye'll ha' to be mither and father baith to the lad noo”;
+and she looked at him with tender confidence in her dying eyes.
+
+“I wull! afore God as I stan' here I wull!” he declared passionately.
+Then she died, and there was a look of ineffable peace upon her face.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+“Mither and father baith!”
+
+The little man rose to his feet and flung the photograph from him. Red
+Wull pounced upon it; but M'Adam leapt at him as he mouthed it.
+
+“Git awa', ye devil!” he screamed; and, picking it up, stroked it
+lovingly with trembling fingers.
+
+“Maither and father baith!”
+
+How had he fulfilled his love's last wish? How!
+
+“Oh God! “--and he fell upon his knees at the table-side, hugging the
+picture, sobbing and praying.
+
+Red Wull cowered in the far corner of the room, and then crept whining
+up to where his master knelt. But M'Adam heeded him not, and the great
+dog slunk away again.
+
+There the little man knelt in the gloom of the winter's afternoon, a
+miserable penitent. His gray-flecked head was bowed upon his arms; his
+hands clutched the picture; and he prayed aloud in gasping, halting
+tones.
+
+“Gie me grace, O God! 'Father and mither baith,' ye said, Flora--and I
+ha'na done it. But 'tis no too late--say it's no, lass. Tell me there's
+time yet, and say ye forgie me. I've tried to bear wi' him mony and mony
+a time. But he's vexed me, and set himself agin me, and stiffened my
+back, and ye ken hoo I was aye quick to tak' offence. But I'll mak' it
+up to him--mak' it up to him, and mair. I'll humble masel' afore him,
+and that'll be bitter enough. And I'll be father and mither baith to
+him. But there's bin none to help me; and it's bin sair wi'oot ye.
+And--. but, eh, lassie, I'm wearyin' for ye!”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was a dreary little procession that wound in the drizzle from Kenmuir
+to the little Dale Church. At the head stalked James Moore, and close
+behind David in his meagre coat. While last of all, as if to guide the
+stragglers in the weary road, come Owd Bob.
+
+There was a full congregation in the tiny church now. In the squire's
+pew were Cyril Gilbraith, Muriel Sylvester, and, most conspicuous, Lady
+Eleanour. Her slender figure was simply draped in gray, with gray fur
+about the neck and gray fur edging sleeves and jacket; her veil was
+lifted, and you could see the soft hair about her temples, like waves
+breaking on white cliffs, and her eyes big with tender sympathy as she
+glanced toward the pew upon her right.
+
+For there were the mourners from Kenmuir: the Master, tall, grim, and
+gaunt; and beside him Maggie, striving to be calm, and little Andrew,
+the miniature of his father.
+
+Alone, in the pew behind, David M'Adam in his father's coat.
+
+The back of the church was packed with farmers from the whole March Mere
+Estate; friends from Silverdale and Grammoch-town; and nearly every
+soul in Wastrel-dale, come to show their sympathy for the living and
+reverence for the dead.
+
+At last the end came in the wet dreariness of the little churchyard, and
+slowly the mourners departed, until at length were left only the parson,
+the Master, and Owd Bob.
+
+The parson was speaking in rough, short accents, digging nervously
+at the wet ground. The other, tall and gaunt, his face drawn and
+half-averted, stood listening. By his side was Owd Bob, scanning his
+master's countenance, a wistful compassion deep in the sad gray eyes;
+while close by, one of the parson's terriers was nosing inquisitively in
+the wet grass.
+
+Of a sudden, James Moore, his face still turned away, stretched out a
+hand. The parson, broke off abruptly and grasped it. Then the two men
+strode away in opposite directions, the terrier hopping on three legs
+and shaking the rain off his hard coat.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+David's steps sounded outside. M'Adam rose from his knees. The door of
+the house opened, and the boy's feet shuffled in the passage.
+
+“David!” the little man called in a tremulous voice.
+
+He stood in the half-light, one hand on the table, the other clasping
+the picture. His eyes were bleared, his thin hair all tossed, and he was
+shaking.
+
+“David,” he called again; “I've somethin' I wush to say to ye!”
+
+The boy burst into the room. His face was stained with tears and rain;
+and the new black coat was wet and slimy all down the front, and on the
+elbows were green-brown, muddy blots. For, on his way home, he had flung
+himself down in the Stony Bottom just as he was, heedless of the wet
+earth and his father's coat, and, lying on his face thinking of
+that second mother lost to him, had wept his heart out in a storm of
+passionate grief.
+
+Now he stood defiantly, his hand upon the door.
+
+“What d'yo' want?”
+
+The little man looked from him to the picture in his hand.
+
+“Help me, Flora--he'll no,” he prayed. Then raising his eyes, he began:
+“I'd like to say--I've bin thinkin'--I think I should tell ye--it's no
+an easy thing for a man to say--”
+
+He broke off short. The self-imposed task was almost more than he could
+accomplish.
+
+He looked appealingly at David. But there was no glimmer of
+understanding in that white, set countenance.
+
+“O God, it's maist mair than I can do!” the little man muttered; and the
+perspiration stood upon his forehead. Again he began: “David, after I
+saw ye this afternoon steppin' doon the hill--” Again he paused. His
+glance rested unconsciously upon the coat. David mistook the look;
+mistook the dimness in his father's eyes; mistook the tremor in his
+voice.
+
+“Here 'tis! tak' yo' coat!” he cried passionately; and, tearing it off,
+flung it down at his father's feet. “Tak' it--and---and--curse yo'.”
+
+He banged out of the room and ran upstairs; and, locking himself in,
+threw himself on to his bed and sobbed.
+
+Red Wull made a movement to fly at the retreating figure; then turned
+to his master, his stump-tail vibrating with pleasure. But little M'Adam
+was looking at the wet coat now lying in a wet bundle at his feet.
+
+“Curse ye,” he repeated softly. “Curse ye--ye heard him. Wullie?”
+
+A bitter smile crept across his face. He looked again at the picture now
+lying crushed in his hand.
+
+“Ye canna say I didna try; ye canna ask me to agin,” he muttered, and
+slipped it into his pocket. “Niver agin, Wullie; not if the Queen were
+to ask it.”
+
+Then he went out into the gloom and drizzle, still smiling the same
+bitter smile.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+That night, when it came to closing-time at the Sylvester Arms, Jem
+Burton found a little gray-haired figure lying on the floor in the
+tap-room. At the little man's head lay a great dog.
+
+“Yo' beast!” said the righteous publican, regarding the figure of his
+best customer with fine scorn. Then catching sight of a photograph in
+the little man's hand:
+
+“Oh, yo're that sort, are yo', foxy?” he leered. “Gie us a look at 'er,”
+ and he tried to disengage the picture from the other's grasp. But at
+the attempt the great dog rose, bared his teeth, and assumed such a
+diabolical expression that the big landlord retreated hurriedly behind
+the bar.
+
+“Two on ye!” he shouted viciously, rattling his heels; “beasts baith!”
+
+
+
+
+PART III THE SHEPHERDS' TROPHY
+
+
+
+
+Chapter IX. RIVALS
+
+
+M'ADAM never forgave his son. After the scene on the evening of the
+funeral there could be no alternative but war for all time. The
+little man had attempted to humble himself, and been rejected; and
+the bitterness of defeat, when he had deserved victory, rankled like a
+poisoned barb in his bosom.
+
+Yet the heat of his indignation was directed not against David, but
+against the Master of Kenmuir. To the influence and agency of James
+Moore he attributed his discomfiture, and bore himself accordingly. In
+public or in private, in tap-room or market, he never wearied of abusing
+his enemy.
+
+“Feel the loss o' his wife, d'ye say?” he would cry. “Ay, as muckle as
+I feel the loss o' my hair. James Moore can feel naethin', I tell ye,
+except, aiblins, a mischance to his meeserable dog.”
+
+When the two met, as they often must, it was always M'Adam's endeavor
+to betray his enemy into an unworthy expression of feeling. But James
+Moore, sorely tried as he often was, never gave way. He met the little
+man's sneers with a quelling silence, looking down on his asp-tongued
+antagonist with such a contempt flashing from his blue-gray eyes as hurt
+his adversary more than words.
+
+Only once was he spurred into reply. It was in the tap-room of
+the Dalesman's Daughter on the occasion of the big spring fair in
+Grammoch-town, when there was a goodly gathering of farmers and their
+dogs in the room.
+
+M'Adam was standing at the fireplace with Red Wull at his side.
+
+“It's a noble pairt ye play, James Moore,” he cried loudly across the
+room, “settin' son against father, and dividin' hoose against hoose.
+It's worthy o' ye we' yer churchgoin', and yer psalm-singin', and yer
+godliness.”
+
+The Master looked up from the far end of the room.
+
+“Happen yo're not aware, M'Adam,” he said sternly, “that, an' it had not
+bin for me, David'd ha' left you years agone--and 'twould nob'but ha'
+served yo' right, I'm thinkin'.”
+
+The little man was beaten on his own ground, so he changed front.
+
+“Dinna shout so, man--I have ears to hear, Forbye ye irritate Wullie.”
+
+The Tailless Tyke, indeed, had advanced from the fireplace, and now
+stood, huge and hideous, in the very centre of the room. There was
+distant thunder in his throat, a threat upon his face, a challenge in
+every wrinkle. And the Gray Dog stole gladly out from behind his master
+to take up the gage of battle.
+
+Straightway there was silence; tongues ceased to wag, tankards to clink.
+Every man and every dog was quietly gathering about those two central
+figures. Not one of them all but had his score to wipe off against the
+Tailless Tyke; not one of them but was burning to join in, the battle
+once begun. And the two gladiators stood looking past one another,
+muzzle to muzzle, each with a tiny flash of teeth glinting between his
+lips.
+
+But the fight was not to be; for the twentieth time the Master
+intervened.
+
+“Bob, lad, coom in!” he called, and, bending, grasped his favorite by
+the neck.
+
+M'Adam laughed softly.
+
+“Wullie, Wullie, to me!” he cried. “The look o' you's enough for that
+gentleman.”
+
+“If they get fightin' it'll no be Bob here I'll hit, I warn yo',
+M'Adam,” said the Master grimly.
+
+“Gin ye sae muckle as touched Wullie d'ye ken what I'd do, James Moore?”
+ asked the little man very smoothly.
+
+“Yes--sweer,” the other replied, and strode out of the room amid a roar
+of derisive laughter at M'Adam's expense.
+
+Owd Bob had now attained wellnigh the perfection of his art. Parson
+Leggy declared roundly that his like had not been seen since the days
+of Rex son of Rally. Among the Dalesmen he was a heroic favorite, his
+prowess and gentle ways winning him friends on every hand. But the point
+that told most heavily for him was that in all things he was the very
+antithesis of Red Wull.
+
+Barely a man in the country-side but owed that ferocious savage a
+grudge; not a man of them all who dared pay it. Once Long Kirby, full
+of beer and valor, tried to settle his account. Coming on M'Adam and Red
+Wull as he was driving into Grammoch-town, he leant over and with his
+thong dealt the dog a terrible sword-like slash that raised an angry
+ridge of red from hip to shoulder; and was twenty yards down the road
+before the little man's shrill curse reached his ear, drowned in a
+hideous bellow.
+
+He stood up and lashed the colt, who, quick on his legs for a young un,
+soon settled to his gallop. But, glancing over his shoulder, he saw a
+hounding form behind, catching him as though he were walking. His face
+turned sickly white; he screamed; he flogged; he looked back. Right
+beneath the tail-board was the red devil in the dust; while racing a
+furlong behind on the turnpike road was the mad figure of M'Adam.
+
+The smith struck back and flogged forward. It was of no avail. With a
+tiger-like bound the murderous brute leapt on the flying trap. At the
+shock of the great body the colt was thrown violently on his side; Kirby
+was tossed over the hedge; and Red Wull pinned beneath the debris.
+
+M'Adam had time to rush up and save a tragedy.
+
+“I've a mind to knife ye, Kirby,” he panted, as he bandaged the smith's
+broken head.
+
+After that you may be sure the Dalesmen preferred to swallow insults
+rather than to risk their lives; and their impotence only served to fan
+their hatred to white heat.
+
+The working methods of the antagonists were as contrasted as their
+appearances. In a word, the one compelled where the other coaxed.
+
+His enemies said the Tailless Tyke was rough; not even Tammas denied he
+was ready. His brain was as big as his body, and he used them both
+to some purpose. “As quick as a cat, with the heart of a lion and the
+temper of Nick's self,” was Parson Leggy's description.
+
+What determination could effect, that could Red Wall; but achievement
+by inaction--supremest of all strategies--was not for him. In matters of
+the subtlest handling, where to act anything except indifference was
+to lose, with sheep restless, fearful forebodings hymned to them by the
+wind, panic hovering unseen above them, when an ill-considered movement
+spelt catastrophe--then was Owd Bob o' Kenmuir incomparable.
+
+Men still tell how, when the squire's new thrashing-machine ran amuck
+in Grammoch-town, and for some minutes the market square was a turbulent
+sea of blaspheming men, yelping dogs, and stampeding sheep, only one
+flock stood calm as a mill-pond by the bull-ring, watching the riot with
+almost indifference. And in front, sitting between them and the storm,
+was a quiet gray dog, his mouth stretched in a capacious yawn: to yawn
+was to win, and he won.
+
+When the worst of the uproar was over, many a glance of triumph was shot
+first at that one still pack, and then at M'Adam, as he waded through
+the disorder of huddling sheep.
+
+“And wheer's your Wullie noo?” asked Tapper scornfully.
+
+“Weel,” the little man answered with a quiet smile, “at this minute he's
+killin' your Rasper doon by the pump.” Which was indeed the case; for
+big blue Rasper had interfered with the great dog in the performance of
+his duty, and suffered accordingly.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Spring passed into summer; and the excitement as to the event of the
+approaching Trials, when at length the rivals would be pitted
+against one another, reached such a height as old Jonas Maddox, the
+octogenarian, could hardly recall.
+
+Down in the Sylvester Arms there was almost nightly a conflict
+between M'Adam and Tammas Thornton, spokesman of the Dales men. Many a
+long-drawn bout of words had the two anent the respective merits and Cup
+chances of red and gray. In these duels Tammas was usually worsted. His
+temper would get the better of his discretion; and the cynical debater
+would be lost in the hot-tongued partisan.
+
+During these encounters the others would, as a rule, maintain a rigid
+silence. Only when their champion was being beaten, and it was time for
+strength of voice to vanquish strength of argument, they joined in
+right lustily and roared the little man down, for all the world like the
+gentlemen who rule the Empire at Westminster.
+
+Tammas was an easy subject for M'Adam to draw, but David was an easier.
+Insults directed at himself the boy bore with a stolidity born of long
+use. But a poisonous dart shot against his friends at Kenmuir never
+failed to achieve its object. And the little man evinced an amazing
+talent for the concoction of deft lies respecting James Moore.
+
+“I'm hearin',” said he, one evening, sitting in the kitchen, sucking his
+twig; “I'm hearin' James Moore is gaein' to git married agin.”
+
+“Yo're hearin' lies--or mair-like tellin' 'em,” David answered shortly.
+For he treated his father now with contemptuous indifference.
+
+“Seven months sin' his wife died,” the little man continued
+meditatively. “Weel, I'm on'y 'stonished he's waited sae lang. Ain
+buried, anither come on--that's James Moore.”
+
+David burst angrily out of the room.
+
+“Gaein' to ask him if it's true?” called his father after him. “Gude
+luck to ye--and him.”
+
+David had now a new interest at Kenmuir. In Maggie he found an endless
+source of study. On the death of her mother the girl had taken up the
+reins of government at Kenmuir; and gallantly she played her part,
+whether in tenderly mothering the baby, wee Anne, or in the sterner
+matters of household work. She did her duty, young though she was,
+with a surprising, old-fashioned womanliness that won many a smile
+of approval from her father, and caused David's eyes to open with
+astonishment.
+
+And he soon discovered that Maggie, mistress of Kenmuir, was another
+person from his erstwhile playfellow and servant.
+
+The happy days when might ruled right were gone, never to be recalled.
+David often regretted them, especially when in a conflict of tongues,
+Maggie, with her quick answers and teasing eyes, was driving him sulky
+and vanquished from the field. The two were perpetually squabbling now.
+In the good old days, he remembered bitterly, squabbles between them
+were unknown. He had never permitted them; any attempt at independent
+thought or action was as sternly quelled as in the Middle Ages. She must
+follow where he led on--“Ma word!”
+
+Now she was mistress where he had been master; hers was to command, his
+to obey. In consequence they were perpetually at war. And yet he would
+sit for hours in the kitchen and watch her, as she went about her
+business, with solemn, interested eyes, half of admiration, half of
+amusement. In the end Maggie always turned on him with a little laugh
+touched with irritation.
+
+“Han't yo' got nothin' better'n that to do, nor lookin' at me?” she
+asked one Saturday about a month before Cup Day.
+
+“No, I han't,” the pert fellow rejoined.
+
+“Then I wish yo' had. It mak's me fair jumpety yo' watchin' me so like
+ony cat a mouse.”
+
+“Niver yo' fash yo'sel' account o' me, ma wench,” he answered calmly.
+
+“Yo' wench, indeed!” she cried, tossing her head.
+
+“Ay, or will be,” he muttered.
+
+“What's that?” she cried, springing round, a flush of color on her face.
+
+“Nowt, my dear. Yo'll know so soon as I want yo' to, yo' may be sure,
+and no sooner.”
+
+The girl resumed her baking, half angry, half suspicious.
+
+“I dunno' what yo' mean, Mr. M'Adam,” she said.
+
+“Don't yo', Mrs. M'A----”
+
+The rest was lost in the crash of a falling plate; whereat David laughed
+quietly, and asked if he should help pick up the bits.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On the same evening at the Sylvester Arms an announcement was made that
+knocked the breath out of its hearers.
+
+In the debate that night on the fast-approaching Dale Trials and the
+relative abilities of red and gray, M'Adam on the one side, and Tammas,
+backed by Long Kirby and the rest, on the other, had cudgelled each
+other with more than usual vigor. The controversy rose to fever-heat;
+abuse succeeded argument; and the little man again and again was hooted
+into silence.
+
+“It's easy laffin',” he cried at last, “but ye'll laff t'ither side o'
+yer ugly faces on Cup Day.”
+
+“Will us, indeed? Us'll see,” came the derisive chorus.
+
+“We'll whip ye till ye're deaf, dumb, and blind, Wullie and I.”
+
+''Yo'll not!''
+
+“We will!”
+
+The voices were rising like the east wind in March.
+
+“Yo'll not, and for a very good reason too,” asseverated Tammas loudly.
+
+“Gie us yer reason, ye muckle liar,” cried the little man, turning on
+him.
+
+“Becos----” began Jim Mason and stopped to rub his nose.
+
+“Yo' 'old yo' noise, Jim,” recommended Rob Saunderson.
+
+“Becos----” it was Tammas this time who paused.
+
+“Git on wi' it, ye stammerin' stirk!” cried M'Adam. “Why?”
+
+“Becos--Owd Bob'll not rin.”
+
+Tammas sat back in his chair.
+
+“What!” screamed the little man, thrusting forward.
+
+“What's that!” yelled Long Kirby, leaping to his feet.
+
+“Mon, say it agin!” shouted Rob.
+
+“What's owd addled eggs tellin'?” cried Liz Burton.
+
+“Dang his 'ead for him!” shouts Tupper.
+
+“Fill his eye!” says Ned Hoppin.
+
+They jostled round the old man's chair: M'Adam in front; Jem Burton and
+Long Kirby leaning over his shoulder; Liz behind her father; Saunderson
+and Tupper tackling him on either side; while the rest peered and
+elbowed in the rear.
+
+The announcement had fallen like a thunderbolt among them.
+
+Tammas looked slowly up at the little mob of eager faces above him.
+Pride at the sensation caused by his news struggled in his countenance
+with genuine sorrow for the matter of it.
+
+“Ay, yo' may well 'earken all on yo'. Tis enough to mak' the deadies
+listen. I says agin: We's'll no rin oor Bob fot' Cup. And yo' may guess
+why. Bain't every mon, Mr. M'Adam, as'd pit aside his chanst o' the Cup,
+and that 'maist a gift for him”--M'Adam's tongue was in his cheek--“and
+it a certainty,” the old man continued warmly, “oot o' respect for his
+wife's memory.”
+
+The news was received in utter silence. The shock of the surprise,
+coupled with the bitterness of the disappointment, froze the slow
+tongues of his listeners.
+
+Only one small voice broke the stillness.
+
+“Oh, the feelin' man! He should git a reduction o' rent for sic a
+display o' proper speerit. I'll mind Mr. Hornbut to let auld Sylvester
+ken o't.”
+
+Which he did, and would have got a thrashing for his pains had not Cyril
+Gilbraith thrown him out of the parsonage before the angry cleric could
+lay hands upon him.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter X. RED WULL WINS
+
+
+TAMMAS had but told the melancholy truth. Owd Bob was not to run for the
+cup. And this self-denying ordinance speaks more for James Moore's love
+of his lost wife than many a lordly cenotaph.
+
+To the people of the Daleland, from the Black Water to the market-cross
+in Grammoch-town, the news came with the shock of a sudden blow. They
+had set their hearts on the Gray Dog's success; and had felt serenely
+confident of his victory. But the sting of the matter lay in this: that
+now the Tailless Tyke might well win.
+
+M'Adam, on the other hand, was plunged into a fervor of delight at the
+news. For to win the Shepherds' Trophy was the goal of his ambition.
+David was now less than nothing to the lonely little man, Red Wull
+everything to him. And to have that name handed down to posterity,
+gallantly holding its place among those of the most famous sheep-dogs of
+all time, was his heart's desire.
+
+As Cup Day drew near, the little man, his fine-drawn temperament
+strung to the highest pitch of nervousness, was tossed on a sea of
+apprehension. His hopes and fears ebbed and flowed on the tide of the
+moment. His moods were as uncertain as the winds in March; and there was
+no dependence on his humor for a unit of time. At one minute he paced up
+and down the kitchen, his face already flushed with the glow of victory,
+chanting:
+
+“Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled!”
+
+At the next he was down at the table, his head buried in his hands, his
+whole figure shaking, as he cried in choking voice: “Eh, Wullie, Wullie,
+they're all agin us.”
+
+David found that life with his father now was life with an unamiable
+hornet. Careless as he affected to be of his father's vagaries, he was
+tried almost to madness, and fled away at every moment to Kenmuir; for,
+as he told Maggie, “I'd sooner put up wi' your h'airs and h'imperences,
+miss, than wi' him, the wemon that he be!”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At length the great day came. Fears, hopes, doubts, dismays, all
+dispersed in the presence of the reality.
+
+Cup Day is always a general holiday in the Daleland, and every soul
+crowds over to Silverdale. Shops were shut; special trains ran in
+to Grammoch-town; and the road from the little town was dazed with
+char-a-bancs, brakes, wagonettes, carriages, carts, foot-passengers,
+wending toward the Dalesman's Daughter.
+
+And soon the paddock below that little inn was humming with the crowd
+of sportsmen and spectators come to see the battle for the Shepherd's
+Trophy.
+
+There, very noticeable with its red body and yellow wheels, was the
+great Kenmuir wagon. Many an eye was directed on the handsome young pair
+who stood in it, conspicuous and unconscious, above the crowd: Maggie,
+looking in her simple print frock as sweet and fresh as any mountain
+flower; while David's fair face was all gloomy and his brows knit.
+
+In front of the wagon was a black cluster of Dalesmen, discussing
+M'Adam's chances. In the centre was Tammas holding forth. Had you passed
+close to the group you might have heard: “A man, d'yo say, Mr. Maddox? A
+h'ape, I call him”; or: “A dog? more like an 'og, I tell yo'.” Round the
+old orator were Jonas, 'Enry, and oor Job, Jem Burton, Rob Saunderson,
+Tupper, Jim Mason, Hoppin, and others; while on the outskirts stood
+Sam'l Todd prophesying rain and M'Adam's victory. Close at hand Bessie
+Bolstock, who was reputed to have designs on David, was giggling
+spitefully at the pair in the Kenmuir wagon, and singing:
+
+“Let a lad aloan, lass, Let a lad a-be.”
+
+While her father, Teddy, dodged in and out among the crowd with tray and
+glasses: for Cup Day was the great day of the year for him.
+
+Past the group of Dalesmen and on all sides was a mass of bobbing
+heads--Scots, Northerners, Yorkshiremen, Taffies. To right and left
+a long array of carriages and carts, ranging from the squire's quiet
+landau and Viscount Birdsaye's gorgeous barouche to Liz Burton's
+three-legged moke-cart with little Mrs. Burton, the twins, young Jake
+(who should have walked), and Monkey (ditto) packed away inside. Beyond
+the Silver Lea the gaunt Scaur raised its craggy peak, and the Pass,
+trending along its side, shone white in the sunshine.
+
+At the back of the carriages were booths, cocoanut-shies, Aunt Sallies,
+shows, bookmakers' stools, and all the panoply of such a meeting.
+Here Master Launcelot Bilks and Jacky Sylvester were fighting; Cyril
+Gilbraith was offering to take on the boxing man; Long Kirby was
+snapping up the odds against Red Wull; and Liz Burton and young Ned
+Hoppin were being photographed together, while Melia Ross in the
+background was pretending she didn't care.
+
+On the far bank of the stream was a little bevy of men and dogs,
+observed of all.
+
+The Juvenile Stakes had been run and won; Londesley's Lassie had carried
+off the Locals; and the fight for the Shepherds' Trophy was about to
+begin.
+
+“Yo're not lookin' at me noo,” whispered Maggie to the silent boy by her
+side.
+
+“Nay; nor niver don't wush to agin.” David answered roughly. His gaze
+was directed over the array of heads in front to where, beyond the
+Silver Lea, a group of shepherds and their dogs was clustered. While
+standing apart from the rest, in characteristic isolation, was the bent
+figure of his father, and beside him the Tailless Tyke.
+
+“Doest'o not want yo' feyther to win?” asked Maggie softly, following
+his gaze.
+
+“I'm prayin' he'll be beat,” the boy answered moodily.
+
+“Eh, Davie, hoo can ye?” cried the girl, shocked.
+
+“It's easy to say, 'Eh, David,'” he snapped. “But if yo' lived along
+o' them two “--he nodded toward the stream--“'appen yo'd understand a
+bit.... 'Eh, David,' indeed! I never did!”
+
+“I know it, lad,” she said tenderly; and he was appeased.
+
+“He'd give his right hand for his bless'd Wullie to win; I'd give me
+right arm to see him beat.... And oor Bob there all the while,”--he
+nodded to the far left of the line, where stood James Moore and Owd Bob,
+with Parson Leggy and the Squire.
+
+When at length Red Wull came out to run his course, he worked with the
+savage dash that always characterized him. His method was his own; but
+the work was admirably done.
+
+“Keeps right on the back of his sheep,” said the parson, watching
+intently. “Strange thing they don't break!” But they didn't. There was
+no waiting, no coaxing; it was drive and devilry all through. He
+brought his sheep along at a terrific rate, never missing a turn, never
+faltering, never running out. And the crowd applauded, for the crowd
+loves a dashing display. While little M'Adam, hopping agilely about,
+his face ablaze with excitement, handled dog and sheep with a masterly
+precision that compelled the admiration even of his enemies.
+
+“M'Adam wins!” roared a bookmaker. “Twelve to one agin the field!”
+
+“He wins, dang him!” said David, low.
+
+“Wull wins!” said the parson, shutting his lips.
+
+“And deserves too!” said James Moore.
+
+“Wull wins!” softly cried the crowd.
+
+“We don't!” said Sam'l gloomily.
+
+And in the end Red Wull did Win; and there were none save Tammas, the
+bigot, and Long Kirby, who had lost a good deal of his wife's money and
+a little of his own, to challenge the justice of the verdict.
+
+The win had but a chilling reception. At first there was faint cheering;
+but it sounded like the echo of an echo, and soon died of inanition.
+To get up an ovation, there must be money at the back, or a few roaring
+fanatics to lead the dance. Here there was neither; ugly stories,
+disparaging remarks, on every hand. And the hundreds who did not know
+took their tone, as always, from those who said they did.
+
+M'Adam could but remark the absence of enthusiasm as he pushed up
+through the throng toward the committee tent. No single voice hailed
+him victor; no friendly hand smote its congratulations. Broad backs were
+turned; contemptuous glances levelled; spiteful remarks shot. Only the
+foreign element looked curiously at the little bent figure with the
+glowing face, and shrank back at the size and savage aspect of the great
+dog at his heels.
+
+But what cared he? His Wullie was acknowledged champion, the best
+sheep-dog of the year; and the little man was happy. They could turn
+their backs on him; but they could not alter that; and he could afford
+to be indifferent. “They dinna like it, lad--he! he! But they'll e'en
+ha' to thole it. Ye've won it, Wullie--won it fair.”
+
+He elbowed through the press, making for the rope-guarded inclosure in
+front of the committee tent, round which the people were now packing. In
+the door of the tent stood the secretary, various stewards, and members
+of the committee. In front, alone in the roped-off space, was Lady
+Eleanour, fragile, dainty, graceful, waiting with a smile upon her face
+to receive the winner. And on a table beside her, naked and dignified,
+the Shepherd's Trophy.
+
+There it stood, kingly and impressive; its fair white sides inscribed
+with many names; cradled in three shepherds' crooks; and on the top, as
+if to guard the Cup's contents, an exquisitely carved collie's head. The
+Shepherds' Trophy, the goal of his life's race, and many another man's.
+
+He climbed over the rope, followed by Red Wull, and took off his hat
+with almost courtly deference to the fair lady before him.
+
+As he walked up to the table on which the Cup stood, a shrill voice,
+easily recognizable, broke the silence.
+
+“You'd like it better if 'twas full and yo' could swim in it, you and
+yer Wullie,” it called. Whereat the crowd giggled, and Lady Eleanour
+looked indignant.
+
+The little man turned.
+
+“I'll mind drink yer health, Mr. Thornton, never fear, though I ken ye'd
+prefaire to drink yer ain,” he said. At which the crowd giggled afresh;
+and a gray head at the back, which had hoped itself unrecognized,
+disappeared suddenly.
+
+The little man stood there in the stillness, sourly smiling, his face
+still wet from his exertions; while the Tailless Tyke at his side
+fronted defiantly the serried ring of onlookers, a white fence of teeth
+faintly visible between his lips.
+
+Lady Eleanour looked uneasy. Usually the lucky winner was unable to
+hear her little speech, as she gave the Cup away, so deafening was the
+applause. Now there was utter silence. She glanced up at the crowd, but
+there was no response to her unspoken appeal in that forest of hostile
+faces. And her gentle heart bled for the forlorn little man before her.
+To make it up she smiled on him so sweetly as to more than compensate
+him.
+
+“I'm sure you deserve your success, Mr. M'Adam,” she said. “You and Red
+Wull there worked splendidly--everybody says so.”
+
+“I've heard naethin' o't,” the little man answered dryly. At which some
+one in the crowd sniggered.
+
+“And we all know what a grand dog he is; though”--with a reproving smile
+as she glanced at Red Wull's square, truncated stern--“he's not very
+polite.”
+
+“His heart is good, your Leddyship, if his manners are not,” M'Adam
+answered, smiling.
+
+“Liar!” came a loud voice in the silence. Lady Eleanour looked up, hot
+with indignation, and half rose from her seat. But M'Adam merely smiled.
+
+“Wullie, turn and mak' yer bow to the leddy,” he said. “They'll no hurt
+us noo we're up; it's when we're doon they'll flock like corbies to the
+carrion.”
+
+At that Red Wull walked up to Lady Eleanour, faintly wagging his tail;
+and she put her hand on his huge bull head and said, “Dear old Ugly!” at
+which the crowd cheered in earnest.
+
+After that, for some moments, the only sound was the gentle ripple of
+the good lady's voice and the little man's caustic replies.
+
+“Why, last winter the country was full of Red Wull's doings and yours.
+It was always M'Adam and his Red Wull have done this and that and the
+other. I declare I got quite tired of you both, I heard such a lot about
+you.”
+
+The little man, cap in hand, smiled, blushed and looked genuinely
+pleased.
+
+“And when it wasn't you it was Mr. Moore and Owd Bob.”
+
+“Owd Bob, bless him!” called a stentorian voice. “There cheers for oor
+Bob!”
+
+“'Ip! 'ip! 'ooray!” It was taken up gallantly, and cast from mouth
+to mouth; and strangers, though they did not understand, caught the
+contagion and cheered too; and the uproar continued for some minutes.
+
+When it was ended Lady Eleanour was standing up, a faint flush on her
+cheeks and her eyes flashing dangerously, like a queen at bay.
+
+“Yes,” she cried, and her clear voice thrilled through the air like a
+trumpet. “Yes; and now three cheers for Mr. M'Adam and his Red Wull!
+Hip! hip--”
+
+“Hooray!” A little knowt of stalwarts at the back--James Moore,
+Parson Leggy, Jim Mason, and you may be sure in heart, at least, Owd
+Bob--responded to the call right lustily. The crowd joined in; and, once
+off, cheered and cheered again.
+
+“Three cheers more for Mr. M'Adam!”
+
+But the little man waved to them.
+
+“Dinna be bigger heepocrites than ye can help,” he said. “Ye've done
+enough for one day, and thank ye for it.”
+
+Then Lady Eleanour handed him the Cup.
+
+“Mr. M'Adam, I present you with the Champion Challenge Dale Cup, open to
+all comers. Keep it, guard it, love it as your own, and win it again if
+you can. Twice more and it's yours, you know, and it will stop forever
+beneath the shadow of the Pike. And the right place for it, say I--the
+Dale Cup for Dalesmen.”
+
+The little man took the Cup tenderly.
+
+“It shall no leave the Estate or ma hoose, yer Leddyship, gin Wullie and
+I can help it,” he said emphatically.
+
+Lady Eleanour retreated into the tent, and the crowd swarmed over the
+ropes and round the little man, who held the Cup beneath his arm.
+
+Long Kirby laid irreverent hands upon it.
+
+“Dinna finger it!” ordered M'Adam.
+
+“Shall!''
+
+“Shan't! Wullie, keep him aff.” Which the great dog proceeded to do amid
+the laughter of the onlookers.
+
+Among the last, James Moore was borne past the little man. At sight of
+him, M'Adam's face assumed an expression of intense concern.
+
+“Man, Moore!” he cried, peering forward as though in alarm; “man, Moore,
+ye're green--positeevely verdant. Are ye in pain?” Then, catching sight
+of Owd Bob, he started back in affected horror.
+
+“And, ma certes! so's yer dog! Yer dog as was gray is green. Oh, guid
+life! “--and he made as though about to fall fainting to the ground.
+
+Then, in bantering tones: “Ah, but ye shouldna covet ----”
+
+“He'll ha' no need to covet it long, I can tell yo',” interposed
+Tammas's shrill accents.
+
+“And why for no?”
+
+“Becos next year he'll win it fra yo'. Oor Bob'll win it, little mon.
+Why? thot's why.”
+
+The retort was greeted with a yell of applause from the sprinkling of
+Dalesmen in the crowd.
+
+But M'Adam swaggered away into the tent, his head up, the Cup beneath
+his arm, and Red Wull guarding his rear.
+
+“First of a' ye'll ha' to beat Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull!” he cried
+back proudly.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XI. OOR BOB
+
+
+M'ADAM'S pride in the great Cup that now graced his kitchen was supreme.
+It stood alone in the very centre of the mantelpiece, just below the old
+bell-mouthed blunderbuss that hung upon the wall. The only ornament in
+the bare room, it shone out in its silvery chastity like the moon in a
+gloomy sky.
+
+For once the little man was content. Since his mother's death David had
+never known such peace. It was not that his father became actively kind;
+rather that he forgot to be actively unkind.
+
+“Not as I care a brazen button one way or t'ither,” the boy informed
+Maggie.
+
+“Then yo' should,” that proper little person replied.
+
+M'Adam was, indeed, a changed being. He forgot to curse James Moore; he
+forgot to sneer at Owd Bob; he rarely visited the Sylvester Arms, to the
+detriment of Jem Burton's pocket and temper; and he was never drunk.
+
+“Soaks 'isseif at home, instead,” suggested Tammas, the prejudiced. But
+the accusation was untrue.
+
+“Too drunk to git so far,” said Long Kirby, kindly man.
+
+“I reck'n the Cup is kind o' company to him,” said Jim Mason. “Happen
+it's lonesomeness as drives him here so much.” And happen you were
+right, charitable Jim.
+
+“Best mak' maist on it while he has it, 'cos he'll not have it for
+long,” Tammas remarked amid applause.
+
+Even Parson Leggy allowed--rather reluctantly, indeed, for he was but
+human--that the little man was changed wonderfully for the better.
+
+“But I am afraid it may not last,” he said. “We shall see what happens
+when Owd Bob beats him for the Cup, as he certainly will. That'll be the
+critical moment.”
+
+As things were, the little man spent all his spare moments with the Cup
+between his knees, burnishing it and crooning to Wullie:
+
+     “I never saw a fairer,
+     I never lo'ed a dearer,
+     And neist my heart I'll wear her,
+     For fear my jewel tine.”
+
+“There, Wullie! look at her! is she no bonnie? She shines like a
+twinkle--twinkle in the sky.” And he would hold it out at arm's length,
+his head cocked sideways the better to scan its bright beauties.
+
+The little man was very jealous for his treasure. David might not touch
+it; might not smoke in the kitchen lest the fumes should tarnish its
+glory; while if he approached too closely he was ordered abruptly away.
+
+“As if I wanted to touch his nasty Cup!” he complained to Maggie. “I'd
+sooner ony day--”
+
+“Hands aff, Mr. David, immediate!” she cried indignantly. “'Pertinence,
+indeed!” as she tossed her head clear of the big fingers that were
+fondling her pretty hair.
+
+So it was that M'Adam, on coming quietly into the kitchen one day,
+was consumed with angry resentment to find David actually handling
+the object of his reverence; and the manner of his doing it added a
+thousandfold to the offence.
+
+The boy was lolling indolently against the mantelpiece, his fair head
+shoved right into the Cup, his breath dimming its lustre, and his two
+hands, big and dirty, slowly revolving it before his eyes.
+
+Bursting with indignation, the little man crept up behind the boy. David
+was reading through the long list of winners.
+
+“Theer's the first on 'em,” he muttered, shooting out his tongue to
+indicate the locality: “'Andrew Moore's Rough, 178--.' And theer agin--'
+James Moore's Pinch, 179--.' And agin--'Beck, 182--.' Ah, and theer's
+'im Tammas tells on! 'Rex, 183--,' and Rex, 183--.' Ay, but he was a
+rare un by all tell-in's! If he'd nob'but won but onst agin! Ah, and
+theer's none like the Gray Dogs--they all says that, and I say so
+masel'; none like the Gray Dogs o' Kenmuir, bless 'em! And we'll win
+agin too--” he broke off short; his eye had travelled down to the last
+name on the list.
+
+“'M'Adam's Wull'!” he read with unspeakable contempt, and put his great
+thumb across the name as though to wipe it out. “'M'Adam's Wull'! Goo'
+gracious sakes! P-hg-h-r-r! “--and he made a motion as though to spit
+upon the ground.
+
+But a little shoulder was into his side, two small fists were beating
+at his chest, and a shrill voice was yelling: “Devil! devil! stan'
+awa'!”--and he was tumbled precipitately away from the mantelpiece, and
+brought up abruptly against the side-wall.
+
+The precious Cup swayed on its ebony stand, the boy's hands, rudely
+withdrawn, almost overthrowing it. But the little man's first impulse,
+cursing and screaming though he was, was to steady it.
+
+“'M'Adam's Wull'! I wish he was here to teach ye, ye snod-faced,
+ox-limbed profleegit!” he cried, standing in front of the Cup, his eyes
+blazing.
+
+“Ay, 'M'Adam's Wull'! And why not 'M'Adam's Wull'? Ha' ye ony objections
+to the name?”
+
+“I didn't know yo' was theer,” said David, a thought sheepishly.
+
+“Na; or ye'd not ha' said it.”
+
+“I'd ha' thought it, though,” muttered the boy.
+
+Luckily, however, his father did not hear. He stretched his hands up
+tenderly for the Cup, lifted it down, and began reverently to polish the
+dimmed sides with his handkerchief.
+
+“Ye're thinkin', nae doot,” he cried, casting up a vicious glance at
+David, “that Wullie's no gude enough to ha' his name alangside o'
+they cursed Gray Dogs. Are ye no? Let's ha' the truth for aince--for a
+diversion.”
+
+“Reck'n he's good enough if there's none better,” David replied
+dispassionately.
+
+“And wha should there be better? Tell me that, ye muckle gowk.”
+
+David smiled.
+
+“Eh, but that'd be long tellin', he said.
+
+“And what wad ye mean by that?” his father cried.
+
+“Nay; I was but thinkin' that Mr. Moore's Bob'll look gradely writ under
+yon.” He pointed to the vacant space below Red Wull's name.
+
+The little man put the Cup back on its pedestal with hurried hands. The
+handkerchief dropped unconsidered to the floor; he turned and sprang
+furiously at the boy, who stood against the wall, still smiling; and,
+seizing him by the collar of his coat, shook him to and fro with fiery
+energy.
+
+“So ye're hopin', prayin', nae doot, that James Moore--curse him!--will
+win ma Cup awa' from me, yer ain dad. I wonder ye're no 'shamed to crass
+ma door! Ye live on me; ye suck ma blood, ye foul-mouthed leech. Wullie
+and me brak' oorsel's to keep ye in hoose and hame--and what's yer
+gratitude? Ye plot to rob us of oor rights.”
+
+He dropped the boy's coat and stood back.
+
+“No rights about it,” said David, still keeping his temper.
+
+“If I win is it no ma right as muckle as ony Englishman's?”
+
+Red Wull, who had heard the rising voices, came trotting in, scowled at
+David, and took his stand beside his master.
+
+“Ah, _if_ yo' win it,” said David, with significant emphasis on the
+conjunction.
+
+“And wha's to beat us?”
+
+David looked at his father in well-affected surprise.
+
+“I tell yo' Owd Bob's rinin',” he answered.
+
+“And what if he is?” the other cried.
+
+“Why, even yo' should know so much,” the boy sneered.
+
+The little man could not fail to understand.
+
+“So that's it!” he said. Then, in a scream, with one finger pointing to
+the great dog: “And what o' him? What'll ma Wullie be doin' the while?
+Tell me that, and ha' a care! Mind ye, he stan's here hearkenin'!” And,
+indeed, the Tailless Tyke was bristling for battle.
+
+David did not like the look of things; and edged away toward the door.
+
+“What'll Wullie be doin', ye chicken-hearted brock?” his father cried.
+
+“Im?” said the boy, now close on the door. “Im!” he said, with a slow
+contempt that made the red bristles quiver on the dog's neck. “Lookin'
+on, I should think--lookin' on. What else is he fit for? I tell yo' oor
+Bob--”
+
+“--'Oor Bob'!” screamed the little man darting forward. “'Oor Bob'! Hark
+to him. I'll 'oor--' At him, Wullie! at him!”
+
+But the Tailless Tyke needed no encouragement. With a harsh roar he
+sprang through the air, only to crash against the closing door!
+
+The outer door banged, and in another second a mocking finger tapped on
+the windowpane.
+
+“Better luck to the two on yo' next time!” laughed a scornful voice; and
+David ran down the hill toward Kenmuir.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XII. HOW RED WULL HELD THE BRIDGE
+
+
+FROM that hour the fire of M'Adam's jealousy blazed into a mighty flame.
+The winning of the Dale Cup had become a mania with him. He had won it
+once, and would again despite all the Moores, all the Gray Dogs, all the
+undutiful sons in existence; on that point he was resolved. The fact of
+his having tasted the joys of victory served to whet his desire. And now
+he felt he could never be happy till the Cup was his own--won outright.
+
+At home David might barely enter the room There the trophy stood.
+
+“I'll not ha' ye touch ma Cup, ye dirty-fingered, ill-begotten wastrel.
+Wullie and me won it--you'd naught to do wi' it. Go you to James Moore
+and James Moore's dog.”
+
+“Ay, and shall I tak' Cup wi' me? or will ye bide till it's took from
+ye?”
+
+So the two went on; and every day the tension approached nearer
+breaking-point.
+
+In the Dale the little man met with no sympathy. The hearts of the
+Dalesmen were to a man with Owd Bob and his master.
+
+Whereas once at the Sylvester Arms his shrill, ill tongue had been
+rarely still, now he maintained a sullen silence; Jem Burton, at least,
+had no cause of complaint. Crouched away in a corner, with Red Wull
+beside him, the little man would sit watching and listening as the
+Dalesmen talked of Owd Bob's doings, his staunchness, sagacity, and
+coming victory.
+
+Sometimes he could restrain himself no longer. Then he would spring
+to his feet, and stand, a little swaying figure, and denounce them
+passionately in almost pathetic eloquence. These orations always
+concluded in set fashion.
+
+“Ye're all agin us!” the little man would cry in quivering voice.
+
+“We are that,” Tammas would answer complacently.
+
+“Fair means or foul, ye're content sae lang as Wullie and me are beat.
+I wonder ye dinna poison him--a little arsenic, and the way's clear for
+your Bob.”
+
+“'The way is clear enough wi'oot that,” from Tammas caustically.
+
+Then a lengthy silence, only broken by that exceeding bitter cry: “Eh,
+Wullie, Wullie, they're all agin us!”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+And always the rivals--red and gray--went about seeking their
+opportunity. But the Master, with his commanding presence and stern
+eyes, was ever ready for them. Toward the end, M'Adam, silent and
+sneering, would secretly urge on Red Wull to the attack; until, one day
+in Grammoch-town, James Moore turned on him, his blue eyes glittering.
+“D'yo' think, yo' little fule,” he cried in that hard voice of his,
+“that onst they got set we should iver git either of them off alive?” It
+seemed to strike the little man as a novel idea; for, from that moment,
+he was ever the first in his feverish endeavors to oppose his small
+form, buffer-like, between the would-be combatants.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Curse as M'Adam might, threaten as he might, when the time came Owd Bob
+won.
+
+The styles of the rivals were well contrasted: the patience, the
+insinuating eloquence, combined with the splendid dash, of the one; and
+the fierce, driving fury of the other.
+
+The issue was never in doubt. It may have been that the temper of the
+Tailless Tyke gave in the time of trial; it may have been that his sheep
+were wild, as M'Adam declared; certainly not, as the little man alleged
+in choking voice, that they had been chosen and purposely set aside to
+ruin his chance. Certain it is that his tactics scared them hopelessly:
+and he never had them in hand.
+
+Act for Owd Bob, his dropping, his driving, his penning, aroused the
+loud-tongued admiration of crowd and competitors alike. He was patient
+yet persistent, quiet yet firm, and seemed to coax his charges in the
+right way in that inimitable manner of his own.
+
+When, at length, the verdict was given, and it was known that, after
+an interval of half a century, the Shepherds' Trophy was won again by a
+Gray Dog of Kenmuir, there was such a scene as has been rarely witnessed
+on the slope behind the Dalesman's Daughter.
+
+Great fists were slapped on mighty backs; great feet were stamped on the
+sun-dried banks of the Silver Lea; stalwart lungs were strained to their
+uttermost capacity; and roars of “Moore!” “Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!” “The
+Gray Dogs!” thundered up the hillside, and were flung, thundering, back.
+
+Even James Moore was visibly moved as he worked his way through the
+cheering mob; and Owd Bob, trotting alongside him in quiet dignity,
+seemed to wave his silvery brush in acknowledgment.
+
+Master Jacky Sylvester alternately turned cart-wheels and felled the
+Hon. Launcelot Bilks to the ground. Lady Eleanour, her cheeks flushed
+with pleasure, waved her parasol, and attempted to restrain her son's
+exuberance. Parson Leggy danced an unclerical jig, and shook hands with
+the squire till both those fine old gentlemen were purple in the face.
+Long Kirby selected a small man in the crowd, and bashed his hat down
+over his eyes. While Tammas, Rob Saunderson, Tupper, Hoppin, Londesley,
+and the rest joined hands and went raving round like so many giddy
+girls.
+
+Of them all, however, none was so uproarious in the mad heat of his
+enthusiasm as David M'Adam. He stood in the Kenmuir wagon beside Maggie,
+a conspicuous figure above the crowd, as he roared in hoarse ecstasy:
+
+“Weel done, oor Bob! Weel done, Mr. Moore! Yo've knocked him! Knock him
+agin! Owd Bob o' Kenmuir! Moore! Moore o' Kenmuir! Hip! Hip!” until the
+noisy young giant attracted such attention in his boisterous delight
+that Maggie had to lay a hand upon his arm to restrain his violence.
+
+Alone, on the far bank of the stream, stood the vanquished pair.
+
+The little man was trembling slightly; his face was still hot from his
+exertions; and as he listened to the ovation accorded to his conqueror,
+there was a piteous set grin upon his face. In front stood the defeated
+dog, his lips wrinkling and hackles rising, as he, too, saw and heard
+and understood.
+
+“It's a gran' thing to ha' a dutiful son. Wullie,” the little man
+whispered, watching David's waving figure. “He's happy--and so are they
+a'--not sae much that James Moore has won, as that you and I are beat.”
+
+Then, breaking down for a moment:
+
+“Eh, Wullie, Wullie! They're all agin us. It's you and I alane, lad.”
+
+Again, seeing the squire followed by Parson Leggy, Viscount Birdsaye,
+and others of the gentry, forcing their way through the press to shake
+hands with the victor, he continued:
+
+“It's good to be in wi' the quality, Wullie. Niver mak' a friend of a
+man beneath ye in rank, nor an enemy of a man aboon ye: that's a soond
+principle, Wullie, if ye'd get on in honest England.”
+
+He stood there, alone with his dog, watching the crowd on the far slope
+as it surged upward in the direction of the committee tent. Only when
+the black mass had packed itself in solid phalanges about that
+ring, inside which, just a year ago, he had stood in very different
+circumstances, and was at length still, a wintry smile played for a
+moment about his lips. He laughed a mirthless laugh.
+
+     “Bide a wee, Wullie--he! he! Bide a wee.
+     'The best-laid schemes o' mice and men
+     Gang aft agley.'”
+
+As he spoke, there came down to him, above the tumult, a faint cry of
+mingled surprise and anger. The cheering ceased abruptly. There was
+silence; then there burst on the stillness a hurricane of indignation.
+
+The crowd surged forward, then turned. Every eye was directed across the
+stream. A hundred damning fingers pointed at the solitary figure there.
+There were hoarse yells of: “There he be Yon's him! What's he done wi'
+it? Thief! Throttle him!”
+
+The mob came lumbering down the slope like one man, thundering their
+imprecations on a thousand throats. They looked dangerous, and their
+wrath was stimulated by the knot of angry Dalesmen who led the van.
+There was more than one white face among the women at the top of the
+slope as they watched the crowd blundering blindly down the hill. There
+were more men than Parson Leggy, the squire, James Moore, and the local
+constables in the thick of it all, striving frantically with voice and
+gesture, ay, and stick too, to stem the advance.
+
+It was useless; on the dark wave rolled, irresistible.
+
+On the far bank stood the little man, motionless, awaiting them with a
+grin upon his face. And a little farther in front was the Tailless Tyke,
+his back and neck like a new-shorn wheat-field, as he rumbled a vast
+challenge.
+
+“Come on, gentlemen!” the little man cried. “Come on! I'll bide for ye,
+never fear. Ye're a thousand to one and a dog. It's the odds ye like,
+Englishmen a'.”
+
+And the mob, with murder in its throat, accepted the invitation and came
+on.
+
+At the moment, however, from the slope above, clear above the tramp of
+the multitude, a great voice bellowed: “Way! Way! Way for Mr. Trotter!”
+ The advancing host checked and opened out; and the secretary of the
+meeting bundled through.
+
+He was a small, fat man, fussy at any time, and perpetually perspiring.
+Now his face was crimson with rage and running; he gesticulated wildly;
+vague words bubbled forth, as his short legs twinkled down the slope.
+
+The crowd paused to admire. Some one shouted a witticism, and the crowd
+laughed. For the moment the situation was saved.
+
+The fat secretary hurried on down the slope, unheeding of any insult but
+the one. He bounced over the plank-bridge: and as he came closer, M'Adam
+saw that in each hand brandished a brick.
+
+“Hoots, man! dinna throw!” he cried, making a feint as though to turn in
+sudden terror.
+
+“What's this? What's this?” gasped the secretary, waving his arms.
+
+“Bricks, 'twad seem,” the other answered, staying his flight.
+
+The secretary puffed up like a pudding in a hurry.
+
+“Where's the Cup? Champion, Challenge, etc.,” he jerked out. “Mind, sir,
+you're responsible! wholly responsible! Dents, damages, delays! What's
+it all mean, sir? These--these monstrous creations “--he brandished the
+bricks, and M'Adam started back--“wrapped, as I live, in straw, sir, in
+the Cup case, sir! the Cup case! No Cup! Infamous! Disgraceful! Insult
+me--meeting--committee--every one! What's it mean, sir?” He paused to
+pant, his body filling and emptying like a bladder.
+
+M'Adam approached him with one eye on the crowd, which was heaving
+forward again, threatening still, but sullen and silent.
+
+“I pit 'em there,” he whispered; and drew back to watch the effect of
+his disclosure.
+
+The secretary gasped.
+
+“You--you not only do this--amazing thing--these monstrosities”--he
+hurled the bricks furiously on the unoffending ground--“but you dare to
+tell me so!”
+
+The little man smiled.
+
+“'Do wrang and conceal it, do right and confess it,' that's Englishmen's
+motto, and mine, as a rule; but this time I had ma reasons.”
+
+“Reasons, sir! No reasons can justify such an extraordinary breach of
+all the--the decencies. Reasons? the reasons of a maniac. Not to say
+more, sir. Fraudulent detention--fraudulent, I say, sir! What were your
+precious reasons?”
+
+The mob with Tammas and Long Kirby at their head had now well nigh
+reached the plank-bridge. They still looked dangerous, and there were
+isolated cries of:
+
+“Duck him!”
+
+“Chuck him in!”
+
+“An' the dog!”
+
+“Wi' one o' they bricks about their necks!”
+
+“There are my reasons!” said M'Adam, pointing to the forest of menacing
+faces. “Ye see I'm no beloved amang yonder gentlemen, and”--in a stage
+whisper in the other's ear--“I thocht maybe I'd be 'tacked on the road.”
+
+Tammas foremost of the crowd, had now his foot upon the first plank.
+
+“Ye robber! ye thief! Wait till we set hands on ye, you and yer
+gorilla!” he called.
+
+M'Adam half turned.
+
+“Wullie,” he said quietly, “keep the bridge.”
+
+At the order the Tailless Tyke shot gladly forward, and the leaders on
+the bridge as hastily back. The dog galloped on to the rattling plank,
+took his post fair and square in the centre of the narrow way, and stood
+facing the hostile crew like Cerberus guarding the gates of hell: his
+bull-head was thrust forward, hackles up, teeth glinting, and a distant
+rumbling in his throat, as though daring them to come on.
+
+“Yo' first, ole lad!” said Tammas, hopping agilely behind Long Kirby.
+
+“Nay; the old uns lead!” cried the big smith, his face gray-white. He
+wrenched round, pinned the old man by the arms, and held him forcibly
+before him as a covering shield. There ensued an unseemly struggle
+betwixt the two valiants, Tammas bellowing and kicking in the throes of
+mortal fear.
+
+“Jim Mason'll show us,” he suggested at last.
+
+“Nay,” said honest Jim; “I'm fear'd.” He could say it with impunity; for
+the pluck of Postie Jim was a matter long past dispute.
+
+Then Jem Burton'd go first?
+
+Nay; Jem had a lovin' wife and dear little kids at 'ome.
+
+Then Big Bell?
+
+Big Bell'd see 'isseif further first.
+
+A tall figure came forcing through the crowd, his face a little paler
+than its wont, and a formidable knob-kerry in his hand.
+
+“I'm goin'!” said David.
+
+“But yo're not,” answered burly Sam'l, gripping the boy from behind with
+arms like the roots of an oak. “Your time'll coom soon enough by the
+look on yo' wi' niver no hurry.”
+
+And the sense of the Dalesmen was with the big man; for, as old Rob
+Saunderson said:
+
+“I reck'n he'd liefer claw on to your throat, lad, nor ony o' oors.”
+
+As there was no one forthcoming to claim the honor of the lead, Tammas
+came forward with cunning counsel.
+
+“Tell yo' what, lads, we'd best let 'em as don't know nowt at all aboot
+him go first. And onst they're on, mind, we winna let 'em off; but keep
+a-shovin' and a-bovin 'on 'em forra'd. _Then_ us'll foller.”
+
+By this time there was a little naked space of green round the
+bridge-head, like a fairy circle, into which the uninitiated might not
+penetrate. Round this the mob hedged: the Dalesmen in front, striving
+knavishly back and bawling to those behind to leggo that shovin'; and
+these latter urging valorously forward, yelling jeers and contumely at
+the front rank. “Come on! 'O's afraid? Lerrus through to 'em, then,
+ye Royal Stan'-backs!”--for well they knew the impossibility of their
+demand.
+
+And as they wedged and jostled thus, there stole out from their midst as
+gallant a champion as ever trod the grass. He trotted out into the
+ring, the observed of all, and paused to gaze at the gaunt figure on the
+bridge. The sun lit the sprinkling of snow on the dome of his head; one
+forepaw was off the ground; and he stood there, royally alert, scanning
+his antagonist.
+
+“Th' Owd Un!” went up in a roar fit to split the air as the hero of the
+day was recognized. And the Dalesmen gave a pace forward spontaneously
+as the gray knight-errant stole across the green.
+
+“Oor Bob'll fetch him!” they roared, their blood leaping to fever heat,
+and gripped their sticks, determined in stern reality to follow now.
+
+The gray champion trotted up on to the bridge, and paused again, the
+long hair about his neck rising like a ruff, and a strange glint in his
+eyes; and the holder of the bridge never moved. Red and Gray stood thus,
+face to face: the one gay yet resolute, the other motionless, his great
+head slowly sinking between his forelegs, seemingly petrified.
+
+There was no shouting now: it was time for deeds, not words. Only, above
+the stillness, came a sound from the bridge like the snore of a giant in
+his sleep, and blending, with it, a low, deep, purring thunder like some
+monster cat well pleased.
+
+“Wullie,” came a solitary voice from the far side, “keep the bridge!”
+
+One ear went back, one ear was still forward; the great head was low and
+lower between his forelegs and the glowing eyes rolled upward so that
+the watchers could see the murderous white.
+
+Forward the gray dog stepped.
+
+Then, for the second time that afternoon, a voice, stern and hard, came
+ringing down from the slope above over the heads of the many.
+
+“Bob, lad, coom back!”
+
+“He! he! I thocht that was comin',” sneered the small voice over the
+stream.
+
+The gray dog heard, and checked.
+
+“Bob, lad, coom in, I say!”
+
+At that he swung round and marched slowly back, gallant as he had come,
+dignified still in his mortification.
+
+And Red Wull threw back his head and bellowed a paean of
+victory--challenge, triumph, scorn, all blended in that bull-like,
+blood-chilling blare.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the mean time, M'Adam and the secretary had concluded their business.
+It had been settled that the Cup was to be delivered over to James Moore
+not later than the following Saturday.
+
+“Saturday, see! at the latest!” the secretary cried as he turned and
+trotted off.
+
+“Mr. Trotter,” M'Adam called after him. “I'm sorry, but ye maun bide
+this side the Lea till I've reached the foot o' the Pass. Gin they
+gentlemen”--nodding toward the crowd--“should set hands on me, why--”
+ and he shrugged his shoulders significantly. “Forbye, Wullie's keepin'
+the bridge.”
+
+With that the little man strolled off leisurely; now dallying to pick a
+flower, now to wave a mocking hand at the furious mob, and so slowly on
+to the foot of the Muirk Muir Pass.
+
+There he turned and whistled that shrill peculiar note.
+
+“Wullie, Wullie, to me!” he called.
+
+At that, with one last threat thrown at the' thousand souls he had held
+at bay for thirty minutes, the Tailless Tyke swung about and galloped
+after his lord.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XIII. THE FACE IN THE FRAME
+
+
+ALL Friday M'Adam never left the kitchen. He sat opposite the Cup, in a
+coma, as it were; and Red Wull lay motionless at his feet.
+
+Saturday came, and still the two never budged. Toward the evening
+the little man rose, all in a tremble, and took the Cup down from the
+mantelpiece; then he sat down again with it in his arms.
+
+“Eh, Wullie, Wullie, is it a dream? Ha' they took her fra us? Eh, but
+it's you and I alane, lad.”
+
+He hugged it to him, crying silently, and rocking to and fro like a
+mother with a dying child. And Red Wull sat up on his haunches, and
+weaved from side to side in sympathy.
+
+As the dark was falling, David looked in.
+
+At the sound of the opening door the little man swung round noiselessly,
+the Cup nursed in his arms, and glared, sullen and suspicious, at the
+boy; yet seemed not to recognize him. In the half-light David could see
+the tears coursing down the little wizened face.
+
+“'Pon ma life, he's gaein' daft!” was his comment as he turned away to
+Kenmuir. And again the mourners were left alone.
+
+“A few hours noo, Wullie,” the little man wailed, “and she'll be gane.
+We won her, Wullie, you and I, won her fair: she's lit the hoose for
+us; she's softened a' for us--and God kens we needed it; she was the ae
+thing we had to look to and love. And noo they're takin' her awa', and
+'twill be night agin. We've cherished her, we've garnished her, we've
+loved her like oor ain; and noo she maun gang to strangers who know her
+not.”
+
+He rose to his feet, and the great dog rose with him. His voice
+heightened to a scream, and he swayed with the Cup in his arms till it
+seemed he must fall.
+
+“Did they win her fair, Wullie? Na; they plotted, they conspired, they
+worked ilka ain o' them agin us, and they beat us. Ay, and noo they're
+robbin' us--robbin' us! But they shallna ha' her. Oor's or naebody's,
+Wullie! We'll finish her sooner nor that.”
+
+He banged the Cup down on the table and rushed madly out of the room,
+Red Wull at his heels. In a moment he came running back, brandishing a
+great axe about his head.
+
+“Come on, Wullie!” he cried. “'Scots wha hae'! Noo's the day and noo's
+the hour! Come on!”
+
+On the table before him, serene and beautiful, stood the target of his
+madness. The little man ran at it, swinging his murderous weapon like a
+flail.
+
+“Oor's or naebody's Wullie! Come on! 'Lay the proud usurpers low'!” He
+aimed a mighty buffet; and the Shepherds' Trophy--the Shepherds' Trophy
+which had won through the hardships of a hundred years--was almost gone.
+It seemed to quiver as the blow fell. But the cruel steel missed, and
+the axe-head sank into the wood, clean and deep, like a spade in snow.
+
+Red Wull had leapt on to the table, and in his cavernous voice was
+grumbling a chorus to his master's yells. The little man danced up and
+down, tugging and straining at the axe-handle.
+
+     “You and I, Wullie!
+     'Tyrants fall in every foe!
+     Liberty's in every blow!'”
+
+The axe-head was as immoveable as the Muir Pike.
+
+     “'Let us do or die!'”
+
+The shaft snapped, and the little man tottered back. Red Wull jumped
+down from the table, and, in doing so, brushed against the Cup. It
+toppled* over on to the floor, and rolled tinkling away in the dust.
+And the little man fled madly out of the house, still screaming his
+war-song.
+
+     *N.B.--You may see the dent in the Cup's white sides to this
+     day.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When, late that night, M'Adam returned home, the Cup was gone. Down on
+his hands and knees he traced out its path, plain to see, where it had
+rolled along the dusty floor. Beyond that there was no sign.
+
+At first he was too much overcome to speak. Then he raved round the room
+like a derelict ship, Red Wull following uneasily behind. He cursed;
+he blasphemed; he screamed and beat the walls with feverish hands. A
+stranger, passing, might well have thought this was a private Bedlam. At
+last, exhausted, he sat down and cried.
+
+“It's David, Wullie, ye may depend; David that's robbed his father's
+hoose. Oh, it's a grand thing to ha' a dutiful son!”--and he bowed his
+gray head in his hands.
+
+David, indeed, it was. He had come back to the Grange during his
+father's absence, and, taking the Cup from its grimy bed, had marched it
+away to its rightful home. For that evening at Kenmuir, James Moore had
+said to him:
+
+“David, your father's not sent the Cup. I shall come and fetch it
+to-morrow.” And David knew he meant it. Therefore, in order to save a
+collision between his father and his friend--a collision the issue of
+which he dared hardly contemplate, knowing, as he did, the unalterable
+determination of the one and the lunatic passion of the other--the boy
+had resolved to fetch the Cup himself, then and there, in the teeth, if
+needs be, of his father and the Tailless Tyke. And he had done it.
+
+When he reached home that night he marched, contrary to his wont,
+straight into the kitchen.
+
+There sat his father facing the door, awaiting him, his hands upon his
+knees. For once the little man was alone; and David, brave though he
+was, thanked heaven devoutly that Red Wull was elsewhere.
+
+For a while father and son kept silence, watching one another like two
+fencers.
+
+“'Twas you as took ma Cup?” asked the little man at last, leaning
+forward in his chair.
+
+“'Twas me as took Mr. Moore's Cup,” the boy replied. “I thowt yo' mun
+ha' done wi' it--I found it all bashed upon the floor.”
+
+“You took it--pit up to it, nae doot, by James Moore.”
+
+David made a gesture of dissent.
+
+“Ay, by James Moore,” his father continued. “He dursena come hissel'
+for his ill-gotten spoils, so he sent the son to rob the father. The
+coward!”--his whole frame shook with passion. “I'd ha' thocht James
+Moore'd ha' bin man enough to come himself for what he wanted. I see noo
+I did him a wrang--I misjudged him. I kent him a heepocrite; ain o' yer
+unco gudes; a man as looks one thing, says anither, and does a third;
+and noo I ken he's a coward. He's fear'd o' me, sic as I am, five foot
+twa in ma stockin's.” He rose from his chair and drew himself up to his
+full height.
+
+“Mr. Moore had nowt to do wi' it,” David persisted.
+
+“Ye're lyin'. James Moore pit ye to it.”
+
+“I tell yo' he did not.”
+
+“Ye'd ha' bin willin' enough wi'oot him, if ye'd thocht o't, I grant ye.
+But ye've no the wits. All there is o' ye has gane to mak' yer muckle
+body. Hooiver, that's no matter. I'll settle wi' James Moore anither
+time. I'll settle wi' you noo, David M'Adam.”
+
+He paused, and looked the boy over from bead to foot.
+
+“So, ye're not only an idler! a wastrel! a liar!”--he spat the words
+out. “Ye're--God help ye--a thief!”
+
+“I'm no thief!” the boy returned hotly. “I did but give to a mon what ma
+feyther--shame on him!--wrongfully kept from him.”
+
+“Wrangfully?” cried the little man, advancing with burning face.
+
+“'Twas honorably done, keepin' what wasna your'n to keep! Holdin' back
+his rights from a man! Ay, if ony one's the thief, it's not me: it's
+you, I say, you!”--and he looked his father in the face with flashing
+eyes.
+
+“I'm the thief, am I?” cried the other, incoherent with passion. “Though
+ye're three times ma size, I'll teach ma son to speak so to me.”
+
+The old strap, now long disused, hung in the chimney corner. As he spoke
+the little man sprang back, ripped it from the wall, and, almost before
+David realized what he was at, had brought it down with a savage slash
+across his son's shoulders; and as he smote he whistled a shrill,
+imperative note:
+
+“Wullie, Wullie, to me!”
+
+David felt the blow through his coat like a bar of hot iron laid across
+his back. His passion seethed within him; every vein throbbed; every
+nerve quivered. In a minute he would wipe out, once and for all, the
+score of years; for the moment, however, there was urgent business on
+hand. For outside he could hear the quick patter of feet hard-galloping,
+and the scurry of a huge creature racing madly to a call.
+
+With a bound he sprang at the open door; and again the strap came
+lashing down, and a wild voice:
+
+“Quick, Wullie! For God's sake, quick!”
+
+David slammed the door to. It shut with a rasping snap; and at the same
+moment a great body from without thundered against it with terrific
+violence, and a deep voice roared like the sea when thwarted of its
+prey.
+
+“Too late, agin!” said David, breathing hard; and shot the bolt home
+with a clang. Then he turned on his father.
+
+“Noo,” said he, “man to man!”
+
+“Ay,” cried the other, “father to son!”
+
+The little man half turned and leapt at the old musketoon hanging on the
+wall. He missed it, turned again, and struck with the strap full at
+the other's face. David caught the falling arm at the wrist, hitting it
+aside with such tremendous force that the bone all but snapped. Then
+he smote his father a terrible blow on the chest, and the little man
+staggered back, gasping, into the corner; while the strap dropped from
+his numbed fingers.
+
+Outside Red Wull whined and scratched; but the two men paid no heed.
+
+David strode forward; there was murder in his face. The little man
+saw it: his time was come; but his bitterest foe never impugned Adam
+M'Adam's courage.
+
+He stood huddled in the corner, all dishevelled, nursing one arm with
+the other, entirely unafraid.
+
+“Mind, David,” he said, quite calm, “murder 'twill be, not
+manslaughter.”
+
+“Murder 'twill be,” the boy answered, in thick, low voice, and was
+across the room.
+
+Outside Red Wull banged and clawed high up on the door with impotent
+pats.
+
+The little man suddenly slipped his hand in his pocket, pulled out
+something, and flung it. The missile pattered on his son's face like a
+rain-drop on a charging bull, and David smiled as he came on. It dropped
+softly on the table at his side; he looked down and--it was the face of
+his mother which gazed up at him!
+
+“Mither!” he sobbed, stopping short. “Mither! Ma God, ye saved him--and
+me!”
+
+He stood there, utterly unhinged, shaking and whimpering.
+
+It was some minutes before he pulled himself together; then he walked to
+the wall, took down a pair of shears, and seated himself at the table,
+still trembling. Near him lay the miniature, all torn and crumpled, and
+beside it the deep-buried axe-head.
+
+He picked up the strap and began cutting it into little pieces.
+
+“There! and there! and there!” he said with each snip. “An' ye hit me
+agin there may be no mither to save ye.”
+
+M'Adam stood huddling in the corner. He shook like an aspen leaf; his
+eyes blazed in his white face; and he still nursed one arm with the
+other.
+
+“Honor yer father,” he quoted in small, low voice.
+
+
+
+
+PART IV THE BLACK KILLER
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XIV. A MAD MAN
+
+
+TAMMAS is on his feet in the tap-room of the Arms, brandishing a pewter
+mug.
+
+“Gen'lemen!” he cries, his old face flushed; “I gie you a toast. Stan'
+oop!”
+
+The knot of Dalesmen round the fire rises like one. The old man waves
+his mug before him, reckless of the good ale that drips on to the floor.
+
+“The best sheep-dog i' th' North--Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!” he cries. In an
+instant there is uproar: the merry applause of clinking pewters; the
+stamping of feet; the rattle of sticks. Rob Saunderson and old Jonas
+are cheering with the best; Tupper and Ned Hoppin are bellowing in one
+another's ears; Long Kirby and Jem Burton are thumping each other on
+the back; even Sam'l Todd and Sexton Ross are roused from their habitual
+melancholy.
+
+“Here's to Th' Owd Un! Here's to oor Bob!” yell stentorian voices; while
+Rob Saunderson has jumped on to a chair.
+
+“Wi' the best sheep-dog i' th' North I gie yo' the Shepherd's
+Trophy!--won outreet as will be!” he cries. Instantly the clamor
+redoubles.
+
+“The Dale Cup and Th' Owd Un! The Trophy and oor Bob! 'Ip, 'ip, for
+the gray dogs! 'Ip, 'ip, for the best sheep-dog as ever was or will be!
+'Ooray, 'ooray!”
+
+It is some minutes before the noise subsides; and slowly the enthusiasts
+resume their seats with hoarse throats and red faces.
+
+“Gentlemen a'!”
+
+A little unconsidered man is standing up at the back of the room. His
+face is aflame, and his hands twitch spasmodically; and, in front, with
+hackles up and eyes gleaming, is a huge, bull-like dog.
+
+“Noo,” cries the little man, “I daur ye to repeat that lie!”
+
+“Lie!” screams Tammas; “lie! I'll gie 'im lie! Lemme at im', I say!”
+
+The old man in his fury is half over the surrounding ring of chairs
+before Jim Mason on the one hand and Jonas Maddox on the other can pull
+him back.
+
+“Coom, Mr. Thornton,” soothes the octogenarian, “let un be. Yo' surely
+bain't angered by the likes o' 'im!”--and he jerks contemptuously toward
+the solitary figure at his back.
+
+Tammas resumes his seat unwillingly.
+
+The little man in the far corner of the room remains silent, waiting
+for his challenge to be taken up. It is in vain. And as he looks at the
+range of broad, impassive backs turned on him, he smiles bitterly.
+
+“They dursen't Wullie, not a man of them a'!” he cries.
+“They're one--two--three--four--eleven to one, Wullie, and yet
+they dursen't. Eleven of them, and every man a coward! Long
+Kirby--Thornton--Tupper--Todd--Hoppin--Ross--Burton--and the rest, and
+not one but's a bigger man nor me, and yet--Weel, we might ha' kent it.
+We should ha' kent Englishmen by noo. They're aye the same and aye have
+bin. They tell lies, black lies--”
+
+Tammas is again half out his chair and, only forcibly restrained by the
+men on either hand.
+
+“--and then they ha' na the courage to stan' by 'em. Ye're English,
+ivery man o' ye, to yer marrow.”
+
+The little man's voice rises as he speaks. He seizes the tankard from
+the table at his side.
+
+“Englishmen!” he cries, waving it before him. “Here's a health! The best
+sheep-dog as iver penned a flock--Adam M'Adam's Red Wull!”
+
+He pauses, the pewter at his lips, and looks at his audience with
+flashing eyes. There is no response from them.
+
+“Wullie, here's to you!” he cries. “Luck and life to ye, ma trusty fier!
+Death and defeat to yer enemies!”
+
+     “'The warld's warld's wrack we share o't,
+     The warstle and the care o't;”
+
+He raises the tankard and drains it to its uttermost dreg.
+
+Then drawing himself up, he addresses his audience once more:
+
+“An' noo I'll warn ye aince and for a', and ye may tell James Moore I
+said it: He may plot agin us, Wullie and me; he may threaten us; he may
+win the Cup outright for his muckle favorite; but there was niver a man
+or dog yet as did Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull a hurt but in the end he
+wush't his mither hadna borne him.”
+
+A little later, and he walks out of the inn, the Tailless Tyke at his
+heels.
+
+After he is gone it is Rob Saunderson who says: “The little mon's mad;
+he'll stop at nothin”; and Tammas who answers:
+
+“Nay; not even murder.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The little man had aged much of late. His hair was quite white, his eyes
+unnaturally bright, and his hands were never still, as though he were in
+everlasting pain. He looked the picture of disease.
+
+After Owd Bob's second victory he had become morose and untalkative. At
+home he often sat silent for hours together, drinking and glaring at the
+place where the Cup had been. Sometimes he talked in low, eerie voice to
+Red Wull; and on two occasions, David, turning, suddenly, had caught his
+father glowering stealthily at him with such an expression on his face
+as chilled the boy's blood. The two never spoke now; and David held this
+silent, deadly enmity far worse than the old-time perpetual warfare.
+
+It was the same at the Sylvester Arms. The little man sat alone with Red
+Wull, exchanging words with no man, drinking steadily, brooding over his
+wrongs, only now and again galvanized into sudden action.
+
+Other people than Tammas Thornton came to the conclusion that M'Adam
+would stop at nothing in the undoing of James Moore or the gray dog.
+They said drink and disappointment had turned his head; that he was mad
+and dangerous. And on New Year's day matters seemed coming to a crisis;
+for it was reported that in the gloom of a snowy evening he had drawn
+a knife on the Master in the High Street, but slipped before he could
+accomplish his fell purpose.
+
+Most of them all, David was haunted with an ever-present anxiety as to
+the little man's intentions. The boy even went so far as to warn his
+friend against his father. But the Master only smiled grimly.
+
+“Thank ye, lad,” he said. “But I reck'n we can 'fend for oorsel's, Bob
+and I. Eh, Owd Un?”
+
+Anxious as David might be, he was not so anxious as to be above taking
+a mean advantage of this state of strained apprehension to work on
+Maggie's fears.
+
+One evening he was escorting her home from church, when, just before
+they reached the larch copse: “Goo' sakes! What's that?” he ejaculated
+in horror-laden accents, starting back.
+
+“What, Davie?” cried the girl, shrinking up to him all in a tremble.
+
+“Couldna say for sure. It mought be owt, or agin it mought be nowt. But
+yo' grip my arm, I'll grip yo' waist.”
+
+Maggie demurred.
+
+“Canst see onythin'?” she asked, still in a flutter.
+
+“Be'ind the 'edge.”
+
+“Wheer?”
+
+“Theer! “--pointing vaguely.
+
+“I canna see nowt.”
+
+“Why, theer, lass. Can yo' not see? Then yo' pit your head along o'
+mine--so--closer--closer.” Then, in aggrieved tones: “Whativer is the
+matter wi' yo', wench? I might be a leprosy.”
+
+But the girl was walking away with her head high as the snow-capped
+Pike.
+
+“So long as I live, David M'Adam,” she cried, “I'll niver go to church
+wi' you agin!”
+
+“Iss, but you will though--onst,” he answered low.
+
+Maggie whisked round in a flash, superbly indignant.
+
+“What d'yo' mean, sir-r-r?”
+
+“Yo' know what I mean, lass,” he replied sheepish and shuffling before
+her queenly anger.
+
+She looked him up and down, and down and up again.
+
+“I'll niver speak to you agin, Mr. M'Adam,” she cried; “not if it was
+ever so--Nay, I'll walk home by myself, thank you. I'll ha' nowt to do
+wi' you.”
+
+So the two must return to Kenmuir, one behind the other, like a lady and
+her footman.
+
+David's audacity had more than once already all but caused a rupture
+between the pair. And the occurrence behind the hedge set the cap on his
+impertinences. That was past enduring and Maggie by her bearing let him
+know it.
+
+David tolerated the girl's new attitude for exactly twelve minutes by
+the kitchen clock. Then: “Sulk wi' me, indeed! I'll teach her!” and he
+marched out of the door, “Niver to cross it agin, ma word!”
+
+Afterward, however, he relented so far as to continue his visits as
+before; but he made it clear that he only came to see the Master and
+hear of Owd Bob's doings. On these occasions he loved best to sit on the
+window-sill outside the kitchen, and talk and chaff with Tammas and the
+men in the yard, feigning an uneasy bashfulness when reference made to
+Bessie Bolstock. And after sitting thus for some time, he would half
+turn, look over his shoulder, and remark in indifferent tones to the
+girl within: “Oh, good-evenin'! I forgot yo', “--and then resume his
+conversation. While the girl within, her face a little pinker, her
+lips a little tighter, and her chin a little higher, would go about her
+business, pretending neither to hear nor care.
+
+The suspicions that M'Adam nourished dark designs against James Moore
+were somewhat confirmed in that, on several occasions in the bitter
+dusks of January afternoons, a little insidious figure was reported to
+have been seen lurking among the farm-buildings of Kenmuir.
+
+Once Sam'l Todd caught the little man fairly, skulking away in the
+woodshed. Sam'l took him up bodily and carried him down the slope to the
+Wastrel, shaking him gently as he went.
+
+Across the stream he put him on his feet.
+
+“If I catches yo' cadgerin' aroun' the farm agin, little mon,” he
+admonished, holding up a warning finger; “I'll tak' yo' and drap yo'
+in t' Sheep-wash, I warn yo' fair. I'd ha' done it noo an' yo'd bin a
+bigger and a younger mon. But theer! yo'm sic a scrappety bit. Noo, rin
+whoam.” And the little man slunk silently away.
+
+For a time he appeared there no more. Then, one evening when it was
+almost dark, James Moore, going the round of the outbuildings, felt Owd
+Bob stiffen against his side.
+
+“What's oop, lad” he whispered, halting; and, dropping his hand on the
+old dog's neck felt a ruff of rising hair beneath it.
+
+“Steady, lad, steady,” he whispered; “what is 't?” He peered forward
+into the gloom; and at length discerned a little familiar figure huddled
+away in the crevice between two stacks.
+
+“It's yo, is it, M'Adam?” he said, and, bending, seized a wisp of Owd
+Bob's coat in a grip like a vice.
+
+Then, in a great voice, moved to rare anger:
+
+“Oot o' this afore I do ye a hurt, ye meeserable spyin' creetur” he
+roared. “Yo' mun wait till dark cooms to hide yo', yo' coward, afore yo
+daur coom crawlin' aboot ma hoose, frightenin' the women-folk and up to
+yer devilments. If yo've owt to say to me, coom like a mon in the open
+day. Noo git aff wi' yo', afore I lay hands to yo'!”
+
+He stood there in the dusk, tall and mighty, a terrible figure, one hand
+pointing to the gate, the other still grasping the gray dog.
+
+The little man scuttled away in the half-light, and out of the yard.
+
+On the plank-bridge he turned and shook his fist at the darkening house.
+
+“Curse ye, James Moore!” he sobbed, “I'll be even wi' ye yet.”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XV. DEATH ON THE MARCHES
+
+
+ON the top of this there followed an attempt to poison Th' Owd Un. At
+least there was no other accounting for the affair.
+
+In the dead of a long-remembered night James Moore was waked by a low
+moaning beneath his room. He leapt out of bed and ran to the window to
+see his favorite dragging about the moonlit yard, the dark head
+down, the proud tail for once lowered, the lithe limbs wooden, heavy,
+unnatural--altogether pitiful.
+
+In a moment he was downstairs and out to his friend's assistance.
+“Whativer is't, Owd Un?” he cried in anguish.
+
+At the sound of that dear voice the old dog tried to struggle to him,
+could not, and fell, whimpering.
+
+In a second the Master was with him, examining him tenderly, and crying
+for Sam'l, who slept above the stables.
+
+There was every symptom of foul play: the tongue was swollen and almost
+black; the breathing labored; the body twitched horribly; and the soft
+gray eyes all bloodshot and straining in agony.
+
+With the aid of Sam'l and Maggie, drenching first and stimulants after,
+the Master pulled him around for the moment. And soon Jim Mason and
+Parson Leggy, hurriedly summoned, came running hot-foot to the rescue.
+
+Prompt and stringent measures saved the victim--but only just. For a
+time the best sheep-dog in the North was pawing at the Gate of Death. In
+the end, as the gray dawn broke, the danger passed.
+
+The attempt to get at him, if attempt it was, aroused passionate
+indignation in the countryside. It seemed the culminating-point of the
+excitement long bubbling.
+
+There were no traces of the culprit; not a vestige to lead to
+incrimination, so cunningly had the criminal accomplished his foul task.
+But as to the perpetrator, if there where no proofs there were yet fewer
+doubts.
+
+At the Sylvester Arms, Long Kirby asked M'Adam point-blank for his
+explanation of the matter.
+
+“Hoo do I 'count for it?” the little man cried. “I dinna 'count for it
+ava.”
+
+“Then hoo did it happen?” asked Tammas with asperity.
+
+“I dinna believe it did happen,” the little man replied. “It's a lee
+o' James Moore's--a characteristic lee.” Whereon they chucked him out
+incontinently; for the Terror for once was elsewhere.
+
+Now that afternoon is to be remembered for threefold causes. Firstly,
+because, as has been said, M'Adam was alone. Secondly, because, a few
+minutes after his ejectment, the window of the tap-room was thrown open
+from without, and the little man looked in. He spoke no word, but those
+dim, smouldering eyes of his wandered from face to face, resting for
+a second on each, as if to burn them on his memory. “I'll remember ye,
+gentlemen,” he said at length quietly, shut the window, and was gone.
+
+Thirdly, for a reason now to be told.
+
+Though ten days had elapsed since the attempt on him, the gray dog had
+never been his old self since. He had attacks of shivering; his vitality
+seemed sapped; he tired easily, and, great heart, would never own it.
+At length on this day, James Moore, leaving the old dog behind him, had
+gone over to Grammoch-town to consult Dingley, the vet. On his way home
+he met Jim Mason with Gyp, the faithful Betsy's unworthy successor, at
+the Dalesman's Daughter. Together they started for the long tramp home
+over the Marches. And that journey is marked with a red stone in this
+story.
+
+All day long the hills had been bathed in impenetrable fog. Throughout
+there had been an accompanying drizzle; and in the distance the wind
+had moaned a storm-menace. To the darkness of the day was added the
+sombreness of falling night as the three began the ascent of the
+Murk Muir Pass. By the time they emerged into the Devil's Bowl it was
+altogether black and blind. But the threat of wind had passed, leaving
+utter stillness; and they could hear the splash of an otter on the far
+side of the Lone Tarn as they skirted that gloomy water's edge. When at
+length the last steep rise on to the Marches had been topped, a breath
+of soft air smote them lightly, and the curtain of fog began drifting
+away.
+
+The two men swung steadily through the heather with that reaching stride
+the birthright of moor-men and highlanders. They talked but little,
+for such was their nature: a word or two on sheep and the approaching
+lambing-time; thence on to the coming Trials; the Shepherds' Trophy;
+Owd Bob and the attempt on him; and from that to M'Adam and the Tailless
+Tyke.
+
+“D'yo' reck'n M'Adam had a hand in't?” the postman was asking.
+
+“Nay; there's no proof.”
+
+“Ceptin' he's mad to get shut o' Th' Owd Un afore Cup Day.”
+
+“Im or me--it mak's no differ. For a dog is disqualified from competing
+for the Trophy who has changed hands during the six months prior to the
+meeting. And this holds good though the change be only from father to
+son on the decease of the former.”
+
+Jim looked up inquiringly at his companion.
+
+“D'yo' think it'll coom to that?” he asked.
+
+“What?”
+
+“Why--murder.”
+
+“Not if I can help it,” the other answered grimly.
+
+The fog had cleared away by now, and the moon was up. To their right,
+on the crest of a rise some two hundred yards away, a low wood stood out
+black against the sky. As they passed it, a blackbird rose up screaming,
+and a brace of wood-pigeons winged noisily away.
+
+“Hullo! hark to the yammerin'!” muttered Jim, stopping; “and at this
+time o' night too!”
+
+Some rabbits, playing in the moonlight on the outskirts of the wood, sat
+up, listened, and hopped back into security. At the same moment a big
+hill-fox slunk out of the covert. He stole a pace forward and halted,
+listening with one ear back and one pad raised; then cantered silently
+away in the gloom, passing close to the two men and yet not observing
+them.
+
+“What's up, I wonder?” mused the postman.
+
+“The fox set 'em clackerin', I reck'n,” said the Master.
+
+“Not he; he was scared 'maist oot o' his skin,” the other answered. Then
+in tones of suppressed excitement, with his hands on James Moore's arm:
+“And, look'ee, theer's ma Gyp a-beckonin' on us!”
+
+There, indeed, on the crest of the rise beside the wood, was the
+little lurcher, now looking back at his master, now creeping stealthily
+forward.
+
+“Ma word! theer's summat wrong yonder!” cried Jim, and jerked the
+post-bags off his shoulder. “Coom on, Master! “--and he set off running
+toward the dog; while James Moore, himself excited now, followed with an
+agility that belied his years.
+
+Some score yards from the lower edge of the spinney, upon the farther
+side of the ridge, a tiny beck babbled through its bed of peat. The
+two men, as they topped the rise, noticed a flock of black-faced
+mountain-sheep clustered in the dip 'twixt wood and stream. They stood
+martialled in close array, facing half toward the wood, half toward
+the newcomers, heads up, eyes glaring, handsome as sheep only look when
+scared.
+
+On the crest of the ridge the two men halted beside Gyp. The postman
+stood with his head a little forward, listening intently. Then he
+dropped in the heather like a dead man, pulling the other with him.
+
+“Doon, mon!” he whispered, clutching at Gyp with his spare hand.
+
+“What is't, Jim?” asked the Master, now thoroughly roused.
+
+“Summat movin' i' th' wood,” the other whispered, listening
+weasel-eared.
+
+So they lay motionless for a while; but there came no sound from the
+copse.
+
+“'Appen 'twas nowt,” the postman at length allowed, peering cautiously
+about. “And yet I thowt--I dunno reetly what I thowt.”
+
+Then, starting to his knees with a hoarse cry of terror: “Save us!
+what's yon theer?”
+
+Then for the first time the Master raised his head and noticed, lying in
+the gloom between them and the array of sheep, a still, white heap.
+
+James Moore was a man of deeds, not words.
+
+“It's past waitin'!” he said, and sprang forward, his heart in his
+mouth.
+
+The sheep stamped and shuffled as he came, and yet did not break.
+
+“Ah, thanks be!” he cried, dropping beside the motionless body; “it's
+nob'but a sheep.” As he spoke his hands wandered deftly over the
+carcase. “But what's this?” he called. “Stout* she was as me. Look at
+her fleece--crisp, close, strong; feel the flesh--firm as a rock. And
+ne'er a bone broke, ne're a scrat on her body a pin could mak'. As
+healthy as a mon--and yet dead as mutton!”
+
+     *N.B. Stout--Hearty.
+
+Jim, still trembling from the horror of his fear, came up, and knelt
+beside his friend. “Ah, but there's bin devilry in this!” he said; “I
+reck'ned they sheep had bin badly skeared, and not so long agone.”
+
+“Sheep-murder, sure enough!” the other answered. “No fox's doin'--a
+girt-grown two-shear as could 'maist knock a h'ox.”
+
+Jim's hands travelled from the body to the dead creature's throat. He
+screamed.
+
+“By gob, Master! look 'ee theer!” He held his hand up in the moonlight,
+and it dripped red. “And warm yet! warm!”
+
+“Tear some bracken, Jim!” ordered the other, “and set alight. We mun see
+to this.”
+
+The postman did as bid. For a moment the fern smouldered and smoked,
+then the flame ran crackling along and shot up in the darkness,
+weirdly lighting the scene: to the right the low wood, a block of solid
+blackness against the sky; in front the wall of sheep, staring out of
+the gloom with bright eyes; and as centre-piece that still, white body,
+with the kneeling men and lurcher sniffing tentatively round.
+
+The victim was subjected to a critical examination. The throat, and that
+only, had been hideously mauled; from the raw wounds the flesh hung in
+horrid shreds; on the ground all about were little pitiful dabs of
+wool, wrenched off apparently in a struggle; and, crawling among the
+fern-roots, a snake-like track of red led down to the stream.
+
+“A dog's doin', and no mistakin' thot,” said Jim at length, after a
+minute inspection.
+
+“Ay,” declared the Master with slow emphasis, “and a sheep-dog's too,
+and an old un's, or I'm no shepherd.”
+
+The postman looked up.
+
+“Why thot?” he asked, puzzled.
+
+“Becos,” the Master answered, “'im as did this killed for blood--and for
+blood only. If had bin ony other dog--greyhound, bull, tarrier, or even
+a young sheep-dog--d'yo' think he'd ha' stopped wi' the one? Not he;
+he'd ha' gone through 'em, and be runnin' 'em as like as not yet,
+nippin' 'em, pullin' 'em down, till he'd maybe killed the half. But 'im
+as did this killed for blood, I say. He got it--killed just the one, and
+nary touched the others, d'yo 'see, Jim?”
+
+The postman whistled, long and low.
+
+“It's just what owd Wrottesley'd tell on,” he said. “I never nob'but
+half believed him then--I do now though. D'yo' mind what th' owd lad'd
+tell, Master?”
+
+James Moore nodded.
+
+“Thot's it. I've never seen the like afore myself, but I've heard ma
+grandad speak o't mony's the time. An owd dog'll git the cravin' for
+sheep's blood on him, just the same as a mon does for the drink; he
+creeps oot o' nights, gallops afar, hunts his sheep, downs 'er, and
+satisfies the cravin'. And he nary kills but the one, they say, for he
+knows the value o' sheep same as you and me. He has his gallop, quenches
+the thirst, and then he's for home, maybe a score mile away, and no one
+the wiser i' th' mornin'. And so on, till he cooms to a bloody death,
+the murderin' traitor.”
+
+“If he does!” said Jim.
+
+“And he does, they say, nigh always. For he gets bolder and bolder wi'
+not bein' caught, until one fine night a bullet lets light into him. And
+some mon gets knocked nigh endways when they bring his best tyke home i'
+th' mornin', dead, wi' the sheep's wool yet stickin' in his mouth.”
+
+The postman whistled again.
+
+“It's what owd Wrottesley'd tell on to a tick. And he'd say, if ye
+mind, Master, as hoo the dog'd niver kill his master's sheep--kind o'
+conscience-like.”
+
+“Ay, I've heard that,” said the Master. “Queer too, and 'im bein' such a
+bad un!”
+
+Jim Mason rose slowly from his knees.
+
+“Ma word,” he said, “I wish Th' Owd Un was here. He'd 'appen show us
+summat!”
+
+“I nob'but wish he was, pore owd lad!” said the Master.
+
+As he spoke there was a crash in the wood above them; a sound as of some
+big body bursting furiously through brushwood.
+
+The two men rushed to the top of the rise. In the darkness they could
+see nothing; only, standing still and holding their breaths, they could
+hear the faint sound, ever growing fainter, of some creature splashing
+in a hasty gallop over the wet moors.
+
+“Yon's him! Yon's no fox, I'll tak' oath. And a main big un, too, hark
+to him!” cried Jim. Then to Gyp, who had rushed off in hot pursuit:
+“Coom back, chunk-'ead. What's use o' you agin a gallopin' potamus?”
+
+Gradually the sounds died away and away, and were no more.
+
+“Thot's 'im, the devil!” said the Master at length.
+
+“Nay; the devil has a tail, they do say,” replied Jim thoughtfully. For
+already the light of suspicion was focusing its red glare.
+
+“Noo I reck'n we're in for bloody times amang the sheep for a while,”
+ said the Master, as Jim picked up his bags.
+
+“Better a sheep nor a mon,” answered the postman, still harping on the
+old theme.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XVI. THE BLACK KILLER
+
+
+THAT, as James Moore had predicted, was the first only of a long
+succession of such solitary crimes.
+
+Those who have not lived in a desolate country like that about the
+Muir Pike, where sheep are paramount and every other man engaged in the
+profession pastoral, can barely imagine the sensation aroused. In market
+place, tavern, or cottage, the subject of conversation was always the
+latest sheep-murder and the yet-undetected criminal.
+
+Sometimes there would be a lull, and the shepherds would begin to
+breathe more freely. Then there would come a stormy night, when the
+heavens were veiled in the cloak of crime, and the wind moaned fitfully
+over meres and marches, and another victim would be added to the
+lengthening list.
+
+It was always such black nights, nights of wind and weather, when no man
+would be abroad, that the murderer chose for his bloody work; and that
+was how he became known from the Red Screes to the Muir Pike as the
+Black Killer. In the Daleland they still call a wild, wet night “A Black
+Killer's night:” for they say: “His ghaist'll be oot the night.”
+
+There was hardly a farm in the countryside but was marked with the seal
+of blood. Kenmuir escaped, and the Grange; Rob Saunderson at the Holt,
+and Tupper at Swinsthwaite; and they were about the only lucky ones.
+
+As for Kenmuir, Tammas declared with a certain grim pride: “He knows
+better'n to coom wheer Th' Owd Un be.” Whereat M'Adam was taken with a
+fit of internal spasms, rubbing his knees and cackling insanely for a
+half-hour afterward. And as for the luck of the Grange--well, there was
+a reason for that too, so the Dalesmen said.
+
+Though the area of crime stretched from the Black Water to
+Grammoch-town, twenty-odd miles, there was never a sign of the
+perpetrator. The Killer did his bloody work with a thoroughness and a
+devilish cunning that defied detection.
+
+It was plain that each murder might be set down to the same agency. Each
+was stamped with the same unmistakable sign-manual: one sheep killed,
+its throat torn into red ribands, and the others untouched.
+
+It was at the instigation of Parson Leggy that the squire imported a
+bloodhound to track the Killer to his doom. Set on at a fresh killed
+carcase at the One Tree Knowe, he carried the line a distance in the
+direction of the Muir Pike; then was thrown out by a little bustling
+beck, and never acknowledged the scent again. Afterward he became
+unmanageable, and could be no further utilized. Then there was talk of
+inducing Tommy Dobson and his pack to come over from Eskdale, but
+that came to nothing. The Master of the Border Hunt lent a couple of
+foxhounds, who effected nothing; and there were a hundred other attempts
+and as many failures. Jim Mason set a cunning trap or two and caught his
+own bob-tailed tortoise-shell and a terrible wigging from his missus;
+Ned Hoppin sat up with a gun two nights over a new slain victim and
+Londesley of the Home Farm poisoned a carcase. But the Killer never
+returned to the kill, and went about in the midst of the all, carrying
+on his infamous traffic and laughing up his sleeve.
+
+In the meanwhile the Dalesmen raged and swore vengeance; their
+impotence, their unsuccess, and their losses heating their wrath to
+madness. And the bitterest sting of it all lay in this; that though they
+could not detect him, they were nigh to positive as to the culprit.
+
+Many a time was the Black Killer named in low-voiced conclave; many a
+time did Long Kirby, as he stood in the Border Ram and watched M'Adam
+and the Terror walking down the High, nudge Jim Mason and whisper:
+
+“Theer's the Killer--oneasy be his grave!” To which practical Jim always
+made the same retort:
+
+“Ay, theer's the Killer; but wheer's the proof?”
+
+And therein lay the crux. There was scarcely a man in the countryside
+who doubted the guilt of the Tailless Tyke; but, as Jim said, where
+was the proof? They could but point to his well-won nickname; his evil
+notoriety; say that, magnificent sheep-dog as he was, he was known even
+in his work as a rough handler of stock; and lastly remark significantly
+that the grange was one of the few farms that had so far escaped
+unscathed. For with the belief that the Black Killer was a sheep-dog
+they held it as an article of faith that he would in honour spare his
+master's flock.
+
+There may, indeed, have been prejudice in their judgement. For each has
+his private grudge against the Terror; and nigh every man bore on his
+own person, or his clothes, or on the body of his dog, the mark of that
+huge savage.
+
+Proof?
+
+“Why, he near killed ma Lassie!” cries Londesley.
+
+“And he did kill the Wexer!”
+
+“And Wan Tromp!”
+
+“And see pore old Wenus!” says John Swan, and pulls out that fair
+Amazon, battered almost past recognition, but a warrioress still.
+
+“That's Red Wull--bloody be his end!”
+
+“And he laid ma Rasper by for nigh three weeks!” continues Tupper,
+pointing to the yet-unhealed scars on the neck of the big bobtail. “See
+thisey--his work.”
+
+“And look here!” cries Saunderson, exposing a ragged wound in Shep's
+throat; “thot's the Terror--black be his fa'!”
+
+“Ay,” says Long Kirby with an oath; “the tykes love him nigh as much as
+we do.”
+
+“Yes,” says Tammas. “Yo' jest watch!”
+
+The old man slips out of the tap-room; and in another moment from the
+road without comes a heavy, regular pat-pat-pat, as of some big creature
+approaching, and, blending with the sound, little shuffling footsteps.
+
+In an instant every dog in the room has risen to his feet and stands
+staring at the door with sullen, glowing eyes; lips wrinkling, bristles
+rising, throats rumbling.
+
+An unsteady hand fumbles at the door; a reedy voice calls, “Wullie, come
+here!” and the dogs move away, surly to either side of the fireplace,
+tails down, ears back, grumbling still; the picture of cowed passion.
+Then the door opens; Tammas enters, grinning; and each, after a moment's
+scrutiny, resumes his former position before the fire.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Meanwhile over M'Adam, seemingly all unsuspicious of these suspicions,
+a change had come. Whether it was that for the time he heard less of the
+best sheep-dog in the North, or for some more occult reason, certain it
+is that he became his old self. His tongue wagged as gayly and bitterly
+as ever, and hardly a night passed but he infuriated Tammas almost to
+blows with his innuendoes and insidious sarcasms.
+
+Old Jonas Maddox, one evening at the Sylvester Arms, inquired of him
+what his notion was as to the identity of the Killer.
+
+“I hae ma suspicions, Mr. Maddox; I hae ma suspicions,” the little man
+replied, cunningly wagging his head and giggling. But more than that
+they could not elicit from him. A week later, however, to the question:
+
+“And what are yo' thinkin' o' this black Killer, Mr. M'adam?”
+
+“Why _black?_” the little man asked earnestly; “why _black_ mair than
+white--or _gray_ we'll say?” Luckily for him, however, the Dalesmen are
+slow of wit as of speech.
+
+David, too, marked the difference in his father, who nagged at him now
+and then with all the old spirit. At first he rejoiced in then change,
+preferring his outward and open warfare to that aforetime stealthy
+enmity. But soon he almost wished the other back; for the older he grew
+the more difficult did he find it to endure calmly these everlasting
+bickerings.
+
+For one reason he was truly glad of the altered condition of affairs; he
+believed that, for the nonce, at least his father had abandoned any
+ill designs he might have cherished against James Moore; those sneaking
+visits to Kenmuir were, he hoped, discontinued.
+
+Yet Maggie Moore, had she been on speaking terms with him, could have
+undeceived him. For, one night, when alone in the kitchen, on suddenly
+looking up, she had seen to her horror a dim, moonlike face glued
+against the windowpane. In the first mad panic of the moment she almost
+screamed, and dropped her work; then--a true Moore--controlled herself
+and sat feigning to work, yet watching all the while.
+
+It was M'Adam, she recognized that: the face pale in its framework
+of black; the hair lying dank and dark on his forehead; and the white
+eyelids blinking, slow, regular, horrible. She thought of the stories
+she had heard of his sworn vengeance on her father, and her heart stood
+still, though she never moved. At length with a gasp of relief she
+discerned that the eyes were not directed on her. Stealthily following
+their gaze, she saw they rested on the Shepherds' Trophy; and on the Cup
+they remained fixed, immovable, while she sat motionless and watched.
+
+An hour, it seemed to her, elapsed before they shifted their direction,
+and wandered round the room. For a second they dwelt upon her; then the
+face withdrew into the night.
+
+Maggie told no one what she had seen. Knowing well how terrible her
+father was in his anger, she deemed it wiser to keep silence. While as
+for David M'Adam, she would never speak to him again!
+
+And not for a moment did that young man surmise whence his father came
+when, on the night in question, M'Adam returned to the Grange, chuckling
+to himself. David was growing of late accustomed to these fits of
+silent, unprovoked merriment; and when his father began giggling and
+muttering to Red Wull, at first he paid no heed.
+
+“He! he! Wullie. Aiblins we'll beat him yet. There's many a slip
+twixt Cup and lip--eh, Wullie, he! he!” And he made allusion to the
+flourishing of the wicked and their fall; ending always with the same
+refrain: “He! he! Wullie. Aiblins we'll beat him yet.”
+
+In this strain he continued until David, his patience exhausted, asked
+roughly:
+
+“What is't yo' mumblin' aboot? Wha is it yo'll beat, you and yer
+Wullie?”
+
+The lad's tone was as contemptuous as his words. Long ago he had cast
+aside any semblance of respect for his father.
+
+M'Adam only rubbed his knees and giggled.
+
+“Hark to the dear lad, Wullie! Listen hoo pleasantly he addresses his
+auld dad!” Then turning on his son, and leering at him: “What is it,
+ye ask? Wha should it be but the Black Killer? Wha else is there I'd be
+wushin' to hurt?”
+
+“The Black Killer!” echoed the boy, and looked at his father in
+amazement.
+
+Now David was almost the only man in Wastrel-dale who denied Red Wull's
+identity with the Killer. “Nay,” he said once; “he'd kill me, given half
+a chance, but a sheep--no.” Yet, though himself of this opinion, he knew
+well what the talk was, and was astonished accordingly at his father's
+remark.
+
+“The Black Killer, is it? What d'you know o' the Killer?” he inquired.
+
+“Why _black_, I wad ken? Why _black?_” the little man asked, leaning
+forward in his chair.
+
+Now David, though repudiating in the village Red Wull's complicity
+with the crimes, at home was never so happy as when casting cunning
+innuendoes to that effect.
+
+“What would you have him then?” he asked. “Red, yaller, muck-dirt
+colour?”--and he stared significantly at the Tailless Tyke, who was
+lying at his master's feet. The little man ceased rubbing his knees and
+eyed the boy. David shifted uneasily beneath that dim, persistent stare.
+
+“Well?” he said at length gruffly.
+
+The little man giggled, and his two thin hands took up their task again.
+
+“Aiblins his puir auld doited fool of a dad kens mair than the dear lad
+thinks for, ay, or wushes--eh, Wullie, he! he!”
+
+“Then what is it you do know, or think yo' know?” David asked irritably.
+
+The little man nodded and chuckled.
+
+“Naethin' ava, laddie, naethin' worth the mention. Only aiblins the
+Killer'll be caught afore sae lang.”
+
+David smiled incredulously, wagging his head in offensive scepticism.
+
+“Yo'll catch him yo'self, I s'pose, you and yer Wullie? Tak' a chair on
+to the Marches, whistle a while, and when the Killer comes, why! pit a
+pinch o' salt upon his tail--if he had one.”
+
+At the last words, heavily punctuated by the speaker, the little man
+stopped his rubbing as though shot.
+
+“What wad ye mean by that?” he asked softly.
+
+“What wad I?” the boy replied.
+
+“I dinna ken for sure,” the little man answered; “and it's aiblins just
+as well for you, dear lad”--in fawning accents--“that I dinna.” He
+began rubbing and giggling afresh. “It's a gran' thing, Wullie, to ha'
+a dutiful son; a shairp lad wha has no silly sens o' shame aboot
+sharpenin' his wits at his auld dad's expense. And yet, despite
+oor facetious lad there, aiblins we will ha' a hand in the Killer's
+catchin', you and I, Wullie--he! he!” And the great dog at his feet
+wagged his stump tail in reply.
+
+David rose from his chair and walked across the room to where his father
+sat.
+
+“If yo' know sic a mighty heap,” he shouted, “happen you'll just tell me
+what yo' do know!”
+
+M'Adam stopped stroking Red Wull's massive head, and looked up.
+
+“Tell ye? Ay, wha should I tell if not ma dear David? Tell? Ay, I'll
+tell ye this”--with a sudden snarl of bitterness--“That you'd be the
+vairy last person I wad tell.”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XVII. A MAD DOG
+
+
+DAVID and Maggie, meanwhile, were drifting further and further apart. He
+now thought the girl took too much upon herself; that this assumption of
+the woman and the mother was overdone. Once, on a Sunday, he caught her
+hearing Andrew his catechism. He watched the performance through a crack
+in the door, and listened, giggling, to her simple teaching. At length
+his merriment grew so boisterous that she looked up, saw him, and,
+straightway rising to her feet, crossed the room and shut the door;
+tendering her unspoken rebuke with such a sweet dignity that he slunk
+away for once decently ashamed. And the incident served to add point to
+his hostility.
+
+Consequently he was seldom at Kenmuir, and more often at home,
+quarrelling with his father.
+
+Since that day, two years before, when the boy had been an instrument in
+the taking of the Cup from him, father and son had been like two vessels
+charged with electricity, contact between which might result at any
+moment in a shock and a flash. This was the outcome not of a moment, but
+of years.
+
+Of late the contest had raged markedly fierce; for M'Adam noticed his
+son's more frequent presence at home, and commented on the fact in his
+usual spirit of playful raillery.
+
+“What's come to ye, David?” he asked one day. “Yer auld dad's head is
+nigh turned wi' yer condescension. Is James Moore feared ye'll steal the
+Cup fra him, as ye stole it from me, that he'll not ha' ye at Kenmuir?
+or what is it?”
+
+“I thought I could maybe keep an eye on the Killer gin I stayed here,”
+ David answered, leering at Red Wull.
+
+“Ye'd do better at Kenmuir--eh, Wullie!” the little man replied.
+
+“Nay,” the other answered, “he'll not go to Kenmuir. There's Th' Owd Un
+to see to him there o' nights.”
+
+The little man whipped round.
+
+“Are ye so sure he is there o' nights, ma lad?” he asked with slow
+significance.
+
+“He was there when some one--I dinna say who, though I have ma
+thoughts--tried to poison him,” sneered the boy, mimicking his father's
+manner.
+
+M'Adam shook his head.
+
+“If he was poisoned, and noo I think aiblins he was, he didna pick it up
+at Kenmuir, I tell ye that,” he said, and marched out of the room.
+
+In the mean time the Black Killer pursued his bloody trade unchecked.
+The public, always greedy of a new sensation, took up the matter.
+In several of the great dailies, articles on the “Agrarian Outrages”
+ appeared, followed by lengthy correspondence. Controversy raged high;
+each correspondent had his own theory and his own solution of the
+problem; and each waxed indignant as his were discarded for another's.
+
+The Terror had reigned already two months when, with the advent of the
+lambing-time, matters took a yet more serious aspect.
+
+It was bad enough to lose one sheep, often the finest in the pack; but
+the hunting of a flock at a critical moment, which was incidental to the
+slaughter of the one, the scaring of these woolly mothers-about-to-be
+almost out of their fleeces, spelt for the small farmers something akin
+to ruin, for the bigger ones a loss hardly bearable.
+
+Such a woful season had never been known; loud were the curses, deep
+the vows of revenge. Many a shepherd at that time patrolled all night
+through with his dogs, only to find in the morning that the Killer had
+slipped him and havocked in some secluded portion of his beat.
+
+It was heartrending work; and all the more so in that, though his
+incrimination seemed as far off as ever, there was still the same
+positiveness as to the culprit's identity.
+
+Long Kirby, indeed, greatly daring, went so far on one occasion as to
+say to the little man: “And d'yo' reck'n the Killer is a sheep-dog,
+M'Adam?”
+
+“I do,” the little man replied with conviction.
+
+“And that he'll spare his own sheep?”
+
+“Niver a doubt of it.”
+
+“Then,” said the smith with a nervous cackle, “it must lie between you
+and Tupper and Saunderson.”
+
+The little man leant forward and tapped the other on the arm.
+
+“Or Kenmuir, ma friend,” he said. “Ye've forgot Kenmuir.”
+
+“So I have,” laughed the smith, “so I have.”
+
+“Then I'd not anither time,” the other continued, still tapping. “I'd
+mind Kenmuir, d'ye see, Kirby?”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was about the middle of the lambing-time, when the Killer was working
+his worst, that the Dalesmen had a lurid glimpse of Adam M'Adam as he
+might be were he wounded through his Wullie.
+
+Thus it came about: It was market-day in Grammoch-town, and in the
+Border Ram old Rob Saunderson was the centre of interest. For on the
+previous night Rob, who till then had escaped unscathed, had lost a
+sheep to the Killer: and--far worse--his flock of Herdwicks, heavy in
+lamb, had been galloped with disastrous consequences.
+
+The old man, with tears in his eyes, was telling how on four nights that
+week he had been up with Shep to guard against mishap; and on the fifth,
+worn out with his double labor, had fallen asleep at his post. But
+a very little while he slumbered; yet when, in the dawn, he woke and
+hurried on his rounds, he quickly came upon a mangled sheep and the
+pitiful relic of his flock. A relic, indeed! For all about were cold
+wee lambkins and their mothers, dead and dying of exhaustion and their
+unripe travail--a slaughter of the innocents.
+
+The Dalesmen were clustered round the old shepherd, listening with
+lowering countenances, when a dark gray head peered in at the door and
+two wistful eyes dwelt for a moment on the speaker.
+
+“Talk o' the devil!” muttered M'Adam, but no man heard him. For Red
+Wull, too, had seen that sad face, and, rising from his master's feet,
+had leapt with a roar at his enemy, toppling Jim Mason like a ninepin in
+the fury of his charge.
+
+In a second every dog in the room, from the battered Venus to Tupper's
+big Rasper, was on his feet, bristling to have at the tyrant and wipe
+out past injuries, if the gray dog would but lead the dance.
+
+It was not to be, however. For Long Kirby was standing at the door with
+a cup of hot coffee in his hand. Barely had he greeted the gray dog
+with--
+
+“Ullo, Owd Un!” when hoarse yells of “'Ware, lad! The Terror!” mingled
+with Red Wull's roar.
+
+Half turning, he saw the great dog bounding to the attack. Straightway
+he flung the boiling contents of his cup full in that rage-wracked
+countenance. The burning liquid swished against the huge bull-head.
+Blinding, bubbling, scalding, it did its fell work well; nothing escaped
+that merciless torrent. With a cry of agony, half bellow, half howl,
+Red Wull checked in his charge. From without the door was banged to; and
+again the duel was postponed. While within the tap-room a huddle of men
+and dogs were left alone with a mad man and a madder brute.
+
+Blind, demented, agonized, the Tailless Tyke thundered about the little
+room gnashing, snapping, oversetting; men, tables, chairs swirled off
+their legs as though they had been dolls. He spun round like a monstrous
+teetotum; he banged his tortured head against the wall; he burrowed
+into the unyielding floor. And all the while M'Adam pattered after him,
+laying hands upon him only to be flung aside as a terrier flings a rat.
+Now up, now down again, now tossed into a corner, now dragged upon
+the floor, yet always following on and crying in supplicating tones,
+“Wullie, Wullie, let me to ye! let yer man ease ye!” and then, with
+a scream and a murderous glance, “By ----, Kirby, I'll deal wi' you
+later!”
+
+The uproar was like hell let loose. You could hear the noise of oaths
+and blows, as the men fought for the door, a half-mile away. And above
+it the horrid bellowing and the screaming of that shrill voice.
+
+Long Kirby was the first man out of that murder-hole; and after him
+the others toppled one by one--men and dogs jostling one another in
+the frenzy of their fear. Big Bell, Londesley, Tupper, Hoppin, Teddy
+Bolstock, white-faced and trembling; and old Saunderson they pulled out
+by his heels. Then the door was shut with a clang, and the little man
+and mad dog were left alone.
+
+In the street was already a big-eyed crowd, attracted by the uproar;
+while at the door was James Moore, seeking entrance. “Happen I could
+lend the little mon a hand,” said he; but they withheld him forcibly.
+
+Inside was pandemonium: bangings like the doors of hell; the bellowing
+of that great voice; the patter of little feet; the slithering of a
+body on the floor; and always that shrill, beseeching prayer, “Wullie,
+Wullie, let me to ye!” and, in a scream, “By ----, Kirby, I'll be wi' ye
+soon!”
+
+Jim Mason it was who turned, at length, to the smith and whispered,
+“Kirby, lad, yo'd best skip it.”
+
+The big man obeyed and ran. The stamp-stamp of his feet on the hard road
+rang above the turmoil. As the long legs vanished round the corner and
+the sound of the fugitive died away, a panic seized the listening crowd.
+
+A woman shrieked; a girl fainted; and in two minutes the street was as
+naked of men as the steppes of Russia in winter: here a white face at a
+window; there a door ajar; and peering round a far corner a frightened
+boy. One man only scorned to run. Alone, James Moore stalked down the
+centre of the road, slow and calm, Owd Bob trotting at his heels.
+
+It was a long half-hour before the door of the inn burst open, and
+M'Adam came out with a run, flinging the door behind him.
+
+He rushed into the middle of the road; his sleeves were rolled at
+the wrist like a surgeon's; and in his right hand was a black-handled
+jack-knife.
+
+“Noo, by ----!” he cried in a terrible voice, “where is he?”
+
+He looked up and down the road, darting his fiery glances everywhere;
+and his face was whiter than his hair.
+
+Then he turned and hunted madly down the whole length of the High,
+nosing like a weasel in every cranny, stabbing at the air as he went,
+and screaming, “By ----, Kirby, wait till I get ye!”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XVIII. HOW THE KILLER WAS SINGED
+
+
+No further harm came of the incident; but it served as a healthy
+object-lesson for the Dalesmen.
+
+A coincidence it may have been, but, as a fact, for the fortnight
+succeeding Kirby's exploit there was a lull in the crimes. There
+followed, as though to make amends, the seven days still remembered in
+the Daleland as the Bloody Week.
+
+On the Sunday the Squire lost a Cheviot ewe, killed not a hundred yards
+from the Manor wall. On the Monday a farm on the Black Water was marked
+with the red cross. On Tuesday--a black night--Tupper at Swinsthwaite
+came upon the murderer at his work; he fired into the darkness without
+effect; and the Killer escaped with a scaring. On the following night
+Viscount Birdsaye lost a shearling ram, for which he was reported to
+have paid a fabulous sum. Thursday was the one blank night of the week.
+On Friday Tupper was again visited and punished heavily, as though in
+revenge for that shot.
+
+On the Saturday afternoon a big meeting was held at the Manor to discuss
+measures. The Squire presided; gentlemen and magistrates were there in
+numbers, and every farmer in the country-side.
+
+To start the proceedings the Special Commissioner read a futile letter
+from the Board of Agriculture. After him Viscount Birdsaye rose and
+proposed that a reward more suitable to the seriousness of the case
+than the paltry 5 pounds of the Police should be offered, and backed his
+proposal with a 25 pound cheque. Several others spoke, and, last of all,
+Parson Leggy rose.
+
+He briefly summarized the history of the crimes; reiterated his belief
+that a sheep-dog was the criminal; declared that nothing had occurred
+to shake his conviction; and concluded by offering a remedy for their
+consideration. Simple it was, so he said, to laughableness; yet, if
+their surmise was correct, it would serve as an effectual preventive if
+not cure, and would at least give them time to turn round. He paused.
+
+“My suggestion is: That every man-jack of you who owns a sheep-dog ties
+him up at night.”
+
+The farmers were given half an hour to consider the proposal, and
+clustered in knots talking it over. Many an eye was directed on M'Adam;
+but that little man appeared all unconscious.
+
+“Weel, Mr. Saunderson,” he was saying in, shrill accents, “and shall ye
+tie Shep?”
+
+“What d'yo' think?” asked Rob, eying the man at whom the measure was
+aimed.
+
+“Why, it's this way, I'm thinkin',” the little man replied. “Gin ye haud
+Shep's the guilty one I _wad_, by all manner o' means--or shootin'd be
+aiblins better. If not, why”--he shrugged his shoulders significantly;
+and having shown his hand and driven the nail well home, the little man
+left the meeting.
+
+James Moore stayed to see the Parson's resolution negatived, by a large
+majority, and then he too quitted the hall. He had foreseen the result,
+and, previous to the meeting, had warned the Parson how it would be.
+
+“Tie up!” he cried almost indignantly, as Owd Bob came galloping up
+to his whistle; “I think I see myself chainin' yo', owd lad, like any
+murderer. Why, it's yo' has kept the Killer off Kenmuir so far, I'll
+lay.”
+
+At the lodge-gate was M'Adam, for once without his familiar spirit,
+playing with the lodge-keeper's child; for the little man loved all
+children but his own, and was beloved of them. As the Master approached
+he looked up.
+
+“Weel, Moore,” he called, “and are you gaein' to tie yer dog?”
+
+“I will if you will yours,” the Master answered grimly.
+
+“Na,” the little man replied, “it's Wullie as frichts the Killer aff the
+Grange. That's why I've left him there noo.”
+
+“It's the same wi' me,” the Master said. “He's not come to Kenmuir yet,
+nor he'll not so long as Th' Owd Un's loose, I reck'n.”
+
+“Loose or tied, for the matter o' that,” the little man rejoined,
+“Kenmuir'll escape.” He made the statement dogmatically, snapping his
+lips.
+
+The Master frowned.
+
+“Why that?” he asked.
+
+“Ha' ye no heard what they're sayin'?” the little man inquired with
+raised eyebrows.
+
+“Nay; what?”
+
+“Why, that the mere repitation o' th' best sheep-dog in the North'
+should keep him aff. An' I guess they're reet,” and he laughed shrilly
+as he spoke.
+
+The Master passed on, puzzled.
+
+“Which road are ye gaein' hame?” M'Adam called after him. “Because,”
+ with a polite smile, “I'll tak' t'ither.”
+
+“I'm off by the Windy Brae,” the Master answered, striding on. “Squire
+asked me to leave a note wi' his shepherd t'other side o' the Chair.”
+ So he headed away to the left, making for home by the route along the
+Silver Mere.
+
+It is a long sweep of almost unbroken moorland, the well-called Windy
+Brae; sloping gently down in mile on mile of heather from the Mere
+Marches on the top to the fringe of the Silver Mere below. In all that
+waste of moor the only break is the quaint-shaped Giant's Chair,
+puzzle of geologists, looking as though plumped down by accident in the
+heathery wild. The ground rises suddenly from the uniform grade of the
+Brae; up it goes, ever growing steeper, until at length it runs abruptly
+into a sheer curtain of rock--the Fall--which rises perpendicular some
+forty feet, on the top of which rests that tiny grassy bowl--not twenty
+yards across--they call the Scoop.
+
+The Scoop forms the seat of the Chair and reposes on its collar of rock,
+cool and green and out of the world, like wine in a metal cup; in front
+is the forty-foot Fall; behind, rising sheer again, the wall of rock
+which makes the back of the Chair. Inaccessible from above, the only
+means of entrance to that little dell are two narrow sheep-tracks, which
+crawl dangerously up between the sheer wall on the one hand and the
+sheer Fall on the other, entering it at opposite sides.
+
+It stands out clear-cut from the gradual incline, that peculiar
+eminence; yet as the Master and Owd Bob debouched on to the Brae it was
+already invisible in the darkening night.
+
+Through the heather the two swung, the Master thinking now with a smile
+of David and Maggie; wondering what M'Adam had meant; musing with a
+frown on the Killer; pondering on his identity--for he was half of
+David's opinion as to Red Wull's innocence; and thanking his stars that
+so far Kenmuir had escaped, a piece of luck he attributed entirely to
+the vigilance of Th' Owd Un, who, sleeping in the porch, slipped out at
+all hours and went his rounds, warding off danger. And at the thought
+he looked down for the dark head which should be travelling at his knee;
+yet could not see it, so thick hung the pall of night.
+
+So he brushed his way along, and ever the night grew blacker; until,
+from the swell of the ground beneath his feet, he knew himself skirting
+the Giant's Chair.
+
+Now as he sped along the foot of the rise, of a sudden there burst
+on his ear the myriad patter of galloping feet. He turned, and at the
+second a swirl of sheep almost bore him down. It was velvet-black,
+and they fled furiously by, yet he dimly discovered, driving at their
+trails, a vague hound-like form.
+
+“The Killer, by thunder!” he ejaculated, and, startled though he was,
+struck down at that last pursuing shape, to miss and almost fall.
+
+“Bob, lad!” he cried, “follow on!” and swung round; but in the darkness
+could not see if the gray dog had obeyed.
+
+The chase swept on into the night, and, far above him on the hill-side,
+he could now hear the rattle of the flying feet. He started hotly in
+pursuit, and then, recognizing the futility of following where he
+could not see his hand, desisted. So he stood motionless, listening
+and peering into the blackness, hoping Th' Owd Un was on the villain's
+heels.
+
+He prayed for the moon; and, as though in answer, the lantern of the
+night shone out and lit the dour face of the Chair above him. He shot a
+glance at his feet; and thanked heaven on finding the gray dog was not
+beside him.
+
+Then he looked up. The sheep had broken, and were scattered over the
+steep hill-side, still galloping madly. In the rout one pair of darting
+figures caught and held his gaze: the foremost dodging, twisting,
+speeding upward, the hinder hard on the leader's heels, swift,
+remorseless, never changing. He looked for a third pursuing form; but
+none could he discern.
+
+“He mun ha' missed him in the dark,” the Master muttered, the sweat
+standing on his brow, as he strained his eyes upward.
+
+Higher and higher sped those two dark specks, far out-topping the
+scattered remnant of the flock. Up and up, until of a sudden the sheer
+Fall dropped its relentless barrier in the path of the fugitive. Away,
+scudding along the foot of the rock-wall struck the familiar track
+leading to the Scoop, and up it, bleating pitifully, nigh spent, the
+Killer hard on her now.
+
+“He'll doon her in the Scoop!” cried the Master hoarsely, following
+with fascinated eyes. “Owd Un! Owd Un! wheer iver are yo' gotten to?” he
+called in agony; but no Owd Un made reply.
+
+As they reached the summit, just as he had prophesied, the two black
+dots were one; and down they rolled together into the hollow of the
+Scoop, out of the Master's ken. At the same instant the moon, as though
+loth to watch the last act of the bloody play, veiled her face.
+
+It was his chance. “Noo!”--and up the hillside he sped like a young man,
+girding his loins for the struggle. The slope grew steep and steeper;
+but on and on he held in the darkness, gasping painfully, yet running
+still, until the face of the Fall blocked his way too.
+
+There he paused a moment, and whistled a low call. Could he but dispatch
+the old dog up the one path to the Scoop, while he took the other, the
+murderer's one road to safety would be blocked.
+
+He waited, all expectant; but no cold muzzle was shoved into his hand.
+Again he whistled. A pebble from above almost dropped on him, as if the
+criminal up there had moved to the brink of the Fall to listen; and he
+dared no more.
+
+He waited till all was still again, then crept, cat-like, along the
+rock-foot, and hit, at length, the track up which a while before had
+fled Killer and victim. Up that ragged way he crawled on hands and
+knees. The perspiration rolled off his face; one elbow brushed the rock
+perpetually; one hand plunged ever and anon into that naked emptiness on
+the other side.
+
+He prayed that the moon might keep in but a little longer; that his feet
+might be saved from falling, where a slip might well mean death, certain
+destruction to any chance of success. He cursed his luck that Th' Owd Un
+had somehow missed him in the dark; for now he must trust to chance, his
+own great strength, and his good oak stick. And as he climbed, he laid
+his plan: to rush in on the Killer as he still gorged and grapple
+with him. If in the darkness he missed--and in that narrow arena the
+contingency was improbable--the murderer might still, in the panic of
+the moment, forget the one path to safety and leap over the Fall to his
+destruction.
+
+At length he reached the summit and paused to draw breath. The
+black void before him was the Scoop, and in its bosom--not ten yards
+away--must be lying the Killer and the killed.
+
+He crouched against the wet rock-face and listened. In that dark
+silence, poised 'twixt heaven and earth, he seemed a million miles apart
+from living soul.
+
+No sound, and yet the murderer must be there. Ay, there was the tinkle
+of a dislodged stone; and again, the tread of stealthy feet.
+
+The Killer was moving; alarmed; was off.
+
+Quick!
+
+He rose to his full height; gathered himself, and leapt.
+
+Something collided with him as he sprang; something wrestled madly with
+him; something wrenched from beneath him; and in a clap he heard
+the thud of a body striking ground far below, and the slithering and
+splattering of some creature speeding furiously down the hill-side and
+away.
+
+“Who the blazes?” roared he.
+
+“What the devil?” screamed a little voice.
+
+The moon shone out.
+
+“Moore!”
+
+“M'Adam!”
+
+And there they were still struggling over the body of a dead sheep.
+
+In a second they had disengaged and rushed to the edge of the Fall. In
+the quiet they could still hear the scrambling hurry of the fugitive far
+below them. Nothing was to be seen, however, save an array of startled
+sheep on the hill-side, mute witnesses of the murderer's escape.
+
+The two men turned and eyed each other; the one grim, the other
+sardonic: both dishevelled and suspicious.
+
+“Well?''
+
+“Weel?”
+
+A pause and, careful scrutiny.
+
+“There's blood on your coat.”
+
+“And on yours.”
+
+Together they walked hack into the little moonlit hollow. There lay the
+murdered sheep in a pool of blood. Plain it was to see whence the marks
+on their coats came. M'Adam touched the victim's head with his foot. The
+movement exposed its throat. With a shudder he replaced it as it was.
+
+The two men stood back and eyed one another.
+
+“What are yo' doin' here?”
+
+“After the Killer. What are you?”
+
+“After the Killer?”
+
+“Hoo did you come?”
+
+“Up this path,” pointing to the one behind him. “Hoo did you?”
+
+“Up this.”
+
+Silence; then again:
+
+“I'd ha' had him but for yo'.”
+
+“I did have him, but ye tore me aff,”
+
+A pause again.
+
+“Where's yer gray dog?” This time the challenge was unmistakable.
+
+“I sent him after the Killer. Wheer's your Red Wull?”
+
+“At hame, as I tell't ye before.”
+
+“Yo' mean yo' left him there?” M'Adam's fingers twitched.
+
+“He's where I left him.”
+
+James Moore shrugged his shoulders. And the other began:
+
+“When did yer dog leave ye?”
+
+“When the Killer came past.”
+
+“Ye wad say ye missed him then?”
+
+“I say what I mean.”
+
+“Ye say he went after the Killer. Noo the Killer was here,” pointing to
+the dead sheep. “Was your dog here, too?”
+
+“If he had been he'd been here still.”
+
+“Onless he went over the Fall!”
+
+“That was the Killer, yo' fule.”
+
+“Or your dog.”
+
+“There was only _one_ beneath me. I felt him.”
+
+“Just so,” said M'Adam, and laughed. The other's brow contracted.
+
+“An' that was a big un,” he said slowly. The little man stopped his
+cackling.
+
+“There ye lie,” he said, smoothly. “He was small.”
+
+They looked one another full in the eyes.
+
+“That's a matter of opinion,” said the Master.
+
+“It's a matter of fact,” said the other.
+
+The two stared at one another, silent and stern, each trying to fathom
+the other's soul; then they turned again to the brink of the Fall.
+Beneath them, plain to see, was the splash and furrow in the shingle
+marking the Killer's line of retreat. They looked at one another again,
+and then each departed the way he had come to give his version of the
+story.
+
+“'If Th' Owd Un had kept wi' me, I should ha' had him.”
+
+And--
+
+“I tell ye I did have him, but James Moore pulled me aff. Strange, too,
+his dog not bein' wi' him!”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XIX. LAD AND LASS
+
+
+AN immense sensation this affair of the Scoop created in the Daleland.
+It spurred the Dalesmen into fresh endeavors. James Moore and M'Adam
+were examined and re-examined as to the minutest details of the matter.
+The whole country-side was placarded with huge bills, offering 100
+pounds reward for the capture of the criminal dead or alive. While the
+vigilance of the watchers was such that in a single week they bagged a
+donkey, an old woman, and two amateur detectives.
+
+In Wastrel-dale the near escape of the Killer, the collision between
+James Moore and Adam, and Owd Bob's unsuccess, who was not wont to fail,
+aroused intense excitement, with which was mingled a certain anxiety as
+to their favorite.
+
+For when the Master had reached home that night, he had found the old
+dog already there; and he must have wrenched his foot in the pursuit or
+run a thorn into it, for he was very lame. Whereat, when it was reported
+at the Sylvester Arms, M'Adam winked at Red Wull and muttered, “Ah,
+forty foot is an ugly tumble.”
+
+A week later the little man called at Kenmuir. As he entered the yard,
+David was standing outside the kitchen window, looking very glum and
+miserable. On seeing his father, however, the boy started forward, all
+alert.
+
+“What d'yo' want here?” he cried roughly.
+
+“Same as you, dear lad,” the little man giggled, advancing. “I come on a
+visit.”
+
+“Your visits to Kenmuir are usually paid by night, so I've heard,” David
+sneered.
+
+The little man affected not to hear.
+
+“So they dinna allow ye indoors wi' the Cup,” he laughed. “They know yer
+little ways then, David.”
+
+“Nay, I'm not wanted in there,” David answered bitterly, but not so loud
+that his father could hear. Maggie within the kitchen heard, however,
+but paid no heed; for her heart was hard against the boy, who of late,
+though he never addressed her, had made himself as unpleasant in a
+thousand little ways as only David M'Adam could.
+
+At that moment the Master came stalking into the yard, Owd Bob
+preceding him; and as the old dog recognized his visitor he bristled
+involuntarily.
+
+At the sight of the Master M'Adam hurried forward.
+
+“I did but come to ask after the tyke,” he said, “Is he gettin' over his
+lameness?”
+
+James Moore looked surprised; then his stern face relaxed into a cordial
+smile. Such generous anxiety as to the welfare of Red Wull's rival was a
+wholly new characteristic in the little man.
+
+“I tak' it kind in yo', M'Adam,” he said, “to come and inquire.”
+
+“Is the thorn oot?” asked the little man with eager interest, shooting
+his head forward to stare closely at the other.
+
+“It came oot last night wi' the poulticin',” the Master answered,
+returning the other's gaze, calm and steady.
+
+“I'm glad o' that,” said the little man, still staring. But his yellow,
+grinning face said as plain words, “What a liar ye are, James Moore.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The days passed on. His father's taunts and gibes, always becoming more
+bitter, drove David almost to distraction.
+
+He longed to make it up with Maggie; he longed for that tender sympathy
+which the girl had always extended to him when his troubles with his
+father were heavy on him. The quarrel had lasted for months now, and
+he was well weary of it, and utterly ashamed. For, at least, he had the
+good grace to acknowledge that no one was to blame but himself; and that
+it had been fostered solely by his ugly pride.
+
+At length he could endure it no longer, and determined to go to the
+girl and ask forgiveness. It would be a bitter ordeal to him; always
+unwilling to acknowledge a fault, even to himself, how much harder would
+it be to confess it to this strip of a girl. For a time he thought it
+was almost more than he could do. Yet, like his father, once set upon
+a course, nothing could divert him. So, after a week of doubts and
+determinations, of cowardice and courage, he pulled himself together and
+off he set.
+
+An hour it took him from the Grange to the bridge over the Wastrel--an
+hour which had wont to be a quarter. Now, as he walked on up the slope
+from the stream, very slowly, heartening himself for his penance, he was
+aware of a strange disturbance in the yard above him: the noisy cackling
+of hens, the snorting of pigs disturbed, and above the rest the cry of a
+little child ringing out in shrill distress.
+
+He set to running, and sped up the slope as fast as his long legs would
+carry him. As he took the gate in his stride, he saw the white-clad
+figure of Wee Anne fleeing with unsteady, toddling steps, her fair hair
+streaming out behind, and one bare arm striking wildly back at a great
+pursuing sow.
+
+David shouted as he cleared the gate, but the brute paid no heed, and
+was almost touching the fugitive when Owd Bob came galloping round the
+corner, and in a second had flashed between pursuer and pursued. So
+close were the two that as he swung round on the startled sow, his tail
+brushed the baby to the ground; and there she lay kicking fat legs to
+heaven and calling on all her gods.
+
+David, leaving the old dog to secure the warrior pig, ran round to her;
+but he was anticipated. The whole matter had barely occupied a minute's
+time; and Maggie, rushing from the kitchen, now had the child in her
+arms and was hurrying back with her to the house.
+
+“Eh, ma pet, are yo' hurted, dearie?” David could hear her asking
+tearfully, as he crossed the yard and established himself in the door.
+
+“Well,” said he, in bantering tones, “yo'm a nice wench to ha' charge o'
+oor Annie!”
+
+It was a sore subject with the girl, and well he knew it. Wee Anne, that
+golden-haired imp of mischief, was forever evading her sister-mother's
+eye and attempting to immolate herself. More than once she had only been
+saved from serious hurt by the watchful devotion of Owd Bob, who always
+found time, despite his many labors, to keep a guardian eye on his
+well-loved lassie. In the previous winter she had been lost on a bitter
+night on the Muir Pike; once she had climbed into a field with the
+Highland bull, and barely escaped with her life, while the gray dog held
+the brute in check; but a little while before she had been rescued from
+drowning by the Tailless Tyke; there had been numerous other mischances;
+and now the present mishap. But the girl paid no heed to her tormentor
+in her joy at finding the child all unhurt.
+
+“Theer! yo' bain't so much as scratted, ma precious, is yo'?” she cried.
+“Rin oot agin, then,” and the baby toddled joyfully away.
+
+Maggie rose to her feet and stood with face averted. David's eyes dwelt
+lovingly upon her, admiring the pose of the neat head with its thatch of
+pretty brown hair; the slim figure, and slender ankles, peeping modestly
+from beneath her print frock.
+
+“Ma word! if yo' dad should hear tell o' hoo his Anne--” he broke off
+into a long-drawn whistle.
+
+Maggie kept silence; but her lips quivered, and the flush deepened on
+her cheek.
+
+“I'm fear'd I'll ha' to tell him,” the boy continued, “'Tis but ma
+duty.”
+
+“Yo' may tell wham yo' like what yo' like,” the girl replied coldly; yet
+there was a tremor in her voice.
+
+“First yo' throws her in the stream,” David went on remorselessly; “then
+yo' chucks her to the pig, and if it had not bin for me--”
+
+“Yo', indeed!” she broke in contemptuously. “Yo'! 'twas Owd Bob reskied
+her. Yo'd nowt' to do wi' it, 'cept lookin' on--'bout what yo're fit
+for.”
+
+“I tell yo',” David pursued stubbornly, “an it had not bin for me yo'
+wouldn't have no sister by noo. She'd be lyin', she would, pore little
+lass, cold as ice, pore mite, wi' no breath in her. An' when yo' dad
+coom home there'd be no Wee Anne to rin to him, and climb on his knee,
+and yammer to him, and beat his face. An he'd say, 'What's gotten to oor
+Annie, as I left wi' yo'?' And then yo'd have to tell him, 'I never took
+no manner o' fash after her, dad; d'reckly yo' back was turned, I--'”
+
+The girl sat down, buried her face in her apron, and indulged in the
+rare luxury of tears.
+
+“Yo're the cruellest mon as iver was, David M'Adam,” she sobbed, rocking
+to and fro.
+
+He was at her side in a moment, tenderly bending over her.
+
+“Eh, Maggie, but I am sorry, lass--”
+
+She wrenched away from beneath his hands.
+
+“I hate yo',” she cried passionately.
+
+He gently removed her hands from before her tear-stained face.
+
+“I was nob'but laffin', Maggie,” he pleaded; “say yo' forgie me.”
+
+“I don't,” she cried, struggling. “I think yo're the hatefullest lad as
+iver lived.”
+
+The moment was critical; it was a time for heroic measures.
+
+“No, yo' don't, lass,” he remonstrated; and, releasing her wrists,
+lifted the little drooping face, wet as it was, like the earth after
+a spring shower, and, holding it between his two big hands, kissed it
+twice.
+
+“Yo' coward!” she cried, a flood of warm red crimsoning her cheeks; and
+she struggled vainly to be free.
+
+“Yo' used to let me,” he reminded her in aggrieved tones.
+
+“I niver did!” she cried, more indignant than truthful.
+
+“Yes, yo' did, when we was little uns; that is, yo' was allus for
+kissin' and I was allus agin it. And noo,” with whole-souled bitterness,
+“I mayn't so much as keek at yo' over a stone wall.”
+
+However that might be, he was keeking at her from closer range now; and
+in that position--for he held her firmly still--she could not help
+but keek back. He looked so handsome--humble for once; penitent yet
+reproachful; his own eyes a little moist; and, withal, his old audacious
+self--that, despite herself, her anger grew less hot.
+
+“Say yo' forgie me and I'll let yo' go.”
+
+“I don't, nor niver shall,” she answered firmly; but there was less
+conviction in her heart than voice.
+
+“Iss yo' do, lass,” he coaxed, and kissed her again.
+
+She struggled faintly.
+
+“Hoo daur yo'?” she cried through her tears. But he was not to be moved.
+
+“Will yo' noo?” he asked.
+
+She remained dumb, and he kissed her again.
+
+“Impidence!” she cried.
+
+“Ay,” said he, closing her mouth.
+
+“I wonder at ye, Davie!” she said, surrendering.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+After that Maggie must needs give in; and it was well understood, though
+nothing definite had been said, that the boy and girl were courting. And
+in the Dale the unanimous opinion was that the young couple would make
+“a gradely pair, surely.”
+
+M'Adam was the last person to hear the news, long after it had been
+common knowledge in the village. It was in the Sylvester Arms he first
+heard it, and straightway fell into one of those foaming frenzies
+characteristic of him.
+
+“The dochter o' Moore o' Kenmuir, d'ye say? sic a dochter o' sic a man!
+The dochter o' th' one man in the warld that's harmed me aboon the rest!
+I'd no ha' believed it gin ye'd no tell't me. Oh, David, David! I'd no
+ha' thocht it even o' you, ill son as ye've aye bin to me. I think he
+might ha' waited till his auld dad was gone, and he'd no had to wait
+lang the noo.” Then the little man sat down and burst into tears.
+Gradually, however, he resigned himself, and the more readily when he
+realized that David by his act had exposed a fresh wound into which he
+might plunge his barbed shafts. And he availed himself to the full
+of his new opportunities. Often and often David was sore pressed to
+restrain himself.
+
+“Is't true what they're sayin' that Maggie Moore's nae better than she
+should be?” the little man asked one evening with anxious interest.
+
+“They're not sayin' so, and if they were 'twad be a lie,” the boy
+answered angrily.
+
+M'Adam leant back in his chair and nodded his head.
+
+“Ay, they tell't me that gin ony man knew 'twad be David M'Adam.”
+
+David strode across the room.
+
+“No, no mair o' that,” he shouted. “Y'ought to be 'shamed, an owd mon
+like you, to speak so o' a lass.” The little man edged close up to his
+son, and looked up into the fair flushed face towering above him.
+
+“David,” he said in smooth soft tones, “I'm 'stonished ye dinna strike
+yen auld dad.” He stood with his hands clasped behind his back as if
+daring the young giant to raise a finger against him. “Ye maist might
+noo,” he continued suavely. “Ye maun be sax inches taller, and a good
+four stane heavier. Hooiver, aiblins ye're wise to wait. Anither year
+twa I'll be an auld man, as ye say, and feebler, and Wullie here'll be
+gettin' on, while you'll be in the prime o' yer strength. Then I think
+ye might hit me wi' safety to your person, and honor to yourself.”
+
+He took a pace back, smiling.
+
+“Feyther,” said David, huskily, “one day yo'll drive me too far.”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XX. THE SNAPPING OF THE STRING
+
+
+THE spring was passing, marked throughout with the bloody trail of
+the Killer. The adventure in the Scoop scared him for a while into
+innocuousness; then he resumed his game again with redoubled zest.
+It seemed likely he would harry the district till some lucky accident
+carried him off, for all chance there was of arresting him.
+
+You could still hear nightly in the Sylvester Arms and elsewhere the
+assertion, delivered with the same dogmatic certainty as of old, “It's
+the Terror, I tell yo'!” and that irritating, inevitable reply: “Ay; but
+wheer's the proof?” While often, at the same moment, in a house not far
+away, a little lonely man was sitting before a low-burnt fire, rocking
+to and fro, biting his nails, and muttering to the great dog whose head
+lay between his knees: “If we had but the proof, Wullie! if we had
+but the proof! I'd give ma right hand aff my arm gin we had the proof
+to-morrow.”
+
+Long Kirby, who was always for war when some one else was to do the
+fighting, suggested that David should be requested, in the name of the
+Dalesmen, to tell M'Adam that he must make an end to Red Wull. But Jim
+Mason quashed the proposal, remarking truly enough that there was too
+much bad blood as it was between father and son; while Tammas proposed
+with a sneer that the smith should be his own agent in the matter.
+
+Whether it was this remark of Tammas's which stung the big man into
+action, or whether it was that the intensity of his hate gave him
+unusual courage, anyhow, a few days later, M'Adam caught him lurking in
+the granary of the Grange.
+
+The little man may not have guessed his murderous intent; yet the
+blacksmith's white-faced terror, as he crouched away in the darkest
+corner, could hardly have escaped remark; though--and Kirby may thank
+his stars for it--the treacherous gleam of a gun-barrel, ill-concealed
+behind him, did.
+
+“Hullo, Kirby!” said M'Adam cordially, “ye'll stay the night wi' me?”
+ And the next thing the big man heard was a giggle on the far side the
+door, lost in the clank of padlock and rattle of chain. Then--through
+a crack--“Good-night to ye. Hope ye'll be comfie.” And there he stayed
+that night, the following day and next night--thirty-six hours in all,
+with swedes for his hunger and the dew off the thatch for his thirst.
+
+Meanwhile the struggle between David and his father seemed coming to a
+head. The little man's tongue wagged more bitterly than ever; now it was
+never at rest--searching out sores, stinging, piercing.
+
+Worst of all, he was continually dropping innuendoes, seemingly innocent
+enough, yet with a world of subtile meaning at their back, respecting
+Maggie. The leer and wink with which, when David came home from
+Kenmuir at nights, he would ask the simple question, “And was she kind,
+David--eh, eh?” made the boy's blood boil within him.
+
+And the more effective the little man saw his shots to be, the more
+persistently he plied them. And David retaliated in kind. It was a war
+of reprisals. There was no peace; there were no truces in which to
+bury the dead before the opponents set to slaying others. And every day
+brought the combatants nearer to that final struggle, the issue of which
+neither cared to contemplate.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There came a Saturday, toward the end of the spring, long to be
+remembered by more than David in the Dale.
+
+For that young man the day started sensationally. Rising before
+cock-crow, and going to the window, the first thing he saw in the misty
+dawn was the gaunt, gigantic figure of Red Wull, hounding up the hill
+from the Stony Bottom; and in an instant his faith was shaken to its
+foundation.
+
+The dog was travelling up at a long, slouching trot; and as he rapidly
+approached the house, David saw that his flanks were all splashed with
+red mud, his tongue out, and the foam dripping from his jaws, as though
+he had come far and fast.
+
+He slunk up to the house, leapt on to the sill of the unused
+back-kitchen, some five feet from the ground, pushed with his paw at the
+cranky old hatchment, which was its only covering; and, in a second, the
+boy, straining out of the window the better to see, heard the rattle of
+the boards as the dog dropped within the house.
+
+For the moment, excited as he was, David held his peace. Even the Black
+Killer took only second place in his thoughts that morning. For this was
+to be a momentous day for him.
+
+That afternoon James Moore and Andrew would, he knew, be over at
+Grammoch-town, and, his work finished for the day, he was resolved to
+tackle Maggie and decide his fate. If she would have him--well, he would
+go next morning and thank God for it, kneeling beside her in the
+tiny village church; if not, he would leave the Grange and all its
+unhappiness behind, and straightway plunge out into the world.
+
+All through a week of stern work he had looked forward to this hard-won
+half-holiday. Therefore, when, as he was breaking off at noon, his
+father turned to him and said abruptly:
+
+“David, ye're to tak' the Cheviot lot o'er to Grammoch-town at once,” he
+answered shortly:
+
+“Yo' mun tak' 'em yo'sel', if yo' wish 'em to go to-day.”
+
+“Na,” the little man answered; “Wullie and me, we're busy. Ye're to tak'
+'em, I tell ye.”
+
+“I'll not,” David replied. “If they wait for me, they wait till Monday,”
+ and with that he left the room.
+
+“I see what 'tis,” his father called after him; “she's give ye a tryst
+at Kenmuir. Oh, ye randy David!”
+
+“Yo' tend yo' business; I'll tend mine,” the boy answered hotly.
+
+Now it happened that on the previous day Maggie had given him a
+photograph of herself, or, rather, David had taken it and Maggie had
+demurred. As he left the room it dropped from his pocket. He failed to
+notice his loss, but directly he was gone M'Adam pounced on it.
+
+“He! he! Wullie, what's this?” he giggled, holding the photograph into
+his face. “He! he! it's the jade hersel', I war'nt; it's Jezebel!”
+
+He peered into the picture.
+
+“She kens what's what, I'll tak' oath, Wullie. See her eyes--sae saft
+and languishin'; and her lips--such lips, Wullie!” He held the picture
+down for the great dog to see: then walked out of the room, still
+sniggering, and chucking the face insanely beneath its cardboard chin.
+
+Outside the house he collided against David. The boy had missed his
+treasure and was hurrying back for it.
+
+“What yo' got theer?” he asked suspiciously.
+
+“Only the pictur' o' some randy quean,” his father answered, chucking
+away at the inanimate chin.
+
+“Gie it me!” David ordered fiercely. “It's mine.”
+
+“Na, na,” the little man replied. “It's no for sic douce lads as dear
+David to ha' ony touch wi' leddies sic as this.”
+
+“Gie it me, I tell ye, or I'll tak' it!” the boy shouted.
+
+“Na, na; it's ma duty as yer dad to keep ye from sic limmers.” He
+turned, still smiling, to Red Wull.
+
+“There ye are, Wullie!” He threw the photograph to the dog. “Tear her,
+Wullie, the Jezebel!”
+
+The Tailless Tyke sprang on the picture, placed one big paw in the very
+centre of the face, forcing it into the muck, and tore a corner off;
+then he chewed the scrap with unctious, slobbering gluttony, dropped it,
+and tore a fresh piece.
+
+David dashed forward.
+
+“Touch it, if ye daur, ye brute!” he yelled; but his father seized him
+and held him back.
+
+“'And the dogs o' the street,'” he quoted. David turned furiously on
+him.
+
+“I've half a mind to brak' ivery bone in yer body!” he shouted, “robbin'
+me o' what's mine and throwin' it to yon black brute!”
+
+“Whist, David, whist!” soothed the little man. “Twas but for yer ain
+good yer auld dad did it. 'Twas that he had at heart as he aye has.
+Rin aff wi' ye noo to Kenmuir. She'll mak' it up to ye, I war'nt. She's
+leeberal wi' her favors, I hear. Ye've but to whistle and she'll come.”
+
+David seized his father by the shoulder.
+
+“An' yo' gie me much more o' your sauce,” he roared.
+
+“Sauce, Wullie,” the little man echoed in a gentle voice.
+
+“I'll twist yer neck for yo'!”
+
+“He'll twist my neck for me.”
+
+“I'll gang reet awa', I warn yo', and leave you and yer Wullie to yer
+lone.”
+
+The little man began to whimper.
+
+“It'll brak' yer auld dad's heart, lad,” he said.
+
+“Nay; yo've got none. But 'twill ruin yo', please God. For yo' and
+yer Wullie'll get ne'er a soul to work for yo'--yo' cheeseparin',
+dirty-tongued Jew.”
+
+The little man burst into an agony of affected tears, rocking to and
+fro, his face in his hands.
+
+“Waesucks, Wullue! d'ye hear him? He is gaein' to leave us--the son o'
+my bosom! my Benjamin! my little Davie! he's gaein' awa'!”
+
+David turned away down the hill; and M'Adam lifted his stricken face and
+waved a hand at him.
+
+“'Adieu, dear amiable youth!'” he cried in broken voice; and straightway
+set to sobbing again.
+
+Half-way down to the Stony Bottom David turned.
+
+“I'll gie yo' a word o' warnin',” he shouted back. “I'd advise yo' to
+keep a closer eye to yer Wullie's goings on, 'specially o' nights, or
+happen yo'll wake to a surprise one mornin'.”
+
+In an instant the little man ceased his fooling.
+
+“And why that?” he asked, following down the hill.
+
+“I'll tell yo'. When I wak' this mornin' I walked to the window, and
+what d'yo' think I see? Why, your Wullie gollopin' like a good un up
+from the Bottom, all foamin', too, and red-splashed, as if he'd coom
+from the Screes. What had he bin up to, I'd like to know?”
+
+“What should he be doin',” the little man replied, “but havin' an eye to
+the stock? and that when the Killer might be oot.”
+
+David laughed harshly.
+
+“Ay, the Killer was oot, I'll go bail, and yo' may hear o't afore the
+evenin', ma man,” and with that he turned away again.
+
+As he had foreseen, David found Maggie alone. But in the heat of his
+indignation against his father he seemed to have forgotten his
+original intent, and instead poured his latest troubles into the girl's
+sympathetic ear.
+
+“There's but one mon in the world he wishes worse nor me,” he was
+saying. It was late in the afternoon, and he was still inveighing
+against his father and his fate. Maggie sat in her father's chair by the
+fire, knitting; while he lounged on the kitchen table, swinging his long
+legs.
+
+“And who may that be?” the girl asked.
+
+“Why, Mr. Moore, to be sure, and Th' Owd Un, too. He'd do either o' them
+a mischief if he could.”
+
+“But why, David?” she asked anxiously. “I'm sure dad niver hurt him, or
+ony ither mon for the matter o' that.”
+
+David nodded toward the Dale Cup which rested on the mantelpiece in
+silvery majesty.
+
+“It's yon done it,” he said. “And if Th' Owd Un wins agin, as win he
+will, bless him! why, look out for 'me and ma Wullie'; that's all.”
+
+Maggie shuddered, and thought of the face at the window.
+
+“'Me and ma Wullie,'” David continued; “I've had about as much of them
+as I can swaller. It's aye the same--'Me and ma Wullie,' and 'Wullie and
+me,' as if I never put ma hand to a stroke! Ugh!”--he made a gesture of
+passionate disgust--“the two on 'em fair madden me. I could strike the
+one and throttle t'other,” and he rattled his heels angrily together.
+
+“Hush, David,” interposed the girl; “yo' munna speak so o' your dad;
+it's agin the commandments.”
+
+“'Tain't agin human nature,” he snapped in answer. “Why, 'twas nob'but
+yester' morn' he says in his nasty way, 'David, ma gran' fellow, hoo ye
+work! ye 'stonish me!' And on ma word, Maggie”--there were tears in the
+great boy's eyes--“ma back was nigh broke wi' toilin'. And the Terror,
+he stands by and shows his teeth, and looks at me as much as to say,
+'Some day, by the grace o' goodness, I'll ha' my teeth in your throat,
+young mon.'”
+
+Maggie's knitting dropped into her lap and she looked up, her soft eyes
+for once flashing.
+
+“It's cruel, David; so 'tis!” she cried. “I wonder yo' bide wi' him. If
+he treated me so, I'd no stay anither minute. If it meant the House for
+me I'd go,” and she looked as if she meant it.
+
+David jumped off the table.
+
+“Han' yo' niver guessed why I stop, lass, and me so happy at home?” he
+asked eagerly.
+
+Maggie's eyes dropped again.
+
+“Hoo should I know?” she asked innocently.
+
+“Nor care, neither, I s'pose,” he said in reproachful accents. “Yo' want
+me me to go and leave yo', and go reet awa'; I see hoo 'tis. Yo' wouldna
+mind, not yo', if yo' was niver to see pore David agin. I niver thowt
+yo' welly like me, Maggie; and noo I know it.”
+
+“Yo' silly lad,” the girl murmured, knitting steadfastly.
+
+“Then yo' do,” he cried, triumphant, “I knew yo' did.” He approached
+close to her chair, his face clouded with eager anxiety.
+
+“But d'yo' like me more'n just _likin'_, Maggie? d'yo',” he bent and
+whispered in the little ear.
+
+The girl cuddled over her work so that he could not see her face.
+
+“If yo' won't tell me yo' can show me,” he coaxed. “There's other things
+besides words.”
+
+He stood before her, one hand on the chair-back on either side. She sat
+thus, caged between his arms, with drooping eyes and heightened color.
+
+“Not so close, David, please,” she begged, fidgeting uneasily; but the
+request was unheeded.
+
+“Do'ee move away a wee,” she implored.
+
+“Not till yo've showed me,” he said, relentless.
+
+“I canna, Davie,” she cried with laughing, petulance.
+
+“Yes, yo' can, lass.”
+
+“Tak' your hands away, then.”
+
+“Nay; not till yo've showed me.”
+
+A pause.
+
+“Do'ee, Davie,” she supplicated.
+
+And--
+
+“Do'ee,” he pleaded.
+
+She tilted her face provokingly, but her eyes were still down.
+
+“It's no manner o' use, Davie.”
+
+“Iss, 'tis,” he coaxed.
+
+“Niver.”
+
+“Please.”
+
+A lengthy pause.
+
+“Well, then--” She looked up, at last, shy, trustful, happy; and the
+sweet lips were tilted further to meet his.
+
+And thus they were situated, lover-like, when a low, rapt voice broke in
+on them,--
+
+ 'A dear-lov'd lad, convenience snug,
+A treacherous inclination.'
+
+“Oh, Wullie, I wush you were here!”
+
+It was little M'Adam. He was leaning in at the open window, leering at
+the young couple, his eyes puckered, an evil expression on his face.
+
+“The creetical moment! and I interfere! David, ye'll never forgie me.”
+
+The boy jumped round with an oath; and Maggie, her face flaming, started
+to her feet. The tone, the words, the look of the little man at the
+window were alike insufferable.
+
+“By thunder! I'll teach yo' to come spyin' on me!” roared David. Above
+him on the mantelpiece blazed the Shepherds' Trophy. Searching any
+missile in his fury, he reached up a hand for it.
+
+“Ay, gie it me back, Ye robbed me o't,” the little man cried, holding
+out his arms as if to receive it.
+
+“Dinna, David,” pleaded Maggie, with restraining hand on her lover's
+arm.
+
+“By the Lord! I'll give him something!” yelled the boy. Close by there
+stood a pail of soapy water. He seized it, swung it, and slashed its
+contents at the leering face in the window.
+
+The little man started back, but the dirty torrent caught him and soused
+him through. The bucket followed, struck him full on the chest, and
+rolled him over in the mud. After it with a rush came David.
+
+“I'll let yo' know, spyin' on me!” he yelled. “I'll--”
+
+Maggie, whose face was as white now as it had been crimson, clung to
+him, hampering him.
+
+“Dinna, David, dinna!” she implored. “He's yer ain dad.”
+
+“I'll dad him! I'll learn him!” roared David half through the window.
+
+At the moment Sam'l Todd came floundering furiously round the corner,
+closely followed by 'Enry and oor Job.
+
+“Is he dead?” shouted Sam'l seeing the prostrate form.
+
+“Ho! ho!” went the other two.
+
+They picked up the draggled little man and hustled him out of the yard
+like a thief, a man on either side and a man behind.
+
+As they forced him through the gate, he struggled round.
+
+“By Him that made ye! ye shall pay for this, David M'Adam, you and
+yer--”
+
+But Sam'l's big hand descended on his mouth, and he was borne away
+before that last ill word had flitted into being.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXI. HORROR OF DARKNESS
+
+
+IT was long past dark that night when M'Adam staggered home.
+
+All that evening at the Sylvester Arms his imprecations against David
+had made even the hardest shudder. James Moore, Owd Bob, and the Dale
+Cup were for once forgotten as, in his passion, he cursed his son.
+
+The Dalesmen gathered fearfully away from the little dripping madman.
+For once these men, whom, as a rule, no such geyser outbursts could
+quell, were dumb before him; only now and then shooting furtive glances
+in his direction, as though on the brink of some daring enterprise
+of which he was the objective. But M'Adam noticed nothing, suspected
+nothing.
+
+When, at length, he lurched into the kitchen of the Grange, there was no
+light and the fire burnt low. So dark was the room that a white riband
+of paper pinned on to the table escaped his remark.
+
+The little man sat down heavily, his clothes still sodden, and resumed
+his tireless anathema.
+
+“I've tholed mair fra him, Wullie, than Adam M'Adam ever thocht to thole
+from ony man. And noo it's gane past bearin'. He struck me, Wullie!
+struck his ain father. Ye see it yersel', Wullie. Na, ye werena there.
+Oh, gin ye had but bin, Wullie! Him and his madam! But I'll gar him ken
+Adam M'Adam. I'll stan' nae mair!”
+
+He sprang to his feet and, reaching up with trembling hands, pulled down
+the old bell-mouthed blunderbuss that hung above the mantelpiece.
+
+“We'll mak' an end to't, Wullie, so we will, aince and for a'!” And he
+banged the weapon down upon the table. It lay right athwart that slip of
+still condemning paper, yet the little man saw it not.
+
+Resuming his seat, he prepared to wait. His hand sought the pocket of
+his coat, and fingered tenderly a small stone bottle, the fond companion
+of his widowhood. He pulled it out, uncorked it, and took a long pull;
+then placed it on the table by his side.
+
+Gradually the gray head lolled; the shrivelled hand dropped and hung
+limply down, the finger-tips brushing the floor; and he dozed off into a
+heavy sleep, while Red Wull watched at his feet.
+
+It was not till an hour later that David returned home.
+
+As he approached the lightless house, standing in the darkness like a
+body with the spirit fled, he could but contrast this dreary home of his
+with the bright kitchen and cheery faces he had left.
+
+Entering the house, he groped to the kitchen door and opened it; then
+struck a match and stood in the doorway peering in.
+
+“Not home, bain't he?” he muttered, the tiny light above his head. “Wet
+inside as well as oot by noo, I'll lay. By gum! but 'twas a lucky thing
+for him I didna get ma hand on him this evenin'. I could ha' killed
+him.” He held the match above his head.
+
+Two yellow eyes, glowing in the darkness like cairngorms, and a small
+dim figure bunched up in a chair, told him his surmise was wrong. Many
+a time had he seen his father in such case before, and now he muttered
+contemptuously:
+
+“Drunk; the leetle swab! Sleepin' it off, I reck'n.”
+
+Then he saw his mistake. The hand that hung above the floor twitched and
+was still again.
+
+There was a clammy silence. A mouse, emboldened by the quiet, scuttled
+across the hearth. One mighty paw lightly moved; a lightning tap, and
+the tiny beast lay dead.
+
+Again that hollow stillness: no sound, no movement; only those two
+unwinking eyes fixed on him immovable.
+
+At length a small voice from the fireside broke the quiet.
+
+“Drunk--the--leetle--swab!”
+
+Again a clammy silence, and a life-long pause.
+
+“I thowt yo' was sleepin',” said David, at length, lamely.
+
+“Ay, so ye said. 'Sleepin' it aff'; I heard ye.” Then, still in the same
+small voice, now quivering imperceptibly, “Wad ye obleege me, sir, by
+leetin' the lamp? Or, d'ye think, Wullie, 'twad be soilin' his dainty
+fingers? They're mair used, I'm told, to danderin' with the bonnie brown
+hair o' his--”
+
+“I'll not ha' ye talk o' ma Maggie so,” interposed the boy passionately.
+
+“_His_ Maggie, mark ye, Wullie--_his_! I thocht 'twad soon get that
+far.”
+
+“Tak' care, dad! I'll stan' but little more,” the boy warned him in
+choking voice; and began to trim the lamp with trembling fingers.
+
+M'Adam forthwith addressed himself to Red Wull.
+
+“I suppose no man iver had sic a son as him, Wullie. Ye ken what I've
+done for him, an' ye ken hoo he's repaid it. He's set himsel' agin
+me; he's misca'd me; he's robbed me o' ma Cup; last of all, he struck
+me--struck me afore them a'. We've toiled for him, you and I, Wullie;
+we've slaved to keep him in hoose an' hame, an' he's passed his time,
+the while, in riotous leevin', carousin' at Kenmuir, amusin' himself'
+wi' his--” He broke off short. The lamp was lit, and the strip of paper,
+pinned on to the table, naked and glaring, caught his eye.
+
+“What's this?” he muttered; and unloosed the nail that clamped it down.
+
+This is what he read:
+
+“Adam Mackadam yer warned to mak' an end to yer Red Wull will be best
+for him and the Sheep. This is the first yo'll have two more the third
+will be the last--”
+
+It was written in pencil, and the only signature was a dagger, rudely
+lined in red.
+
+M'Adam read the paper once, twice, thrice. As he slowly assimilated
+its meaning, the blood faded from his face. He stared at it and still
+stared, with whitening face and pursed lips. Then he stole a glance at
+David's broad back.
+
+“What d'ye ken o' this, David?” he asked, at length, in a dry thin
+voice, reaching forward in his chair.
+
+“O' what?”
+
+“O' this,” holding up the slip. “And ye'el obleege me by the truth for
+once.”
+
+David turned, took up the paper, read it, and laughed harshly.
+
+“It's coom to this, has it?” he said, still laughing, and yet with
+blanching face.
+
+“Ye ken what it means. I daresay ye pit it there; aiblins writ it. Ye'll
+explain it.” The little man spoke in the same small, even voice, and his
+eyes never moved off his son's face.
+
+“I've heard naethin'.... I'd like the truth, David, if ye can tell it.”
+
+The boy smiled a forced, unnatural smile, looking from his father to the
+paper in his hand.
+
+“Yo' shall have it, but yo'll not like it. It's this: Tupper lost a
+sheep to the Killer last night.”
+
+“And what if he did?” The little man rose smoothly to his feet. Each
+noticed the others' face--dead-white.
+
+“Why, he--lost--it--on--Wheer d'yo' think?” He drawled the words out,
+dwelling almost lovingly on each.
+
+“Where?”
+
+“On--the--Red--Screes.”
+
+The crash was coming--inevitable now. David knew it, knew that nothing
+could avert it, and braced himself to meet it. The smile had fled from
+his face, and his breath fluttered in his throat like the wind before a
+thunderstorm.
+
+“What of it?” The little man's voice was calm as a summer sea.
+
+“Why, your Wullie--as I told yo'--was on the Screes last night.”
+
+“Go on, David.”
+
+“And this,” holding up the paper, “tells you that they ken as I ken
+noo, as maist o' them ha' kent this mony a day, that your Wullie, Red
+Wull--the Terror--”
+
+“Go on.”
+
+“Is--”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“The Black Killer.”
+
+It was spoken.
+
+The frayed string was snapped at last. The little man's hand flashed to
+the bottle that stood before him.
+
+“Ye--liar!” he shrieked, and threw it with all his strength at the boy's
+head. David dodged and ducked, and the bottle hurtled over his shoulder.
+
+Crash! it whizzed into the lamp behind, and broke on the wall beyond,
+its contents trickling down the wall to the floor.
+
+For a moment, darkness. Then the spirits met the lamp's smouldering wick
+and blazed into flame.
+
+By the sudden light David saw his father on the far side the table,
+pointing with crooked forefinger. By his side Red Wull was standing
+alert, hackles up, yellow fangs bared, eyes lurid; and, at his feet, the
+wee brown mouse lay still and lifeless.
+
+“Oot o' ma hoose! Back to Kenmuir! Back to yer ----” The unpardonable
+word, unmistakable, hovered for a second on his lips like some foul
+bubble, and never burst.
+
+“No mither this time!” panted David, racing round the table.
+
+“Wullie!”
+
+The Terror leapt to the attack; but David overturned the table as
+he ran, the blunderbuss crashing to the floor; it fell, opposing a
+momentary barrier in the dog's path.
+
+“Stan' off, ye--!” screeched the little man, seizing a chair in both
+hands; “stan' off, or I'll brain ye!”
+
+But David was on him.
+
+“Wullie, Wullie, to me!”
+
+Again the Terror came with a roar like the sea. But David, with a mighty
+kick catching him full on the jaw, repelled the attack.
+
+Then he gripped his father round the waist and lifted him from the
+ground. The little man, struggling in those iron arms, screamed, cursed,
+and battered at the face above him, kicking and biting in his frenzy.
+
+“The Killer! wad ye ken wha's the Killer? Go and ask 'em at Kenmuir! Ask
+yer ----”
+
+David swayed slightly, crushing the body in his arms till it seemed
+every rib must break; then hurled it from him with all the might of
+passion. The little man fell with a crash and a groan.
+
+The blaze in the corner flared, flickered, and died. There was
+hell-black darkness, and silence of the dead.
+
+David stood against the wall, panting, every nerve tightstrung as the
+hawser of a straining ship.
+
+In the corner lay the body of his father, limp and still; and in the
+room one other living thing was moving.
+
+He clung close to the wall, pressing it with wet hands. The horror of
+it all, the darkness, the man in the corner, that moving something,
+petrified him.
+
+“Feyther!” he whispered.
+
+There was no reply. A chair creaked at an invisible touch. Something was
+creeping, stealing, crawling closer.
+
+David was afraid.
+
+“Feyther!” he whispered in hoarse agony, “are yo' hurt?”
+
+The words were stifled in his throat. A chair overturned with a crash; a
+great body struck him on the chest; a hot, pestilent breath volleyed in
+his face, and wolfish teeth were reaching for his throat.
+
+“Come on, Killer!” he screamed.
+
+The horror of suspense was past. It had come, and with it he was himself
+again.
+
+Back, back, back, along the wall he was borne. His hands entwined
+themselves around a hairy throat; he forced the great head with its
+horrid lightsome eyes from him; he braced himself for the effort, lifted
+the huge body at his breast, and heaved it from him. It struck the wall
+and fell with a soft thud.
+
+As he recoiled a hand clutched his ankle and sought to trip him. David
+kicked back and down with all his strength. There was one awful groan,
+and he staggered against the door and out.
+
+There he paused, leaning against the wall to' breathe.
+
+He struck a match and lifted his foot to see where the hand had clutched
+him.
+
+God! there was blood on his heel.
+
+Then a great fear laid hold on him. A cry was suffocated in his breast
+by the panting of his heart.
+
+He crept back to the kitchen door and listened.
+
+Not a sound.
+
+Fearfully he opened it a crack.
+
+Silence of the tomb.
+
+He banged it to. It opened behind him, and the fact lent wings to his
+feet.
+
+He turned and plunged out into the night, and ran through the blackness
+for his life. And a great owl swooped softly by and hooted mockingly:
+
+“For your life! for your life! for your life!”
+
+
+
+
+PART V OWD BOB O' KENMUIR
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXII A MAN AND A MAID
+
+
+IN the village even the Black Killer and the murder on the Screes were
+forgotten in this new sensation. The mystery in which the affair was
+wrapped, and the ignorance as to all its details, served to whet the
+general interest. There had been a fight; M'Adam and the Terror had been
+mauled; and David had disappeared--those were the facts. But what was
+the origin of the affray no one could say.
+
+One or two of the Dalesmen had, indeed, a shrewd suspicion. Tupper
+looked guilty; Jem Burton muttered, “I knoo hoo 'twould be”; while as
+for Long Kirby, he vanished entirely, not to reappear till three months
+had sped.
+
+Injured as he had been, M'Adam was yet sufficiently recovered to appear
+in the Sylvester Arms on the Saturday following the battle. He entered
+the tap-room silently with never a word to a soul; one arm was in a
+sling and his head bandaged. He eyed every man present critically; and
+all, except Tammas, who was brazen, and Jim Mason, who was innocent,
+fidgeted beneath the stare. Maybe it was well for Long Kirby he was not
+there.
+
+“Onythin' the matter?” asked Jem, at length, rather lamely, in view of
+the plain evidences of battle.
+
+“Na, na; naethin' oot o' the ordinar',” the little man replied,
+giggling. “Only David set on me, and me sleepin'. And,” with a shrug,
+“here I am noo.” He sat down, wagging his bandaged head and grinning.
+“Ye see he's sae playfu', is Davie. He wangs ye o'er the head wi' a
+chair, kicks ye in the jaw, stamps on yer wame, and all as merry as
+May.” And nothing further could they get from him, except that if David
+reappeared it was his firm resolve to hand him over to the police for
+attempted parricide.
+
+“'Brutal assault on an auld man by his son!' 'Twill look well in the
+Argus; he! he! They couldna let him aff under two years, I'm thinkin'.”
+
+M'Adam's version of the affair was received with quiet incredulity. The
+general verdict was that he had brought his punishment entirely on his
+own head. Tammas, indeed, who was always rude when he was not witty,
+and, in fact, the difference between the two things is only one of
+degree, told him straight: “It served yo' well reet. An' I nob'but wish
+he'd made an end to yo'.”
+
+“He did his best, puir lad,” M'Adam reminded him gently.
+
+“We've had enough o' yo',” continued the uncompromising old man. “I'm
+fair grieved he didna slice yer throat while he was at it.”
+
+At that M'Adam raised his eyebrows, stared, and then broke into a low
+whistle.
+
+“That's it, is it?” he muttered, as though a new light was dawning on
+him. “Ah, noo I see.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The days passed on. There was still no news of the missing one, and
+Maggie's face became pitifully white and haggard.
+
+Of course she did not believe that David had attempted to murder his
+father, desperately tried as she knew he had been. Still, it was a
+terrible thought to her that he might at any moment be arrested; and her
+girlish imagination was perpetually conjuring up horrid pictures of a
+trial, conviction, and the things that followed.
+
+Then Sam'l started a wild theory that the little man had murdered his
+son, and thrown the mangled body down the dry well at the Grange. The
+story was, of course, preposterous, and, coming from such a source,
+might well have been discarded with the ridicule it deserved. Yet it
+served to set the cap on the girl's fears; and she resolved, at whatever
+cost, to visit the Grange, beard M'Adam, and discover whether he could
+not or would not allay her gnawing apprehension.
+
+Her intent she concealed from her father, knowing well that were she to
+reveal it to him, he would gently but firmly forbid the attempt; and on
+an afternoon some fortnight after David's disappearance, choosing her
+opportunity, she picked up a shawl, threw it over her head, and fled
+with palpitating heart out of the farm and down the slope to the
+Wastrel.
+
+The little plank-bridge rattled as she tripped across it; and she fled
+faster lest any one should have heard and come to look. And, indeed, at
+the moment it rattled again behind her, and she started guiltily round.
+It proved, however, to be only Owd Bob, sweeping after, and she was
+glad.
+
+“Comin' wi' me, lad?” she asked as the old dog cantered up, thankful to
+have that gray protector with her.
+
+Round Langholm now fled the two conspirators; over the summer-clad lower
+slopes of the Pike, until, at length, they reached the Stony Bottom.
+Down the bramble-covered bank of the ravine the girl slid; picked her
+way from stone to stone across the streamlet tinkling in that rocky bed;
+and scrambled up the opposite bank.
+
+At the top she halted and looked back. The smoke from Kenmuir was
+winding slowly up against the sky; to her right the low gray cottages of
+the village cuddled in the bosom of the Dale; far away over the Marches
+towered the gaunt Scaur; before her rolled the swelling slopes of the
+Muir Pike; while behind--she glanced timidly over her shoulder--was the
+hill, at the top of which squatted the Grange, lifeless, cold, scowling.
+
+Her heart failed her. In her whole life she had never spoken to M'Adam.
+Yet she knew him well enough from all David's accounts--ay, and hated
+him for David's sake. She hated him and feared him, too; feared him
+mortally--this terrible little man. And, with a shudder, she recalled
+the dim face at the window, and thought of his notorious hatred of her
+father. But even M'Adam could hardly harm a girl coming, broken-hearted,
+to seek her lover. Besides, was not Owd Bob with her?
+
+And, turning, she saw the old dog standing a little way up the hill,
+looking back at her as though he wondered why she waited. “Am I not
+enough?” the faithful gray eyes seemed to say.
+
+“Lad, I'm fear'd,” was her answer to the unspoken question.
+
+Yet that look determined her. She clenched her little teeth, drew the
+shawl about her, and set off running up the hill.
+
+Soon the run dwindled to a walk, the walk to a crawl, and the crawl to
+a halt. Her breath was coming painfully, and her heart pattered against
+her side like the beatings of an imprisoned bird. Again her gray
+guardian looked up, encouraging her forward.
+
+“Keep close, lad,” she whispered, starting forward afresh. And the old
+dog ranged up beside her, shoving into her skirt, as though to let her
+feel his presence.
+
+So they reached the top of the hill; and the house stood before them,
+grim, unfriendly.
+
+The girl's face was now quite white, yet set; the resemblance to her
+father was plain to see. With lips compressed and breath quick-coming,
+she crossed the threshold, treading softly as though in a house of the
+dead. There she paused and lifted a warning finger at her companion,
+bidding him halt without; then she turned to the door on the left of the
+entrance and tapped.
+
+She listened, her head buried in the shawl, close to the wood panelling.
+There was no answer; she could only hear the drumming of her heart.
+
+She knocked again. From within came the scraping of a chair cautiously
+shoved back, followed by a deep-mouthed cavernous growl.
+
+Her heart stood still, but she turned the handle and entered, leaving a
+crack open behind.
+
+On the far side the room a little man was sitting. His head was swathed
+in dirty bandages, and a bottle was on the table beside him. He was
+leaning forward; his face was gray, and there was a stare of naked
+horror in his eyes. One hand grasped the great dog who stood at his
+side, with yellow teeth glinting, and muzzle hideously wrinkled; with
+the other he pointed a palsied finger at her.
+
+“Ma God! wha are ye?” he cried hoarsely.
+
+The girl stood hard against the door, her fingers still on the handle;
+trembling like an aspen at the sight of that uncannie pair.
+
+That look in the little man's eyes petrified her: the swollen pupils;
+lashless lids, yawning wide; the broken range of teeth in that gaping
+mouth, froze her very soul. Rumors of the man's insanity tided back on
+her memory.
+
+“I'm--I--” the words came in trembling gasps.
+
+At the first utterance, however, the little man's hand dropped; he leant
+back in his chair and gave a soul-bursting sigh of relief.
+
+No woman had crossed that threshold since his wife died; and, for a
+moment, when first the girl had entered silent-footed, aroused from
+dreaming of the long ago, he had thought this shawl-clad figure with the
+pale face and peeping hair no earthly visitor; the spirit, rather, of
+one he had loved long since and lost, come to reproach him with a broken
+troth.
+
+“Speak up, I canna hear,” he said, in tones mild compared with those
+last wild words.
+
+“I--I'm Maggie Moore,” the girl quavered.
+
+“Moore! Maggie Moore, d'ye say?” he cried, half rising from his chair,
+a flush of color sweeping across his face, “the dochter o' James Moore?”
+ He paused for an answer, glowering at her; and she shrank, trembling,
+against the door.
+
+The little man leant back in his chair. Gradually a grim smile crept
+across his countenance.
+
+“Weel, Maggie Moore,” he said, halfamused, “ony gate ye're a good
+plucked un.” And his wizened countenance looked at her almost kindly
+from beneath its dirty crown of bandages.
+
+At that the girl's courage returned with a rush. After all this little
+man was not so very terrible. Perhaps he would be kind. And in the
+relief of the moment, the blood swept back into her face.
+
+There was not to be peace yet, however. The blush was still hot upon her
+cheeks, when she caught the patter of soft steps in the passage without.
+A dark muzzle flecked with gray pushed in at the crack of the door; two
+anxious gray eyes followed.
+
+Before she could wave him back, Red Wull had marked the intruder. With
+a roar he tore himself from his master's restraining hand, and dashed
+across the room.
+
+“Back, Bob!” screamed Maggie, and the dark head withdrew. The door
+slammed with a crash as the great dog flung himself against it, and
+Maggie was hurled, breathless and white-faced, into a corner.
+
+M'Adam was on his feet, pointing with a shrivelled finger, his face
+diabolical.
+
+“Did you bring him? did you bring _that_ to ma door?”
+
+Maggie huddled in the corner in a palsy of trepidation. Her eyes gleamed
+big and black in the white face peering from the shawl.
+
+Red Wull was now beside her snarling horribly. With nose to the bottom
+of the door and busy paws he was trying to get out; while, on the other
+side, Owd Bob, snuffling also at the crack, scratched and pleaded to get
+in. Only two miserable wooden inches separated the pair.
+
+“I brought him to protect me. I--I was afraid.”
+
+M'Adam sat down and laughed abruptly.
+
+“Afraid! I wonder ye were na afraid to bring him here. It's the first
+time iver he's set foot on ma land, and 't had best be the last” He
+turned to the great dog. “Wullie, Wullie, wad ye?” he called. “Come
+here. Lay ye doon--so--under ma chair--good lad. Noo's no the time to
+settle wi' him”--nodding toward the door. “We can wait for that, Wullie;
+we can wait.” Then, turning to Maggie, “Gin ye want him to mak' a show
+at the Trials two months hence, he'd best not come here agin. Gin he
+does, he'll no leave ma land alive; Wullie'll see to that. Noo, what is
+'t ye want o'me?”
+
+The girl in the corner, scared almost out of her senses by this last
+occurrence, remained dumb.
+
+M'Adam marked her hesitation, and grinned sardonically.
+
+“I see hoo 'tis,” said he; “yer dad's sent ye. Aince before he wanted
+somethin' o' me, and did he come to fetch it himself like a man? Not he.
+He sent the son to rob the father.” Then, leaning forward in his chair
+and glaring at the girl, “Ay, and mair than that! The night the lad
+set on me he cam'”--with hissing emphasis--“straight from Kenmuir!” He
+paused and stared at her intently, and she was still dumb before him.
+“Gin I'd ben killed, Wullie'd ha' bin disqualified from competin' for
+the Cup. With Adam M'Adam's Red Wull oot o' the way--noo d'ye see? Noo
+d'ye onderstan'?”
+
+She did not, and he saw it and was satisfied. What he had been saying
+she neither knew nor cared. She only remembered the object of her
+mission; she only saw before her the father of the man she loved; and a
+wave of emotion surged up in her breast.
+
+She advanced timidly toward him, holding out her hands.
+
+“Eh, Mr. M'Adam,” she pleaded, “I come to ask ye after David.” The shawl
+had slipped from her head, and lay loose upon her shoulders; and she
+stood before him with her sad face, her pretty hair all tossed, and her
+eyes big with unshed tears--a touching suppliant.
+
+“Will ye no tell me wheer he is? I'd not ask it, I'd not trouble yo',
+but I've bin waitin' a waefu' while, it seems, and I'm wearyin' for news
+o' him.”
+
+The little man looked at her curiously. “Ah, noo I mind me,”--this to
+himself. “You' the lass as is thinkin' o' marryin' him?”
+
+“We're promised,” the girl answered simply.
+
+“Weel,” the other remarked, “as I said afore, ye're a good plucked un.”
+ Then, in a tone in which, despite the cynicism, a certain indefinable
+sadness was blended, “Gin he mak's you as good husband as he mad' son to
+me, ye'll ha' made a maist remairkable match, my dear.”
+
+Maggie fired in a moment.
+
+“A good feyther makes a good son,” she answered almost pertly; and then,
+with infinite tenderness, “and I'm prayin' a good wife'll make a good
+husband.”
+
+He smiled scoffingly.
+
+“I'm feared that'll no help ye much,” he said.
+
+But the girl never heeded this last sneer, so set was she on her
+purpose. She had heard of the one tender place in the heart of this
+little man with the tired face and mocking tongue, and she resolved to
+attain her end by appealing to it.
+
+“Yo' loved a lass yo'sel' aince, Mr. M'Adam,” she said. “Hoo would yo'
+ha' felt had she gone away and left yo'? Yo'd ha' bin mad; yo' know yo'
+would. And, Mr. M'Adam, I love the lad yer wife loved.” She was kneeling
+at his feet now with both hands on his knees, looking up at him. Her sad
+face and quivering lips pleaded for her more eloquently than any words.
+
+The little man was visibly touched.
+
+“Ay, ay, lass, that's enough,” he said, trying to avoid those big
+beseeching eyes which would not be avoided.
+
+“Will ye no tell me?” she pleaded.
+
+“I canna tell ye, lass, for why, I dinna ken,” he answered querulously.
+In truth, he was moved to the heart by her misery.
+
+The girl's last hopes were dashed. She had played her last card and
+failed. She had clung with the fervor of despair to this last resource,
+and now it was torn from her. She had hoped, and now there was no hope.
+In the anguish of her disappointment she remembered that this was the
+man who, by his persistent cruelty, had driven her love into exile.
+
+She rose to her feet and stood back.
+
+“Nor ken, nor care!” she cried bitterly.
+
+At the words all the softness fled from the little man's face.
+
+“Ye do me a wrang, lass; ye do indeed,” he said, looking up at her with
+an assumed ingenuousness which, had she known him better, would have
+warned her to beware. “Gin I kent where the lad was I'd be the vairy
+first to let you, and the p'lice, ken it too; eh, Wullie! he! he!” He
+chuckled at his wit and rubbed his knees, regardless of the contempt
+blazing in the girl's face.
+
+“I canna tell ye where he is now, but ye'd aiblins care to hear o' when
+I saw him last.” He turned his chair the better to address her.
+
+“Twas like so: I was sittin' in this vairy chair it was, asleep, when
+he crep' up behind an' lep' on ma back. I knew naethin' o't till I found
+masel' on the floor an' him kneelin' on me. I saw by the look on him he
+was set on finishin' me, so I said--”
+
+The girl waved her hand at him, superbly disdainful.
+
+“Yo' ken yo're lyin', ivery word o't,” she cried.
+
+The little man hitched his trousers, crossed his legs, and yawned.
+
+“An honest lee for an honest purpose is a matter ony man may be proud
+of, as you'll ken by the time you're my years, ma lass.”
+
+The girl slowly crossed the room. At the door she turned.
+
+“Then ye'll no tell me wheer he is?” she asked with a heart-breaking
+trill in her voice.
+
+“On ma word, lass, I dinna ken,” he cried, half passionately.
+
+“On your word, Mr. M'Adam” she said with a quiet scorn in her voice that
+might have stung Iscariot.
+
+The little man spun round in his chair, an angry red dyeing his cheeks.
+In another moment he was suave and smiling again.
+
+“I canna tell ye where he is noo,” he said, unctuously; “but aiblins, I
+could let ye know where he's gaein' to.”
+
+“Can yo'? will yo'?” cried the simple girl all unsuspecting. In a moment
+she was across the room and at his knees.
+
+“Closer, and I'll whisper.” The little ear, peeping from its nest of
+brown, was tremblingly approached to his lips. The little man lent
+forward and whispered one short, sharp word, then sat back, grinning, to
+watch the effect of his disclosure.
+
+He had his revenge, an unworthy revenge on such a victim. And, watching
+the girl's face, the cruel disappointment merging in the heat of her
+indignation, he had yet enough nobility to regret his triumph.
+
+She sprang from him as though he were unclean.
+
+“An' yo' his father!” she cried, in burning tones.
+
+She crossed the room, and at the door paused. Her face was white again
+and she was quite composed.
+
+“If David did strike you, you drove him to it,” she said, speaking in
+calm, gentle accents. “Yo' know, none so well, whether yo've bin a good
+feyther to him, and him no mither, poor laddie! Whether yo've bin to him
+what she'd ha' had yo' be. Ask yer conscience, Mr. M'Adam. An' if he
+was a wee aggravatin' at times, had he no reason? He'd a heavy cross to
+bear, had David, and yo' know best if yo' helped to ease it for him.”
+
+The little man pointed to the door; but the girl paid no heed.
+
+“D'yo' think when yo' were cruel to him, jeerin' and fleerin', he never
+felt it, because he was too proud to show ye? He'd a big saft heart, had
+David, beneath the varnish. Mony's the time when mither was alive, I've
+seen him throw himsel' into her arms, sobbin', and cry, 'Eh, if I had
+but mither! 'Twas different when mither was alive; he was kinder to me
+then. An' noo I've no one; I'm alone.' An' he'd sob and sob in mither's
+arms, and she, weepin' hersel', would comfort him, while he, wee laddie,
+would no be comforted, cryin' broken-like, 'There's none to care for me
+noo; I'm alone. Mither's left me and eh! I'm prayin' to be wi' her!'”
+
+The clear, girlish voice shook. M'Adam, sitting with face averted,
+waved to her, mutely ordering her to be gone. But she held on, gentle,
+sorrowful, relentless.
+
+“An' what'll yo' say to his mither when yo meet her, as yo' must soon
+noo, and she asks yo', 'An what o' David? What o' th' lad I left wi'
+yo', Adam, to guard and keep for me, faithful and true, till this Day?'
+And then yo'll ha' to speak the truth, God's truth; and yo'll ha' to
+answer, 'Sin' the day yo' left me I niver said a kind word to the lad.
+I niver bore wi' him, and niver tried to. And in the end I drove him by
+persecution to try and murder me.' Then maybe she'll look at yo'--yo'
+best ken hoo--and she'll say, 'Adam, Adam! is this what I deserved fra
+yo'?'”
+
+The gentle, implacable voice ceased. The girl turned and slipped softly
+out of the room; and M'Adam was left alone to his thoughts and his dead
+wife's memory.
+
+“Mither and father, baith! Mither and father, baith!” rang remorselessly
+in his ears.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXIII TH' OWD UN
+
+
+THE Black Killer still cursed the land. Sometimes there would be a
+cessation in the crimes; then a shepherd, going his rounds, would notice
+his sheep herding together, packing in unaccustomed squares; a raven,
+gorged to the crop, would rise before him and flap wearily away, and he
+would come upon the murderer's latest victim.
+
+The Dalesmen were in despair, so utterly futile had their efforts been.
+There was no proof; no hope, no apparent probability that the end was
+near. As for the Tailless Tyke, the only piece of evidence against him
+had flown with David, who, as it chanced, had divulged what he had seen
+to no man.
+
+The 100 pound reward offered had brought no issue. The police had done
+nothing. The Special Commissioner had been equally successful. After
+the affair in the Scoop the Killer never ran a risk, yet never missed a
+chance.
+
+Then, as a last resource, Jim Mason made his attempt. He took a holiday
+from his duties and disappeared into the wilderness. Three days and
+three nights no man saw him.
+
+On the morning of the fourth he reappeared, haggard, unkempt, a furtive
+look haunting his eyes, sullen for once, irritable, who had never been
+irritable before--to confess his failure. Cross-examined further, he
+answered with unaccustomed fierceness: “I seed nowt, I tell ye. Who's
+the liar as said I did?”
+
+But that night his missus heard him in his sleep conning over something
+to himself in slow, fearful whisper, “Two on 'em; one ahint t'other. The
+first big--bull-like; t'ither--” At which point Mrs. Mason smote him a
+smashing blow in the ribs, and he woke in a sweat, crying terribly, “Who
+said I seed--”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The days were slipping away; the summer was hot upon the land, and with
+it the Black Killer was forgotten; David was forgotten; everything
+sank into oblivion before the all-absorbing interest of the coming Dale
+trials.
+
+The long-anticipated battle for the Shepherds' Trophy was looming close;
+soon everything that hung upon the issue of that struggle would be
+decided finally. For ever the justice of Th' Owd Un' claim to his
+proud title would be settled. If he won, he won outright--a thing
+unprecedented in the annals of the Cup; if he won, the place of Owd Bob
+o' Kenmuir as first in his profession was assured for all time. Above
+all, it was the last event in the six years' struggle 'twixt Red and
+Gray It was the last time those two great rivals would meet in battle.
+The supremacy of one would be decided once and for all. For win or lose,
+it was the last public appearance of the Gray Dog of Kenmuir.
+
+And as every hour brought the great day nearer, nothing else was talked
+of in the country-side. The heat of the Dalesmen's enthusiasm was only
+intensified by the fever of their apprehension. Many a man would lose
+more than he cared to contemplate were Th' Owd Un beat. But he'd not be!
+Nay; owd, indeed, he was--two years older than his great rival; there
+were a hundred risks, a hundred chances; still: “What's the odds agin
+Owd Bob o' Kenmuir? I'm takin' 'em. Who'll lay agin Th' Owd Un?”
+
+And with the air saturated with this perpetual talk of the old dog,
+these everlasting references to his certain victory; his ears drumming
+with the often boast that the gray dog was the best in the North,
+M'Adam became the silent, ill-designing man of six months since--morose,
+brooding, suspicious, muttering of conspiracy, plotting revenge.
+
+The scenes at the Sylvester Arms were replicas of those of previous
+years. Usually the little man sat isolated in a far corner, silent
+and glowering, with Red Wull at his feet. Now and then he burst into
+a paroxysm of insane giggling, slapping his thigh, and muttering,
+“Ay, it's likely they'll beat us, Wullie. Yet aiblins there's a wee
+somethin'--a somethin' we ken and they dinna, Wullie,--eh! Wullie, he!
+he!” And sometimes he would leap to his feet and address his pot-house
+audience, appealing to them passionately, satirically, tearfully, as the
+mood might be on him; and his theme was always the same: James Moore,
+Owd Bob, the Cup, and the plots agin him and his Wullie; and always he
+concluded with that hint of the surprise to come.
+
+Meantime, there was no news of David; he had gone as utterly as a ship
+foundered in mid-Atlantic. Some said he'd 'listed; some, that he'd gone
+to sea. And “So he 'as,” corroborated Sam'l, “floatin', 'eels uppards.”
+
+With no gleam of consolation, Maggie's misery was such as to rouse
+compassion in all hearts. She went no longer blithely singing about
+her work; and all the springiness had fled from her gait. The people of
+Kenmuir vied with one another in their attempts to console their young
+mistress.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Maggie was not the only one in whose life David's absence had created
+a void. Last as he would have been to own it, M'Adam felt acutely the
+boy's loss. It may have been he missed the ever-present butt; it may
+have been a nobler feeling. Alone with Red Wull, too late he felt his
+loneliness. Sometimes, sitting in the kitchen by himself, thinking of
+the past, he experienced sharp pangs of remorse; and this was all the
+more the case after Maggie's visit. Subsequent to that day the little
+man, to do him justice, was never known to hint by word or look an ill
+thing of his enemy's daughter. Once, indeed, when Melia Ross was drawing
+on a dirty imagination with Maggie for subject, M'Adam shut her up with:
+“Ye're a maist amazin' big liar, Melia Ross.”
+
+Yet, though for the daughter he had now no evil thought, his hatred for
+the father had never been so uncompromising.
+
+He grew reckless in his assertions. His life was one long threat against
+James Moore's. Now he openly stated his conviction that, on the eventful
+night of the fight, James Moore, with object easily discernible, had
+egged David on to murder him.
+
+“Then why don't yo' go and tell him so, yo' muckle liar?” roared Tammas
+at last, enraged to madness.
+
+“I will!” said M'Adam. And he did.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was on the day preceding the great summer sheep fair at Grammoch-town
+that he fulfilled his vow.
+
+That is always a big field-day at Kenmuir; and on this occasion James
+Moore and Owd Bob had been up and working on the Pike from the rising of
+the sun. Throughout the straggling lands of Kenmuir the Master went
+with his untiring adjutant, rounding up, cutting out, drafting. It was
+already noon when the flock started from the yard.
+
+On the gate by the stile, as the party came up, sat M'Adam.
+
+“I've a word to say to you, James Moore,” he announced, as the Master
+approached.
+
+“Say it then, and quick. I've no time to stand gossipin' here, if yo'
+have,” said the Master.
+
+M'Adam strained forward till he nearly toppled off the gate.
+
+“Queer thing, James Moore, you should be the only one to escape this
+Killer.”
+
+“Yo' forget yoursel', M'Adam.”
+
+“Ay, there's me,” acquiesced the little man. “But you--hoo d'yo' 'count
+for _your_ luck?”
+
+James Moore swung round and pointed proudly at the gray dog, now
+patrolling round the flock.
+
+“There's my luck!” he said.
+
+M'Adam laughed unpleasantly.
+
+“So I thought,” he said, “so I thought! And I s'pose ye're thinkin' that
+yer luck,” nodding at the gray dog, “will win you the Cup for certain a
+month hence.”
+
+“I hope so!” said the Master.
+
+“Strange if he should not after all,” mused the little man.
+
+James Moore eyed him suspiciously. “What d'yo' mean?” he asked sternly.
+M'Adam shrugged his shoulders. “There's mony a slip 'twixt Cup and lip,
+that's a'. I was thinkin' some mischance might come to him.”
+
+The Master's eyes flashed dangerously. He recalled the many rumors he
+had heard, and the attempt on the old dog early in the year.
+
+“I canna think ony one would be coward enough to murder him,” he said,
+drawing himself up.
+
+M'Adam leant forward. There was a nasty glitter in his eye, and his face
+was all a-tremble.
+
+“Ye'd no think ony one 'd be cooard enough to set the son to murder the
+father. Yet some one did--set the lad on to 'sassinate me. He failed at
+me, and next, I suppose, he'll try at Wullie!” There was a flush on
+the sallow face, and a vindictive ring in the thin voice. “One way or
+t'ither, fair or foul, Wullie or me, ain or baith, has got to go afore
+Cup Day, eh, James Moore! eh?”
+
+The Master put his hand on the latch of the gate, “That'll do, M'Adam,”
+ he said. “I'll stop to hear no more, else I might get angry wi' yo'. Noo
+git off this gate, yo're trespassin' as 'tis.”
+
+He shook the gate. M'Adam tumbled off, and went sprawling into the sheep
+clustered below. Picking himself up, he dashed on through the flock,
+waving his arms, kicking fantastically, and scattering confusion
+everywhere.
+
+“Just wait till I'm thro' wi' 'em, will yo'?” shouted the Master, seeing
+the danger.
+
+It was a request which, according to the etiquette of shepherding, one
+man was bound to grant another. But M'Adam rushed on regardless, dancing
+and gesticulating. Save for the lightning vigilance of Owd Bob, the
+flock must have broken.
+
+“I think yo' might ha' waited!” remonstrated the Master, as the little
+man burst his way through.
+
+“Noo, I've forgot somethin'!” the other cried, and back he started as he
+had gone.
+
+It was more than human nature could tolerate.
+
+“Bob, keep him off!”
+
+A flash of teeth; a blaze of gray eyes; and the old dog had leapt
+forward to oppose the little man's advance.
+
+“Shift oot o' ma light!” cried he, striving to dash past.
+
+“Hold him, lad!”
+
+And hold him the old dog did, while his master opened the gate and put
+the flock through, the opponents dodging in front of one another like
+opposing three-quarter-backs at the Rugby game.
+
+“Oot o' ma path, or I'll strike!” shouted the little man in a fury, as
+the last sheep passed through the gate.
+
+“I'd not,” warned the Master.
+
+“But I will!” yelled M'Adam; and, darting forward as the gate swung to,
+struck furiously at his opponent.
+
+He missed, and the gray dog charged at him like a mail-train.
+
+“Hi! James Moore--” but over he went like a toppled wheelbarrow, while
+the old dog turned again, raced at the gate, took it magnificently in
+his stride, and galloped up the lane after his master.
+
+At M'Adam's yell, James Moore had turned.
+
+“Served yo' properly!” he called back. “He'll larn ye yet it's not wise
+to tamper wi' a gray dog or his sheep. Not the first time he's downed
+ye, I'm thinkin'!”
+
+The little man raised himself painfully to his elbow and crawled toward
+the gate. The Master, up the lane, could hear him cursing as he dragged
+himself. Another moment, and a head was poked through the bars of the
+gate, and a devilish little face looked after him.
+
+“Downed me, by--, he did!” the little man cried passionately. “I owed ye
+baith somethin' before this, and noo, by ----, I owe ye somethin' more.
+An' mind ye, Adam M'Adam pays his debts!”
+
+“I've heard the contrary,” the Master replied drily, and turned away up
+the lane toward the Marches.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXIV A SHOT IN THE NIGHT
+
+
+IT was only three short weeks before Cup Day that one afternoon Jim
+Mason brought a letter to Kenmuir. James Moore opened it as the postman
+still stood in the door.
+
+It was from Long Kirby--still in retirement--begging him for mercy's
+sake to keep Owd Bob safe within doors at nights; at all events till
+after the great event was over. For Kirby knew, as did every Dalesman,
+that the old dog slept in the porch, between the two doors of the house,
+of which the outer was only loosely closed by a chain, so that the
+ever-watchful guardian might slip in and out and go his rounds at any
+moment of the night.
+
+This was how the smith concluded his ill-spelt note: “Look out for
+M'Adam i tell you i _know_ hel tri at thowd un afore cup day--failin im
+you if the ole dog's bete i'm a ruined man i say so for the luv o' God
+keep yer eyes wide.”
+
+The Master read the letter, and handed it to the postman, who perused it
+carefully.
+
+“I tell yo' what,” said Jim at length, speaking with an earnestness that
+made the other stare, “I wish yo'd do what he asks yo': keep Th' Owd Un
+in o' nights, I mean, just for the present.”
+
+The Master shook his head and laughed, tearing the letter to pieces.
+
+“Nay,” said he; “M'Adam or no M'Adam, Cup or no Cup, Th' Owd Un has the
+run o' ma land same as he's had since a puppy. Why, Jim, the first night
+I shut him up that night the Killer comes, I'll lay.”
+
+The postman turned wearily away, and the Master stood looking after him,
+wondering what had come of late to his former cheery friend.
+
+Those two were not the only warnings James Moore received. During
+the weeks immediately preceding the Trials, the danger signal was
+perpetually flaunted beneath his nose.
+
+Twice did Watch, the black cross-bred chained in the straw-yard, hurl a
+brazen challenge on the night air. Twice did the Master, with lantern,
+Sam'l and Owd Bob, sally forth and search every hole and corner on the
+premises--to find nothing. One of the dairy-maids gave notice, avowing
+that the farm was haunted; that, on several occasions in the early
+morning, she had seen a bogie flitting down the slope to the Wastrel--a
+sure portent, Sam'l declared, of an approaching death in the house.
+While once a shearer, coming up from the village, reported having seen,
+in the twilight of dawn, a little ghostly figure, haggard and startled,
+stealing silently from tree to tree in the larch-copse by the lane. The
+Master, however, irritated by these constant alarms, dismissed the story
+summarily.
+
+“One thing I'm sartin o',” said he. “There's not a critter moves on
+Kenmuir at nights but Th' Owd Un knows it.”
+
+Yet, even as he said it, a little man, draggled, weary-eyed, smeared
+with dew and dust, was limping in at the door of a house barely a mile
+away. “Nae luck, Wullie, curse it!” he cried, throwing himself into a
+chair, and addressing some one who was not there--“nae luck. An' yet I'm
+sure o't as I am that there's a God in heaven.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+M'Adam had become an old man of late. But little more than fifty, yet he
+looked to have reached man's allotted years. His sparse hair was quite
+white; his body shrunk and bowed; and his thin hand shook like an aspen
+as it groped to the familiar bottle.
+
+In another matter, too, he was altogether changed. Formerly, whatever
+his faults, there had been no harder-working man in the country-side.
+At all hours, in all weathers, you might have seen him with his gigantic
+attendant going his rounds. Now all that was different: he never put his
+hand to the plough, and with none to help him the land was left wholly
+untended; so that men said that, of a surety, there would be a farm to
+let on the March Mere Estate come Michaelmas.
+
+Instead of working, the little man sat all day in the kitchen at home,
+brooding over his wrongs, and brewing vengeance. Even the Sylvester
+Arms knew him no more; for he stayed where he was with his dog and his
+bottle. Only, when the shroud of night had come down to cover him,
+he slipped out and away on some errand on which not even Red Wull
+accompanied him.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+So the time glided on, till the Sunday before the Trials came round.
+
+All that day M'Adam sat in his kitchen, drinking, muttering, hatching
+revenge.
+
+“Curse it, Wullie! curse it! The time's slippin'--slippin'--slippin'!
+Thursday next--but three days mair! and I haena the proof--I haena the
+proof!”--and he rocked to and fro, biting his nails in the agony of his
+impotence.
+
+All day long he never moved. Long after sunset he sat on; long after
+dark had eliminated the features of the room.
+
+“They're all agin us, Wullie. It's you and I alane, lad. M'Adam's to be
+beat somehow, onyhow; and Moore's to win. So they've settled it, and
+so 'twill be--onless, Wullie, onless--but curse it! I've no the
+proof!”--and he hammered the table before him and stamped on the floor.
+
+At midnight he arose, a mad, desperate plan looming through his fuddled
+brain.
+
+“I swore I'd pay him, Wullie, and I will. If I hang for it I'll be even
+wi' him. I haena the proof, but I _know_--I _know_!” He groped his way
+to the mantel piece with blind eyes and swirling brain. Reaching up
+with fumbling hands, he took down the old blunderbuss from above the
+fireplace.
+
+“Wullie,” he whispered, chuckling hideously, “Wullie, come on! You and
+I--he! he!” But the Tailless Tyke was not there. At nightfall he had
+slouched silently out of the house on business he best wot of. So his
+master crept out of the room alone--on tiptoe, still chuckling.
+
+The cool night air refreshed him, and he stepped stealthily along,
+his quaint weapon over his shoulder: down the hill; across the Bottom;
+skirting the Pike; till he reached the plank-bridge over the Wastrel.
+
+He crossed it safely, that Providence whose care is drunkards placing
+his footsteps. Then he stole up the slope like a hunter stalking his
+prey.
+
+Arrived at the gate, he raised himself cautiously, and peered over into
+the moonlit yard. There was no sign or sound of living creature. The
+little gray house slept peacefully in the shadow of the Pike, all
+unaware of the man with murder in his heart laboriously climbing the
+yard-gate.
+
+The door of the porch was wide, the chain hanging limply down, unused;
+and the little man could see within, the moon shining on the iron studs
+of the inner door, and the blanket of him who should have slept there,
+and did not.
+
+“He's no there, Wullie! He's no there!” He jumped down from the gate.
+Throwing all caution to the winds, he reeled recklessly across the yard.
+The drunken delirium of battle was on him. The fever of anticipated
+victory flushed his veins. At length he would take toll for the injuries
+of years.
+
+Another moment, and he was in front of the good oak door, battering at
+it madly with clubbed weapon, yelling, dancing, screaming vengeance.
+
+“Where is he? What's he at? Come and tell me that, James Moore! Come
+doon, I say, ye coward! Come and meet me like a man!
+
+     Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
+     Scots wham Bruce has aften led--
+     Welcome to your gory bed
+     Or to victorie!'”
+
+The soft moonlight streamed down on the white-haired madman thundering
+at the door, screaming his war-song.
+
+The quiet farmyard, startled from its sleep, awoke in an uproar. Cattle
+shifted in their stalls; horses whinnied; fowls chattered, aroused by
+the din and dull thudding of the blows: and above the rest, loud and
+piercing, the shrill cry of a terrified child.
+
+Maggie, wakened from a vivid dream of David chasing the police, hurried
+a shawl around her, and in a minute had the baby in her arms and was
+comforting her--vaguely fearing the while that the police were after
+David.
+
+James Moore flung open a window, and, leaning out, looked down on the
+dishevelled figure below him.
+
+M'Adam heard the noise, glanced up, and saw his enemy. Straightway he
+ceased his attack on the door, and, running beneath the window, shook
+his weapon up at his foe.
+
+“There ye are, are ye? Curse ye for a coward! curse ye for a liar! Come
+doon, I say, James Moore! come doon--I daur ye to it! Aince and for a'
+let's settle oor account.”
+
+The Master, looking down from above, thought that at length the little
+man's brain had gone.
+
+“What is't yo' want?” he asked, as calmly as he could, hoping to gain
+time.
+
+“What is't I want?” screamed the madman. “Hark to him! He crosses me in
+ilka thing; he plots agin me; he robs me o' ma Cup; he sets ma son agin
+me and pits him on to murder me! And in the end he--”
+
+“Coom, then, coom! I'll--”
+
+“Gie me back the Cup ye stole, James Moore! Gie me back ma son ye've
+took from me! And there's anither thing. What's yer gray dog doin'?
+Where's yer--”
+
+The Master interposed again:
+
+“I'll coom doon and talk things over wi' yo'.” he said soothingly. But
+before he could withdraw, M'Adam had jerked his weapon to his shoulder
+and aimed it full at his enemy's head.
+
+The threatened man looked down the gun's great quivering mouth, wholly
+unmoved.
+
+“Yo' mon hold it steadier, little mon, if yo'd hit!” he said grimly.
+“There, I'll coom help yo'!” He withdrew slowly; and all the time was
+wondering where the gray dog was.
+
+In another moment he was downstairs, undoing the bolts and bars of the
+door. On the other side stood M'Adam, his blunderbuss at his shoulder,
+his finger trembling on the trigger, waiting.
+
+“Hi, Master! Stop, or yo're dead!” roared a voice from the loft on the
+other side the yard.
+
+“Feyther! feyther! git yo' back!” screamed Maggie, who saw it all from
+the window above the door.
+
+Their cries were too late! The blunderbuss went off with a roar,
+belching out a storm of sparks and smoke. The shot peppered the door
+like hail, and the whole yard seemed for a moment wrapped in flame.
+
+“Aw! oh! ma gummy! A'm waounded A'm a goner! A'm shot! 'Elp! Murder! Eh!
+Oh!” bellowed a lusty voice--and it was not James Moore's.
+
+The little man, the cause of the uproar, lay quite still upon the
+ground, with another figure standing over him. As he had stood, finger
+on trigger, waiting for that last bolt to be drawn, a gray form,
+shooting whence no one knew, had suddenly and silently attacked him from
+behind, and jerked him backward to the ground. With the shock of the
+fall the blunderbuss had gone off.
+
+The last bolt was thrown back with a clatter, and the Master emerged. In
+a glance he took in the whole scene: the fallen man; the gray dog; the
+still-smoking weapon.
+
+“Yo', was't Bob lad?” he said. “I was wonderin' wheer yo' were. Yo'
+came just at the reet moment, as yo' aye do!” Then, in a loud voice,
+addressing the darkness: “Yo're not hurt, Sam'l Todd--I can tell that
+by yer noise; it was nob'but the shot off the door warmed yo'. Coom away
+doon and gie me a hand.”
+
+He walked up to M'Adam, who still lay gasping on the ground. The shock
+of the fall and recoil of the weapon had knocked the breath out of the
+little man's body; beyond that he was barely hurt.
+
+The Master stood over his fallen enemy and looked sternly down at him.
+
+“I've put up wi' more from you, M'Adam, than I would from ony other
+man,” he said. “But this is too much--comin' here at night wi' loaded
+arms, scarin' the wimmen and childer oot o' their lives, and I can
+but think meanin' worse. If yo' were half a man I'd gie yo' the finest
+thrashin' iver yo' had in yer life. But, as yo' know well, I could no
+more hit yo' than I could a woman. Why yo've got this down on me yo' ken
+best. I niver did yo' or ony ither mon a harm. As to the Cup, I've got
+it and I'm goin' to do ma best to keep it--it's for yo' to win it from
+me if yo' can o' Thursday. As for what yo' say o' David, yo' know it's a
+lie. And as for what yo're drivin' at wi' yer hints and mysteries, I've
+no more idee than a babe unborn. Noo I'm goin' to lock yo' up, yo're not
+safe abroad. I'm thinkin' I'll ha' to hand ye o'er to the p'lice.”
+
+With the help of Sam'l he half dragged, half supported the
+stunned little man across the yard; and shoved him into a tiny
+semi-subterraneous room, used for the storage of coal, at the end of the
+farm-buildings.
+
+“Yo' think it over that side, ma lad,” called the Master grimly, as he
+turned the key, “and I will this.” And with that he retired to bed.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Early in the morning he went to release his prisoner. But he was a
+minute too late. For scuttling down the slope and away was a little
+black-begrimed, tottering figure with white hair blowing in the wind.
+The little man had broken away a wooden hatchment which covered a
+manhole in the wall of his prison-house, squeezed his small body
+through, and so escaped.
+
+“Happen it's as well,” thought the Master, watching the flying figure.
+Then, “Hi, Bob, lad!” he called; for the gray dog, ears back, tail
+streaming, was hurling down the slope after the fugitive.
+
+On the bridge M'Adam turned, and, seeing his pursuer hot upon him,
+screamed, missed his footing, and fell with a loud splash into the
+stream--almost in that identical spot into which, years before, he had
+plunged voluntarily to save Red Wull.
+
+On the bridge Owd Bob halted and looked down at the man struggling in
+the water below. He made a half move as though to leap in to the rescue
+of his enemy; then, seeing it was unnecessary, turned and trotted back
+to his master.
+
+“Yo' nob'but served him right, I'm thinkin',” said the Master. “Like
+as not he came here wi' the intent to mak' an end to yo.' Well, after
+Thursday, I pray God we'll ha' peace. It's gettin' above a joke.” The
+two turned back into the yard.
+
+But down below them, along the edge of the stream, for the second time
+in this story, a little dripping figure was tottering homeward. The
+little man was crying--the hot tears mingling on his cheeks with
+the undried waters of the Wastrel--crying with rage, mortification,
+weariness.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXV THE SHEPHERDS' TROPHY
+
+Cup Day.
+
+
+It broke calm and beautiful, no cloud on the horizon, no threat of storm
+in the air; a fitting day on which the Shepherds' Trophy must be won
+outright.
+
+And well it was so. For never since the founding of the Dale Trials had
+such a concourse been gathered together on the North bank of the Silver
+Lea. From the Highlands they came; from the far Campbell country; from
+the Peak; from the county of many acres; from all along the silver
+fringes of the Solway; assembling in that quiet corner of the earth to
+see the famous Gray Dog of Kenmuir fight his last great battle for the
+Shepherds' Trophy.
+
+By noon the gaunt Scaur looked down on such a gathering as it had never
+seen. The paddock at the back of the Dalesman's Daughter was packed with
+a clammering, chattering multitude: animated groups of farmers; bevies
+of solid rustics; sharp-faced townsmen; loud-voiced bookmakers; giggling
+girls; amorous boys,--thrown together like toys in a sawdust bath;
+whilst here and there, on the outskirts of the crowd, a lonely man and
+wise-faced dog, come from afar to wrest his proud title from the best
+sheep-dog in the North.
+
+At the back of the enclosure was drawn up a formidable array of carts
+and carriages, varying as much in quality and character as did their
+owners. There was the squire's landau rubbing axle-boxes with Jem
+Burton's modest moke-cart; and there Viscount Birdsaye's flaring
+barouche side by side with the red-wheeled wagon of Kenmuir.
+
+In the latter, Maggie, sad and sweet in her simple summer garb, leant
+over to talk to Lady Eleanour; while golden-haired wee Anne, delighted
+with the surging crowd around, trotted about the wagon, waving to her
+friends, and shouting from very joyousness.
+
+Thick as flies clustered that motley assembly on the north bank of the
+Silver Lea. While on the other side the stream was a little group of
+judges, inspecting the course.
+
+The line laid out ran thus: the sheep must first be found in the big
+enclosure to the right of the starting flag; then up the slope and away
+from the spectators; around a flag and obliquely down the hill again;
+through a gap in the wall; along the hillside, parrallel to the Silver
+Lea; abruptly to the left through a pair of flags--the trickiest turn of
+them all; then down the slope to the pen, which was set up close to the
+bridge over the stream.
+
+The proceedings began with the Local Stakes, won by Rob Saunderson's
+veteran, Shep. There followed the Open Juveniles, carried off by Ned
+Hoppin's young dog. It was late in the afternoon when, at length, the
+great event of the meeting was reached.
+
+In the enclosure behind the Dalesman's Daughter the clamor of the crowd
+increased tenfold, and the yells of the bookmakers were redoubled.
+
+“Walk up, gen'lemen, walk up! the ole firm! Rasper? Yessir--twenty to
+one bar two! Twenty to one bar two! Bob? What price, Bob? Even money,
+sir--no, not a penny longer, couldn't do it! Red Wull? 'oo says Red
+Wull?”
+
+On the far side the stream is clustered about the starting flag the
+finest array of sheep-dogs ever seen together.
+
+“I've never seen such a field, and I've seen fifty,” is Parson Leggy's
+verdict.
+
+There, beside the tall form of his master, stands Owd Bob o' Kenmuir,
+the observed of all. His silvery brush fans the air, and he holds his
+dark head high as he scans his challengers, proudly conscious that
+to-day will make or mar his fame. Below him, the mean-looking,
+smooth-coated black dog is the unbeaten Pip, winner of the renowned
+Cambrian Stakes at Llangollen--as many think the best of all the good
+dogs that have come from sheep-dotted Wales. Beside him that handsome
+sable collie, with the tremendous coat and slash of white on throat
+and face, is the famous MacCallum More, fresh from his victory at the
+Highland meeting. The cobby, brown dog, seeming of many breeds, is from
+the land o' the Tykes--Merry, on whom the Yorkshiremen are laying as
+though they loved him. And Jess, the wiry black-and-tan, is the favorite
+of the men of of the Derwent and Dove. Tupper's big blue Rasper is
+there; Londesley's Lassie; and many more--too many to mention: big and
+small, grand and mean, smooth and rough--and not a bad dog there.
+
+And alone, his back to the others, stands a little bowed, conspicuous
+figure--Adam M'Adam; while the great dog beside him, a hideous
+incarnation of scowling defiance, is Red Wull, the Terror o' the Border.
+
+The Tailless Tyke had already run up his fighting colors. For MacCallum
+More, going up to examine this forlorn great adversary, had conceived
+for him a violent antipathy, and, straightway, had spun at him with
+all the fury of the Highland cateran, who attacks first and explains
+afterward. Red Wull, forthwith, had turned on him with savage, silent
+gluttony; bob-tailed Rasper was racing up to join in the attack; and in
+another second the three would have been locked inseparably--but just in
+time M'Adam intervened. One of the judges came hurrying up.
+
+“Mr. M'Adam,” he cried angrily, “if that brute of yours gets fighting
+again, hang me if I don't disqualify him! Only last year at the Trials
+he killed the young Cossack dog.”
+
+A dull flash of passion swept across M'Adam's face. “Come here,
+Wullie!” he called. “Gin yon Hielant tyke attacks ye agin, ye're to be
+disqualified.”
+
+He was unheeded. The battle for the Cup had begun--little Pip leading
+the dance.
+
+On the opposite slope the babel had subsided now. Hucksters left their
+wares, and bookmakers their stools, to watch the struggle. Every eye
+was intent on the moving figures of man and dog and three sheep over the
+stream.
+
+One after one the competitors ran their course and penned their
+sheep--there was no single failure. And all received their just meed of
+applause, save only Adam M'Adam's Red Wull.
+
+Last of all, when Owd Bob trotted out to uphold his title, there went up
+such a shout as made Maggie's wan cheeks to blush with pleasure, and wee
+Anne to scream right lustily.
+
+His was an incomparable exhibition. Sheep should be humored rather than
+hurried; coaxed, rather than coerced. And that sheep-dog has attained
+the summit of his art who subdues his own personality and leads his
+sheep in pretending to be led. Well might the bosoms of the Dalesmen
+swell with pride as they watched their favorite at his work; well might
+Tammas pull out that hackneyed phrase, “The brains of a mon and the way
+of a woman”; well might the crowd bawl their enthusiasm, and Long Kirby
+puff his cheeks and rattle the money in his trouser pockets.
+
+But of this part it is enough to say that Pip, Owd Bob, and Red Wull
+were selected to fight out the struggle afresh.
+
+The course was altered and stiffened. On the far side the stream it
+remained as before; up the slope; round a flag; down the hill again;
+through the gap in the wall; along the hillside; down through the two
+flags; turn; and to the stream again. But the pen was removed from its
+former position, carried over the bridge, up the near slope, and the
+hurdles put together at the very foot of the spectators.
+
+The sheep had to be driven over the plank bridge, and the penning done
+beneath the very nose of the crowd. A stiff course, if ever there was
+one; and the time allowed, ten short minutes.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The spectators hustled and elbowed in their endeavors to obtain a
+good position. And well they might; for about to begin was the finest
+exhibition of sheep-handling any man there was ever to behold.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Evan Jones and Little Pip led off.
+
+Those two, who had won on many a hard-fought field, worked together
+as they had never worked before. Smooth and swift, like a yacht in
+Southampton Water; round the flag, through the gap, they brought their
+sheep. Down between the two flags--accomplishing right well that awkward
+turn; and back to the bridge.
+
+There they stopped: the sheep would not face that narrow way. Once,
+twice, and again, they broke; and each time the gallant little Pip, his
+tongue out and tail quivering, brought them back to the bridge-head.
+
+At length one faced it; then another, and--it was too late. Time was up.
+The judges signalled; and the Welshman called off his dog and withdrew.
+
+Out of sight of mortal eye, in a dip of the ground, Evan Jones sat down
+and took the small dark head between his knees--and you may be sure the
+dog's heart was heavy as the man's. “We did our pest, Pip,” he cried
+brokenly, “but we're peat--the first time ever we've been!”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+No time to dally.
+
+James Moore and Owd Bob were off on their last run.
+
+No applause this time; not a voice was raised; anxious faces; twitching
+fingers; the whole crowd tense as a stretched wire. A false turn, a
+wilful sheep, a cantankerous judge, and the gray dog would be beat. And
+not a man there but knew it.
+
+Yet over the stream master and dog went about their business never
+so quiet, never so collected; for all the world as though they were
+rounding up a flock on the Muir Pike.
+
+The old dog found his sheep in a twinkling and a wild, scared trio they
+proved. Rounding the first flag, one bright-eyed wether made a dash
+for the open. He was quick; but the gray dog was quicker: a splendid
+recover, and a sound like a sob from the watchers on the hill.
+
+Down the slope they came for the gap in the wall. A little below the
+opening, James Moore took his stand to stop and turn them; while a
+distance behind his sheep loitered Owd Bob, seeming to follow rather
+than drive, yet watchful of every movement and anticipating it. On he
+came, one eye on his master, the other on his sheep; never hurrying
+them, never flurrying them, yet bringing them rapidly along.
+
+No word was spoken; barely a gesture made; yet they worked, master and
+dog, like one divided.
+
+Through the gap, along the hill parallel to the spectators, playing into
+one another's hands like men at polo.
+
+A wide sweep for the turn at the flags, and the sheep wheeled as though
+at the word of command, dropped through them, and travelled rapidly for
+the bridge.
+
+“Steady!” whispered the crowd.
+
+“Steady, man!” muttered Parson Leggy.
+
+“Hold 'em, for God's sake!” croaked Kirby huskily. “D--n! I knew it! I
+saw it coming!”
+
+The pace down the hill had grown quicker--too quick. Close on the bridge
+the three sheep made an effort to break. A dash--and two were checked;
+but the third went away like the wind, and after him Owd Bob, a gray
+streak against the green.
+
+Tammas was cursing silently; Kirby was white to the lips; and in the
+stillness you could plainly hear the Dalesmen's sobbing breath, as it
+fluttered in their throats.
+
+“Gallop! they say he's old and slow!” muttered the Parson. “Dash! Look
+at that!” For the gray dog, racing like the Nor'easter over the sea, had
+already retrieved the fugitive.
+
+Man and dog were coaxing the three a step at a time toward the bridge.
+
+One ventured--the others followed.
+
+In the middle the leader stopped and tried to turn--and time was flying,
+flying, and the penning alone must take minutes. Many a man's hand was
+at his watch, but no one could take his eyes off the group below him to
+look.
+
+“We're beat! I've won bet, Tammas!” groaned Sam'l. (The two had a
+long-standing wager on the matter.) “I allus knoo hoo 'twould be. I
+allus told yo' th' owd tyke--”
+
+Then breaking into a bellow, his honest face crimson with enthusiasm:
+“Coom on, Master! Good for yo', Owd Un! Yon's the style!”
+
+For the gray dog had leapt on the back of the hindmost sheep; it had
+surged forward against the next, and they were over, and making up the
+slope amidst a thunder of applause.
+
+At the pen it was a sight to see shepherd and dog working together.
+The Master, his face stern and a little whiter than its wont, casting
+forward with both hands, herding the sheep in; the gray dog, his eyes
+big and bright, dropping to hand; crawling and creeping, closer and
+closer.
+
+“They're in!--Nay--Ay--dang me! Stop 'er! Good, Owd Un! Ah-h-h, they're
+in!” And the last sheep reluctantly passed through--on the stroke of
+time.
+
+A roar went up from the crowd; Maggie's white face turned pink; and
+the Dalesmen mopped their wet brows. The mob surged forward, but the
+stewards held them back.
+
+“Back, please! Don't encroach! M'Adam's to come!”
+
+From the far bank the little man watched the scene. His coat and cap
+were off, and his hair gleamed white in the sun; his sleeves were rolled
+up; and his face was twitching but set as he stood--ready.
+
+The hubbub over the stream at length subsided. One of the judges nodded
+to him.
+
+“Noo, Wullie--noo or niver!--'Scots wha hae'! “--and they were off.
+
+“Back, gentlemen! back! He's off--he's coming! M'Adam's coming!”
+
+They might well shout and push; for the great dog was on to his sheep
+before they knew it; and they went away with a rush, with him right on
+their backs. Up the slope they swept and round the first flag, already
+galloping. Down the hill for the gap, and M'Adam was flying ahead to
+turn them. But they passed him like a hurricane, and Red Wull was in
+front with a rush and turned them alone.
+
+“M'Adam wins! Five to four M'Adam! I lay agin Owd Bob!” rang out a clear
+voice in the silence.
+
+Through the gap they rattled, ears back, feet twinkling like the wings
+of driven grouse.
+
+“He's lost 'em! They'll break! They're away!” was the cry.
+
+Sam'l was half up the wheel of the Kenmuir wagon; every man was on his
+toes; ladies were standing in their carriages; even Jim Mason's face
+flushed with momentary excitement.
+
+The sheep were tearing along the hillside, all together, like a white
+scud. After them, galloping like a Waterloo winner, raced Red Wull. And
+last of all, leaping over the ground like a demoniac, making not for the
+two flags, but the plank-bridge, the white-haired figure of M'Adam.
+
+“He's beat! The Killer's beat!” roared a strident voice.
+
+“M'Adam wins! Five to four M'Adam! I lay agin Owd Bob!” rang out the
+clear reply.
+
+Red Wull was now racing parallel to the fugitives and above them. All
+four were travelling at a terrific rate; while the two flags were barely
+twenty yards in front, below the line of flight and almost parallel to
+it. To effect the turn a change of direction must be made almost through
+a right angle.
+
+“He's beat! he's beat! M'Adam's beat! Can't make it nohow!” was the
+roar.
+
+From over the stream a yell--“Turn 'em, Wullie!”
+
+At the word the great dog swerved down on the flying three. They turned,
+still at the gallop, like a troop of cavalry, and dropped, clean and
+neat, between the flags; and down to the stream they rattled, passing
+M'Adam on the way as though he was standing.
+
+“Weel done, Wullie!” came the scream from the far bank; and from the
+crowd went up an involuntary burst of applause.
+
+“Ma word!
+
+“Did yo' see that?”
+
+“By gob!”
+
+It was a turn, indeed, of which the smartest team in the galloping
+horse-gunners might well have been proud. A shade later, and they must
+have overshot the mark; a shade sooner, and a miss.
+
+“He's not been two minutes so far. We're beaten--don't you think so,
+Uncle Leggy?” asked Muriel Sylvester, looking up piteously into the
+parson's face.
+
+“It's not what I think, my dear; it's what the judges think,” the parson
+replied; and what he thought their verdict would be was plainly writ on
+his face for all to read.
+
+Right on to the centre of the bridge the leading sheep galloped
+and--stopped abruptly.
+
+Up above in the crowd there was utter silence; staring eyes; rigid
+fingers. The sweat was dripping off Long Kirby's face; and, at the
+back, a green-coated bookmaker slipped his note-book in his pocket, and
+glanced behind him. James Moore, standing in front of them all, was the
+calmest there.
+
+Red Wull was not to be denied. Like his forerunner he leapt on the back
+of the hindmost sheep. But the red dog was heavy where the gray was
+light. The sheep staggered, slipped, and fell.
+
+Almost before it had touched the water, M'Adam, his face afire and eyes
+flaming, was in the stream. In a second he had hold of the struggling
+creature, and, with an almost superhuman effort, had half thrown, half
+shoved it on to the bank.
+
+Again a tribute of admiration, led by James Moore.
+
+The little man scrambled, panting, on to the bank and raced after sheep
+and dog. His face was white beneath the perspiration; his breath came in
+quavering gasps; his trousers were wet and clinging to his legs; he was
+trembling in every limb, and yet indomitable.
+
+They were up to the pen, and the last wrestle began. The crowd, silent
+and motionless, craned forward to watch the uncanny, white-haired little
+man and the huge dog, working so close below them. M'Adam's face was
+white; his eyes staring, unnaturally bright; his bent body projected
+forward; and he tapped with his stick on the ground like a blind man,
+coaxing the sheep in. And the Tailless Tyke, his tongue out and flanks
+heaving, crept and crawled and worked up to the opening, patient as he
+had never been before.
+
+They were in at last.
+
+There was a lukewarm, half-hearted cheer; then silence.
+
+Exhausted and trembling, the little man leant against the pen, one
+hand on it; while Red Wull, his flanks still heaving, gently licked the
+other. Quite close stood James Moore and the gray dog; above was the
+black wall of people, utterly still; below, the judges comparing notes.
+In the silence you could almost hear the panting of the crowd.
+
+Then one of the judges went up to James Moore and shook him by the hand.
+
+The gray dog had won. Owd Bob o' Kenmuir had won the Shepherds' Trophy
+outright.
+
+A second's palpitating silence; a woman's hysterical laugh--and
+a deep-mouthed bellow rent the expectant air: shouts, screams,
+hat-tossings, back-clappings blending in a din that made the
+many-winding waters of the Silver Lea quiver and quiver again.
+
+Owd Bob o' Kenmuir had won the Shepherds' Trophy outright.
+
+Maggie's face flushed a scarlet hue. Wee Anne flung fat arms toward
+her triumphant Bob, and screamed with the best. Squire and parson, each
+red-cheeked, were boisterously shaking hands. Long Kirby, who had not
+prayed for thirty years, ejaculated with heartfelt earnestness, “Thank
+God!” Sam'l Todd bellowed in Tammas's ear, and almost slew him with his
+mighty buffets. Among the Dalesmen some laughed like drunken men; some
+cried like children; all joined in that roaring song of victory.
+
+To little M 'Adam, standing with his back to the crowd, that storm of
+cheering came as the first announcement of defeat.
+
+A wintry smile, like the sun over a March sea, crept across his face.
+
+“We might a kent it, Wullie,” he muttered, soft and low. The tension
+loosed, the battle lost, the little man almost broke down. There were
+red dabs of color in his face; his eyes were big; his lips pitifully
+quivering; he was near to sobbing.
+
+An old man--utterly alone he had staked his all on a throw--and lost.
+
+Lady Eleanour marked the forlorn little figure, standing solitary on the
+fringe of the uproarious mob. She noticed the expression on his face;
+and her tender heart went out to the lone man in his defeat.
+
+She went up to him and laid a hand upon his arm.
+
+“Mr. M'Adam,” she said timidly, “won't you come and sit down in the
+tent? You look _so_ tired! I can find you a corner where no one shall
+disturb you.”
+
+The little man wrenched roughly away. The unexpected kindness, coming
+at that moment, was almost too much for him. A few paces off he turned
+again.
+
+“It's reel kind o' yer ladyship,” he said huskily; and tottered away to
+be alone with Red Wull.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Meanwhile the victors stood like rocks in the tideway. About them surged
+a continually changing throng, shaking the man's hand, patting the dog.
+
+Maggie had carried wee Anne to tender her congratulations; Long Kirby
+had come; Tammas, Saunderson, Hoppin, Tupper, Londesley--all but Jim
+Mason; and now, elbowing through the press, came squire and parson.
+
+“Well done, James! well done, indeed! Knew you'd win! told you so eh,
+eh!” Then facetiously to Owd Bob: “Knew you would, Robert, old man!
+Ought to Robert the Dev--musn't be a naughty boy--eh, eh!”
+
+“The first time ever the Dale Cup's been won outright!” said the Parson,
+“and I daresay it never will again. And I think Kenmuir's the very
+fittest place for its final home, and a Gray Dog of Kenmuir for its
+winner.”
+
+“Oh, by the by!” burst in the squire. “I've fixed the Manor dinner for
+to-day fortnight, James. Tell Saunderson and Tupper, will you? Want all
+the tenants there.” He disappeared into the crowd, but in a minute had
+fought his way back. “I'd forgotten something!” he shouted. “Tell your
+Maggie perhaps you'll have news for her after it eh! eh!” and he was
+gone again.
+
+Last of all, James Moore was aware of a white, blotchy, grinning face at
+his elbow.
+
+“I maun congratulate ye, Mr. Moore. Ye've beat us--you and the
+gentlemen--judges.”
+
+“'Twas a close thing, M'Adam,” the other answered. “An' yo' made a gran'
+fight. In ma life I niver saw a finer turn than yours by the two flags
+yonder. I hope yo' bear no malice.”
+
+“Malice! Me? Is it likely? Na, na. 'Do onto ivery man as he does onto
+you--and somethin' over,' that's my motter. I owe ye mony a good turn,
+which I'll pay ye yet. Na, na; there's nae good fechtin' agin fate--and
+the judges. Weel, I wush you well o' yer victory. Aiblins' twill be oor
+turn next.”
+
+Then a rush, headed by Sam'l, roughly hustled the one away and bore the
+other off on its shoulders in boisterous triumph.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In giving the Cup away, Lady Eleanour made a prettier speech than ever.
+Yet all the while she was haunted by a white, miserable face; and all
+the while she was conscious of two black moving dots in the Murk Muir
+Pass opposite her--solitary, desolate, a contrast to the huzzaing crowd
+around.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+That is how the champion challenge Dale Cup, the world-known Shepherds'
+Trophy, came to wander no more; won outright by the last of the Gray
+Dogs of Kenmuir--Owd Bob.
+
+Why he was the last of the Gray Dogs is now to be told.
+
+
+
+
+PART VI THE BLACK KILLER
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXVI RED-HANDED
+
+
+THE SUN was hiding behind the Pike. Over the lowlands the feathery
+breath of night hovered still. And the hillside was shivering in the
+chillness of dawn.
+
+Down on the silvery sward beside the Stony Bottom there lay the ruffled
+body of a dead sheep. All about the victim the dewy ground was dark and
+patchy like dishevelled velvet; bracken trampled down; stones
+displaced as though by straggling feet; and the whole spotted with the
+all-pervading red.
+
+A score yards up the hill, in a writhing confusion of red and gray, two
+dogs at death-grips. While yet higher, a pack of wild-eyed hill-sheep
+watched, fascinated, the bloody drama.
+
+The fight raged. Red and gray, blood-spattered, murderous-eyed; the
+crimson froth dripping from their jaws; now rearing high with arching
+crests and wrestling paws; now rolling over in tumbling, tossing,
+worrying disorder--the two fought out their blood-feud.
+
+Above, the close-packed flock huddled and stamped, ever edging nearer
+to watch the issue. Just so must the women of Rome have craned round the
+arenas to see two men striving in death-struggle.
+
+The first cold flicker of dawn stole across the green. The red eye of
+the morning peered aghast over the shoulder of the Pike. And from the
+sleeping dale there arose the yodling of a man driving his cattle home.
+
+Day was upon them.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+James Moore was waked by a little whimpering cry beneath his window.
+He leapt out of bed and rushed to look; for well he knew 'twas not for
+nothing that the old dog was calling.
+
+“Lord o' mercy! whativer's come to yo', Owd Un?” he cried in anguish.
+And, indeed, his favorite, war-daubed almost past recognition, presented
+a pitiful spectacle.
+
+In a moment the Master was downstairs and out, examining him.
+
+“Poor old lad, yo' have caught it this time!” he cried. There was a
+ragged tear on the dog's cheek; a deep gash in his throat from which the
+blood still welled, staining the white escutcheon on his chest; while
+head and neck were clotted with the red.
+
+Hastily the Master summoned Maggie. After her, Andrew came hurrying
+down. And a little later a tiny, night-clad, naked-footed figure
+appeared in the door, wide-eyed, and then fled, screaming.
+
+They doctored the old warrior on the table in the kitchen. Maggie
+tenderly washed his wounds, and dressed them with gentle, pitying
+fingers; and he stood all the while grateful yet fidgeting, looking up
+into his master's face as if imploring to be gone.
+
+“He mun a had a rare tussle wi' some one--eh, dad?” said the girl, as
+she worked.
+
+“Ay; and wi' whom? 'Twasn't for nowt he got fightin', I war'nt. Nay;
+he's a tale to tell, has The Owd Un, and--A h-h-h! I thowt as much. Look
+'ee!” For bathing the bloody jaws, he had come upon a cluster of tawny
+red hair, hiding in the corners of the lips.
+
+The secret was out. Those few hairs told their own accusing tale. To but
+one creature in the Daleland could they belong--“Th' Tailless Tyke.”
+
+“He mun a bin trespassin'!” cried Andrew.
+
+“Ay, and up to some o' his bloody work, I'll lay my life,” the Master
+answered. “But Th' Owd Un shall show us.”
+
+The old dog's hurts proved less severe than had at first seemed
+possible. His good gray coat, forest-thick about his throat, had never
+served him in such good stead. And at length, the wounds washed and sewn
+up, he jumped down all in a hurry from the table and made for the door.
+
+“Noo, owd lad, yo' may show us,” said the Master, and, with Andrew,
+hurried after him down the hill, along the stream, and over Langholm
+How. And as they neared the Stony Bottom, the sheep, herding in groups,
+raised frightened heads to stare.
+
+Of a sudden a cloud of poisonous flies rose, buzzing, up before them;
+and there in a dimple of the ground lay a murdered sheep. Deserted by
+its comrades, the glazed eyes staring helplessly upward, the throat
+horribly worried, it slept its last sleep.
+
+The matter was plain to see. At last the Black Killer had visited
+Kenmuir.
+
+“I guessed as much,” said the Master, standing over the mangled body.
+“Well, it's the worst night's work ever the Killer done. I reck'n Th'
+Owd Un come on him while he was at it; and then they fought. And, ma
+word! it munn ha' bin a fight too.” For all around were traces of that
+terrible struggle: the earth torn up and tossed, bracken uprooted, and
+throughout little dabs of wool and tufts of tawny hair, mingling with
+dark-stained iron-gray wisps.
+
+James Moore walked slowly over the battlefield, stooping down as though
+he were gleaning. And gleaning he was.
+
+A long time he bent so, and at length raised himself.
+
+“The Killer has killed his last,” he muttered; “Red Wull has run his
+course.” Then, turning to Andrew: “Run yo' home, lad, and fetch the men
+to carry yon away,” pointing to the carcass, “And Bob, lad, yo 'ye done
+your work for to-day, and right well too; go yo' home wi' him. I'm off
+to see to this!”
+
+He turned and crossed the Stony Bottom. His face was set like a rock.
+At length the proof was in his hand. Once and for all the hill-country
+should be rid of its scourge.
+
+As he stalked up the hill, a dark head appeared at his knee. Two big
+grey eyes; half doubting, half penitent, wholly wistful, looked up at
+him, and a silvery brush signalled a mute request.
+
+“Eh, Owd Un, but yo' should ha' gone wi' Andrew,” the Master said.
+“Hooiver, as yo' are here, come along.” And he strode away up the hill,
+gaunt and menacing, with the gray dog at his heels.
+
+As they approached the house, M'Adam was standing in the door, sucking
+his eternal twig. James Moore eyed him closely as he came, but the sour
+face framed in the door betrayed nothing. Sarcasm, surprise, challenge,
+were all writ there, plain to read; but no guilty consciousness of the
+other's errand, no storm of passion to hide a failing heart. If it was
+acting it was splendidly done.
+
+As man and dog passed through the gap in the hedge, the expression on
+the little man's face changed again. He started forward.
+
+“James Moore, as I live!” he cried, and advanced with both hands
+extended, as though welcoming a long-lost brother. “'Deed and it's a
+weary while sin' ye've honored ma puir hoose.” And, in fact, it was nigh
+twenty years. “I tak' it gey kind in ye to look in on a lonely auld man.
+Come ben and let's ha' a crack. James Moore kens weel hoo welcome he aye
+is in ma bit biggin'.”
+
+The Master ignored the greeting.
+
+“One o' ma sheep been killed back o' t' Dyke,” he announced shortly,
+jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
+
+“The Killer?”
+
+“The Killer.”
+
+The cordiality beaming in every wrinkle of the little man's face was
+absorbed in a wondering interest; and that again gave place to sorrowful
+sympathy.
+
+“Dear, dear! it's come to that, has it--at last?” he said gently, and
+his eyes wandered to the gray dog and dwelt mournfully upon him. “Man,
+I'm sorry--I canna tell ye I'm surprised. Masel', I kent it all alang.
+But gin Adam M'Adam had tell't ye, no ha' believed him. Weel, weel, he's
+lived his life, gin ony dog iver did; and noo he maun gang where
+he's sent a many before him. Puir mon! puir tyke!” He heaved a sigh,
+profoundly melancholy, tenderly sympathetic. Then, brightening up a
+little: “Ye'll ha' come for the gun?”
+
+James Moore listened to this harangue at first puzzled. Then he caught
+the other's meaning, and his eyes flashed.
+
+“Ye fool, M'Adam! did ye hear iver tell o' a sheep-dog worryin' his
+master's sheep?”
+
+The little man was smiling and suave again now, rubbing his hands softly
+together.
+
+“Ye're right, I never did. But your dog is not as ither dogs--'There's
+none like him--none,' I've heard ye say so yersel, mony a time. An' I'm
+wi' ye. There's none like him--for devilment.” His voice began to quiver
+and his face to blaze. “It's his cursed cunning that's deceived ivery
+one but me--whelp o' Satan that he is!” He shouldered up to his tall
+adversary. “If not him, wha else had done it?” he asked, looking, up
+into the other's face as if daring him to speak.
+
+The Master's shaggy eyebrows lowered. He towered above the other like
+the Muir Pike above its surrounding hills.
+
+“Wha, ye ask?” he replied coldly, “and I answer you. Your Red Wull,
+M'Adam, your Red Wull. It's your Wull's the Black Killer! It's your
+Wull's bin the plague o' the land these months past! It's your Wull's
+killed ma sheep back o'yon!”
+
+At that all the little man's affected good-humor fled.
+
+“Ye lee, mon! ye lee!” he cried in a dreadful scream, dancing up to his
+antagonist. “I knoo hoo 'twad be. I said so. I see what ye're at. Ye've
+found at last--blind that ye've been!--that it's yer ain hell's tyke
+that's the Killer; and noo ye think by yer leein' impitations to throw
+the blame on ma Wullie. Ye rob me o' ma Cup, ye rob me o' ma son, ye
+wrang me in ilka thing; there's but ae thing left me--Wullie. And noo
+ye're set on takin' him awa'. But ye shall not--I'll kill ye first!”
+
+He was all a-shake, bobbing up and down like a stopper in a soda-water
+bottle, and almost sobbing.
+
+“Ha' ye no wranged me enough wi' oo that? Ye lang-leggit liar, wi' yer
+skulkin murderin' tyke!” he cried. “Ye say it's Wullie. Where's yer
+proof?”--and he snapped his fingers in the other's face.
+
+The Master was now as calm as his foe was passionate. “Where?” he
+replied sternly; “why, there!” holding out his right hand. “Yon's proof
+enough to hang a hunner'd.” For lying in his broad palm was a little
+bundle of that damning red hair.
+
+“Where?”
+
+“There!”
+
+“Let's see it!” The little man bent to look closer.
+
+“There's for yer proof!” he cried, and spat deliberately down into the
+other's naked palm. Then he stood back, facing his enemy in a manner to
+have done credit to a nobler deed.
+
+James Moore strode forward. It looked as if he was about to make an end
+of his miserable adversary, so strongly was he moved. His chest heaved,
+and the blue eyes blazed. But just as one had thought to see him
+take his foe in the hollow of his hand and crush him, who should come
+stalking round the corner of the house but the Tailless Tyke?
+
+A droll spectacle he made, laughable even at that moment. He limped
+sorely, his head and neck were swathed in bandages, and beneath their
+ragged fringe the little eyes gleamed out fiery and bloodshot.
+
+Round the corner he came, unaware of strangers; then straightway
+recognizing his visitors, halted abruptly. His hackles ran up, each
+individual hair stood on end till his whole body resembled a new-shorn
+wheat-field; and a snarl, like a rusty brake shoved hard down escaped
+from between his teeth. Then he trotted heavily forward, his head
+sinking low and lower as he came.
+
+And Owd Bob, eager to take up the gage of battle, advanced, glad and
+gallant, to meet him. Daintily he picked his way across the yard, head
+and tail erect, perfectly self-contained. Only the long gray hair
+about his neck stood up like the ruff of a lady of the court of Queen
+Elizabeth.
+
+But the war-worn warriors were not to be allowed their will.
+
+“Wullie, Wullie, wad ye!” cried the little man.
+
+“Bob, lad, coom in!” called the other. Then he turned and looked down at
+the man beside him, contempt flaunting in every feature.
+
+“Well?” he said shortly.
+
+M'Adam's hands were opening and shutting; his face was quite white
+beneath the tan; but he spoke calmly.
+
+“I'll tell ye the whole story, and it's the truth,” he said slowly. “I
+was up there the morn”--pointing to the window above--“and I see Wullie
+crouchin' down alangside the Stony Bottom. (Ye ken he has the run o'
+ma land o' neets, the same as your dog.) In a minnit I see anither dog
+squatterin' alang on your side the Bottom. He creeps up to the sheep on
+th' hillside, chases 'em, and doons one. The sun was risen by then, and
+I see the dog clear as I see you noo. It was that dog there--I swear
+it!” His voice rose as he spoke, and he pointed an accusing finger at
+Owd Bob.
+
+“Noo, Wullie! thinks I. And afore ye could clap yer hands, Wullie was
+over the Bottom and on to him as he gorged--the bloody-minded murderer!
+They fought and fought--I could hear the roarin' a't where I stood. I
+watched till I could watch nae langer, and, all in a sweat, I rin doon
+the stairs and oot. When I got there, there was yer tyke makin' fu'
+split for Kenmuir, and Wullie comin' up the hill to me. It's God's
+truth, I'm tellin' ye. Tak' him hame, James Moore, and let his dinner be
+an ounce o' lead. 'Twill be the best day's work iver ye done.”
+
+The little man must be lying--lying palpably. Yet he spoke with
+an earnestness, a seeming belief in his own story, that might have
+convinced one who knew him less well. But the Master only looked down on
+him with a great scorn.
+
+“It's Monday to-day,” he said coldly. “I gie yo' till Saturday. If yo've
+not done your duty by then--and well you know what 'tis--I shall come
+do it for ye. Ony gate, I shall come and see. I'll remind ye agin o'
+Thursday--yo'll be at the Manor dinner, I suppose. Noo I've warned yo',
+and you know best whether I'm in earnest or no. Bob, lad!”
+
+He turned away, but turned again.
+
+“I'm sorry for ye, but I've ma duty to do--so've you. Till Saturday I
+shall breathe no word to ony soul o' this business, so that if you see
+good to put him oot o' the way wi'oot bother, no one need iver know as
+hoo Adam M'Adam's Red Wull was the Black Killer.”
+
+He turned away for the second time. But the little man sprang after him,
+and clutched him by the arm.
+
+“Look ye here, James Moore!” he cried in thick, shaky, horrible voice.
+“Ye're big, I'm sma'; ye're strang, I'm weak; ye've ivery one to your
+back, I've niver a one; you tell your story, and they'll believe ye--for
+you gae to church; I'll tell mine, and they'll think I lie--for I dinna.
+But a word in your ear! If iver agin I catch ye on ma land, by--!”--he
+swore a great oath--“I'll no spare ye. You ken best if I'm in earnest or
+no.” And his face was dreadful to see in its hideous determinedness.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXVII FOR THE DEFENCE
+
+
+THAT night a vague story was whispered In the Sylvester Arms. But
+Tammas, on being interrogated, pursed his lips and said: “Nay, I'm sworn
+to say nowt.” Which was the old man's way of putting that he knew nowt.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On Thursday morning, James Moore and Andrew came down arrayed in all
+their best. It was the day of the squire's annual dinner to his tenants.
+
+The two, however, were not allowed to start upon their way until they
+had undergone a critical inspection by Maggie; for the girl liked her
+mankind to do honor to Kenmuir on these occasions. So she brushed
+up Andrew, tied his scarf, saw his boots and hands were clean, and
+titivated him generally till she had converted the ungainly hobbledehoy
+into a thoroughly “likely young mon.”
+
+And all the while she was thinking of that other boy for whom on such
+gala days she had been wont to perform like offices. And her father,
+marking the tears in her eyes, and mindful of the squire's mysterious
+hint, said gently:
+
+“Cheer up, lass. Happen I'll ha' news for you the night!”
+
+The girl nodded, and smiled wanly.
+
+“Happen so, dad,” she said. But in her heart she doubted.
+
+Nevertheless it was with a cheerful countenance that, a little later,
+she stood in the door with wee Anne and Owd Bob and waved the travellers
+Godspeed; while the golden-haired lassie, fiercely gripping the old
+dog's tail with one hand and her sister with the other, screamed them a
+wordless farewell.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The sun had reached its highest when the two wayfarers passed through
+the gray portals of the Manor.
+
+In the stately entrance hall, imposing with all the evidences of a long
+and honorable line, were gathered now the many tenants throughout the
+wide March Mere Estate. Weather-beaten, rent-paying sons of the soil;
+most of them native-born, many of them like James Moore, whose fathers
+had for generations owned and farmed the land they now leased at the
+hands of the Sylvesters--there in the old hall they were assembled,
+a mighty host. And apart from the others, standing as though in irony
+beneath the frown of one of those steel-clad warriors who held the door,
+was little M'Adam, puny always, paltry now, mocking his manhood.
+
+The door at the far end of the hall opened, and the squire entered,
+beaming on every one.
+
+“Here you are--eh, eh! How are you all? Glad to see ye! Good-day, James!
+Good-day, Saunderson! Good-day to you all! Bringin' a friend with me eh,
+eh!” and he stood aside to let by his agent, Parson Leggy, and last of
+all, shy and blushing, a fair-haired young giant.
+
+“If it bain't David!” was the cry. “Eh, lad, we's fain to see yo'! And
+yo'm lookin' stout, surely!” And they thronged about the boy, shaking
+him by the hand, and asking him his story.
+
+'Twas but a simple tale. After his flight on the eventful night he had
+gone south, drovering. He had written to Maggie, and been surprised and
+hurt to receive no reply. In vain he had waited, and too proud to write
+again, had remained ignorant of his father's recovery, neither caring
+nor daring to return. Then by mere chance, he had met the squire at the
+York cattle-show; and that kind man, who knew his story, had eased his
+fears and obtained from him a promise to return as soon as the term of
+his engagement had expired. And there he was.
+
+The Dalesmen gathered round the boy, listening to his tale, and in
+return telling him the home news, and chaffing him about Maggie.
+
+Of all the people present, only one seemed unmoved, and that was M'Adam.
+When first David had entered he had started forward, a flush of color
+warming his thin cheeks; but no one had noticed his emotion; and now,
+back again beneath his armor, he watched the scene, a sour smile playing
+about his lips.
+
+“I think the lad might ha' the grace to come and say he's sorry for
+'temptin' to murder me. Hooiver”--with a characteristic shrug--“I
+suppose I'm onraisonable.”
+
+Then the gong rang out its summons, and the squire led the way into the
+great dining-hall. At the one end of the long table, heavy with all the
+solid delicacies of such a feast, he took his seat with the Master of
+Kenmuir upon his right. At the other end was Parson Leggy. While down
+the sides the stalwart Dalesmen were arrayed, with M'Adam a little lost
+figure in the centre.
+
+At first they talked but little, awed like children: knives plied,
+glasses tinkled, the carvers had all their work, only the tongues were
+at rest. But the squire's ringing laugh and the parson's cheery tones
+soon put them at their ease; and a babel of voices rose and waxed.
+
+Of them all, only M'Adam sat silent. He talked to no man, and you may
+be sure no one talked to him. His hand crept oftener to his glass than
+plate, till the sallow face began to flush, and the dim eyes to grow
+unnaturally bright.
+
+Toward the end of the meal there was loud tapping on the table, calls
+for silence, and men pushed back their chairs. The squire was on his
+feet to make his annual speech.
+
+He started by telling them how glad he was to see them there. He made
+an allusion to Owd Bob and the Shepherds' Trophy which was heartily
+applauded. He touched on the Black Killer, and said he had a remedy
+to propose: that Th' Owd Un should be set upon the criminal's track--a
+suggestion which was received with enthusiasm, while M'Adam's cackling
+laugh could be heard high above the rest.
+
+From that he dwelt upon the existing condition of agriculture, the
+depression in which he attributed to the late Radical Government. He
+said that now with the Conservatives in office, and a ministry composed
+of “honorable men and gentlemen,” he felt convinced that things would
+brighten. The Radicals' one ambition was to set class against class,
+landlord against tenant. Well, during the last five hundred years, the
+Sylvesters had rarely been--he was sorry to have to confess it--good men
+(laughter and dissent); but he never yet heard of the Sylvester--though
+he shouldn't say it--who was a bad landlord (loud applause).
+
+This was a free country, and any tenant of his who was not content (a
+voice, “'Oo says we bain't?”)--“thank you, thank you!”--well, there was
+room for him outside. (Cheers.) He thanked God from the bottom of his
+heart that, during the forty years he had been responsible for the
+March Mere Estate, there had never been any friction between him and his
+people (cheers), and he didn't think there ever would be. (Loud cheers.)
+
+“Thank you, thank you!” And his motto was, “Shun a Radical as you do the
+devil!”--and he was very glad to see them all there--very glad; and he
+wished to give them a toast, “The Queen! God bless her!” and--wait a
+minute!--with her Majesty's name to couple--he was sure that gracious
+lady would wish it--that of “Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!” Then he sat down
+abruptly amid thundering applause.
+
+The toasts duly honoured, James Moore, by prescriptive right as Master
+of Kenmuir, rose to answer.
+
+He began by saying that he spoke “as representing all the tenants,”--but
+he was interrupted.
+
+“Na,” came a shrill voice from half-way down the table. “Yell except me,
+James Moore. I'd as lief be represented by Judas!”
+
+There were cries of “Hold ye gab, little mon!” and the squire's voice,
+“That'll do, Mr. M'Adam!”
+
+The little man restrained his tongue, but his eyes gleamed like a
+ferret's; and the Master continued his speech.
+
+He spoke briefly and to the point, in short phrases. And all the while
+M'Adam kept up a low-voiced, running commentary. At length he could
+control himself no longer. Half rising from his chair, he leant forward
+with hot face and burning eyes, and cried: “Sit doon, James Moore! Hoo
+daur ye stan' there like an honest man, ye whitewashed sepulchre? Sit
+doon, I say, or”--threateningly--“wad ye hae me come to ye?”
+
+At that the Dalesmen laughed uproariously, and even the Master's grim
+face relaxed. But the squire's voice rang out sharp and stern.
+
+“Keep silence and sit down, Mr. M'Adam! D'you hear me, sir? If I have to
+speak to you again it will be to order you to leave the room.”
+
+The little man obeyed, sullen and vengeful, like a beaten cat.
+
+The Master concluded his speech by calling on all present to give three
+cheers for the squire, her ladyship, and the young ladies.
+
+The call was responded to enthusiastically, every man standing. Just as
+the noise was at its zenith, Lady Eleanour herself, with her two fair
+daughters, glided into the gallery at the end of the hall; whereat the
+cheering became deafening.
+
+Slowly the clamor subsided. One by one the tenants sat down. At length
+there was left standing only one solitary figure--M 'Adam.
+
+His face was set, and he gripped the chair in front of him with thin,
+nervous hands.
+
+“Mr. Sylvester,” he began in low yet clear voice, “ye said this is a
+free country and we're a' free men. And that bein' so, I'll tak' the
+liberty, wi' yer permission, to say a word. It's maybe the last time
+I'll be wi' ye, so I hope ye'll listen to me.”
+
+The Dalesmen looked surprised, and the squire uneasy. Nevertheless he
+nodded assent.
+
+The little man straightened himself. His face was tense as though
+strung up to a high resolve. All the passion had fled from it, all
+the bitterness was gone; and left behind was a strange, enobling
+earnestness. Standing there in the silence of that great hall, with
+every eye upon him, he looked like some prisoner at the bar about to
+plead for his life.
+
+“Gentlemen,” he began, “I've bin amang ye noo a score years, and I can
+truly say there's not a man in this room I can ca' 'Friend.'” He looked
+along the ranks of upturned faces. “Ay, David, I see ye, and you, Mr.
+Hornbut, and you, Mr. Sylvester--ilka one o' you, and not one as'd back
+me like a comrade gin a trouble came upon me.” There was no rebuke in
+the grave little voice--it merely stated a hard fact.
+
+“There's I doot no one amang ye but has some one--friend or blood--wham
+he can turn to when things are sair wi' him. I've no one.
+
+“'I bear alane my lade o' care'--alane wi' Wullie, who stands to me,
+blaw or snaw, rain or shine. And whiles I'm feared he'll be took from
+me.” He spoke this last half to himself, a grieved, puzzled expression
+on his face, as though lately he had dreamed some ill dream.
+
+“Forbye Wuilie, I've no friend on God's earth. And, mind ye, a bad man
+aften mak's a good friend--but ye've never given me the chance. It's a
+sair thing that, gentlemen, to ha' to fight the battle o' life alane: no
+one to pat ye on th' back, no one to say 'Weel done.' It hardly gies
+a man a chance. For gin he does try and yet fails, men never mind the
+tryin', they only mark the failin'.”
+
+“I dinna blame ye. There's somethin' bred in me, it seems, as sets ivery
+one agin me. It's the same wi' Wullie and the tykes--they're doon on him
+same as men are on me. I suppose we was made so. Sin' I was a lad it's
+aye bin the same. From school days I've had ivery one agin me.”
+
+“In ma life I've had three fiends. Ma mither--and she went; then ma
+wife”--he gave a great swallow--“and she's awa'; and I may say they're
+the only two human bein's as ha' lived on God's earth in ma time that
+iver tried to bear wi' me;--and Wullie. A man's mither--a man's wife--a
+man's dog! it's aften a' he has in this warld; and the more he prizes
+them the more like they are to be took from him.” The little earnest
+voice shook, and the dim eyes puckered and filled.
+
+“Sin' I've bin amang ye--twenty-odd years--can any man here mind
+speakin' any word that wasna ill to me?” He paused; there was no reply.
+
+“I'll tell ye. All the time I've lived here I've had one kindly word
+spoke to me, and that a fortnight gone, and not by a man then--by her
+ladyship, God bless her!” He glanced up into the gallery. There was
+no one visible there; but a curtain at one end shook as though it were
+sobbing.
+
+“Weel, I'm thinkin' we'll be gaein' in a wee while noo, Wullie and me,
+alane and thegither, as we've aye done. And it's time we went. Ye've had
+enough o' us, and it's no for me to blame ye. And when I'm gone what'll
+ye say o' me? 'He was a drunkard.' I am. 'He was a sinner.' I am. 'He
+was ilka thing he shouldna be.' I am. 'We're glad he's gone.' That's
+what ye'll say o' me. And it's but ma deserts.”
+
+The gentle, condemning voice ceased, and began again.
+
+“That's what I am. Gin things had been differ', aiblins I'd ha' bin
+differ'. D'ye ken Robbie Burns? That's a man I've read, and read, and
+read. D'ye ken why I love him as some o' you do yer Bibles? Because
+there's a humanity about him. A weak man hissel', aye slippin',
+slippin', slippin', and tryin' to haud up; sorrowin' ae minute, sinnin'
+the next; doin' ill deeds and wishin' 'em undone--just a plain human
+man, a sinner. And that's why I'm thinkin he's tender for us as is like
+him. _He understood._ It's what he wrote--after ain o' his tumbles, I'm
+thinkin'--that I was goin' to tell ye:
+
+     'Then gently scan yer brother man,
+     Still gentler sister woman,
+     Though they may gang a kennin' wrang,
+     To step aside is human'--
+
+the doctrine o' Charity. Gie him his chance, says Robbie, though he be
+a sinner. Mony a mon'd be differ', mony bad'd be gude, gin they had but
+their chance. Gie 'em their chance, says he; and I'm wi' him. As 'tis,
+ye see me here--a bad man wi' still a streak o' good in him. Gin I'd had
+ma chance, aiblins 'twad be--a good man wi' just a spice o' the devil in
+him. A' the differ' betune what is and what might ha' bin.”
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXVIII THE DEVIL'S BOWL
+
+
+HE sat down. In the great hall there was silence, save for a tiny sound
+from the gallery like a sob suppressed.
+
+The squire rose hurriedly and left the room. After him, one by one,
+trailed the tenants. At length, two only remained--M'Adam, sitting
+solitary with a long array of empty chairs on either hand; and, at the
+far end of the table, Parson Leggy, stern, upright, motionless.
+
+When the last man had left the room the parson rose, and with lips
+tight-set strode across the silent hall.
+
+“M'Adam,” he said rapidly and almost roughly, “I've listened to
+what you've said, as I think we all have, with a sore heart. You hit
+hard--but I think you were right. And if I've not done my duty by you as
+I ought--and I fear I've not--it's now my duty as God's minister to be
+the first to say I'm sorry.” And it was evident from his face what an
+effort the words cost him.
+
+The little man tilted back his chair, and raised his head.
+
+It was the old M'Adam who looked up. The thin lips were curled; a grin
+was crawling across the mocking face; and he wagged his head gently, as
+he looked at the speaker through the slits of his half-closed eyes.
+
+“Mr. Hornbut, I believe ye thocht me in earnest, 'deed and I do!” He
+leaned back in his chair and laughed softly. “Ye swallered it all
+down like best butter. Dear, dear! to think o' that!” Then, stretching
+forward:
+
+“Mr. Hornbut, I was playin' wi' ye.”
+
+The parson's face, as he listened, was ugly to watch. He shot out a hand
+and grabbed the scoffer by his coat; then dropped it again and turned
+abruptly away.
+
+As he passed through the door a little sneering voice called after him:
+
+“Mr. Hornbut, I ask ye hoo you, a minister o' the Church of England,
+can reconcile it to yer conscience to think--though it be but for a
+minute--that there can be ony good in a man and him no churchgoer? Sir,
+ye're a heretic--not to say a heathen!” He sniggered to himself, and his
+hand crept to a half-emptied wine decanter.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+An hour later, James Moore, his business with the squire completed,
+passed through the hall on his way out. Its only occupant was now
+M'Adam, and the Master walked straight up to his enemy.
+
+“M'Adam,” he said gruffly, holding out a sinewy hand, “I'd like to
+say--”
+
+The little man knocked aside the token of friendship.
+
+“Na, na. No cant, if ye please, James Moore. That'll aiblins go doon
+wi' the parsons, but not wi' me. I ken you and you ken me, and all the
+whitewash i' th' warld'll no deceive us.”
+
+The Master turned away, and his face was hard as the nether millstone.
+But the little man pursued him.
+
+“I was nigh forgettin',” he said. “I've a surprise for ye, James Moore.
+But I hear it's yer birthday on Sunday, and I'll keep it till then--he!
+he!”
+
+“Ye'll see me before Sunday, M'Adam,” the other answered. “On Saturday,
+as I told yo', I'm comin' to see if yo've done yer duty.”
+
+“Whether ye come, James Moore, is your business. Whether ye'll iver go,
+once there, I'll mak' mine. I've warned ye twice noo--” and the little
+man laughed that harsh, cackling laugh of his.
+
+At the door of the hall the Master met David. “Noo, lad, yo're comin'
+along wi' Andrew and me,” he said; “Maggie'll niver forgie us if we
+dinna bring yo' home wi' us.”
+
+“Thank you kindly, Mr. Moore,” the boy replied. “I've to see squire
+first; and then yo' may be sure I'll be after you.”
+
+The Master faltered a moment.
+
+“David, ha'n yo' spoke to yer father yet?” he asked in low voice. “Yo'
+should, lad.”
+
+The boy made a gesture of dissent.
+
+“I canna,” he said petulantly.
+
+“I would, lad,” the other advised. “An' yo' don't yo' may be sorry
+after.”
+
+As he turned away he heard the boy's steps, dull and sodden, as he
+crossed the hall; and then a thin, would-be cordial voice in the
+emptiness:
+
+“I declar' if 'tisna David! The return o' the Prodeegal--he! he! So
+ye've seen yer auld dad at last, and the last; the proper place, say
+ye, for yen father--he! he! Eh, lad, but I'm blithe to see ye. D'ye mind
+when we was last thegither? Ye was kneelin' on ma chest: 'Your time's
+come, dad,' says you, and wangs me o'er the face--he! he! I mind it as
+if 'twas yesterday. Weel, weel, we'll say nae mair about it. Boys will
+be boys. Sons will be sons. Accidents will happen. And if at first ye
+don't succeed, why, try, try again--he! he!”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Dusk was merging into darkness when the Master and Andrew reached the
+Dalesman's Daughter. It had been long dark when they emerged from the
+cosy parlor of the inn and plunged out into the night.
+
+As they crossed the Silver Lea and trudged over that familiar ground,
+where a fortnight since had been fought out the battle of the Cup, the
+wind fluttered past them in spasmodic gasps.
+
+“There 's trouble in the wind,” said the Master.
+
+“Ay,” answered his laconic son.
+
+All day there had been no breath of air, and the sky dangerously blue.
+But now a world of black was surging up from the horizon, smothering the
+star-lit night; and small dark clouds, like puffs of smoke, detaching
+themselves from the main body, were driving tempestuously forward--the
+vanguard of the storm.
+
+In the distance was a low rumbling like heavy tumbrils on the floor of
+heaven. All about, the wind sounded hollow like a mighty scythe on corn.
+The air was oppressed with a leaden blackness--no glimmer of light on
+any hand; and as they began the ascent of the Pass they reached out
+blind hands to feel along the rock-face.
+
+A sea-fret, cool and wetting, fell. A few big rain-drops splashed
+heavily down. The wind rose with a leap and roared past them up the
+rocky track. And the water-gates of heaven were flung wide.
+
+Wet and weary, they battled on; thinking sometimes of the cosy parlor
+behind; sometimes of the home in front; wondering whether Maggie, in
+flat contradiction of her father's orders, would be up to welcome them;
+or whether only Owd Bob would come out to meet them.
+
+The wind volleyed past them like salvoes of artillery. The rain stormed
+at them from above; spat at them from the rock-face; and leapt up at
+them from their feet.
+
+Once they halted for a moment, finding a miserable shelter in a crevice
+of the rock.
+
+“It's a Black Killer's night,” panted the Master. “I reck'n he's oot.”
+
+“Ay,” the boy gasped, “reck'n he is.” Up and up they climbed through the
+blackness, blind and buffeted. The eternal thunder of the rain was all
+about them; the clamor of the gale above; and far beneath, the roar of
+angry waters.
+
+Once, in a lull in the storm, the Master turned and looked back into the
+blackness along the path they had come.
+
+“Did ye hear onythin'?” he roared above the muffled soughing of the
+wind.
+
+“Nay!” Andrew shouted back.
+
+“I thowt I heard a step!” the Master cried, peering down. But nothing
+could he see.
+
+Then the wind leaped to life again like a giant from his sleep, drowning
+all sound with its hurricane voice; and they turned and bent to their
+task again.
+
+Nearing the summit, the Master turned once more.
+
+“There it was again!” he called; but his words were swept away on the
+storm; and they buckled to the struggle afresh.
+
+Ever and anon the moon gleamed down through the riot of tossing sky.
+Then they could see the wet wall above them, with the water tumbling
+down its sheer face; and far below, in the roaring gutter of the Pass a
+brown-stained torrent. Hardly, however, had they time to glance around
+when a mass of cloud would hurry jealously up, and all again was
+blackness and noise.
+
+At length, nigh spent, they topped the last and steepest pitch of the
+Pass, and emerged into the Devil's Bowl. There, overcome with their
+exertions, they flung themselves on to the soaking ground to draw
+breath.
+
+Behind them, the wind rushed with a sullen roar up the funnel of the
+Pass. It screamed above them as though ten million devils were a-horse;
+and blurted out on to the wild Marches beyond.
+
+As they lay there, still panting, the moon gleamed down in momentary
+graciousness. In front, through the lashing rain, they could discern the
+hillocks that squat, hag-like, round the Devil's Bowl; and lying in its
+bosom, its white waters, usually so still, ploughed now into a thousand
+furrows, the Lone Tarn.
+
+The Master raised his head and craned forward at the ghostly scene. Of
+a sudden he reared himself on to his arms, and stayed motionless awhile.
+Then he dropped as though dead, forcing down Andrew with an iron hand.
+
+“Lad, did'st see?” he whispered.
+
+“Nay; what was't?” the boy replied, roused by his father's tone.
+
+“There!”
+
+But as the Master pointed forward, a blur of cloud intervened and all
+was dark. Quickly it passed; and again the lantern of the night shone
+down. And Andrew, looking with all his eyes, saw indeed.
+
+There, in front, by the fretting waters of the Tarn, packed in a solid
+phalanx, with every head turned in the same direction, was a flock of
+sheep. They were motionless, all-intent, staring with horror-bulging
+eyes. A column of steam rose from their bodies into the rain-pierced
+air. Panting and palpitating, yet they stood with their backs to the
+water, as though determined to sell their lives dearly. Beyond them,
+not fifty yards away, crouched a humpbacked boulder, casting a long,
+misshapen shadow in the moonlight. And beneath it were two black
+objects, one still struggling feebly.
+
+“The Killer!” gasped the boy, and, all ablaze with excitement, began
+forging forward.
+
+“Steady, lad, steady!” urged his father, dropping a restraining hand on
+the boy's shoulder.
+
+Above them a huddle of clouds flung in furious rout across the night,
+and the moon was veiled.
+
+“Follow, lad!” ordered the Master, and began to crawl silently forward.
+As stealthily Andrew pursued. And over the sodden ground they crept, one
+behind the other, like two' night-hawks on some foul errand.
+
+On they crawled, lying prone during the blinks of moon, stealing forward
+in the dark; till, at length, the swish of the rain on the waters of the
+Tarn, and the sobbing of the flock in front, warned them they were near.
+
+They skirted the trembling pack, passing so close as to brush against
+the flanking sheep; and yet unnoticed, for the sheep were soul-absorbed
+in the tragedy in front. Only, when the moon was in, Andrew could hear
+them huddling and stamping in the darkness. And again, as it shone out,
+fearfully they edged closer to watch the bloody play.
+
+Along the Tarn edge the two crept. And still the gracious moon hid their
+approach, and the drunken wind drowned with its revelry the sound of
+their coming.
+
+So they stole on, on hands and knees, with hearts aghast and fluttering
+breath; until, of a sudden, in a lull of wind, they could hear, right
+before them, the smack and slobber of bloody lips, chewing their bloody
+meal.
+
+“Say thy prayers, Red Wull. Thy last minute's come!” muttered the
+Master, rising to his knees. Then, in Andrew's ear: “When I rush, lad,
+follow!” For he thought, when the moon rose, to jump in on the great
+dog, and, surprising him as he lay gorged and unsuspicious, to deal him
+one terrible swashing blow, and end forever the lawless doings of the
+Tailless Tyke.
+
+The moon flung off its veil of cloud. White and cold, it stared down
+into the Devil's Bowl; on murderer and murdered.
+
+Within a hand's cast of the avengers of blood humped the black boulder.
+On the border of its shadow lay a dead sheep; and standing beside the
+body, his coat all ruffled by the hand of the storm--Owd Bob--Owd Bob o'
+Kenmuir.
+
+Then the light went in, and darkness covered the land.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXIX THE DEVIL'S BOWL
+
+
+IT was Owd Bob. There could be no mistaking. In the wide world there
+was but one Owd Bob o' Kenmuir. The silver moon gleamed down on the dark
+head and rough gray coat, and lit the white escutcheon on his chest.
+
+And in the darkness James Moore was lying with his face pressed downward
+that he might not see.
+
+Once he raised himself on his arms; his eyes were shut and face
+uplifted, like a blind man praying. He passed a weary hand across his
+brow; his head dropped again; and he moaned and moaned like a man in
+everlasting pain.
+
+Then the darkness lifted a moment, and he stole a furtive glance, like a
+murderer's at the gallows-tree, at the scene in front.
+
+It was no dream; clear and cruel in the moonlight the humpbacked
+boulder; the dead sheep; and that gray figure, beautiful, motionless,
+damned for all eternity.
+
+The Master turned his face and looked at Andrew, a dumb, pitiful
+entreaty in his eyes; but in the boy's white, horror-stricken
+countenance was no comfort. Then his head lolled down again, and the
+strong man was whimpering.
+
+“He! he! he! 'Scuse ma laffin', Mr. Moore--he! he! he!”
+
+A little man, all wet and shrunk, sat hunching on a mound above them,
+rocking his shrivelled form to and fro in the agony of his merriment.
+
+“Ye raskil--he! he! Ye rogue--he! he!” and he shook his fist waggishly
+at the unconscious gray dog. “I owe ye anither grudge for this--ye've
+anteecipated me”--and he leant back and shook this way and that in
+convulsive mirth.
+
+The man below him rose heavily to his feet, and tumbled toward the
+mocker, his great figure swaying from side to side as though in blind
+delirium, moaning still as he went. And there was that on his face which
+no man can mistake. Boy that he was, Andrew knew it.
+
+“Feyther! feyther! do'ee not!” he pleaded, running after his father and
+laying impotent hands on him.
+
+But the strong man shook him off like a fly, and rolled on, swaying and
+groaning, with that awful expression plain to see in the moonlight.
+
+In front the little man squatted in the rain, bowed double still; and
+took no thought to flee.
+
+“Come on, James Moore! Come on!” he laughed, malignant joy in his voice;
+and something gleamed bright in his right hand, and was hid again. “I've
+bin waitin' this a weary while noo. Come on!”
+
+Then had there been done something worse than sheep-murder in the
+dreadful lonesomeness of the Devil's Bowl upon that night; but of
+a sudden, there sounded the splash of a man's foot, falling heavily
+behind; a hand like a falling tree smote the Master on the shoulder; and
+a voice roared above the noise of the storm:
+
+“Mr. Moore! Look, man! look!”
+
+The Master tried to shake off that detaining grasp; but it pinned him
+where he was, immovable.
+
+“Look, I tell yo'!” cried that great voice again.
+
+A hand pushed past him and pointed; and sullenly he turned, ignoring the
+figure at his side, and looked.
+
+The wind had dropped suddenly as it had risen; the little man on the
+mound had ceased to chuckle; Andrew's sobs were hushed; and in the
+background the huddled flock edged closer. The world hung balanced on
+the pinpoint of the moment. Every eye was in the one direction.
+
+With dull, uncomprehending gaze James Moore stared as bidden. There was
+the gray dog naked in the moonlight, heedless still of any witnesses;
+there the murdered sheep, lying within and without that distorted shade;
+and there the humpbacked boulder.
+
+He stared into the shadow, and still stared.
+
+Then he started as though struck. The shadow of the boulder had moved!
+
+Motionless, with head shot forward and bulging eyes, he gazed.
+
+Ay, ay, ay; he was sure of it--a huge dim outline as of a lion
+_couchant_, in the very thickest of the blackness.
+
+At that he was seized with such a palsy of trembling that he must have
+fallen but for the strong arm about his waist.
+
+Clearer every moment grew that crouching figure; till at length they
+plainly could discern the line of arching loins, the crest, thick as a
+stallion's, the massive, wagging head. No mistake this time. There he
+lay in the deepest black, gigantic, revelling in his horrid debauch--the
+Black Killer!
+
+And they watched him at his feast. Now he burrowed into the spongy
+flesh; now turned to lap the dark pool which glittered in the moonlight
+at his side like claret in a silver cup. Now lifting his head, he
+snapped irritably at the rain-drops, and the moon caught his wicked,
+rolling eye and the red shreds of flesh dripping from his jaw. And
+again, raising his great muzzle as if about to howl, he let the
+delicious nectar trickle down his throat and ravish his palate.
+
+So he went on, all unsuspicious, wisely nodding in slow-mouthed
+gluttony. And in the stillness, between the claps of wind, they could
+hear the smacking of his lips.
+
+While all the time the gray dog stood before him, motionless, as though
+carved in stone.
+
+At last, as the murderer rolled his great head from side to side, he saw
+that still figure. At the sight he leaped back, dismayed. Then with a
+deep-mouthed roar that shook the waters of the Tarn he was up and across
+his victim with fangs bared, his coat standing erect in wet, rigid
+furrows from topknot to tail.
+
+So the two stood, face to face, with perhaps a yard of rain-pierced air
+between them.
+
+The wind hushed its sighing to listen. The moon stared down, white
+and dumb. Away at the back the sheep edged closer. While save for the
+everlasting thunder of the rain, there was utter stillness.
+
+An age, it seemed, they waited so. Then a voice, clear yet low and far
+away, like a bugle in a distant city, broke the silence.
+
+“Eh, Wullie!” it said.
+
+There was no anger in the tones, only an incomparable reproach; the
+sound of the cracking of a man's heart.
+
+At the call the great dog leapt round, snarling in hideous passion. He
+saw the small, familiar figure, clear-cut against the tumbling sky; and
+for the only time in his life Red Wull was afraid.
+
+His blood-foe was forgotten; the dead sheep was forgotten; everything
+was sunk in the agony of that moment. He cowered upon the ground, and
+a cry like that of a lost soul was wrung from him; it rose on the still
+night air and floated, wailing, away; and the white waters of the Tarn
+thrilled in cold pity; out of the lonely hollow; over the desolate
+Marches; into the night.
+
+On the mound above stood his master. The little man's white hair was
+bared to the night wind; the rain trickled down his face; and his hands
+were folded behind his back. He stood there, looking down into the dell
+below him, as a man may stand at the tomb of his lately buried wife. And
+there was such an expression on his face as I cannot describe.
+
+“Wullie, Wullie, to me!” he cried at length; and his voice sounded weak
+and far, like a distant memory.
+
+At that, the huge brute came crawling toward him on his belly,
+whimpering as he came, very pitiful in his distress. He knew his fate as
+every sheep-dog knows it. That troubled him not. His pain, insufferable,
+was that this, his friend and father, who had trusted him, should have
+found him in his sin.
+
+So he crept up to his master's feet; and the little man never moved.
+
+“Wullie--ma Wullie!” he said very gently. “They've aye bin agin me--and
+noo you! A man's mither--a man's wife--a man's dog! they're all I've
+iver had; and noo ain o' they three has turned agin me! Indeed I am
+alone!”
+
+At that the great dog raised himself, and placing his forepaws on his
+master's chest tenderly, lest he should hurt him who was already hurt
+past healing, stood towering above him; while the little man laid his
+two colds hands on the dog's shoulders.
+
+So they stood, looking at one another, like a man and his love.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At M'Adam's word, Owd Bob looked up, and for the first time saw his
+master.
+
+He seemed in nowise startled, but trotted over to him. There was nothing
+fearful in his carriage, no haunting blood-guiltiness in the true gray
+eyes which never told a lie, which never, dog-like, failed to look you
+in the face. Yet his tail was low, and, as he stopped at his master's
+feet, he was quivering. For he, too, knew, and was not unmoved.
+
+For weeks he had tracked the Killer; for weeks he had followed him as he
+crossed Kenmuir, bound on his bloody errands; yet always had lost him on
+the Marches. Now, at last, he had run him to ground. Yet his heart went
+out to his enemy in his distress.
+
+“I thowt t'had been yo', lad,” the Master whispered, his hand on the
+dark head at his knee--“I thowt t'had bin yo'!”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Rooted to the ground, the three watched the scene between M'Adam and his
+Wull.
+
+In the end the Master was whimpering; Andrew crying; and David turned
+his back.
+
+At length, silent, they moved away.
+
+“Had I--should I go to him” asked David hoarsely, nodding toward his
+father.
+
+“Nay, nay, lad,” the Master replied. “Yon's not a matter for a mon's
+friends.”
+
+So they marched out of the Devil's Bowl, and left those two alone
+together.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A little later, as they trampled along, James Moore heard little
+pattering, staggering footsteps behind.
+
+He stopped, and the other two went on.
+
+“Man,” a voice whispered, and a face, white and pitiful, like a mother's
+pleading for her child, looked into his--“Man, ye'll no tell them a' I'd
+no like 'em to ken 'twas ma Wullie. Think an 't had bin yer ain dog.”
+
+“You may trust me!” the other answered thickly.
+
+The little man stretched out a palsied hand.
+
+“Gie us yer hand on't. And G-God bless ye, James Moore!”
+
+So these two shook hands in the moonlight, with none to witness it but
+the God who made them.
+
+And that is why the mystery of the Black Killer is yet unsolved in
+the Daleland. Many have surmised; besides those three only one other
+knows--knows now which of those two he saw upon a summer night was the
+guilty, which the innocent. And Postie Jim tells no man.
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXX. THE TAILLESS TYKE AT BAY
+
+
+ON the following morning there was a sheep-auction at the Dalesman's
+Daughter.
+
+Early as many of the farmers arrived, there was one earlier. Tupper, the
+first man to enter the sand-floored parlor, found M'Adam before him.
+
+He was sitting a little forward in his chair; his thin hands rested on
+his knees; and on his face was a gentle, dreamy expression such as no
+man had ever seen there before. All the harsh wrinkles seemed to have
+fled in the night; and the sour face, stamped deep with the bitterness
+of life, was softened now, as if at length at peace.
+
+“When I coom doon this mornin',” said Teddy Bolstock in a whisper, “I
+found 'im sittin' just so. And he's nor moved nor spoke since.”
+
+“Where's th' Terror, then?” asked Tupper, awed somehow into like hushed
+tones.
+
+“In t' paddock at back,” Teddy answered, “marchin' hoop and doon, hoop
+and doon, for a' the world like a sentry-soger. And so he was when I
+looked oot o' window when I wake.”
+
+Then Londesley entered, and after him, Ned Hoppin, Rob Saunderson, Jim
+Mason, and others, each with his dog. And each man, as he came in and
+saw the little lone figure for once without its huge attendant genius,
+put the same question; while the dogs sniffed about the little man, as
+though suspecting treachery. And all the time M'Adam sat as though
+he neither heard nor saw, lost in some sweet, sad dream; so quite, so
+silent, that more than one thought he slept.
+
+After the first glance, however, the farmers paid him little heed,
+clustering round the publican at the farther end of the room to hear the
+latest story of Owd Bob.
+
+It appeared that a week previously, James Moore with a pack of sheep had
+met the new Grammoch-town butcher at the Dalesmen's Daughter. A bargain
+concluded, the butcher started with the flock for home. As he had no
+dog, the Master offered him Th' Owd Un. “And he'll pick me i' th' town
+to-morrow,” said he.
+
+Now the butcher was a stranger in the land. Of course he had heard of
+Owd Bob o' Kenmuir, yet it never struck him that this handsome gentleman
+with the quiet, resolute manner, who handled sheep as he had never seen
+them handled, was that hero--“the best sheep-dog in the North.”
+
+Certain it is that by the time the flock was penned in the enclosure
+behind the shop, he coveted the dog--ay, would even offer ten pounds for
+him!
+
+Forthwith the butcher locked him up in an outhouse--summit of indignity;
+resolving to make his offer on the morrow.
+
+When the morrow came he found no dog in the outhouse, and, worse, no
+sheep in the enclosure. A sprung board showed the way of escape of the
+one, and a displaced hurdle that of the other. And as he was making the
+discovery, a gray dog and a flock of sheep, travelling along the road
+toward the Dalesman's Daughter, met the Master.
+
+From the first, Owd Bob had mistrusted the man. The attempt to confine
+him set the seal on his suspicions. His master's sheep were not for such
+a rogue; and he worked his own way out and took the sheep along with
+him.
+
+The story was told to a running chorus of--“Ma word! Good, Owd Un!--Ho!
+ho! did he thot?”
+
+Of them all, only M'Adam sat strangely silent.
+
+Rob Saunderson, always glad to draw the little man, remarked it.
+
+“And what d'yo' think o' that, Mr. M'Adam, for a wunnerfu' story of a
+wunnerfu' tyke?” he asked.
+
+“It's a gude tale, a vera gude tale,” the little man answered dreamily.
+“And James Moore didna invent it; he had it from the Christmas number
+o' the _Flock-keeper_ in saxty.” (On the following Sunday, old Rob, from
+sheer curiosity, reached down from his shelf the specified number of the
+paper. To his amazement he found the little man was right. There was the
+story almost identically. None the less is it also true of Owd Bob o'
+Kenmuir.)
+
+“Ay, ay,” the little man continued, “and in a day or two James Moore'll
+ha' anither tale to tell ye--a better tale, ye'll think it--mair
+laffable. And yet--ay---no---I'll no believe it! I niver loved James
+Moore, but I think, as Mr. Hornbut aince said, he'd rather die than lie.
+Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!” he continued in a whisper. “Up till the end I canna
+shake him aff. Hafflins I think that where I'm gaein' to there'll be
+gray dogs sneakin' around me in the twilight. And they're aye behind and
+behind, and I canna, canna--”
+
+Teddy Bolstock interrupted, lifting his hand for silence.
+
+“D'yo' hear thot?--Thunder!”
+
+They listened; and from without came a gurgling, jarring roar, horrible
+to hear.
+
+“It's comin' nearer!”
+
+“Nay, it's goin' away!”
+
+“No thunder thot!”
+
+“More like the Lea in flood. And yet--Eh, Mr. M'Adam, what is it?”
+
+The little man had moved at last. He was on his feet, staring about him,
+wild-eyed.
+
+“Where's yer dogs?” he almost screamed.
+
+“Here's ma--Nay, by thunder! but he's not!” was the astonished cry.
+
+In the interest of the story no man had noticed that his dog had risen
+from his side; no one had noticed a file of shaggy figures creeping out
+of the room.
+
+“I tell ye it's the tykes! I tell ye it's the tykes! They're on ma
+Wullie--fifty to one they're on him! My God! My God! And me not there!
+Wullie, Wullie! “--in a scream--“I'm wi' ye!”
+
+At the same moment Bessie Boistock rushed in, white-faced.
+
+“Hi! Feyther! Mr. Saunderson! all o' you! T'tykes fightin' mad! Hark!”
+
+There was no time for that. Each man seized his stick and rushed for the
+door; and M'Adam led them all.
+
+A rare thing it was for M'Adam and Red Wull to be apart. So rare, that
+others besides the men in that little tap-room noticed it.
+
+Saunderson's old Shep walked quietly to the back door of the house and
+looked out.
+
+There on the slope below him he saw what he sought, stalking up and
+down, gaunt and grim, like a lion at feeding-time. And as the old dog
+watched, his tail was gently swaying as though he were well pleased.
+
+He walked back into the tap-room just as Teddy began his tale. Twice
+he made the round of the room, silent-footed. From dog to dog he went,
+stopping at each as though urging him on to some great enterprise. Then
+he made for the door again, looking back to see if any followed.
+
+One by one the others rose and trailed out after him: big blue Rasper,
+Londesley's Lassie, Ned Hoppin's young dog; Grip and Grapple, the
+publican's bull-terriers; Jim Mason's Gyp, foolish and flirting even
+now; others there were; and last of all, waddling heavily in the rear,
+that scarred Amazon, the Venus.
+
+Out of the house they pattered, silent and unseen, with murder in their
+hearts. At last they had found their enemy alone. And slowly, in a black
+cloud, like the shadow of death, they dropped down the slope upon him.
+
+And he saw them coming, knew their errand--as who should better than the
+Terror of the Border?--and was glad. Death it might be, and such an
+one as he would wish to die--at least distraction from that long-drawn,
+haunting pain. And he smiled grimly as he looked at the approaching
+crowd, and saw there was not one there but he had humbled in his time.
+
+He ceased his restless pacing, and awaited them. His great head was high
+as he scanned them contemptuously, daring them to come on.
+
+And on they came, marching slow and silent like soldiers at a funeral:
+young and old; bob-tailed and bull; terrier and collie; flocking like
+vultures to the dead. And the Venus, heavy with years, rolled after them
+on her bandy legs panting in her hurry lest she should be late. For had
+she not the blood of her blood to avenge?
+
+So they came about him, slow, certain, murderous, opening out to cut
+him off on every side. There was no need. He never thought to move. Long
+odds 'twould be--crushingly heavy; yet he loved them for it, and was
+trembling already with the glory of the coming fight.
+
+They were up to him now; the sheep-dogs walking round him on their toes,
+stiff and short like cats on coals; their hacks a little humped; heads
+averted; yet eying him askance.
+
+And he remained stock-still nor looked at them. His great chin was
+cocked, and his muzzle wrinkled in a dreadful grin. As he stood there,
+shivering a little, his eyes rolling back, his breath grating in his
+throat to set every bristle on end, he looked a devil indeed.
+
+The Venus ranged alongside him. No preliminary stage for her; she never
+walked where she could stand, or stood where she could lie. But stand
+she must now, breathing hard through her nose, never taking her eyes off
+that pad she had marked for her own. Close beside her were crop-eared
+Grip and Grapple, looking up at the line above them where hairy neck and
+shoulder joined. Behind was big Rasper, and close to him Lassie. Of the
+others, each had marked his place, each taken up his post.
+
+Last of all, old Shep took his stand full in front of his enemy, their
+shoulders almost rubbing, head past head.
+
+So the two stood a moment, as though they were whispering; each
+diabolical, each rolling back his eyes to watch the other. While from
+the little mob there rose a snarling, bubbling snore, like some giant
+wheezing in his sleep.
+
+Then like lightning each struck. Rearing high, they wrestled with
+striving paws and the expression of fiends incarnate. Down they went,
+Shep underneath, and the great dog with a dozen of these wolves of hell
+upon him. Rasper, devilish, was riding on his back; the Venus--well for
+him!--had struck and missed; but Grip and Grapple had their hold; and
+the others, like leaping demoniacs, were plunging into the whirlpool
+vortex of the fight.
+
+And there, where a fortnight before he had fought and lost the battle of
+the Cup, Red Wull now battled for his life.
+
+Long odds! But what cared he? The long-drawn agony of the night was
+drowned in that glorious delirium. The hate of years came bubbling
+forth. In that supreme moment he would avenge his wrongs. And he went in
+to fight, revelling like a giant in the red lust of killing.
+
+Long odds! Never before had he faced such a galaxy of foes. His one
+chance lay in quickness: to prevent the swarming crew getting their hold
+till at least he had diminished their numbers.
+
+Then it was a sight to see the great brute, huge as a bull-calf, strong
+as a bull, rolling over and over and up again, quick as a kitten;
+leaping here, striking there; shaking himself free; swinging his
+quarters; fighting with feet and body and teeth--every inch of him at
+war. More than once he broke right through the mob; only to turn again
+and face it. No flight for him; nor thought of it.
+
+Up and down the slope the dark mass tossed, like some hulk the sport
+of the waves. Black and white, sable and gray, worrying at that great
+centre-piece. Up and down, roaming wide, leaving everywhere a trail of
+red.
+
+Gyp he had pinned and hurled over his shoulder. Grip followed; he shook
+her till she rattled, then flung her afar; and she fell with a horrid
+thud, not to rise. While Grapple, the death to avenge, hung tighter. In
+a scarlet, soaking patch of the ground lay Big Bell's lurcher, doubled
+up in a dreadful ball. And Hoppin's young dog, who three hours before
+had been the children's tender playmate, now fiendish to look on,
+dragged after the huddle up the hill. Back the mob rolled on her. When
+it was passed, she lay quite still, grinning; a handful of tawny hair
+and flesh in her dead mouth.
+
+So they fought on. And ever and anon a great figure rose up from the
+heaving inferno all around; rearing to his full height, his head ragged
+and bleeding, the red foam dripping from his jaws. Thus he would appear
+momentarily, like some dark rock amid a raging sea; and down he would go
+again.
+
+Silent now they fought, dumb and determined. Only you might have heard
+the rend and rip of tearing flesh; a hoarse gurgle as some dog went
+down; the panting of dry throats; and now and then a sob from that
+central figure. For he was fighting for his life. The Terror of the
+Border was at bay.
+
+All who meant it were on him now. The Venus, blinded with blood, had her
+hold at last; and never but once in a long life of battles had she let
+go; Rasper, his breath coming in rattles, had him horribly by the loins;
+while a dozen other devils with red eyes and wrinkled nostrils clung
+still.
+
+Long odds! And down he went, smothered beneath the weight of numbers,
+yet struggled up again. His great head was torn and dripping; his eyes a
+gleam of rolling red and white; the little tail stern and stiff like
+the gallant stump of a flagstaff shot away. He was desperate, but
+indomitable; and he sobbed as he fought doggedly on.
+
+Long odds! It could not last. And down he went at length, silent
+still--never a cry should they wring from him in his agony; the Venus
+glued to that mangled pad; Rasper beneath him now; three at his throat;
+two at his ears; a crowd on flanks and body.
+
+The Terror of the Border was down at last!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+“Wullie, ma Wullie!” screamed M'Adam, bounding down the slope a crook's
+length in front of the rest. “Wullie! Wullie! to me!”
+
+At the shrill cry the huddle below was convulsed. It heaved and swelled
+and dragged to and fro, like the sea lashed into life by some dying
+leviathan.
+
+A gigantic figure, tawny and red, fought its way to the surface. A great
+tossing head, bloody past recognition, flung out from the ruck. One
+quick glance he shot from his ragged eyes at the little flying form in
+front; then with a roar like a waterfall plunged toward it, shaking off
+the bloody leeches as he went.
+
+“Wullie! Wullie! I'm wi' ye!” cried that little voice, now so near.
+
+Through--through--through!--an incomparable effort and his last. They
+hung to his throat, they clung to his muzzle, they were round and about
+him. And down he went again with a sob and a little suffocating cry,
+shooting up at his master one quick, beseeching glance as the sea of
+blood closed over him--worrying, smothering, tearing, like foxhounds at
+the kill.
+
+They left the dead and pulled away the living. And it was no light task,
+for the pack were mad for blood.
+
+At the bottom of the wet mess of hair and red and flesh was old Shep,
+stone-dead. And as Saunderson pulled the body out, his face was working;
+for no man can lose in a crack the friend of a dozen years, and remain
+unmoved.
+
+The Venus lay there, her teeth clenched still in death; smiling that her
+vengeance was achieved. Big Rasper, blue no longer, was gasping out his
+life. Two more came crawling out to find a quiet spot where they might
+lay them down to die. Before the night had fallen another had gone to
+his account. While not a dog who fought upon that day but carried the
+scars of it with him to his grave.
+
+The Terror o' th' Border, terrible in his life, like Samson, was yet
+more terrible in his dying.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Down at the bottom lay that which once had been Adam M'Adam's Red Wull.
+
+At the sight the little man neither raved nor swore: it was past that
+for him. He sat down, heedless of the soaking ground, and took the
+mangled head in his lap very tenderly.
+
+“They've done ye at last, Wullie--they've done ye at last,” he said
+quietly; unalterably convinced that the attack had been organized while
+he was detained in the tap-room.
+
+On hearing the loved little voice, the dog gave one weary wag of his
+stump-tail. And with that the Tailless Tyke, Adam M'Adam's Red Wull, the
+Black Killer, went to his long home.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+One by one the Dalesmen took away their dead, and the little man was
+left alone with the body of his last friend.
+
+Dry-eyed he sat there, nursing the dead dog's head; hour after
+hour--alone--crooning to himself:
+
+     “'Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought,
+     An' wi' the weary warl' fought!
+     An'  mony an anxious day I thought
+     We wad be beat.'
+
+An' noo we are, Wullie--noo we are!”
+
+So he went on, repeating the lines over and over again, always with the
+same sad termination.
+
+“A man's mither--a man's wife--a man's dog! They three are a' little
+M'Adam iver had to back him! D'ye mind the auld mither, Wullie? And her,
+'Niver be down-hearted, Adam; ye've aye got yer mither,' And ae day I
+had not. And Flora, Wullie (ye remember Flora, Wullie? Na, na; ye'd
+not) wi' her laffin' daffin' manner, cryin' to one: 'Adam, ye say ye're
+alane. But ye've me--is that no enough for ony man?' And God kens
+it was--while it lasted!” He broke down and sobbed a while. “And you
+Wullie--and you! the only man friend iver I had!” He sought the dog's
+bloody paw with his right hand.
+
+     “'An' here's a hand, my trusty fier,
+     An gie's a hand o' thine;
+     An'  we'll tak' a right guid willie-waught,
+     For auld lang syne.'”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He sat there, muttering, and stroking the poor head upon his lap,
+bending over it, like a mother over a sick child.
+
+“They've done ye at last, lad--done ye sair. And noo I'm thinkin'
+they'll no rest content till I'm gone. And oh, Wullie!”--he bent down
+and whispered--“I dreamed sic an awfu' thing--that ma Wullie--but there!
+'twas but a dream.”
+
+So he sat on, crooning to the dead dog; and no man approached him. Only
+Bessie of the inn watched the little lone figure from afar.
+
+It was long past noon when at length he rose, laying the dog's head
+reverently down, and tottered away toward that bridge which once the
+dead thing on the slope had held against a thousand.
+
+He crossed it and turned; there was a look upon his face, half hopeful,
+half fearful, very piteous to see.
+
+“Wullie, Wullie, to me!” he cried; only the accents, formerly so fiery,
+were now weak as a dying man's.
+
+A while he waited in vain.
+
+“Are ye no comin', Wullie?” he asked at length in quavering tones.
+“Ye've not used to leave me.”
+
+He walked away a pace, then turned again and whistled that shrill, sharp
+call, only now it sounded like a broken echo of itself.
+
+“Come to me, Wullie!” he implored, very pitifully. “'Tis the first time
+iver I kent ye not come and me whistlin'. What ails ye, lad?”
+
+He recrossed the bridge, walking blindly like a sobbing child; and yet
+dry-eyed.
+
+Over the dead body he stooped.
+
+“What ails ye, Wullie?” he asked again. “Will you, too, leave me?”
+
+Then Bessie, watching fearfully, saw him bend, sling the great body on
+his back, and stagger away.
+
+Limp and hideous, the carcase hung down from the little man's shoulders.
+The huge head, with grim, wide eyes and lolling tongue, jolted and
+swagged with the motion, seeming to grin a ghastly defiance at the world
+it had left. And the last Bessie saw of them was that bloody, rolling
+head, with the puny legs staggering beneath their load, as the two
+passed out of the world's ken.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the Devil's Bowl, next day, they found the pair: Adam M'Adam and his
+Red Wull, face to face; dead, not divided; each, save for the other,
+alone. The dog, his saturnine expression glazed and ghastly in the
+fixedness of death, propped up against that humpbacked boulder beneath
+which, a while before, the Black Killer had dreed his weird; and, close
+by, his master lying on his back, his dim dead eyes staring up at the
+heaven, one hand still clasping a crumpled photograph; the weary body
+at rest at last, the mocking face--mocking no longer--alight with a
+whole-souled, transfiguring happiness.
+
+
+
+
+POSTSCRIPT
+
+
+Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull lie buried together: one just within, the
+other just without, the consecrated pale.
+
+The only mourners at the funeral were David, James Moore, Maggie, and a
+gray dog peering through the lych-gate.
+
+During the service a carriage stopped at the churchyard, and a lady with
+a stately figure and a gentle face stepped out and came across the grass
+to pay a last tribute to the dead. And Lady Eleanour, as she joined
+the little group about the grave, seemed to notice a more than usual
+solemnity in the parson's voice as he intoned: “Earth to earth--ashes
+to ashes--dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to
+eternal life.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When you wander in the gray hill-country of the North, in the loneliest
+corner of that lonely land you may chance upon a low farmhouse, lying in
+the shadow of the Muir Pike.
+
+Entering, a tall old man comes out to greet you--the Master of Kenmuir.
+His shoulders are bent now; the hair that was so dark is frosted; but
+the blue-gray eyes look you as proudly in the face as of yore.
+
+And while the girl with the glory of yellow hair is preparing food for
+you--they are hospitable to a fault, these Northerners--you will notice
+on the mantelpiece, standing solitary, a massive silver cup, dented.
+
+That is the world-known Shepherds' Trophy, won outright, as the old man
+will tell you, by Owd Bob, last and best of the Gray Dogs of Kenmuir.
+The last because he is the best; because once, for a long-drawn unit of
+time, James Moore had thought him to be the worst.
+
+When at length you take your leave, the old man accompanies you to the
+top of the slope to point you your way.
+
+“Yo' cross the stream; over Langholm How, yonder; past the Bottom; and
+oop th' hill on far side. Yo'll come on th' house o' top. And happen
+yo'll meet Th' Owd Un on the road. Good-day to you, sir, good-day.”
+
+So you go as he has bidden you; across the stream, skirting the How,
+over the gulf and up the hill again.
+
+On the way, as the Master has foretold, you come upon an old gray dog,
+trotting soberly along. Th' Owd Un, indeed, seems to spend the evening
+of his life going thus between Kenmuir and the Grange. The black muzzle
+is almost white now; the gait, formerly so smooth and strong, is stiff
+and slow; venerable, indeed, is he of whom men still talk as the best
+sheep-dog in the North.
+
+As he passes, he pauses to scan you. The noble head is high, and one
+foot raised; and you look into two big gray eyes such as you have never
+seen before--soft, a little dim, and infinitely sad.
+
+That is Owd Bob o' Kenmuir, of whom the tales are many as the flowers on
+the May. With him dies the last of the immortal line of the Gray Dogs of
+Kenmuir.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+You travel on up the bill, something pensive, and knock at the door of
+the house on the top.
+
+A woman, comely with the inevitable comeliness of motherhood, opens to
+you. And nestling in her arms is a little boy with golden hair and happy
+face, like one of Correggio's cherubs.
+
+You ask the child his name. He kicks and crows, and looks up at his
+mother; and in the end lisps roguishly, as if it was the merriest joke
+in all this merry world, “Adum Mataddum.”
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Bob, Son of Battle, by Alfred Ollivant
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diff --git a/2795-0.zip b/2795-0.zip
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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Bob, Son of Battle, by Alfred Ollivant
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Bob, Son of Battle
+
+Author: Alfred Ollivant
+
+Posting Date: December 8, 2008 [EBook #2795]
+Release Date: February, 2007
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BOB, SON OF BATTLE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer
+
+
+
+
+
+BOB, SON OF BATTLE
+
+By Alfred Ollivant
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+     PART I  THE COMING OF THE TAILLESS TYKE
+     Chapter I. The Gray Dog
+     Chapter II. A Son of Hagar
+     Chapter III. Red Wull
+     Chapter IV. First Blood
+
+
+     PART II THE LITTLE MAN
+     Chapter V. A Man's Son
+     Chapter VI. A Licking or a Lie
+     Chapter VII. The White Winter
+     Chapter VIII. M'Adam and His Coat
+
+
+     PART III THE SHEPHERDS' TROPHY
+     Chapter IX. Rivals,
+     Chapter X. Red Wull Wins
+     Chapter XI. Oor Bob,
+     Chapter XII. How Red Wull Held the Bridge
+     Chapter XIII. The Face in the Frame
+
+
+     PART IV THE BLACK KILLER
+     Chapter XIV. A Mad Man
+     Chapter XV. Death on the Marches,
+     Chapter XVI. The Black Killer
+     Chapter XVII. A Mad Dog
+     Chapter XVIII. How the Killer was Singed
+     Chapter XIX. Lad and Lass
+     Chapter XX. The Snapping of the String
+     Chapter XXI. Horror of Darkness
+
+
+     PART V OWD BOB O' KENMUIR
+     Chapter XXII. A Man and a Maid
+     Chapter XXIII. Th' Owd Un
+     Chapter XXIV. A Shot in the Night
+     Chapter XXV. The Shepherds' Trophy.
+
+
+     PART VI  THE BLACK KILLER
+     Chapter XXVI. Red-handed
+     Chapter XXVII. For the Defence
+     Chapter XXVIII. The Devil's Bowl
+     Chapter XXIX. The Devil's Bowl
+     Chapter XXX. The Tailless Tyke at Bay
+
+
+     Postscript
+
+
+
+
+PART I THE COMING OF THE TAILLESS TYKE
+
+
+
+Chapter I. THE GRAY DOG
+
+
+THE sun stared brazenly down on a gray farmhouse lying, long and low
+in the shadow of the Muir Pike; on the ruins of peel-tower and barmkyn,
+relics of the time of raids, it looked; on ranges of whitewashed
+outbuildings; on a goodly array of dark-thatched ricks.
+
+In the stack-yard, behind the lengthy range of stables, two men were
+thatching. One lay sprawling on the crest of the rick, the other stood
+perched on a ladder at a lower level.
+
+The latter, small, old, with shrewd nut-brown countenance, was Tammas
+Thornton, who had served the Moores of Kenmuir for more than half a
+century. The other, on top of the stack, wrapped apparently in gloomy
+meditation, was Sam'l Todd. A solid Dales--man, he, with huge hands and
+hairy arms; about his face an uncomely aureole of stiff, red hair; and
+on his features, deep-seated, an expression of resolute melancholy.
+
+"Ay, the Gray Dogs, bless 'em!" the old man was saying. "Yo' canna beat
+'em not nohow. Known 'em ony time this sixty year, I have, and niver
+knew a bad un yet. Not as I say, mind ye, as any on 'em cooms up to Rex
+son o' Rally. Ah, he was a one, was Rex! We's never won Cup since his
+day."
+
+"Nor niver shall agin, yo' may depend," said the other gloomily.
+
+Tammas clucked irritably.
+
+"G'long, Sam'! Todd!" he cried, "Yo' niver happy onless yo' making'
+yo'self miser'ble. I niver see sich a chap. Niver win agin? Why, oor
+young Bob he'll mak' a right un, I tell yo', and I should know. Not as
+what he'll touch Rex son o' Rally, mark ye! I'm niver saying' so, Sam'l
+Todd. Ah, he was a one, was Rex! I could tell yo' a tale or two o' Rex.
+I mind me hoo--"
+
+The big man interposed hurriedly.
+
+"I've heard it afore, Tammas, I welly 'ave," he said.
+
+Tammas paused and looked angrily up.
+
+"Yo've heard it afore, have yo', Sam'l Todd?" he asked sharply. "And
+what have yo' heard afore?"
+
+"Yo' stories, owd lad--yo' stories o' Rex son o' Rally."
+
+"Which on' em
+
+"All on 'em, Tammas, all on 'em--mony a time. I'm fair sick on 'em,
+Tammas, I welly am," he pleaded.
+
+The old man gasped. He brought down his mallet with a vicious smack.
+
+"I'll niver tell yo' a tale agin, Sam'l Todd, not if yo' was to go on
+yo' bended knees for't. Nay; it bain't no manner o' use talkin'. Niver
+agin, says I."
+
+"I niver askt yo'," declared honest Sam'l.
+
+"Nor it wouldna ha' bin no manner o' use if yo' had," said the other
+viciously. "I'll niver tell yo' a tale agin if I was to live to be a
+hunderd."
+
+"Yo'll not live to be a hunderd, Tammas Thornton, nor near it," said
+Sam'l brutally.
+
+"I'll live as long as some, I warrant," the old man replied with spirit.
+"I'll live to see Cup back i' Kenmuir, as I said afore."
+
+"If yo' do," the other declared with emphasis, "Sam'l Todd niver spake a
+true word. Nay, nay, lad; yo're owd, yo're wambly, your time's near run
+or I'm the more mistook."
+
+"For mussy's sake hold yo' tongue, Sam'l Todd! It's clack-clack all
+day--" The old man broke off suddenly, and buckled to his work with
+suspicious vigor. "Mak' a show yo' bin workin', lad," he whispered.
+"Here's Master and oor Bob."
+
+As he spoke, a tall gaitered man with weather-beaten face, strong, lean,
+austere, and the blue-gray eyes of the hill-country, came striding into
+the yard. And trotting soberly at his heels, with the gravest, saddest
+eyes ever you saw, a sheep-dog puppy.
+
+A rare dark gray he was, his long coat, dashed here and there with
+lighter touches, like a stormy sea moonlit. Upon his chest an escutcheon
+of purest white, and the dome of his head showered, as it were, with
+a sprinkling of snow. Perfectly compact, utterly lithe, inimitably
+graceful with his airy-fairy action; a gentleman every inch, you could
+not help but stare at him--Owd Bob o' Kenmuir.
+
+At the foot of the ladder the two stopped. And the young dog, placing
+his forepaws on a lower rung, looked up, slowly waving his silvery
+brush.
+
+"A proper Gray Dog!" mused Tammas, gazing down into the dark face
+beneath him. "Small, yet big; light to get about on backs o' his sheep,
+yet not too light. Wi' a coat hard a-top to keep oot Daleland weather,
+soft as sealskin beneath. And wi' them sorrerful eyes on him as niver
+goes but wi' a good un. Amaist he minds me o' Rex son o' Rally."
+
+"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" groaned Sam'l. But the old man heard him not.
+
+"Did 'Enry Farewether tell yo' hoo he acted this mornin', Master?" he
+inquired, addressing the man at the foot of the ladder.
+
+"Nay," said the other, his stern eyes lighting.
+
+"Why, 'twas this way, it seems," Tammas continued. "Young bull gets
+'isseif loose, somegate and marches oot into yard, o'erturns milkpail,
+and prods owd pigs i' ribs. And as he stands lookin' about un, thinking'
+what he shall be up to next, oor Bob sees un 'An' what yo' doin' here,
+Mr. Bull?' he seems to say, cockin' his ears and trottin' up gay-like.
+Wi' that bull bloats fit to bust 'isseif, lashes wi's tail, waggles his
+head, and gets agate o' chargin' 'im. But Bob leaps oot o' way, quick
+as lightnin' yet cool as butter, and when he's done his foolin drives un
+back agin."
+
+"Who seed all this?" interposed Sam'l, sceptically.
+
+"'Enry Farewether from the loft. So there, Fat'ead!" Tammas replied, and
+continued his tale. "So they goes on; bull chargin' and Bob drivin'
+un back and back, hoppin' in and oot agin, quiet as a cowcumber, yet
+determined. At last Mr. Bull sees it's no manner o' use that gate, so he
+turns, rares up, and tries to jump wall. Nary a bit. Young dog jumps
+in on un and nips him by tail. Wi' that, bull tumbles down in a hurry,
+turns wi' a kind o' groan, and marches back into stall, Bob after un.
+And then, dang me!"--the old man beat the ladder as he loosed off this
+last titbit,--"if he doesna sit' isseif i' door like a sentrynel till
+'Enry Farewether coom up. Hoo's that for a tyke not yet a year?"
+
+Even Sam'l Todd was moved by the tale.
+
+"Well done, oor Bob!" he cried.
+
+"Good, lad!" said the Master, laying a hand on the dark head at his
+knee.
+
+"Yo' may well say that," cried Tammas in a kind of ecstasy. "A proper
+Gray Dog, I tell yo'. Wi' the brains of a man and the way of a woman.
+Ah, yo' canna beat 'em nohow, the Gray Dogs o' Kenmuir!"
+
+The patter of cheery feet rang out on the plank-bridge over the stream
+below them. Tammas glanced round.
+
+"Here's David," he said. "Late this mornin' he be."
+
+A fair-haired boy came spurring up the slope, his face all aglow with
+the speed of his running. Straightway the young dog dashed off to
+meet him with a fiery speed his sober gait belied. The two raced back
+together into the yard.
+
+"Poor lad!" said Sam'l gloomily, regarding the newcomer.
+
+"Poor heart!" muttered Tammas. While the Master's face softened visibly.
+Yet there looked little to pity in this jolly, rocking lad with the
+tousle of light hair and fresh, rosy countenance.
+
+"G'mornin', Mister Moore! Morn'n, Tammas! Morn'n, Sam'l!" he panted as
+he passed; and ran on through the hay-carpeted yard, round the corner of
+the stable, and into the house.
+
+In the kitchen, a long room with red-tiled floor and latticed windows,
+a woman, white-aproned and frail-faced, was bustling about her morning
+business. To her skirts clung a sturdy, bare-legged boy; while at
+the oak table in the centre of the room a girl with brown eyes and
+straggling hair was seated before a basin of bread and milk.
+
+"So yo've coom at last, David!" the woman cried, as the boy entered;
+and, bending, greeted him with a tender, motherly salutation, which he
+returned as affectionately. "I welly thowt yo'd forgot us this mornin'.
+Noo sit you' doon beside oor Maggie." And soon he, too, was engaged in a
+task twin to the girl's.
+
+The two children munched away in silence, the little bare-legged boy
+watching them, the while, critically. Irritated by this prolonged stare,
+David at length turned on him.
+
+"Weel, little Andrew," he said, speaking in that paternal fashion in
+which one small boy loves to address another. "Weel, ma little lad,
+yo'm coomin' along gradely." He leant back in his chair the better to
+criticise his subject. But Andrew, like all the Moores, slow of speech,
+preserved a stolid silence, sucking a chubby thumb, and regarding his
+patron a thought cynically.
+
+David resented the expression on the boy's countenance, and half rose to
+his feet.
+
+"Yo' put another face on yo', Andrew Moore," he cried threateningly, "or
+I'll put it for yo'."
+
+Maggie, however, interposed opportunely.
+
+"Did yo' feyther beat yo' last night?" she inquired in a low voice; and
+there was a shade of anxiety in the soft brown eyes.
+
+"Nay," the boy answered; "he was a-goin' to, but he never did. Drunk,"
+he added in explanation.
+
+"What was he goin' to beat yo' for, David?" asked Mrs. Moore.
+
+"What for? Why, for the fun o't--to see me squiggle," the boy replied,
+and laughed bitterly.
+
+"Yo' shouldna speak so o' your dad, David," reproved the other as
+severely as was in her nature.
+
+"Dad! a fine dad! I'd dad him an I'd the chance," the boy muttered
+beneath his breath. Then, to turn the conversation:
+
+"Us should be startin', Maggie," he said, and going to the door. "Bob!
+Owd Bob, lad! Ar't coomin' along?" he called.
+
+The gray dog came springing up like an antelope, and the three started
+off for school together.
+
+Mrs. Moore stood in the doorway, holding Andrew by the hand, and watched
+the departing trio.
+
+"'Tis a pretty pair, Master, surely," she said softly to her husband,
+who came up at the moment.
+
+"Ay, he'll be a fine lad if his fether'll let him," the tall man
+answered.
+
+"Tis a shame Mr. M'Adam should lead him such a life," the woman
+continued indignantly. She laid a hand on her husband's arm, and looked
+up at him coaxingly.
+
+"Could yo' not say summat to un, Master, think 'ee? Happen he'd 'tend
+to you," she pleaded. For Mrs. Moore imagined that there could be no one
+but would gladly heed what James Moore, Master of Kenmuir, might say
+to him. "He's not a bad un at bottom, I do believe," she continued. "He
+never took on so till his missus died. Eh, but he was main fond o' her."
+
+Her husband shook his head "Nay, mother," he said "'Twould nob' but
+mak' it worse for t' lad. M'Adam'd listen to no one, let alone me." And,
+indeed, he was right; for the tenant of the Grange made no secret of his
+animosity for his straight-going, straight-speaking neighbor.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Owd Bob, in the mean time, had escorted the children to the larch-copse
+bordering on the lane which leads to the village. Now he crept
+stealthily back to the yard, and established himself behind the
+water-butt.
+
+How he played and how he laughed; how he teased old Whitecap till that
+gray gander all but expired of apoplexy and impotence; how he ran the
+roan bull-calf, and aroused the bitter wrath of a portly sow, mother of
+many, is of no account.
+
+At last, in the midst of his merry mischief-making, a stern voice
+arrested him.
+
+"Bob, lad, I see 'tis time we larned you yo' letters."
+
+So the business of life began for that dog of whom the simple
+farmer-folk of the Daleland still love to talk,--Bob, son of Battle,
+last of the Gray Dogs of Kenmuir.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter II. A SON OF HAGAR
+
+
+It is a lonely country, that about the Wastrel-dale.
+
+Parson Leggy Hornbut will tell you that his is the smallest church in
+the biggest parish north of the Derwent, and that his cure numbers more
+square miles than parishioners. Of fells and ghylls it consists, of
+becks and lakes; with here a scattered hamlet and there a solitary hill
+sheep-farm. It is a country in which sheep are paramount; and every
+other Dalesman is engaged in that profession which is as old as Abel.
+And the talk of the men of the land is of wethers and gimmers, of
+tup-hoggs, ewe tegs in wool, and other things which are but fearsome
+names to you and me; and always of the doings or misdoings, the
+intelligence or stupidity, of their adjutants, the sheep-dogs.
+
+Of all the Daleland, the country from the Black Water to Grammoch Pike
+is the wildest. Above the tiny stone-built village of Wastrel-dale the
+Muir Pike nods its massive head. Westward, the desolate Mere Marches,
+from which the Sylvesters' great estate derives its name, reach away in
+mile on mile of sheep infested, wind-swept moorland. On the far side of
+the Marches is that twin dale where flows the gentle Silver Lea. And it
+is there in the paddocks at the back of the Dalesman's Daughter, that,
+in the late summer months, the famous sheep-dog Trials of the North are
+held. There that the battle for the Dale Cup, the world-known Shepherds'
+Trophy, is fought out.
+
+Past the little inn leads the turnpike road to the market-centre of the
+district--Grammoch-town. At the bottom of the paddocks at the back of
+the inn winds the Silver Lea. Just there a plank bridge crosses the
+stream, and, beyond, the Murk Muir Pass crawls up the sheer side of the
+Scaur on to the Mere Marches.
+
+At the head of the Pass, before it debouches on to those lonely
+sheep-walks which divide the two dales, is that hollow, shuddering with
+gloomy possibilities, aptly called the Devil's Bowl. In its centre the
+Lone Tarn, weirdly suggestive pool, lifts its still face to the sky. It
+was beside that black, frozen water, across whose cold surface the storm
+was swirling in white snow-wraiths, that, many, many years ago (not in
+this century), old Andrew Moore came upon the mother of the Gray Dogs of
+Kenmuir.
+
+In the North, every one who has heard of the Muir Pike--and who has
+not?--has heard of the Gray Dogs of Kenmuir, every one who has heard
+of the Shepherd's Trophy--and who has not?--knows their fame. In that
+country of good dogs and jealous masters the pride of place has long
+been held unchallenged. Whatever line may claim to follow the Gray Dogs
+always lead the van. And there is a saying in the land: "Faithfu' as the
+Moores and their tykes."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On the top dresser to the right of the fireplace in the kitchen
+of Kenmuir lies the family Bible. At the end you will find a loose
+sheet--the pedigree of the Gray Dogs; at the beginning, pasted on the
+inside, an almost similar sheet, long since yellow with age--the family
+register of the Moores of Kenmuir.
+
+Running your eye down the loose leaf, once, twice, and again it will be
+caught by a small red cross beneath a name, and under the cross the one
+word "Cup." Lastly, opposite the name of Rex son of Rally, are two of
+those proud, tell-tale marks. The cup referred to is the renowned Dale
+Cup--Champion Challenge Dale Cup, open to the world. Had Rex won it but
+once again the Shepherds' Trophy, which many men have lived to win, and
+died still striving after, would have come to rest forever in the little
+gray house below the Pike.
+
+It was not to be, however. Comparing the two sheets, you read beneath
+the dog's name a date and a pathetic legend; and on the other sheet,
+written in his son's boyish hand, beneath the name of Andrew Moore the
+same date and the same legend.
+
+From that day James Moore, then but a boy, was master of Kenmuir.
+
+So past Grip and Rex and Rally, and a hundred others, until at the foot
+of the page you come to that last name--Bob, son of Battle.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+From the very first the young dog took to his work in a manner to
+amaze even James Moore. For a while he watched his mother, Meg, at her
+business, and with that seemed to have mastered the essentials of sheep
+tactics.
+
+Rarely had such fiery �lan been seen on the sides of the Pike; and with
+it the young dog combined a strange sobriety, an admirable patience,
+that justified, indeed, the epithet. "Owd." Silent he worked, and
+resolute; and even in those days had that famous trick of coaxing the
+sheep to do his wishes;--blending, in short, as Tammas put it, the
+brains of a man with the way of a woman.
+
+Parson Leggy, who was reckoned the best judge of a sheep or sheep-dog
+'twixt Tyne and Tweed, summed him up in the one word "Genius." And James
+Moore himself, cautious man, was more than pleased.
+
+In the village, the Dalesmen, who took a personal pride in the Gray Dogs
+of Kenmuir, began to nod sage heads when "oor" Bob was mentioned. Jim
+Mason, the postman, whose word went as far with the villagers as Parson
+Leggy's with the gentry, reckoned he'd never seen a young un as so took
+his fancy.
+
+That winter it grew quite the recognized thing, when they had gathered
+of a night round the fire in the Sylvester Arms, with Tammas in the
+centre, old Jonas Maddox on his right, Rob Saunderson of the Holt on the
+left, and the others radiating away toward the sides, for some one to
+begin with:
+
+"Well, and what o' oor Bob, Mr. Thornton?"
+
+To which Tammas would always make reply:
+
+"Oh, yo' ask Sam'l there. He'll tell yo' better'n me, "--and would
+forthwith plunge, himself, into a yarn.
+
+And the way in which, as the story proceeded, Tupper of Swinsthwaite
+winked at Ned Hoppin of Fellsgarth, and Long Kirby, the smith, poked Jem
+Burton, the publican, in the ribs, and Sexton Ross said, "Ma word, lad!"
+spoke more eloquently than many words.
+
+One man only never joined in the chorus of admiration. Sitting always
+alone in the background, little M'Adam would listen with an incredulous
+grin on his sallow face.
+
+"Oh, ma certes! The devil's in the dog! It's no cannie ava!" he would
+continually exclaim, as Tammas told his tale.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the Daleland you rarely see a stranger's face. Wandering in the wild
+country about the twin dales at the time of this story, you might have
+met Parson Leggy, striding along with a couple of varmint terriers at
+his heels, and young Cyril Gilbraith, whom he was teaching to tie flies
+and fear God, beside him; or Jim Mason, postman by profession, poacher
+by predilection, honest man and sportsman by nature, hurrying along with
+the mail-bags on his shoulder, a rabbit in his pocket, and the faithful
+Betsy a yard behind. Besides these you might have hit upon a quiet
+shepherd and a wise-faced dog; Squire Sylvester, going his rounds upon
+a sturdy cob; or, had you been lucky, sweet Lady Eleanour bent upon some
+errand of mercy to one of the many tenants.
+
+It was while the Squire's lady was driving through the village on a
+visit* to Tammas's slobbering grandson--it was shortly after Billy
+Thornton's advent into the world--that little M'Adam, standing in the
+door of the Sylvester Arms, with a twig in his mouth and a sneer fading
+from his lips, made his ever-memorable remark:
+
+"Sall!" he said, speaking in low, earnest voice; "'tis a muckle wumman."
+
+     Note:* It was this visit which figured in the Grammoch-town
+     _Argus_ (local and radical) under the heading of "Alleged
+     Wholesale Corruption by Tory Agents." And that is why, on
+     the following market day, Herbert Trotter, journalist,
+     erstwhile gentleman, and Secretary of the Dale Trials, found
+     himself trying to swim in the public horse-trough.
+
+"What? What be sayin', mon?" cried old Jonas, startled out of his usual
+apathy.
+
+M'Adam turned sharply on the old man.
+
+"I said the wumman wears a muckle hat!" he snapped.
+
+Blotted out as it was, the observation still remains--a tribute of
+honest admiration. Doubtless the Recording Angel did not pass it by.
+That one statement anent the gentle lady of the manor is the only
+personal remark ever credited to little M'Adam not born of malice and
+all uncharitableness. And that is why it is ever memorable.
+
+The little Scotsman with the sardonic face had been the tenant of the
+Grange these many years; yet he had never grown acclimatized to the
+land of the Southron. With his shrivelled body and weakly legs he looked
+among the sturdy, straight-limbed sons of the hill-country like some
+brown, wrinkled leaf holding its place midst a galaxy of green. And as
+he differed from them physically, so he did morally.
+
+He neither understood them nor attempted to. The North-country character
+was an unsolved mystery to him, and that after ten years' study.
+"One-half o' what ye say they doot, and they let ye see it; t'ither half
+they disbelieve, and they tell ye so," he once said. And that explained
+his attitude toward them, and consequently theirs toward him.
+
+He stood entirely alone; a son of Hagar, mocking. His sharp, ill tongue
+was rarely still, and always bitter. There was hardly a man in the land,
+from Langholm How to the market-cross in Grammoch-town, but had at
+one time known its sting, endured it in silence--for they are slow of
+speech, these men of the fells and meres--and was nursing his resentment
+till a day should bring that chance which always comes. And when at
+the Sylvester Arms, on one of those rare occasions when M'Adam was not
+present, Tammas summed up the little man in that historic phrase of his,
+"When he's drunk he's wi'lent, and when he bain't he's wicious," there
+was an applause to gratify the blas� heart of even Tammas Thornton.
+
+Yet it had not been till his wife's death that the little man had
+allowed loose rein to his ill-nature. With her firmly gentle hand no
+longer on the tiller of his life, it burst into fresh being. And alone
+in the world with David, the whole venom of his vicious temperament was
+ever directed against the boy's head. It was as though he saw in his
+fair-haired son the unconscious cause of his ever-living sorrow. All
+the more strange this, seeing that, during her life, the boy had been
+to poor Flora M'Adam as her heart's core. And the lad was growing up the
+very antithesis of his father. Big and hearty, with never an ache or ill
+in the whole of his sturdy young body; of frank, open countenance; while
+even his speech was slow and burring like any Dale-bred boy's. And
+the fact of it all, and that the lad was palpably more Englishman than
+Scot--ay, and gloried in it--exasperated the little man, a patriot
+before everything, to blows. While, on top of it, David evinced an
+amazing pertness fit to have tried a better man than Adam M'Adam.
+
+On the death of his wife, kindly Elizabeth Moore had, more than once,
+offered such help to the lonely little man as a woman only can give in
+a house that knows no mistress. On the last of these occasions, after
+crossing the Stony Bottom, which divides the two farms, and toiling up
+the hill to the Grange, she had met M'Adam in the door.
+
+"Yo' maun let me put yo' bit things straight for yo', mister," she had
+said shyly; for she feared the little man.
+
+"Thank ye, Mrs. Moore," he had answered with the sour smile the Dalesmen
+knew so well, "but ye maun think I'm a waefu' cripple." And there he had
+stood, grinning sardonically, opposing his small bulk in the very centre
+of the door.
+
+Mrs. Moore had turned down the hill, abashed and hurt at the reception
+of her offer; and her husband, proud to a fault, had forbidden her
+to repeat it. Nevertheless her motherly heart went out in a great
+tenderness for the little orphan David. She knew well the desolateness
+of his life; his father's aversion from him, and its inevitable
+consequences.
+
+It became an institution for the boy to call every morning at Kenmuir,
+and trot off to the village school with Maggie Moore. And soon the lad
+came to look on Kenmuir as his true home, and James and Elizabeth Moore
+as his real parents. His greatest happiness was to be away from the
+Grange. And the ferret-eyed little man there noted the fact, bitterly
+resented it, and vented his ill-humor accordingly.
+
+It was this, as he deemed it, uncalled-for trespassing on his authority
+which was the chief cause of his animosity against James Moore. The
+Master of Kenmuir it was at whom he was aiming when he remarked one
+day at the Arms: "Masel', I aye prefaire the good man who does no go to
+church, to the bad man who does. But then, as ye say, Mr. Burton, I'm
+peculiar."
+
+The little man's treatment of David, exaggerated as it was by eager
+credulity, became at length such a scandal to the Dale that Parson Leggy
+determined to bring him to task on the matter.
+
+Now M'Adam was the parson's pet antipathy. The bluff old minister, with
+his brusque manner and big heart, would have no truck with the man who
+never went to church, was perpetually in liquor, and never spoke good of
+his neighbors. Yet he entered upon the interview fully resolved not to
+be betrayed into an unworthy expression of feeling; rather to appeal to
+the little man's better nature.
+
+The conversation had not been in progress two minutes, however, before
+he knew that, where he had meant to be calmly persuasive, he was fast
+become hotly abusive.
+
+"You, Mr. Hornbut, wi' James Moore to help ye, look after the lad's
+soul, I'll see to his body," the little man was saying.
+
+The parson's thick gray eyebrows lowered threateningly over his eyes.
+
+"You ought to be ashamed of yourself to talk like that. Which d'you
+think the more important, soul or body? Oughtn't you, his father, to be
+the very first to care for the boy's soul? If not, who should? Answer
+me, sir."
+
+The little man stood smirking and sucking his eternal twig, entirely
+unmoved by the other's heat.
+
+"Ye're right, Mr. Hornbut, as ye aye are. But my argiment is this: that
+I get at his soul best through his leetle carcase."
+
+The honest parson brought down his stick with an angry thud.
+
+"M'Adam, you're a brute--a brute!" he shouted. At which outburst the
+little man was seized with a spasm of silent merriment.
+
+"A fond dad first, a brute afterward, aiblins--he! he! Ah, Mr. Hornbut!
+ye 'ford me vast diversion, ye do indeed, 'my loved, my honored,
+much-respected friend."
+
+"If you paid as much heed to your boy's welfare as you do to the bad
+poetry of that profligate ploughman--"
+
+An angry gleam shot into the other's eyes. "D'ye ken what blasphemy is,
+Mr. Hornbut?" he asked, shouldering a pace forward.
+
+For the first time in the dispute the parson thought he was about to
+score a point, and was calm accordingly.
+
+"I should do; I fancy I've a specimen of the breed before me now. And
+d'you know what impertinence is?"
+
+"I should do; I fancy I've--I awd say it's what gentlemen aften are
+unless their mammies whipped 'em as lads."
+
+For a moment the parson looked as if about to seize his opponent and
+shake him.
+
+"M'Adam," he roared, "I'll not stand your insolences!"
+
+The little man turned, scuttled indoors, and came running back with a
+chair.
+
+"Permit me!" he said blandly, holding it before him like a haircutter
+for a customer.
+
+The parson turned away. At the gap in the hedge he paused.
+
+"I'll only say one thing more," he called slowly. "When your wife, whom
+I think we all loved, lay dying in that room above you, she said to you
+in my presence--"
+
+It was M'Adam's turn to be angry. He made a step forward with burning
+face.
+
+"Aince and for a', Mr. Hornbut," he cried passionately, "onderstand I'll
+not ha' you and yer likes lay yer tongues on ma wife's memory whenever
+it suits ye. You can say what ye like aboot me--lies, sneers, snash--and
+I'll say naethin'. I dinna ask ye to respect me; I think ye might do sae
+muckle by her, puir lass. She never harmed ye. Gin ye canna let her bide
+in peace where she lies doon yonder"--he waved in the direction of the
+churchyard--"ye'll no come on ma land. Though she is dead she's mine."
+
+Standing in front of his house, with flushed face and big eyes, the
+little man looked almost noble in his indignation. And the parson,
+striding away down the hill, was uneasily conscious that with him was
+not the victory.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter III. RED WULL
+
+
+THE winter came and went; the lambing season was over, and spring
+already shyly kissing the land. And the back of the year's work broken,
+and her master well started on a fresh season, M'Adam's old collie,
+Cuttie Sark, lay down one evening and passed quietly away.
+
+The little black-and-tan lady, Parson Leggy used to say, had been
+the only thing on earth M'Adam cared for. Certainly the two had been
+wondrously devoted; and for many a market-day the Dalesmen missed the
+shrill, chuckling cry which heralded the pair's approach: "Weel done,
+Cuttie Sark!"
+
+The little man felt his loss acutely, and, according to his wont, vented
+his ill-feeling on David and the Dalesmen. In return, Tammas, whose
+forte lay in invective and alliteration, called him behind his back,
+"A wenomous one!" and "A wiralent wiper!" to the applause of tinkling
+pewters.
+
+A shepherd without his dog is like a ship without a rudder, and M'Adam
+felt his loss practically as well as otherwise. Especially did he
+experience this on a day when he had to take a batch of draft-ewes over
+to Grammoch-town. To help him Jem Burton had lent the services of his
+herring-gutted, herring-hearted, greyhound lurcher, Monkey. But before
+they had well topped Braithwaite Brow, which leads from the village
+on to the marches, M'Adam was standing in the track with a rock in his
+hand, a smile on his face, and the tenderest blandishments in his voice
+as he coaxed the dog to him. But Master Monkey knew too much for that.
+However, after gamboling a while longer in the middle of the flock, a
+boulder, better aimed than its predecessors, smote him on the hinder
+parts and sent him back to the Sylvester Arms, with a sore tail and a
+subdued heart.
+
+For the rest, M'Adam would never have won over the sheep-infested
+marches alone with his convoy had it not been for the help of old
+Saunderson and Shep, who caught him on the way and aided him.
+
+It was in a very wrathful mood that on his way home he turned into the
+Dalesman's Daughter in Silverdale.
+
+The only occupants of the tap-room, as he entered, were Teddy Bolstock,
+the publican, Jim Mason, with the faithful Betsy beneath his chair and
+the post-bags flung into the corner, and one long-limbed, drover-like
+man--a stranger.
+
+"And he coom up to Mr. Moore," Teddy was saying, "and says he, 'I'll gie
+ye twal' pun for yon gray dog o' yourn.' 'Ah,' says Moore, 'yo' may gie
+me twal' hunner'd and yet you'll not get ma Bob.'--Eh, Jim?"
+
+"And he did thot," corroborated Jim. "'Twal' hunner'd,' says he."
+
+"James Moore and his dog agin" snapped M'Adam. "There's ithers in the
+warld for bye them twa."
+
+"Ay, but none like 'em," quoth loyal Jim.
+
+"Na, thanks be. Gin there were there'd be no room for Adam M'Adam in
+this 'melancholy vale.'"
+
+There was silence a moment, and then--:
+
+"You're wantin' a tyke, bain't you, Mr. M'Adam?" Jim asked.
+
+The little man hopped round all in a hurry.
+
+"What!" he cried in well-affected eagerness, scanning the yellow mongrel
+beneath the chair. "Betsy for sale! Guid life! Where's ma check-book?"
+Whereat Jim, most easily snubbed of men, collapsed.
+
+M'Adam took off his dripping coat and crossed the room to hang it on a
+chair-back. The stranger drover followed the meagre, shirt-clad figure
+with shifty eyes; then he buried his face in his mug.
+
+M'Adam reached out a hand for the chair; and as he did so, a bomb in
+yellow leapt out from beneath it, and, growling horribly, attacked his
+ankles.
+
+"Curse ye!" cried M'Adam, starting back.
+
+"Ye devil, let me alone!" Then turning fiercely on the drover, "Yours,
+mister?" he asked. The man nodded. "Then call him aff, can't ye? D--n
+ye!" At which Teddy Bolstock withdrew, sniggering; and Jim Mason slung
+the post-bags on to his shoulder and plunged out into the rain, the
+faithful Betsy following, disconsolate.
+
+The cause of the squall, having beaten off the attacking force, had
+withdrawn again beneath its chair. M'Adam stooped down, still cursing,
+his wet coat on his arm, and beheld a tiny yellow puppy, crouching
+defiant in the dark, and glaring out with fiery light eyes. Seeing
+itself remarked, it bared its little teeth, raised its little bristles,
+and growled a hideous menace.
+
+A sense of humor is many a man's salvation, and was M'Adam's one
+redeeming feature. The laughableness of the thing--this ferocious atomy
+defying him--struck home to the little man. Delighted at such a display
+of vice in so tender a plant, he fell to chuckling.
+
+"Ye leetle devil!" he laughed. "He! he! ye leetle devil!" and flipped
+together finger and thumb in vain endeavor to coax the puppy to him.
+
+But it growled, and glared more terribly.
+
+"Stop it, ye little snake, or I'll flatten you!" cried the big drover,
+and shuffled his feet threateningly. Whereat the puppy, gurgling like
+hot water in a kettle, made a feint as though to advance and wipe them
+out, these two bad men.
+
+M'Adam laughed again, and smote his leg.
+
+"Keep a ceevil tongue and yer distance," says he, "or I'll e'en ha' to
+mak' ye. Though he is but as big as a man's thumb, a dog's a dog for
+a' that--he! he! the leetle devil." And he fell to flipping finger and
+thumb afresh.
+
+"Ye're maybe wantin' a dog?" inquired the stranger. "Yer friend said as
+much."
+
+"Ma friend lied; it's his way," M'Adam replied.
+
+"I'm willin' to part wi' him," the other pursued.
+
+The little man yawned. "Weel, I'll tak' him to oblige ye," he said
+indifferently.
+
+The drover rose to his feet.
+
+"It's givin' 'im ye, fair givin' im ye, mind! But I'll do it!"--he
+smacked a great fist into a hollow palm. "Ye may have the dog for a
+pun'--I'll only ask _you_ a pun'," and he walked away to the window.
+
+M'Adam drew back, the better to scan his would-be benefactor; his lower
+jaw dropped, and he eyed the stranger with a drolly sarcastic air.
+
+"A poun', man! A pouxi'--for yon noble dorg!" he pointed a crooked
+forefinger at the little creature, whose scowling mask peered from
+beneath the chair. "Man, I couldna do it. Na, na; ma conscience wadna
+permit me. 'Twad be fair robbin' ye. Ah, ye Englishmen!" he spoke half
+to himself, and sadly, as if deploring the unhappy accident of his
+nationality; "it's yer grand, open-hairted generosity that grips a
+puir Scotsman by the throat. A poun'! and for yon!" He wagged his head
+mournfully, cocking it sideways the better to scan his subject.
+
+"Take him or leave him," ordered the drover truculently, still gazing
+out of the window.
+
+"Wi' yer permission I'll leave him," M'Adam answered meekly.
+
+"I'm short o' the ready," the big man pursued, "or I wouldna part with
+him. Could I bide me time there's many'd be glad to give me a tenner
+for one o' that bree--" he caught himself up hastily--"for a dog sic as
+that."
+
+"And yet ye offer him me for a poun'! Noble indeed!"
+
+Nevertheless the little man had pricked his ears at the other's slip
+and quick correction. Again he approached the puppy, dangling his coat
+before him to protect his ankles; and again that wee wild beast sprang
+out, seized the coat in its small jaw, and worried it savagely.
+
+M'Adam stooped quickly and picked up his tiny assailant; and the
+puppy, suspended by its neck, gurgled and slobbered; then, wriggling
+desperately round, made its teeth meet in its adversary's shirt. At
+which M'Adam shook it gently and laughed. Then he set to examining it.
+
+Apparently some six weeks old; a tawny coat, fiery eyes, a square head
+with small, cropped ears, and a comparatively immense jaw; the whole
+giving promise of great strength, if little beauty. And this effect
+was enhanced by the manner of its docking. For the miserable relic of
+a tail, yet raw, looked little more than a red button adhering to its
+wearer's stern.
+
+M'Adam's inspection was as minute as it was apparently absorbing; he
+omitted nothing from the square muzzle to the lozenge-like scut. And
+every now and then he threw a quick glance at the man at the window, who
+was watching the careful scrutiny a thought uneasily.
+
+"Ye've cut him short," he said at length, swinging round on the drover.
+
+"Ay; strengthens their backs," the big man answered with averted gaze.
+
+M'Adam's chin went up in the air; his mouth partly opened and his
+eyelids partly closed as he eyed his informant.
+
+"Oh, ay," he said.
+
+"Gie him back to me," ordered the drover surlily. He took the puppy
+and set it on the floor; whereupon it immediately resumed its former
+fortified position. "Ye're no buyer; I knoo that all along by that face
+on ye," he said in insulting tones.
+
+"Ye wad ha' bought him yerseif', nae doot?" M'Adam inquired blandly.
+
+"In course; if you says so."
+
+"Or airblins ye bred him?"
+
+"'Appen I did."
+
+"Ye'll no be from these parts?"
+
+"Will I no?" answered the other.
+
+A smile of genuine pleasure stole over M'Adam's face. He laid his hand
+on the other's arm.
+
+"Man," he said gently, "ye mind me o' hame." Then almost in the same
+breath: "Ye said ye found him?"
+
+It was the stranger's turn to laugh.
+
+"Ha! ha! Ye teekle me, little mon. Found 'im? Nay; I was give 'im by a
+friend. But there's nowt amiss wi' his breedin', ye may believe me."
+
+The great fellow advanced to the chair under which the puppy lay. It
+leapt out like a lion, and fastened on his huge boot.
+
+"A rare bred un, look 'ee! a rare game un. Ma word, he's a big-hearted
+un! Look at the back on him; see the jaws to him; mark the pluck of
+him!" He shook his booted foot fiercely, tossing his leg to and fro like
+a tree in a wind. But the little creature, now raised ceilingward, now
+dashed to the ground, held on with incomparable doggedness, till its
+small jaw was all bloody and muzzle wrinkled with the effort.
+
+"Ay, ay, that'll do," M'Adam interposed, irritably.
+
+The drover ceased his efforts.
+
+"Now, I'll mak' ye a last offer." He thrust his head down to a level
+with the other's, shooting out his neck. "It's throwin' him at ye, mind.
+'Tain't buyin' him ye'll be--don't go for to deceive yourself. Ye may
+have him for fifteen shillin'. Why do I do it, ye ask? Why, 'cos I think
+ye'll be kind to him," as the puppy retreated to its chair, leaving a
+spotted track of red along its route.
+
+"Ay, ye wadna be happy gin ye thocht he'd no a comfortable hame,
+conseederate man?" M'Adam answered, eyeing the dark track on the floor.
+Then he put on his coat.
+
+"Na, na, he's no for me. Weel, I'll no detain ye. Good-nicht to ye,
+mister!" and he made for the door.
+
+"A gran' worker he'll be," called the drover after him.
+
+"Ay; muckle wark he'll mak' amang the sheep wi' sic a jaw and sic a
+temper. Weel, I maun be steppin'. Good-nicht to ye."
+
+"Ye'll niver have sich anither chanst."
+
+"Nor niver wush to. Na, na; he'll never mak' a sheep-dog"; and the
+little man turned up the collar of his coat.
+
+"Will he not?" cried the other scornfully. "There niver yet was one o'
+that line--" he stopped abruptly.
+
+The little man spun round.
+
+"Iss?" he said, as innocent as any child; "ye were sayin'?"
+
+The other turned to the window and watched the rain falling
+monotonously.
+
+"Ye'll be wantin' wet," he said adroitly.
+
+"Ay, we could do wi' a drappin'. And he'll never mak' a sheep-dog."
+He shoved his cap down on his head. "Weel, good-nicht to ye!" and he
+stepped out into the rain.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was long after dark when the bargain was finally struck.
+
+Adam M'Adam's Red Wull became that little man's property for the
+following realizable assets: ninepence in cash--three coppers and a
+doubtful sixpence; a plug of suspicious tobacco in a well-worn pouch;
+and an old watch.
+
+"It's clean givin' 'im ye," said the stranger bitterly, at the end of
+the deal.
+
+"It's mair the charity than aught else mak's me sae leeberal," the other
+answered gently. "I wad not like to see ye pinched."
+
+"Thank ye kindly," the big man replied with some acerbity, and plunged
+out into the darkness and rain. Nor was that long-limbed drover-man ever
+again seen in the countryside. And the puppy's previous history--whether
+he was honestly come by or no, whether he was, indeed, of the famous Red
+McCulloch* strain, ever remained a mystery in the Daleland.
+
+     *N. B.--You may know a Red McCulloch anywhere by the ring of
+     white upon his tail some two inches from the root.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter IV. FIRST BLOOD
+
+
+AFTER that first encounter in the Dalesman's Daughter, Red Wull, for
+so M'Adam called him, resigned himself complacently to his lot;
+recognizing, perhaps, his destiny.
+
+Thenceforward the sour little man and the vicious puppy grew, as it
+were, together. The two were never apart. Where M'Adam was, there was
+sure to be his tiny attendant, bristling defiance as he kept ludicrous
+guard over his master.
+
+The little man and his dog were inseparable. M'Adam never left him even
+at the Grange.
+
+"I couldna trust ma Wullie at hame alone wi' the dear lad," was his
+explanation. "I ken weel I'd come back to find a wee corpse on the
+floor, and David singin':
+
+     'My heart is sair, I daur na tell,
+     My heart is sair for somebody.'
+
+Ay, and he'd be sair elsewhere by the time I'd done wi' him--he! he!"
+
+The sneer at David's expense was as characteristic as it was unjust.
+For though the puppy and the boy were already sworn enemies, yet the
+lad would have scorned to harm so small a foe. And many a tale did David
+tell at Kenmuir of Red Wull's viciousness, of his hatred of him (David),
+and his devotion to his master; how, whether immersed in the pig-bucket
+or chasing the fleeting rabbit, he would desist at once, and bundle,
+panting, up at his master's call; how he routed the tomcat and drove him
+from the kitchen; and how he clambered on to David's bed and pinned him
+murderously by the nose.
+
+Of late the relations between M'Adam and James Moore had been unusually
+strained. Though they were neighbors, communications between the two
+were of the rarest; and it was for the first time for many a long
+day that, on an afternoon shortly after Red Wull had come into his
+possession, M'Adam entered the yard of Kenmuir, bent on girding at the
+master for an alleged trespass at the Stony Bottom.
+
+"Wi' yer permission, Mr. Moore," said the little man, "I'll wheestle ma
+dog," and, turning, he whistled a shrill, peculiar note like the cry of
+a disturbed peewit.
+
+Straightway there came scurrying desperately up, ears back, head down,
+tongue out, as if the world depended on his speed, a little tawny beetle
+of a thing, who placed his forepaws against his master's ankles
+and looked up into his face; then, catching sight of the strangers,
+hurriedly he took up his position between them and M'Adam, assuming his
+natural attitude of grisly defiance. Such a laughable spectacle he made,
+that martial mite, standing at bay with bristles up and teeth bared,
+that even James Moore smiled.
+
+"Ma word! Ha' yo' brought his muzzle, man?" cried old Tammas, the
+humorist; and, turning, climbed all in a heat on to an upturned bucket
+that stood by. Whereat the puppy, emboldened by his foe's retreat,
+advanced savagely to the attack, buzzing round the slippery pail like a
+wasp on a windowpane, in a vain attempt to reach the old man.
+
+Tammas stood on the top, hitching his trousers and looking down on his
+assailant, the picture of mortal fear.
+
+"'Elp! Oh, 'elp!" he bawled. "Send for the sogers! Fetch the p'lice!
+For lawk-amussy's sake call him off, man!" Even Sam'l Todd, watching
+the scene from the cart-shed, was tickled and burst into a loud guffaw,
+heartily backed by 'Enry and oor Job. While M'Adam remarked: "Ye're
+fitter for a stage than a stable-bucket, Mr. Thornton."
+
+"How didst come by him?" asked Tammas, nodding at the puppy.
+
+"Found him," the little man replied, sucking his twig. "Found him in
+ma stockin' on ma birthday. A present from ma leetle David for his auld
+dad, I doot."
+
+"So do I," said Tammas, and was seized with sudden spasm of seemingly
+causeless merriment. For looking up as M'Adam was speaking, he had
+caught a glimpse of a boy's fair head, peering cautiously round the
+cow-shed, and, behind, the flutter of short petticoats. They disappeared
+as silently as they had come; and two small figures, just returned from
+school, glided away and sought shelter in the friendly darkness of a
+coal-hole.
+
+"Coom awa', Maggie, coom awa'! 'Tis th' owd un, 'isself," whispered a
+disrespectful voice.
+
+M'Adam looked round suspiciously.
+
+"What's that?" he asked sharply.
+
+At the moment, however, Mrs. Moore put her head out of the kitchen
+window.
+
+"Coom thy ways in, Mister M'Adam, and tak' a soop o' tea," she called
+hospitably.
+
+"Thank ye kindly, Mrs. Moore, I will," he answered, politely for him.
+And this one good thing must be allowed of Adam M'Adam: that, if there
+was only one woman of whom he was ever known to speak well, there was
+also only one, in the whole course of his life, against whom he ever
+insinuated evil--and that was years afterward, when men said his brain
+was sapped. Flouts and jeers he had for every man, but a woman, good or
+bad, was sacred to him. For the sex that had given him his mother and
+his wife he had that sentiment of tender reverence which, if a man still
+preserve, he cannot be altogether bad. As he turned into the house he
+looked back at Red Wull.
+
+"Ay, we may leave him," he said. "That is, gin ye're no afraid, Mr.
+Thornton?"
+
+Of what happened while the men were within doors, it is enough to tell
+two things. First, that Owd Bob was no bully. Second, this: In the code
+of sheep-dog honor there is written a word in stark black letters; and
+opposite it another word, writ large in the color of blood. The first
+is "Sheep-murder"; the second, "Death." It is the one crime only to
+be wiped away in blood; and to accuse of the crime is to offer the one
+unpardonable insult. Every sheep-dog knows it, and every shepherd.
+
+That afternoon, as the men still talked, the quiet echoes of the
+farm rung with a furious animal cry, twice repeated: "Shot for
+sheep-murder"--"Shot for sheep-murder"; followed by a hollow stillness.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The two men finished their colloquy. The matter was concluded
+peacefully, mainly owing to the pacifying influence of Mrs. Moore.
+Together the three went out into the yard; Mrs. Moore seizing the
+opportunity to shyly speak on David's behalf.
+
+"He's such a good little lad, I do think," she was saying.
+
+"Ye should ken, Mrs. Moore," the little man answered, a thought
+bitterly; "ye see enough of him."
+
+"Yo' mun be main proud of un, mester," the woman continued, heedless of
+the sneer: "an' 'im growin' such a gradely lad."
+
+M'Adam shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"I barely ken the lad," he said. "By sight I know him, of course, but
+barely to speak to. He's but seldom at hame."
+
+"An' hoo proud his mother'd be if she could see him," the woman
+continued, well aware of his one tender place. "Eh, but she was fond o'
+him, so she was."
+
+An angry flush stole over the little man's face. Well he understood the
+implied rebuke; and it hurt him like a knife.
+
+"Ay, ay, Mrs. Moore," he began. Then breaking off, and looking about
+him--"Where's ma Wullie?" he cried excitedly. "James Moore!" whipping
+round on the Master, "ma Wullie's gone--gone, I say!"
+
+Elizabeth Moore turned away indignantly. "I do declar' he tak's more
+fash after yon little yaller beastie than iver he does after his own
+flesh," she muttered.
+
+"Wullie, ma we doggie! Wullie, where are ye? James Moore, he's gone--ma
+Wullie's gone!" cried the little man, running about the yard, searching
+everywhere.
+
+"Cannot 'a' gotten far," said the Master, reassuringly, looking about
+him.
+
+"Niver no tellin'," said Sam'l, appearing on the scene, pig-bucket
+in hand. "I misdoot yo'll iver see your dog agin, mister." He turned
+sorrowfully to M'Adam.
+
+That little man, all dishevelled, and with the perspiration standing on
+his face, came hurrying out of the cow-shed and danced up to the Master.
+
+"It's robbed I am--robbed, I tell ye!" he cried recklessly. "Ma wee
+Wull's bin stolen while I was ben your hoose, James Moore!"
+
+"Yo' munna say that, ma mon. No robbin' at Kenmuir," the Master answered
+sternly.
+
+"Then where is he? It's for you to say."
+
+"I've ma own idee, I 'aye," Sam'l announced opportunely, pig-bucket
+uplifted.
+
+M'Adam turned on him.
+
+"What, man? What is it?"
+
+"I misdoot yo'll iver see your dog agin, mister," Sam'l repeated, as if
+he was supplying the key to the mystery.
+
+"Noo, Sam'l, if yo' know owt tell it," ordered his master.
+
+Sam'l grunted sulkily.
+
+"Wheer's oor Bob, then?" he asked.
+
+At that M'Adam turned on the Master.
+
+"'Tis that, nae doot. It's yer gray dog, James Moore, yer ---- dog. I
+might ha' kent it,"--and he loosed off a volley of foul words.
+
+"Sweerin' will no find him," said the Master coldly. "Noo, Sam'l."
+
+The big man shifted his feet, and looked mournfully at M'Adam.
+
+"'Twas 'appen 'aif an hour agone, when I sees oor Bob goin' oot o'
+yard wi' little yaller tyke in his mouth. In a minnit I looks agin--and
+theer! little yaller 'un was gone, and oor Bob a-sittin' a-lickin'
+his chops. Gone foriver, I do reck'n. Ah, yo' may well take on, Tammas
+Thornton!" For the old man was rolling about the yard, bent double with
+merriment.
+
+M'Adam turned on the Master with the resignation of despair.
+
+"Man, Moore," he cried piteously, "it's yer gray dog has murdered ma wee
+Wull! Ye have it from yer ain man."
+
+"Nonsense," said the Master encouragingly. "'Tis but yon girt oof."
+
+Sam'l tossed his head and snorted.
+
+"Coom, then, and i'll show yo'," he said, and led the way out of the
+yard. And there below them on the slope to the stream, sitting like
+Justice at the Courts of Law, was Owd Bob.
+
+Straightway Sam'l whose humor was something of the calibre of old
+Ross's, the sexton, burst into horse-merriment. "Why's he sittin' so
+still, think 'ee? Ho! Ho! See un lickin' his chops--ha! ha!"--and he
+roared afresh. While from afar you could hear the distant rumbling of
+'Enry and oor Job.
+
+At the sight, M'Adam burst into a storm of passionate invective, and
+would have rushed on the dog had not James Moore forcibly restrained
+him.
+
+"Bob, lad," called the Master, "coom here!"
+
+But even as he spoke, the gray dog cocked his ears, listened a moment,
+and then shot down the slope. At the same moment Tammas hallooed: "Theer
+he be! yon's yaller un coomin' oot o' drain! La, Sam'l!" And there,
+indeed, on the slope below them, a little angry, smutty-faced figure was
+crawling out of a rabbit-burrow.
+
+"Ye murderin' devil, wad ye duar touch ma Wullie?" yelled M'Adam, and,
+breaking away, pursued hotly down the hill; for the gray dog had picked
+up the puppy, like a lancer a tent-peg, and was sweeping on, his captive
+in his mouth, toward the stream.
+
+Behind, hurried James Moore and Sam'l, wondering what the issue of the
+comedy would be. After them toddled old Tammas, chuckling. While over
+the yard-wall was now a little cluster of heads: 'Enry, oor Job, Maggie
+and David, and Vi'let Thornton, the dairy-maid.
+
+Straight on to the plank-bridge galloped Owd Bob. In the middle he
+halted, leant over, and dropped his prisoner; who fell with a cool plop
+into the running water beneath.
+
+Another moment and M'Adam had reached the bank of the stream. In he
+plunged, splashing and cursing, and seized the struggling puppy; then
+waded back, the waters surging about his waist, and Red Wull, limp as
+a wet rag, in his hand. The little man's hair was dripping, for his cap
+was gone; his clothes clung to him, exposing the miserableness of his
+figure; and his eyes blazed like hot ashes in his wet face.
+
+He sprang on to the bank, and, beside himself with passion, rushed at
+Owd Bob.
+
+"Curse ye for a ----"
+
+"Stan' back, or yo'll have him at your throat!" shouted the Master,
+thundering up. "Stan' back, I say, yo' fule!" And, as the little man
+still came madly on, he reached forth his hand and hurled him back; at
+the same moment, bending, he buried the other hand deep in Owd Bob's
+shaggy neck. It was but just in time; for if ever the fierce desire of
+battle gleamed in gray eyes, it did in the young dog's as M'Adam came
+down on him.
+
+The little man staggered, tottered, and fell heavily. At the shock, the
+blood gushed from his nose, and, mixing with the water on his face, ran
+down in vague red streams, dripping off his chin; while Red Wull, jerked
+from his grasp, was thrown afar, and lay motionless.
+
+"Curse ye!" M'Adam screamed, his face dead-white save for the running
+red about his jaw. "Curse ye for a cowardly Englishman!" and, struggling
+to his feet, he made at the Master.
+
+But Sam'l interposed his great bulk between the two.
+
+"Easy, little mon," he said leisurely, regarding the small fury before
+him with mournful interest. "Eh, but thee do be a little spit-cat,
+surely!"
+
+James Moore stood, breathing deep, his hand still buried in Owd Bob's
+coat.
+
+"If yo'd touched him," he explained, "I couldna ha' stopped him. He'd
+ha' mauled yo' afore iver I could ha' had him off. They're bad to hold,
+the Gray Dogs, when they're roosed."
+
+"Ay, ma word, that they are!" corroborated Tammas, speaking from the
+experience of sixty years. "Once on, yo' canna get 'em off."
+
+The little man turned away.
+
+"Ye're all agin me," he said, and his voice shook. A pitiful figure he
+made, standing there with the water dripping from him. A red stream was
+running slowly from his chin; his head was bare, and face working.
+
+James Moore stood eyeing him with some pity and some contempt. Behind
+was Tammas, enjoying the scene. While Sam'l regarded them all with an
+impassive melancholy.
+
+M'Adam turned and bent over Red Wull, who still lay like a dead thing.
+As his master handled him, the button-tail quivered feebly; he opened
+his eyes, looked about him, snarled faintly, and glared with devilish
+hate at the gray dog and the group with him.
+
+The little man picked him up, stroking him tenderly. Then he turned away
+and on to the bridge. Half-way across he stopped. It rattled feverishly
+beneath him, for he still trembled like a palsied man.
+
+"Man, Moore!" he called, striving to quell the agitation in his
+voice--"I wad shoot yon dog."
+
+Across the bridge he turned again. "Man, Moore!" he called and paused.
+"Ye'll not forget this day." And with that the blood flared up a dull
+crimson into his white face.
+
+
+
+
+PART II THE LITTLE MAN
+
+
+
+
+Chapter V. A MAN'S SON
+
+
+THE storm, long threatened, having once burst, M'Adam allowed loose rein
+to his bitter animosity against James Moore.
+
+The two often met. For the little man frequently returned home from the
+village by the footpath across Kenmuir. It was out of his way, but
+he preferred it in order to annoy his enemy and keep a watch upon his
+doings.
+
+He haunted Kenmuir like its evil genius. His sallow face was perpetually
+turning up at inopportune moments. When Kenmuir Queen, the prize
+short-horn heifer, calved unexpectedly and unattended in the dip by the
+lane, Tammas and the Master, summoned hurriedly by Owd Bob, came running
+up to find the little man leaning against the stile, and shaking with
+silent merriment. Again, poor old Staggy, daring still in his dotage,
+took a fall while scrambling on the steep banks of the Stony Bottom.
+There he lay for hours, unnoticed and kicking, until James Moore and
+Owd Bob came upon him at length, nearly exhausted. But M'Adam was before
+them. Standing on the far bank with Red Wull by his side, he called
+across the gulf with apparent concern: "He's bin so sin' yesternight."
+Often James Moore, with all his great strength of character, could
+barely control himself.
+
+There were two attempts to patch up the feud. Jim Mason, who went about
+the world seeking to do good, tried in his shy way to set things right.
+But M'Adam and his Red Wull between them soon shut him and Betsy up.
+
+"You mind yer letters and yer wires, Mr. Poacher-Postman. Ay, I saw 'em
+baith: th' ain doon by the Haughs, t'ither in the Bottom. And there's
+Wullie, the humorsome chiel, havin' a rare game wi' Betsy." There,
+indeed, lay the faithful Betsy, suppliant on her back, paws up, throat
+exposed, while Red Wull, now a great-grown puppy, stood over her, his
+habitually evil expression intensified into a fiendish grin, as with
+wrinkled muzzle and savage wheeze he waited for a movement as a pretext
+to pin: "Wullie, let the leddy be--ye've had yer dinner."
+
+Parson Leggy was the other would-be mediator; for he hated to see the
+two principal parishioners of his tiny cure at enmity. First he tackled
+James Moore on the subject; but that laconic person cut him short with,
+"I've nowt agin the little mon," and would say no more. And, indeed, the
+quarrel was none of his making.
+
+Of the parson's interview with M'Adam, it is enough to say here that,
+in the end, the angry old minister would of a surety have assaulted his
+mocking adversary had not Cyril Gilbraith forcibly withheld him.
+
+And after that the vendetta must take its course unchecked.
+
+David was now the only link between the two farms. Despite his father's
+angry commands, the boy clung to his intimacy with the Moores with a
+doggedness that no thrashing could overcome. Not a minute of the day
+when out of school, holidays and Sundays included, but was passed at
+Kenmuir. It was not till late at night that he would sneak back to the
+Grange, and creep quietly up to his tiny bare room in the roof--not
+supperless, indeed, motherly Mrs. Moore had seen to that. And there he
+would lie awake and listen with a fierce contempt as his father, hours
+later, lurched into the kitchen below, lilting liquorishly:
+
+     "We are na fou, we're nae that fou,
+     But just a drappie in our e'e;
+     The cock may craw, the day may daw',
+     And ay we'll taste the barley bree!"
+
+And in the morning the boy would slip quietly out of the house while his
+father still slept; only Red Wull would thrust out his savage head as
+the lad passed, and snarl hungrily.
+
+Sometimes father and son would go thus for weeks without sight of one
+another. And that was David's aim--to escape attention. It was only his
+cunning at this game of evasion that saved him a thrashing.
+
+The little man seemed devoid of all natural affection for his son. He
+lavished the whole fondness of which his small nature appeared capable
+on the Tailless Tyke, for so the Dalesmen called Red Wull. And the dog
+he treated with a careful tenderness that made David smile bitterly.
+
+The little man and his dog were as alike morally as physically they were
+contrasted. Each owed a grudge against the world and was determined to
+pay it. Each was an Ishmael among his kind.
+
+You saw them thus, standing apart, leper-like, in the turmoil of life;
+and it came quite as a revelation to happen upon them in some quiet spot
+of nights, playing together, each wrapped in the game, innocent, tender,
+forgetful of the hostile world.
+
+The two were never separated except only when M'Adam came home by the
+path across Kenmuir. After that first misadventure he never allowed his
+friend to accompany him on the journey through the enemy's country; for
+well he knew that sheep-dogs have long memories.
+
+To the stile in the lane, then, Red Wull would follow him. There he
+would stand, his great head poked through the bars, watching his master
+out of sight; and then would turn and trot, self-reliant and defiant,
+sturdy and surly, down the very centre of the road through the
+village--no playing, no enticing away, and woe to that man or dog who
+tried to stay him in his course! And so on, past Mother Ross's shop,
+past the Sylvester Arms, to the right by Kirby's smithy, over the
+Wastrel by the Haughs, to await his master at the edge of the Stony
+Bottom.
+
+The little man, when thus crossing Kenmuir, often met Owd Bob, who had
+the free run of the farm. On these occasions he passed discreetly by;
+for, though he was no coward, yet it is bad, single-handed, to attack
+a Gray Dog of Kenmuir; while the dog trotted soberly on his way, only
+a steely glint in the big gray eyes betraying his knowledge of the
+presence of his foe. As surely, however, as the little man, in his
+desire to spy out the nakedness of the land, strayed off the public
+path, so surely a gray figure, seeming to spring from out the blue,
+would come fiercely, silently driving down on him; and he would turn and
+run for his life, amid the uproarious jeers of any of the farm-hands who
+were witness to the encounter.
+
+On these occasions David vied with Tammas in facetiousness at his
+father's expense.
+
+"Good on yo', little un!" he roared from behind a wall, on one such
+occurrence.
+
+"Bain't he a runner, neither?" yelled Tammas, not to be outdone.
+
+"See un skip it--ho! ho! Look to his knees a-wamblin'! from the
+undutiful son in ecstasy. An' I'd knees like yon, I'd wear petticoats."
+As he spoke, a swinging box on the ear nearly knocked the young
+reprobate down.
+
+"D'yo' think God gave you a dad for you to jeer at? Y'ought to be
+ashamed o' yo'self. Serve yo' right if he does thrash yo' when yo' get
+home." And David, turning round, found James Moore close behind him, his
+heavy eyebrows lowering over his eyes.
+
+Luckily, M'Adam had not distinguished his son's voice among the others.
+But David feared he had; for on the following morning the little man
+said to him:
+
+"David, ye'll come hame immediately after school to-day."
+
+"Will I?" said David pertly.
+
+''Ye will.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because I tell ye to, ma lad"; and that was all the reason he would
+give. Had he told the simple fact that he wanted help to drench a
+"husking" ewe, things might have gone differently. As it was, David
+turned away defiantly down the hill.
+
+The afternoon wore on. Schooltime was long over; still there was no
+David.
+
+The little man waited at the door of the Grange, fuming, hopping from
+one leg to the other, talking to Red Wull, who lay at his feet, his head
+on his paws, like a tiger waiting for his prey.
+
+At length he could restrain himself no longer; and started running down
+the hill, his heart burning with indignation.
+
+"Wait till we lay hands on ye, ma lad," he muttered as he ran. "We'll
+warm ye, we'll teach ye."
+
+At the edge of the Stony Bottom he, as always, left Red Wull. Crossing
+it himself, and rounding Langholm How, he espied James Moore, David, and
+Owd Bob walking away from him and in the direction of Kenmuir. The gray
+dog and David were playing together, wrestling, racing, and rolling. The
+boy had never a thought for his father.
+
+The little man ran up behind them, unseen and unheard, his feet softly
+pattering on the grass. His hand had fallen on David's shoulder before
+the boy had guessed his approach.
+
+"Did I bid ye come hame after school, David?" he asked, concealing his
+heat beneath a suspicious suavity.
+
+"Maybe. Did I say I would come?"
+
+The pertness of tone and words, alike, fanned his father's resentment
+into a blaze. In a burst of passion he lunged forward at the boy with
+his stick. But as he smote, a gray whirlwind struck him fair on the
+chest, and he fell like a snapped stake, and lay, half stunned, with a
+dark muzzle an inch from his throat.
+
+"Git back, Bob!" shouted James Moore, hurrying up. "Git back, I tell
+yo'!" He bent over the prostrate figure, propping it up anxiously.
+
+"Are yo' hurt, M'Adam? Eh, but I am sorry. He thought yo' were going for
+to strike the lad."
+
+David had now run up, and he, too, bent over his father with a very
+scared face.
+
+"Are yo' hurt, feyther?" he asked, his voice trembling.
+
+The little man rose unsteadily to his feet and shook off his supporters.
+His face was twitching, and he stood, all dust-begrimed, looking at his
+son.
+
+"Ye're content, aiblins, noo ye've seen yer father's gray head bowed in
+the dust," he said.
+
+"'Twas an accident," pleaded James Moore. "But I _am_ sorry. He thought
+yo' were goin' to beat the lad."
+
+"So I was--so I will."
+
+"If ony's beat it should be ma Bob here tho' he nob'but thought he was
+doin' right. An' yo' were aff the path."
+
+The little man looked at his enemy, a sneer on his face.
+
+"Ye canna thrash him for doin' what ye bid him. Set yer dog on me, if ye
+will, but dinna beat him when he does yer biddin'!"
+
+"I did not set him on yo', as you know," the Master replied warmly.
+
+M'Adam shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"I'll no argie wi' ye, James Moore," he said. "I'll leave you and
+what ye call yer conscience to settle that. My business is not wi'
+you.--David!" turning to his son.
+
+A stranger might well have mistaken the identity of the boy's father.
+For he stood now, holding the Master's arm; while a few paces above
+them was the little man, pale but determined, the expression on his face
+betraying his consciousness of the irony of the situation.
+
+"Will ye come hame wi' me and have it noo, or stop wi' him and wait till
+ye get it?" he asked the boy.
+
+"M'Adam, I'd like yo' to--"
+
+"None o' that, James Moore.--David, what d'ye say?"
+
+David looked up into his protector's face.
+
+"Yo'd best go wi' your feyther, lad," said the Master at last, thickly.
+The boy hesitated, and clung tighter to the shielding arm; then he
+walked slowly over to his father.
+
+A bitter smile spread over the little man's face as he marked this new
+test of the boy's obedience to the other.
+
+"To obey his frien' he foregoes the pleasure o' disobeyin' his father,"
+he muttered. "Noble!" Then he turned homeward, and the boy followed in
+his footsteps.
+
+James Moore and the gray dog stood looking after them.
+
+"I know yo'll not pay off yer spite agin me on the lad's head, M'Adam,"
+he called, almost appealingly.
+
+"I'll do ma duty, thank ye, James Moore, wi'oot respect o' persons," the
+little man cried back, never turning.
+
+Father and son walked away, one behind the other, like a man and his
+dog, and there was no word said between them. Across the Stony Bottom,
+Red Wull, scowling with bared teeth at David, joined them. Together the
+three went up the bill to the Grange.
+
+In the kitchen M'Adam turned.
+
+"Noo, I'm gaein' to gie ye the gran'est thrashin' ye iver dreamed of.
+Tak' aff yer coat!"
+
+The boy obeyed, and stood up in his thin shirt, his face white and set
+as a statue's. Red Wull seated himself on his haunches close by, his
+ears pricked, licking his lips, all attention.
+
+The little man suppled the great ash-plant in his hands and raised it.
+But the expression on the boy's face arrested his arm.
+
+"Say ye're sorry and I'll let yer aff easy."
+
+"I'll not."
+
+"One mair chance--yer last! Say yer 'shamed o' yerself'!"
+
+"I'm not."
+
+The little man brandished his cruel, white weapon, and Red Wull shifted
+a little to obtain a better view.
+
+"Git on wi' it," ordered David angrily.
+
+The little man raised the stick again and--threw it into the farthest
+corner of the room.
+
+It fell with a rattle on the floor, and M'Adam turned away.
+
+"Ye're the pitifulest son iver a man had," he cried brokenly. "Gin
+a man's son dinna haud to him, wha can he expect to?--no one. Ye're
+ondootiful, ye're disrespectfu', ye're maist ilka thing ye shouldna be;
+there's but ae thing I thocht ye were not--a coward. And as to that,
+ye've no the pluck to say ye're sorry when, God knows, ye might be. I
+canna thrash ye this day. But ye shall gae nae mair to school. I send
+ye there to learn. Ye'll not learn--ye've learnt naethin' except
+disobedience to me--ye shall stop at hame and work."
+
+His father's rare emotion, his broken voice and working face, moved
+David as all the stripes and jeers had failed to do. His conscience
+smote him. For the first time in his life it dimly dawned on him that,
+perhaps, his father, too, had some ground for complaint; that, perhaps,
+he was not a good son.
+
+He half turned.
+
+"Feyther--"
+
+"Git oot o' ma sight!" M'Adam cried.
+
+And the boy turned and went.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter VI. A LICKING OR A LIE
+
+
+THENCEFORWARD David buckled down to work at home, and in one point only
+father and son resembled--industry. A drunkard M'Adam was, but a drone,
+no.
+
+The boy worked at the Grange with tireless, indomitable energy; yet he
+could never satisfy his father.
+
+The little man would stand, a sneer on his face and his thin lips
+contemptuously curled, and flout the lad's brave labors.
+
+"Is he no a gran' worker, Wullie? 'Tis a pleasure to watch him, his
+hands in his pockets, his eyes turned heavenward!" as the boy snatched
+a hard-earned moment's rest. "You and I, Wullie, we'll brak' oorsel's
+slavin' for him while he looks on and laffs."
+
+And so on, the whole day through, week in, week out; till he sickened
+with weariness of it all.
+
+In his darkest hours David thought sometimes to run away. He was
+miserably alone on the cold bosom of the world. The very fact that he
+was the son of his father isolated him in the Daleland. Naturally of a
+reserved disposition, he had no single friend outside Kenmuir. And it
+was only the thought of his friends there that withheld him. He could
+not bring himself to part from them; they were all he had in the world.
+
+So he worked on at the Grange, miserably, doggedly, taking blows and
+abuse alike in burning silence. But every evening, when work was ended,
+he stepped off to his other home beyond the Stony Bottom. And on Sundays
+and holidays--for of these latter he took, unasking, what he knew to be
+his due--all day long, from cock-crowing to the going down of the sun,
+he would pass at Kenmuir. In this one matter the boy was invincibly
+stubborn. Nothing his father could say or do sufficed to break him of
+the habit. He endured everything with white-lipped, silent doggedness,
+and still held on his way.
+
+Once past the Stony Bottom, he threw his troubles behind him with a
+courage that did him honor. Of all the people at Kenmuir two only ever
+dreamed the whole depth of his unhappiness, and that not through David.
+James Moore suspected something of it all, for he knew more of M'Adam
+than did the others. While Owd Bob knew it as did no one else. He could
+tell it from the touch of the boy's hand on his head; and the story was
+writ large upon his face for a dog to read. And he would follow the lad
+about with a compassion in his sad gray eyes greater than words.
+
+David might well compare his gray friend at Kenmuir with that other at
+the Grange.
+
+The Tailless Tyke had now grown into an immense dog, heavy of muscle and
+huge of bone. A great bull head; undershot jaw, square and lengthy and
+terrible; vicious, yellow-gleaming eyes; cropped ears; and an expression
+incomparably savage. His coat was a tawny, lion-like yellow, short,
+harsh, dense; and his back, running up from shoulder to loins, ended
+abruptly in the knob-like tail. He looked like the devil of a dogs'
+hell. And his reputation was as bad as his looks. He never attacked
+unprovoked; but a challenge was never ignored, and he was greedy of
+insults. Already he had nigh killed Rob Saunderson's collie, Shep; Jem
+Burton's Monkey fled incontinently at the sound of his approach; while
+he had even fought a round with that redoubtable trio, the Vexer, Venus,
+and Van Tromp.
+
+Nor, in the matter of war, did he confine himself to his own kind.
+His huge strength and indomitable courage made him the match of almost
+anything that moved. Long Kirby once threatened him with a broomstick;
+the smith never did it again. While in the Border Ram he attacked Big
+Bell, the Squire's underkeeper, with such murderous fury that it took
+all the men in the room to pull him off.
+
+More than once had he and Owd Bob essayed to wipe out mutual memories,
+Red Wull, in this case only, the aggressor. As yet, however, while they
+fenced a moment for that deadly throat-grip, the value of which each
+knew so well, James Moore had always seized the chance to intervene.
+
+"That's right, hide him ahint yer petticoats," sneered M'Adam on one of
+these occasions.
+
+"Hide? It'll not be him I'll hide, I warn you, M'Adam," the Master
+answered grimly, as he stood, twirling his good oak stick between the
+would-be duellists. Whereat there was a loud laugh at the little man's
+expense.
+
+It seemed as if there were to be other points of rivalry between the two
+than memories. For, in the matter of his own business--the handling of
+sheep--Red Wull bid fair to be second only throughout the Daleland to
+the Gray Dog of Kenmuir. And M'Adam was patient and painstaking in the
+training of his Wullie in a manner to astonish David. It would have been
+touching, had it not been so unnatural in view of his treatment of his
+own blood, to watch the tender carefulness with which the little man
+moulded the dog beneath his hands. After a promising display he would
+stand, rubbing his palms together, as near content as ever he was.
+
+"Weel done, Wullie! Weel done. Bide a wee and we'll show 'em a thing or
+two, you and I, Wullie.
+
+     "'The warld's wrack we share o't,
+     The warstle and the care o't.'
+
+For it's you and I alane, lad." And the dog would trot up to him, place
+his great forepaws on his shoulders, and stand thus with his great head
+overtopping his master's, his ears back, and stump tail vibrating.
+
+You saw them at their best when thus together, displaying each his one
+soft side to the other.
+
+From the very first David and Red Wull were open enemies: under the
+circumstances, indeed, nothing else was possible. Sometimes the great
+dog would follow on the lad's heels with surly, greedy eyes, never
+leaving him from sunrise to sundown, till David could hardly hold his
+hands.
+
+So matters went on for a never-ending year. Then there came a climax.
+
+One evening, on a day throughout which Red Wull had dogged him thus
+hungrily, David, his work finished, went to pick up his coat, which he
+had left hard by. On it lay Red Wull.
+
+"Git off ma coat!" the boy ordered angrily, marching up. But the great
+dog never stirred: he lifted a lip to show a fence of white, even teeth,
+and seemed to sink lower in the ground; his head on his paws, his eyes
+in his forehead.
+
+"Come and take it!" he seemed to say.
+
+Now what, between master and dog, David had endured almost more than he
+could bear that day.
+
+"Yo' won't, won't yo', girt brute!" he shouted, and bending, snatched
+a corner of the coat and attempted to jerk it away. At that, Red Wull
+rose, shivering, to his feet, and with a low gurgle sprang at the boy.
+
+David, quick as a flash, dodged, bent, and picked up an ugly stake,
+lying at his feet. Swinging round, all in a moment, he dealt his
+antagonist a mighty buffet on the side of the head. Dazed with the blow,
+the great dog fell; then, recovering himself, with a terrible, deep roar
+he sprang again. Then it must have gone hard with the boy, fine-grown,
+muscular young giant though he was. For Red Wull was now in the first
+bloom of that great strength which earned him afterward an undying
+notoriety in the land.
+
+As it chanced, however, M'Adam had watched the scene from the kitchen.
+And now he came hurrying out of the house, shrieking commands and curses
+at the combatants. As Red Wull sprang, he interposed between the two,
+head back and eyes flashing. His small person received the full shock
+of the charge. He staggered, but recovered, and in an imperative voice
+ordered the dog to heel.
+
+Then he turned on David, seized the stake from his hand, and began
+furiously belaboring the boy.
+
+"I'll teach ye to strike--a puir--dumb--harmless--creetur,
+ye--cruel--cruel---lad!" he cried. "Hoo daur ye strike--ma----Wullie?
+yer--father's----Wullie? Adam--M 'Adam's--Red Wull?" He was panting from
+his exertions, and his eyes were blazing. "I pit up as best I can wi'
+all manner o' disrespect to masel'; but when it comes to takin' ma puir
+Wullie, I canna thole it. Ha' ye no heart?" he asked, unconscious of the
+irony of the question.
+
+"As much as some, I reck'n," David muttered.
+
+"Eh, what's that? What d'ye say?"
+
+"Ye may thrash me till ye're blind; and it's nob'but yer duty; but if
+only one daurs so much as to look at yer Wullie ye're mad," the boy
+answered bitterly. And with that he turned away defiantly and openly in
+the direction of Kenmuir.
+
+M'Adam made a step forward, and then stopped.
+
+"I'll see ye agin, ma lad, this evenin'," he cried with cruel
+significance.
+
+"I doot but yo'll be too drunk to see owt--except, 'appen, your bottle,"
+the boy shouted back; and swaggered down the hill.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At Kenmuir that night the marked and particular kindness of Elizabeth
+Moore was too much for the overstrung lad. Overcome by the contrast of
+her sweet motherliness, he burst into a storm of invective against his
+father, his home, his life--everything.
+
+"Don't 'ee, Davie, don't 'ee, dearie!" cried Mrs. Moore, much
+distressed. And taking him to her she talked to the great, sobbing boy
+as though he were a child. At length he lifted his face and looked up;
+and, seeing the white, wan countenance of his dear comforter, was struck
+with tender remorse that he had given way and pained her, who looked so
+frail and thin herself.
+
+He mastered himself with an effort; and, for the rest of the evening,
+was his usual cheery self. He teased Maggie into tears; chaffed stolid
+little Andrew; and bantered Sam'l Todd until that generally impassive
+man threatened to bash his snout for him.
+
+Yet it was with a great swallowing at his throat that, later, he turned
+down the slope for home.
+
+James Moore and Parson Leggy accompanied him to the bridge over the
+Wastrel, and stood a while watching as he disappeared into the summer
+night.
+
+"Yon's a good lad," said the Master half to himself.
+
+"Yes," the parson replied; "I always thought there was good in the boy,
+if only his father'd give him a chance. And look at the way Owd Bob
+there follows him. There's not another soul outside Kenmuir he'd do that
+for."
+
+"Ay, sir," said the Master. "Bob knows a mon when he sees one."
+
+"He does," acquiesced the other. "And by the by, James, the talk in the
+village is that you've settled not to run him for the Cup. Is, that so?"
+
+The Master nodded.
+
+"It is, sir. They're all mad I should, but I mun cross 'em. They say
+he's reached his prime--and so he has o' his body, but not o' his brain.
+And a sheep-dog--unlike other dogs--is not at his best till his brain
+is at its best--and that takes a while developin', same as in a mon, I
+reck'n."
+
+"Well, well," said the parson, pulling out a favorite phrase, "waiting's
+winning--waiting's winning."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+David slipped up into his room and into bed unseen, he hoped. Alone with
+the darkness, he allowed himself the rare relief of tears; and at length
+fell asleep. He awoke to find his father standing at his bedside. The
+little man held a feeble dip-candle in his hand, which lit his sallow
+face in crude black and white. In the doorway, dimly outlined, was the
+great figure of Red Wull.
+
+"Whaur ha' ye been the day?" the little man asked. Then, looking down on
+the white stained face beneath him, he added hurriedly: "If ye like to
+lie, I'll believe ye."
+
+David was out of bed and standing up in his night-shirt. He looked at
+his father contemptuously.
+
+"I ha' bin at Kenmuir. I'll not lie for yo' or your likes," he said
+proudly.
+
+The little man shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"'Tell a lee and stick to it,' is my rule, and a good one, too, in
+honest England. I for one 'll no think ony the worse o' ye if yer memory
+plays yer false."
+
+"D'yo' think I care a kick what yo' think o' me?" the boy asked
+brutally. "Nay; there's 'nough liars in this fam'ly wi'oot me."
+
+The candle trembled and was still again.
+
+"A lickin' or a lie--tak' yer choice!"
+
+The boy looked scornfully down on his father. Standing on his naked
+feet, he already towered half a head above the other and was twice the
+man.
+
+"D'yo' think I'm fear'd o' a thrashin' fra yo'? Goo' gracious me!" he
+sneered. "Why, I'd as lief let owd Grammer Maddox lick me, for all I
+care."
+
+A reference to his physical insufficiencies fired the little man as
+surely as a lighted match powder.
+
+"Ye maun be cauld, standin' there so. Rin ye doon and fetch oor little
+frien'"--a reference to a certain strap hanging in the kitchen. "I'll
+see if I can warm ye."
+
+David turned and stumbled down the unlit, narrow stairs. The hard, cold
+boards struck like death against his naked feet. At his heels followed
+Red Wull, his hot breath fanning the boy's bare legs.
+
+So into the kitchen and back up the stairs, and Red Wull always
+following.
+
+"I'll no despair yet o' teachin' ye the fifth commandment, though I kill
+masel' in doin' it!" cried the little man, seizing the strap from the
+boy's numb grasp.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When it was over, M'Adam turned, breathless, away. At the threshold
+of the room he stopped and looked round: a little, dim-lit, devilish
+figure, framed in the door; while from the blackness behind, Red Wull's
+eyes gleamed yellow.
+
+Glancing back, the little man caught such an expression on David's
+face that for once he was fairly afraid. He banged the door and hobbled
+actively down the stairs.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter VII. THE WHITE WINTER
+
+
+M'ADAM--in his sober moments at least--never touched David again;
+instead, he devoted himself to the more congenial exercise of the
+whiplash of his tongue. And he was wise; for David, who was already
+nigh a head the taller of the two, and comely and strong in proportion,
+could, if he would, have taken his father in the hollow of his hand and
+crumpled him like a dry leaf. Moreover, with his tongue, at least, the
+little man enjoyed the noble pleasure of making the boy wince. And so
+the war was carried on none the less vindictively.
+
+Meanwhile another summer was passing away, and every day brought fresh
+proofs of the prowess of Owd Bob. Tammas, whose stock of yarns anent Rex
+son of Rally had after forty years' hard wear begun to pall on the
+loyal ears of even old Jonas, found no lack of new material now. In
+the Dalesman's Daughter in Silverdale and in the Border Ram at
+Grammoch-town, each succeeding market day brought some fresh tale. Men
+told how the gray dog had outdone Gypsy Jack, the sheep-sneak; how he
+had cut out a Kenmuir shearling from the very centre of Londesley's
+pack; and a thousand like stories.
+
+The Gray Dogs of Kenmuir have always been equally heroes and favorites
+in the Daleland. And the confidence of the Dalesmen in Owd Bob was now
+invincible. Sometimes on market days he would execute some unaccountable
+maneuvre, and... strange shepherd would ask: "What's the gray dog at?"
+To which the nearest Dalesman would reply: "Nay, I canno tell ye! But
+he's reet enough. Yon's Owd Bob o' Kenmuir."
+
+Whereon the stranger would prick his ears and watch with close
+attention.
+
+"Yon's Owd Bob o' Kenmuir, is he?" he would say; for already among the
+faculty the name was becoming known. And never in such a case did the
+young dog fail to justify the faith of his supporters.
+
+It came, therefore, as a keen disappointment to every Dalesman, from
+Herbert Trotter, Secretary of the Trials, to little Billy Thornton, when
+the Master persisted in his decision not to run the dog for the Cup in
+the approaching Dale Trials; and that though parson, squire, and even
+Lady Eleanour essayed to shake his purpose. It was nigh fifty years
+since Rex son o' Rally had won back the Trophy for the land that gave
+it birth; it was time, they thought, for a Daleland dog, a Gray Dog of
+Kenmuir--the terms are practically synonymous--to bring it home again.
+And Tammas, that polished phrase-maker, was only expressing the feelings
+of every Dalesman in the room when, one night at the Arms, he declared
+of Owd Bob that "to ha' run was to ha' won." At which M'Adam sniggered
+audibly and winked at Red Wull. "To ha' run was to ha' one--lickin'; to
+rin next year'll be to--"
+
+"Win next year." Tammas interposed dogmatically. "Onless"--with
+shivering sarcasm--"you and yer Wullie are thinkin' o' winnin'."
+
+The little man rose from his solitary seat at the back of the room and
+pattered across. "Wullie and I are thinkin' o' t," he whispered loudly
+in the old man's ear. "And mair: what Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull think
+o' doin', that, ye may remairk, Mr. Thornton, they do. Next year we rin,
+and next year--we win. Come, Wullie, we'll leave 'em to chew that"; and
+he marched out of the room amid the jeers of the assembled topers.
+
+When quiet was restored, it was Jim Mason who declared: "One thing
+certain, win or no, they'll not be far off."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Meanwhile the summer ended abruptly. Hard on the heels of a sweltering
+autumn the winter came down. In that year the Daleland assumed very
+early its white cloak. The Silver Mere was soon ice-veiled; the Wastrel
+rolled sullenly down below Kenmuir, its creeks and quiet places tented
+with jagged sheets of ice; while the Scaur and Muir Pike raised hoary
+heads against the frosty blue. It was the season still remembered in the
+North as the White Winter--the worst, they say, since the famous 1808.
+
+For days together Jim Mason was stuck with his bags in the Dalesman's
+Daughter, and there was no communication between the two Dales. On
+the Mere Marches the snow massed deep and impassable in thick, billowy
+drifts. In the Devil's Bowl men said it lay piled some score feet deep.
+And sheep, seeking shelter in the ghylls and protected spots, were
+buried and lost in their hundreds.
+
+That is the time to test the hearts of shepherds and sheep-dogs, when
+the wind runs ice-cold across the waste of white, and the low woods on
+the upland walks shiver black through a veil of snow, and sheep must be
+found and folded or lost: a trial of head as well as heart, of resource
+as well as resolution.
+
+In that winter more than one man and many a dog lost his life in the
+quiet performance of his duty, gliding to death over the slippery
+snow-shelves, or overwhelmed beneath an avalanche of the warm,
+suffocating white: "smoored," as they call it. Many a deed was done,
+many a death died, recorded only in that Book which holds the names of
+those--men or animals, souls or no souls--who tried.
+
+They found old Wrottesley, the squire's head shepherd, lying one morning
+at Gill's foot, like a statue in its white bed, the snow gently blowing
+about the venerable face, calm and beautiful in death. And stretched
+upon his bosom, her master's hands blue, and stiff, still clasped about
+her neck, his old dog Jess. She had huddled there, as a last hope, to
+keep the dear, dead master warm, her great heart riven, hoping where
+there was no hope.
+
+That night she followed him to herd sheep in a better land. Death from
+exposure, Dingley, the vet., gave it; but as little M'Adam, his eyes
+dimmer than their wont, declared huskily; "We ken better, Wullie."
+
+Cyril Gilbraith, a young man not overburdened with emotions, told with
+a sob in his voice how, at the terrible Rowan Rock, Jim Mason had stood,
+impotent, dumb, big-eyed, watching Betsy--Betsy, the friend and partner
+of the last ten years--slipping over the ice-cold surface, silently
+appealing to the hand that had never failed her before--sliding to
+Eternity.
+
+In the Daleland that winter the endurance of many a shepherd and his
+dog was strained past breaking-point. From the frozen Black Water to
+the white-peaked Grammoch Pike two men only, each always with his shaggy
+adjutant, never owned defeat; never turned back; never failed in a thing
+attempted.
+
+In the following spring, Mr. Tinkerton, the squire's agent, declared
+that James Moore and Adam M'Adam--Owd Bob, rather, and Red Wull--had
+lost between them fewer sheep than any single farmer on the whole March
+Mere Estate--a proud record.
+
+Of the two, many a tale was told that winter. They were invincible,
+incomparable; worthy antagonists.
+
+It was Owd Bob who, when he could not drive the band of Black Faces over
+the narrow Razorback which led to safety, induced them to _follow_ him
+across that ten-inch death-track, one by one, like children behind
+their mistress. It was Red Wull who was seen coming down the precipitous
+Saddler's How, shouldering up that grand old gentleman, King o' the
+Dale, whose leg was broken.
+
+The gray dog it was who found Cyril Gilbraith by the White Stones, with
+a cigarette and a sprained ankle, on the night the whole village was out
+with lanterns searching for the well-loved young scapegrace. It was the
+Tailless Tyke and his master who one bitter evening came upon little
+Mrs. Burton, lying in a huddle beneath the lea of the fast-whitening
+Druid's Pillar with her latest baby on her breast. It was little M'Adam
+who took off his coat and wrapped the child in it; little M'Adam who
+unwound his plaid, threw it like a breastband across the dog's great
+chest, and tied the ends round the weary woman's waist. Red Wull it was
+who dragged her back to the Sylvester Arms and life, straining like a
+giant through the snow, while his master staggered behind with the babe
+in his arms. When they reached the inn it was M'Adam who, with a smile
+on his face, told the landlord what he thought of him for sending _his_
+wife across the Marches on such a day and on his errand. To which: "I'd
+a cauld," pleaded honest Jem.
+
+For days together David could not cross the Stony Bottom to Kenmuir.
+His enforced confinement to the Grange led, however, to no more frequent
+collisions than usual with his father. For M'Adam and Red Wull were out,
+at all hours, in all weathers, night and day, toiling at their work of
+salvation.
+
+At last, one afternoon, David managed to cross the Bottom at a point
+where a fallen thorn-tree gave him a bridge over the soft snow. He
+stayed but a little while at Kenmuir, yet when he started for home it
+was snowing again.
+
+By the time he had crossed the ice-draped bridge over the Wastrel, a
+blizzard was raging. The wind roared past him, smiting him so that he
+could barely stand; and the snow leaped at him so that he could not see.
+But he held on doggedly; slipping, sliding, tripping, down and up
+again, with one arm shielding his face. On, on, into the white darkness,
+blindly on sobbing, stumbling, dazed.
+
+At length, nigh dead, he reached the brink of the Stony Bottom. He
+looked up and he looked down, but nowhere in that blinding mist could he
+see the fallen thorn-tree. He took a step forward into the white morass,
+and 'sank up to his thigh. He struggled feebly to free himself, and sank
+deeper. The snow wreathed, twisting, round him like a white flame, and
+he collapsed, softly crying, on that soft bed.
+
+"I canna--I canna!" he moaned.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Little Mrs. Moore, her face whiter and frailer than ever, stood at the
+window, looking out into the storm.
+
+"I canna rest for thinkin' o' th' lad," she said. Then, turning, she saw
+her husband, his fur cap down over his ears, buttoning his pilot-coat
+about his throat, while Owd Bob stood at his feet, waiting.
+
+"Ye're no goin', James?" she asked, anxiously.
+
+"But I am, lass," he answered; and she knew him too well to say more.
+
+So those two went quietly out to save life or lose it, nor counted the
+cost.
+
+Down a wind-shattered slope--over a spar of ice--up an eternal hill--a
+forlorn hope.
+
+In a whirlwind chaos of snow, the tempest storming at them, the white
+earth lashing them, they fought a good fight. In front, Owd Bob, the
+snow clogging his shaggy coat, his hair cutting like lashes of steel
+across eyes, his head lowered as he followed the finger of God; and
+close behind, James Moore, his back stern against the storm, stalwart
+still, yet swaying like a tree before the wind.
+
+So they battled through to the brink of the Stony Bottom--only to arrive
+too late.
+
+For, just as the Master peering about him, had caught sight of a
+shapeless lump lying motionless in front, there loomed across the
+snow-choked gulf through the white riot of the storm a gigantic figure
+forging, doggedly forward, his great head down to meet the hurricane.
+And close behind, buffeted and bruised, stiff and staggering, a little
+dauntless figure holding stubbornly on, clutching with one hand at the
+gale; and a shrill voice, whirled away on the trumpet tones of the wind,
+crying:
+
+     'Noo, Wullie, wi' me!
+     Scots wha' hae wi' Wallace bled!
+     Scots wham Bruce has often led!
+     Welcome to ----!'
+
+"Here he is, Wullie!"
+
+     '--or to victorie!"
+
+The brave little voice died away. The quest; was over; the lost sheep
+found. And the last James Moore saw of them was the same small, gallant
+form, half carrying, half dragging the rescued boy out of the Valley of
+the Shadow and away.
+
+David was none the worse for his adventure, for on reaching home M'Adam
+produced a familiar bottle.
+
+"Here's something to warm yer inside, and"--making a feint at the strap
+on the walls--' "here's something to do the same by yer ----. But,
+Wullie, oot again!"
+
+And out they went--unreckoned heroes.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was but a week later, in the very heart of the bitter time, that
+there came a day when, from gray dawn to grayer eve, neither James Moore
+nor Owd Bob stirred out into the wintry white. And the Master's face was
+hard and set as it always was in time of trouble.
+
+Outside, the wind screamed down the Dale; while the snow fell
+relentlessly; softly fingering the windows, blocking the doors, and
+piling deep against the walls. Inside the house there was a strange
+quiet; no sound save for hushed voices, and upstairs the shuffling of
+muffled feet.
+
+Below, all day long, Owd Bob patrolled the passage like some silent,
+gray spectre.
+
+Once there came a low knocking at the door; and David, his face and hair
+and cap smothered in the all-pervading white, came in with an eddy of
+snow. He patted Owd Bob, and moved on tiptoe into the kitchen. To him
+came Maggie softly, shoes in hand, with white, frightened face. The two
+whispered anxiously awhile like brother and sister as they were; then
+the boy crept quietly away; only a little pool of water on the floor and
+wet, treacherous foot-dabs toward the door testifying to the visitor.
+
+Toward evening the wind died down, but the mourning flakes still fell.
+
+With the darkening of night Owd Bob retreated to the porch and lay down
+on his blanket. The light from the lamp at the head of the stairs shone
+through the crack of open door on his dark head and the eyes that never
+slept.
+
+The hours passed, and the gray knight still kept his vigil. Alone in the
+darkness--alone, it almost seemed, in the house--he watched. His head
+lay motionless along his paws, but the steady gray eyes never flinched
+or drooped.
+
+Time tramped on on leaden foot, and still he waited; and ever the pain
+of hovering anxiety was stamped deeper in the gray eyes.
+
+At length it grew past bearing; the hollow stillness of the house
+overcame him. He rose, pushed open the door, and softly pattered across
+the passage.
+
+At the foot of the stairs he halted, his forepaws on the first step, his
+grave face and pleading eyes uplifted, as though he were praying. The
+dim light fell on the raised head; and the white escutcheon on his
+breast shone out like the snow on Salmon.
+
+At length, with a sound like a sob, he dropped to the ground, and stood
+listening, his tail dropping and head raised. Then he turned and began
+softly pacing up and down, like some velvet-footed sentinel at the gate
+of death.
+
+Up and down, up and down, softly as the falling snow, for a weary, weary
+while.
+
+Again he stopped and stood, listening intently, at the foot of the
+stairs; and his gray coat quivered as though there were a draught.
+
+Of a sudden, the deathly stillness of the house was broken. Upstairs,
+feet were running hurriedly. There was a cry, and again silence.
+
+A life was coming in; a life was going out.
+
+The minutes passed; hours passed; and, at the sunless dawn, a life
+passed.
+
+And all through that night of age-long agony the gray figure stood,
+still as a statue, at the foot of the stairs. Only, when, with the first
+chill breath of the morning, a dry, quick-quenched sob of a strong man
+sorrowing for the helpmeet of a score of years, and a tiny cry of a
+new-born child wailing because its mother was not, came down to his
+ears, the Gray Watchman dropped his head upon his bosom, and, with a
+little whimpering note, crept back to his blanket.
+
+A little later the door above opened, and James Moore tramped down the
+stairs. He looked taller and gaunter than his wont, but there was no
+trace of emotion on his face.
+
+At the foot of the stairs Owd Bob stole out to meet him. He came
+crouching up, head and tail down, in a manner no man ever saw before or
+since. At his master's feet he stopped.
+
+Then, for one short moment, James Moore's whole face quivered.
+
+"Well, lad," he said, quite low, and his voice broke; "she's awa'!"
+
+That was all; for they were an undemonstrative couple.
+
+Then they turned and went out together into the bleak morning.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter VIII. M'ADAM AND HIS COAT
+
+
+To David M'Adam the loss of gentle Elizabeth Moore was as real a grief
+as to her children. Yet he manfully smothered his own aching heart and
+devoted himself to comforting the mourners at Kenmuir.
+
+In the days succeeding Mrs. Moore's death the boy recklessly neglected
+his duties at the Grange. But little M'Adam forbore to rebuke him. At
+times, indeed, he essayed to be passively kind. David, however, was too
+deeply sunk in his great sorrow to note the change.
+
+The day of the funeral came. The earth was throwing off its ice-fetters;
+and the Dale was lost in a mourning mist.
+
+In the afternoon M'Adam was standing at the window of the kitchen,
+contemplating the infinite weariness of the scene, when the door of the
+house opened and shut noiselessly. Red Wull raised himself on to the
+sill and growled, and David hurried past the window making for Kenmuir.
+M'Adam watched the passing figure indifferently; then with an angry oath
+sprang to the window.
+
+"Bring me back that coat, ye thief!" he cried, tapping fiercely on the
+pane. "Tak' it aff at onst, ye muckle gowk, or I'll come and tear it aff
+ye. D'ye see him, Wullie? the great coof has ma coat--me black coat, new
+last Michaelmas, and it rainin' 'nough to melt it."
+
+He threw the window up with a bang and leaned out.
+
+"Bring it back, I tell ye, ondootiful, or I'll summons ye. Though ye've
+no respect for me, ye might have for ma claithes. Ye're too big for yer
+ain boots, let alane ma coat. D'ye think I had it cut for a elephant?
+It's burst-in', I tell ye. Tak' it aff! Fetch it here, or I'll e'en send
+Wullie to bring it!"
+
+David paid no heed except to begin running heavily down the hill. The
+coat was stretched in wrinkled agony across his back; his big, red
+wrists protruded like shank-bones from the sleeves; and the little tails
+flapped wearily in vain attempts to reach the wearer's legs.
+
+M'Adam, bubbling over with indignation, scrambled half through the open
+window. Then, tickled at the amazing impudence of the thing, he paused,
+smiled, dropped to the ground again, and watched the uncouth, retreating
+figure with chuckling amusement.
+
+"Did ye ever see the like o' that, Wullie?" he muttered. "Ma puir
+coat--puir wee coatie! it gars me greet to see her in her pain. A man's
+coat, Wullie, is aften unco sma' for his son's back; and David there
+is strainin' and stretchin' her nigh to brakin', for a' the world as he
+does ma forbearance. And what's he care aboot the one or t'ither?--not a
+finger-flip."
+
+As he stood watching the disappearing figure there began the slow
+tolling of the minute-bell in the little Dale church. Now near, now far,
+now loud, now low, its dull chant rang out through the mist like the
+slow-dropping tears of a mourning world.
+
+M'Adam listened, almost reverently, as the bell tolled on, the only
+sound in the quiet Dale. Outside, a drizzling rain was falling; the
+snow dribbled down the hill in muddy tricklets; and trees and roofs and
+windows dripped.
+
+And still the bell tolled on, calling up relentlessly sad memories of
+the long ago.
+
+It was on just such another dreary day, in just such another December,
+and not so many years gone by, that the light had gone forever out of
+his life.
+
+The whole picture rose as instant to his eyes as if it had been but
+yesterday. That insistent bell brought the scene surging back to him:
+the dismal day; the drizzle; the few mourners; little David decked out
+in black, his fair hair contrasting with his gloomy clothes, his face
+swollen with weeping; the Dale hushed, it seemed in death, save for the
+tolling of the bell; and his love had left him and gone to the happy
+land the hymn-books talk of.
+
+Red Wull, who had been watching him uneasily, now came up and shoved
+his muzzle into his master's hand. The cold touch brought the little man
+back to earth. He shook himself, turned wearily away from the window,
+and went to the door of the house.
+
+He stood there looking out; and all round him was the eternal drip, drip
+of the thaw. The wind lulled, and again the minute-bell tolled out clear
+and inexorable, resolute to recall what was and what had been.
+
+With a choking gasp the little man turned into the house, and ran up the
+stairs and into his room. He dropped on his knees beside the great chest
+in the corner, and unlocked the bottom drawer, the key turning noisily
+in its socket.
+
+In the drawer he searched with feverish fingers, and produced at length
+a little paper packet wrapped about with a stained yellow ribbon. It was
+the ribbon she had used to weave on Sundays into her soft hair.
+
+Inside the packet was a cheap, heart-shaped frame, and in it a
+photograph.
+
+Up there it was too dark to see. The little man ran down the stairs, Red
+Wull jostling him as he went, and hurried to the window in the kitchen.
+
+It was a sweet, laughing face that looked up at him from the frame,
+demure yet arch, shy yet roguish--a face to look at and a face to love.
+
+As he looked a wintry smile, wholly tender, half tearful, stole over the
+little man's face.
+
+"Lassie," he whispered, and his voice was infinitely soft, "it's lang
+sin' I've daured look at ye. But it's no that ye're forgotten, dearie."
+
+Then he covered his eyes with his hand as though he were blinded.
+
+"Dinna look at me sae, lass!" he cried, and fell on his knees, kissing
+the picture, hugging it to him and sobbing passionately.
+
+Red Wull came up and pushed his face compassionately into his master's;
+but the little man shoved him roughly away, and the dog retreated into a
+corner, abashed and reproachful.
+
+Memories swarmed back on the little man.
+
+It was more than a decade ago now, and yet he dared barely think of that
+last evening when she had lain so white and still in the little room
+above.
+
+"Pit the bairn on the bed, Adam man," she had said in low tones. "I'll
+be gaein' in a wee while noo. It's the lang good-by to you--and him."
+
+He had done her bidding and lifted David up. The tiny boy lay still a
+moment, looking at this white-faced mother whom he hardly recognized.
+
+"Minnie!" he called piteously. Then, thrusting a small, dirty hand into
+his pocket, he pulled out a grubby sweet.
+
+"Minnie, ha' a sweetie--ain o' Davie's sweeties!" and he held it out
+anxiously in his warm plump palm, thinking it a certain cure for any
+ill.
+
+"Eat it for mither," she said, smiling tenderly; and then: "Davie, ma
+heart, I'm leavin' ye."
+
+The boy ceased sucking the sweet, and looked at her, the corners of his
+mouth drooping pitifully.
+
+"Ye're no gaein' awa', mither?" he asked, his face all working. "Ye'll
+no leave yen wee laddie?"
+
+"Ay, laddie, awa'--reet awa'. HE's callin' me." She tried to smile; but
+her mother's heart was near to bursting.
+
+"Ye'll tak' yen wee Davie wi' ye mither!" the child pleaded, crawling up
+toward her face.
+
+The great tears rolled, unrestrained, down her wan cheeks, and M'Adam,
+at the head of the bed, was sobbing openly.
+
+"Eh, ma bairn, ma bairn, I'm sair to leave ye!" she cried brokenly.
+"Lift him for me, Adam."
+
+He placed the child in her arms; but she was too weak to hold him. So he
+laid him upon his mother's pillows; and the boy wreathed his soft arms
+about her neck and sobbed tempestuously.
+
+And the two lay thus together.
+
+Just before she died, Flora turned her head and whispered:
+
+"Adam, ma man, ye'll ha' to be mither and father baith to the lad noo";
+and she looked at him with tender confidence in her dying eyes.
+
+"I wull! afore God as I stan' here I wull!" he declared passionately.
+Then she died, and there was a look of ineffable peace upon her face.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Mither and father baith!"
+
+The little man rose to his feet and flung the photograph from him. Red
+Wull pounced upon it; but M'Adam leapt at him as he mouthed it.
+
+"Git awa', ye devil!" he screamed; and, picking it up, stroked it
+lovingly with trembling fingers.
+
+"Maither and father baith!"
+
+How had he fulfilled his love's last wish? How!
+
+"Oh God! "--and he fell upon his knees at the table-side, hugging the
+picture, sobbing and praying.
+
+Red Wull cowered in the far corner of the room, and then crept whining
+up to where his master knelt. But M'Adam heeded him not, and the great
+dog slunk away again.
+
+There the little man knelt in the gloom of the winter's afternoon, a
+miserable penitent. His gray-flecked head was bowed upon his arms; his
+hands clutched the picture; and he prayed aloud in gasping, halting
+tones.
+
+"Gie me grace, O God! 'Father and mither baith,' ye said, Flora--and I
+ha'na done it. But 'tis no too late--say it's no, lass. Tell me there's
+time yet, and say ye forgie me. I've tried to bear wi' him mony and mony
+a time. But he's vexed me, and set himself agin me, and stiffened my
+back, and ye ken hoo I was aye quick to tak' offence. But I'll mak' it
+up to him--mak' it up to him, and mair. I'll humble masel' afore him,
+and that'll be bitter enough. And I'll be father and mither baith to
+him. But there's bin none to help me; and it's bin sair wi'oot ye.
+And--. but, eh, lassie, I'm wearyin' for ye!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was a dreary little procession that wound in the drizzle from Kenmuir
+to the little Dale Church. At the head stalked James Moore, and close
+behind David in his meagre coat. While last of all, as if to guide the
+stragglers in the weary road, come Owd Bob.
+
+There was a full congregation in the tiny church now. In the squire's
+pew were Cyril Gilbraith, Muriel Sylvester, and, most conspicuous, Lady
+Eleanour. Her slender figure was simply draped in gray, with gray fur
+about the neck and gray fur edging sleeves and jacket; her veil was
+lifted, and you could see the soft hair about her temples, like waves
+breaking on white cliffs, and her eyes big with tender sympathy as she
+glanced toward the pew upon her right.
+
+For there were the mourners from Kenmuir: the Master, tall, grim, and
+gaunt; and beside him Maggie, striving to be calm, and little Andrew,
+the miniature of his father.
+
+Alone, in the pew behind, David M'Adam in his father's coat.
+
+The back of the church was packed with farmers from the whole March Mere
+Estate; friends from Silverdale and Grammoch-town; and nearly every
+soul in Wastrel-dale, come to show their sympathy for the living and
+reverence for the dead.
+
+At last the end came in the wet dreariness of the little churchyard, and
+slowly the mourners departed, until at length were left only the parson,
+the Master, and Owd Bob.
+
+The parson was speaking in rough, short accents, digging nervously
+at the wet ground. The other, tall and gaunt, his face drawn and
+half-averted, stood listening. By his side was Owd Bob, scanning his
+master's countenance, a wistful compassion deep in the sad gray eyes;
+while close by, one of the parson's terriers was nosing inquisitively in
+the wet grass.
+
+Of a sudden, James Moore, his face still turned away, stretched out a
+hand. The parson, broke off abruptly and grasped it. Then the two men
+strode away in opposite directions, the terrier hopping on three legs
+and shaking the rain off his hard coat.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+David's steps sounded outside. M'Adam rose from his knees. The door of
+the house opened, and the boy's feet shuffled in the passage.
+
+"David!" the little man called in a tremulous voice.
+
+He stood in the half-light, one hand on the table, the other clasping
+the picture. His eyes were bleared, his thin hair all tossed, and he was
+shaking.
+
+"David," he called again; "I've somethin' I wush to say to ye!"
+
+The boy burst into the room. His face was stained with tears and rain;
+and the new black coat was wet and slimy all down the front, and on the
+elbows were green-brown, muddy blots. For, on his way home, he had flung
+himself down in the Stony Bottom just as he was, heedless of the wet
+earth and his father's coat, and, lying on his face thinking of
+that second mother lost to him, had wept his heart out in a storm of
+passionate grief.
+
+Now he stood defiantly, his hand upon the door.
+
+"What d'yo' want?"
+
+The little man looked from him to the picture in his hand.
+
+"Help me, Flora--he'll no," he prayed. Then raising his eyes, he began:
+"I'd like to say--I've bin thinkin'--I think I should tell ye--it's no
+an easy thing for a man to say--"
+
+He broke off short. The self-imposed task was almost more than he could
+accomplish.
+
+He looked appealingly at David. But there was no glimmer of
+understanding in that white, set countenance.
+
+"O God, it's maist mair than I can do!" the little man muttered; and the
+perspiration stood upon his forehead. Again he began: "David, after I
+saw ye this afternoon steppin' doon the hill--" Again he paused. His
+glance rested unconsciously upon the coat. David mistook the look;
+mistook the dimness in his father's eyes; mistook the tremor in his
+voice.
+
+"Here 'tis! tak' yo' coat!" he cried passionately; and, tearing it off,
+flung it down at his father's feet. "Tak' it--and---and--curse yo'."
+
+He banged out of the room and ran upstairs; and, locking himself in,
+threw himself on to his bed and sobbed.
+
+Red Wull made a movement to fly at the retreating figure; then turned
+to his master, his stump-tail vibrating with pleasure. But little M'Adam
+was looking at the wet coat now lying in a wet bundle at his feet.
+
+"Curse ye," he repeated softly. "Curse ye--ye heard him. Wullie?"
+
+A bitter smile crept across his face. He looked again at the picture now
+lying crushed in his hand.
+
+"Ye canna say I didna try; ye canna ask me to agin," he muttered, and
+slipped it into his pocket. "Niver agin, Wullie; not if the Queen were
+to ask it."
+
+Then he went out into the gloom and drizzle, still smiling the same
+bitter smile.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+That night, when it came to closing-time at the Sylvester Arms, Jem
+Burton found a little gray-haired figure lying on the floor in the
+tap-room. At the little man's head lay a great dog.
+
+"Yo' beast!" said the righteous publican, regarding the figure of his
+best customer with fine scorn. Then catching sight of a photograph in
+the little man's hand:
+
+"Oh, yo're that sort, are yo', foxy?" he leered. "Gie us a look at 'er,"
+and he tried to disengage the picture from the other's grasp. But at
+the attempt the great dog rose, bared his teeth, and assumed such a
+diabolical expression that the big landlord retreated hurriedly behind
+the bar.
+
+"Two on ye!" he shouted viciously, rattling his heels; "beasts baith!"
+
+
+
+
+PART III THE SHEPHERDS' TROPHY
+
+
+
+
+Chapter IX. RIVALS
+
+
+M'ADAM never forgave his son. After the scene on the evening of the
+funeral there could be no alternative but war for all time. The
+little man had attempted to humble himself, and been rejected; and
+the bitterness of defeat, when he had deserved victory, rankled like a
+poisoned barb in his bosom.
+
+Yet the heat of his indignation was directed not against David, but
+against the Master of Kenmuir. To the influence and agency of James
+Moore he attributed his discomfiture, and bore himself accordingly. In
+public or in private, in tap-room or market, he never wearied of abusing
+his enemy.
+
+"Feel the loss o' his wife, d'ye say?" he would cry. "Ay, as muckle as
+I feel the loss o' my hair. James Moore can feel naethin', I tell ye,
+except, aiblins, a mischance to his meeserable dog."
+
+When the two met, as they often must, it was always M'Adam's endeavor
+to betray his enemy into an unworthy expression of feeling. But James
+Moore, sorely tried as he often was, never gave way. He met the little
+man's sneers with a quelling silence, looking down on his asp-tongued
+antagonist with such a contempt flashing from his blue-gray eyes as hurt
+his adversary more than words.
+
+Only once was he spurred into reply. It was in the tap-room of
+the Dalesman's Daughter on the occasion of the big spring fair in
+Grammoch-town, when there was a goodly gathering of farmers and their
+dogs in the room.
+
+M'Adam was standing at the fireplace with Red Wull at his side.
+
+"It's a noble pairt ye play, James Moore," he cried loudly across the
+room, "settin' son against father, and dividin' hoose against hoose.
+It's worthy o' ye we' yer churchgoin', and yer psalm-singin', and yer
+godliness."
+
+The Master looked up from the far end of the room.
+
+"Happen yo're not aware, M'Adam," he said sternly, "that, an' it had not
+bin for me, David'd ha' left you years agone--and 'twould nob'but ha'
+served yo' right, I'm thinkin'."
+
+The little man was beaten on his own ground, so he changed front.
+
+"Dinna shout so, man--I have ears to hear, Forbye ye irritate Wullie."
+
+The Tailless Tyke, indeed, had advanced from the fireplace, and now
+stood, huge and hideous, in the very centre of the room. There was
+distant thunder in his throat, a threat upon his face, a challenge in
+every wrinkle. And the Gray Dog stole gladly out from behind his master
+to take up the gage of battle.
+
+Straightway there was silence; tongues ceased to wag, tankards to clink.
+Every man and every dog was quietly gathering about those two central
+figures. Not one of them all but had his score to wipe off against the
+Tailless Tyke; not one of them but was burning to join in, the battle
+once begun. And the two gladiators stood looking past one another,
+muzzle to muzzle, each with a tiny flash of teeth glinting between his
+lips.
+
+But the fight was not to be; for the twentieth time the Master
+intervened.
+
+"Bob, lad, coom in!" he called, and, bending, grasped his favorite by
+the neck.
+
+M'Adam laughed softly.
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, to me!" he cried. "The look o' you's enough for that
+gentleman."
+
+"If they get fightin' it'll no be Bob here I'll hit, I warn yo',
+M'Adam," said the Master grimly.
+
+"Gin ye sae muckle as touched Wullie d'ye ken what I'd do, James Moore?"
+asked the little man very smoothly.
+
+"Yes--sweer," the other replied, and strode out of the room amid a roar
+of derisive laughter at M'Adam's expense.
+
+Owd Bob had now attained wellnigh the perfection of his art. Parson
+Leggy declared roundly that his like had not been seen since the days
+of Rex son of Rally. Among the Dalesmen he was a heroic favorite, his
+prowess and gentle ways winning him friends on every hand. But the point
+that told most heavily for him was that in all things he was the very
+antithesis of Red Wull.
+
+Barely a man in the country-side but owed that ferocious savage a
+grudge; not a man of them all who dared pay it. Once Long Kirby, full
+of beer and valor, tried to settle his account. Coming on M'Adam and Red
+Wull as he was driving into Grammoch-town, he leant over and with his
+thong dealt the dog a terrible sword-like slash that raised an angry
+ridge of red from hip to shoulder; and was twenty yards down the road
+before the little man's shrill curse reached his ear, drowned in a
+hideous bellow.
+
+He stood up and lashed the colt, who, quick on his legs for a young un,
+soon settled to his gallop. But, glancing over his shoulder, he saw a
+hounding form behind, catching him as though he were walking. His face
+turned sickly white; he screamed; he flogged; he looked back. Right
+beneath the tail-board was the red devil in the dust; while racing a
+furlong behind on the turnpike road was the mad figure of M'Adam.
+
+The smith struck back and flogged forward. It was of no avail. With a
+tiger-like bound the murderous brute leapt on the flying trap. At the
+shock of the great body the colt was thrown violently on his side; Kirby
+was tossed over the hedge; and Red Wull pinned beneath the debris.
+
+M'Adam had time to rush up and save a tragedy.
+
+"I've a mind to knife ye, Kirby," he panted, as he bandaged the smith's
+broken head.
+
+After that you may be sure the Dalesmen preferred to swallow insults
+rather than to risk their lives; and their impotence only served to fan
+their hatred to white heat.
+
+The working methods of the antagonists were as contrasted as their
+appearances. In a word, the one compelled where the other coaxed.
+
+His enemies said the Tailless Tyke was rough; not even Tammas denied he
+was ready. His brain was as big as his body, and he used them both
+to some purpose. "As quick as a cat, with the heart of a lion and the
+temper of Nick's self," was Parson Leggy's description.
+
+What determination could effect, that could Red Wall; but achievement
+by inaction--supremest of all strategies--was not for him. In matters of
+the subtlest handling, where to act anything except indifference was
+to lose, with sheep restless, fearful forebodings hymned to them by the
+wind, panic hovering unseen above them, when an ill-considered movement
+spelt catastrophe--then was Owd Bob o' Kenmuir incomparable.
+
+Men still tell how, when the squire's new thrashing-machine ran amuck
+in Grammoch-town, and for some minutes the market square was a turbulent
+sea of blaspheming men, yelping dogs, and stampeding sheep, only one
+flock stood calm as a mill-pond by the bull-ring, watching the riot with
+almost indifference. And in front, sitting between them and the storm,
+was a quiet gray dog, his mouth stretched in a capacious yawn: to yawn
+was to win, and he won.
+
+When the worst of the uproar was over, many a glance of triumph was shot
+first at that one still pack, and then at M'Adam, as he waded through
+the disorder of huddling sheep.
+
+"And wheer's your Wullie noo?" asked Tapper scornfully.
+
+"Weel," the little man answered with a quiet smile, "at this minute he's
+killin' your Rasper doon by the pump." Which was indeed the case; for
+big blue Rasper had interfered with the great dog in the performance of
+his duty, and suffered accordingly.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Spring passed into summer; and the excitement as to the event of the
+approaching Trials, when at length the rivals would be pitted
+against one another, reached such a height as old Jonas Maddox, the
+octogenarian, could hardly recall.
+
+Down in the Sylvester Arms there was almost nightly a conflict
+between M'Adam and Tammas Thornton, spokesman of the Dales men. Many a
+long-drawn bout of words had the two anent the respective merits and Cup
+chances of red and gray. In these duels Tammas was usually worsted. His
+temper would get the better of his discretion; and the cynical debater
+would be lost in the hot-tongued partisan.
+
+During these encounters the others would, as a rule, maintain a rigid
+silence. Only when their champion was being beaten, and it was time for
+strength of voice to vanquish strength of argument, they joined in
+right lustily and roared the little man down, for all the world like the
+gentlemen who rule the Empire at Westminster.
+
+Tammas was an easy subject for M'Adam to draw, but David was an easier.
+Insults directed at himself the boy bore with a stolidity born of long
+use. But a poisonous dart shot against his friends at Kenmuir never
+failed to achieve its object. And the little man evinced an amazing
+talent for the concoction of deft lies respecting James Moore.
+
+"I'm hearin'," said he, one evening, sitting in the kitchen, sucking his
+twig; "I'm hearin' James Moore is gaein' to git married agin."
+
+"Yo're hearin' lies--or mair-like tellin' 'em," David answered shortly.
+For he treated his father now with contemptuous indifference.
+
+"Seven months sin' his wife died," the little man continued
+meditatively. "Weel, I'm on'y 'stonished he's waited sae lang. Ain
+buried, anither come on--that's James Moore."
+
+David burst angrily out of the room.
+
+"Gaein' to ask him if it's true?" called his father after him. "Gude
+luck to ye--and him."
+
+David had now a new interest at Kenmuir. In Maggie he found an endless
+source of study. On the death of her mother the girl had taken up the
+reins of government at Kenmuir; and gallantly she played her part,
+whether in tenderly mothering the baby, wee Anne, or in the sterner
+matters of household work. She did her duty, young though she was,
+with a surprising, old-fashioned womanliness that won many a smile
+of approval from her father, and caused David's eyes to open with
+astonishment.
+
+And he soon discovered that Maggie, mistress of Kenmuir, was another
+person from his erstwhile playfellow and servant.
+
+The happy days when might ruled right were gone, never to be recalled.
+David often regretted them, especially when in a conflict of tongues,
+Maggie, with her quick answers and teasing eyes, was driving him sulky
+and vanquished from the field. The two were perpetually squabbling now.
+In the good old days, he remembered bitterly, squabbles between them
+were unknown. He had never permitted them; any attempt at independent
+thought or action was as sternly quelled as in the Middle Ages. She must
+follow where he led on--"Ma word!"
+
+Now she was mistress where he had been master; hers was to command, his
+to obey. In consequence they were perpetually at war. And yet he would
+sit for hours in the kitchen and watch her, as she went about her
+business, with solemn, interested eyes, half of admiration, half of
+amusement. In the end Maggie always turned on him with a little laugh
+touched with irritation.
+
+"Han't yo' got nothin' better'n that to do, nor lookin' at me?" she
+asked one Saturday about a month before Cup Day.
+
+"No, I han't," the pert fellow rejoined.
+
+"Then I wish yo' had. It mak's me fair jumpety yo' watchin' me so like
+ony cat a mouse."
+
+"Niver yo' fash yo'sel' account o' me, ma wench," he answered calmly.
+
+"Yo' wench, indeed!" she cried, tossing her head.
+
+"Ay, or will be," he muttered.
+
+"What's that?" she cried, springing round, a flush of color on her face.
+
+"Nowt, my dear. Yo'll know so soon as I want yo' to, yo' may be sure,
+and no sooner."
+
+The girl resumed her baking, half angry, half suspicious.
+
+"I dunno' what yo' mean, Mr. M'Adam," she said.
+
+"Don't yo', Mrs. M'A----"
+
+The rest was lost in the crash of a falling plate; whereat David laughed
+quietly, and asked if he should help pick up the bits.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On the same evening at the Sylvester Arms an announcement was made that
+knocked the breath out of its hearers.
+
+In the debate that night on the fast-approaching Dale Trials and the
+relative abilities of red and gray, M'Adam on the one side, and Tammas,
+backed by Long Kirby and the rest, on the other, had cudgelled each
+other with more than usual vigor. The controversy rose to fever-heat;
+abuse succeeded argument; and the little man again and again was hooted
+into silence.
+
+"It's easy laffin'," he cried at last, "but ye'll laff t'ither side o'
+yer ugly faces on Cup Day."
+
+"Will us, indeed? Us'll see," came the derisive chorus.
+
+"We'll whip ye till ye're deaf, dumb, and blind, Wullie and I."
+
+''Yo'll not!''
+
+"We will!"
+
+The voices were rising like the east wind in March.
+
+"Yo'll not, and for a very good reason too," asseverated Tammas loudly.
+
+"Gie us yer reason, ye muckle liar," cried the little man, turning on
+him.
+
+"Becos----" began Jim Mason and stopped to rub his nose.
+
+"Yo' 'old yo' noise, Jim," recommended Rob Saunderson.
+
+"Becos----" it was Tammas this time who paused.
+
+"Git on wi' it, ye stammerin' stirk!" cried M'Adam. "Why?"
+
+"Becos--Owd Bob'll not rin."
+
+Tammas sat back in his chair.
+
+"What!" screamed the little man, thrusting forward.
+
+"What's that!" yelled Long Kirby, leaping to his feet.
+
+"Mon, say it agin!" shouted Rob.
+
+"What's owd addled eggs tellin'?" cried Liz Burton.
+
+"Dang his 'ead for him!" shouts Tupper.
+
+"Fill his eye!" says Ned Hoppin.
+
+They jostled round the old man's chair: M'Adam in front; Jem Burton and
+Long Kirby leaning over his shoulder; Liz behind her father; Saunderson
+and Tupper tackling him on either side; while the rest peered and
+elbowed in the rear.
+
+The announcement had fallen like a thunderbolt among them.
+
+Tammas looked slowly up at the little mob of eager faces above him.
+Pride at the sensation caused by his news struggled in his countenance
+with genuine sorrow for the matter of it.
+
+"Ay, yo' may well 'earken all on yo'. Tis enough to mak' the deadies
+listen. I says agin: We's'll no rin oor Bob fot' Cup. And yo' may guess
+why. Bain't every mon, Mr. M'Adam, as'd pit aside his chanst o' the Cup,
+and that 'maist a gift for him"--M'Adam's tongue was in his cheek--"and
+it a certainty," the old man continued warmly, "oot o' respect for his
+wife's memory."
+
+The news was received in utter silence. The shock of the surprise,
+coupled with the bitterness of the disappointment, froze the slow
+tongues of his listeners.
+
+Only one small voice broke the stillness.
+
+"Oh, the feelin' man! He should git a reduction o' rent for sic a
+display o' proper speerit. I'll mind Mr. Hornbut to let auld Sylvester
+ken o't."
+
+Which he did, and would have got a thrashing for his pains had not Cyril
+Gilbraith thrown him out of the parsonage before the angry cleric could
+lay hands upon him.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter X. RED WULL WINS
+
+
+TAMMAS had but told the melancholy truth. Owd Bob was not to run for the
+cup. And this self-denying ordinance speaks more for James Moore's love
+of his lost wife than many a lordly cenotaph.
+
+To the people of the Daleland, from the Black Water to the market-cross
+in Grammoch-town, the news came with the shock of a sudden blow. They
+had set their hearts on the Gray Dog's success; and had felt serenely
+confident of his victory. But the sting of the matter lay in this: that
+now the Tailless Tyke might well win.
+
+M'Adam, on the other hand, was plunged into a fervor of delight at the
+news. For to win the Shepherds' Trophy was the goal of his ambition.
+David was now less than nothing to the lonely little man, Red Wull
+everything to him. And to have that name handed down to posterity,
+gallantly holding its place among those of the most famous sheep-dogs of
+all time, was his heart's desire.
+
+As Cup Day drew near, the little man, his fine-drawn temperament
+strung to the highest pitch of nervousness, was tossed on a sea of
+apprehension. His hopes and fears ebbed and flowed on the tide of the
+moment. His moods were as uncertain as the winds in March; and there was
+no dependence on his humor for a unit of time. At one minute he paced up
+and down the kitchen, his face already flushed with the glow of victory,
+chanting:
+
+"Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled!"
+
+At the next he was down at the table, his head buried in his hands, his
+whole figure shaking, as he cried in choking voice: "Eh, Wullie, Wullie,
+they're all agin us."
+
+David found that life with his father now was life with an unamiable
+hornet. Careless as he affected to be of his father's vagaries, he was
+tried almost to madness, and fled away at every moment to Kenmuir; for,
+as he told Maggie, "I'd sooner put up wi' your h'airs and h'imperences,
+miss, than wi' him, the wemon that he be!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At length the great day came. Fears, hopes, doubts, dismays, all
+dispersed in the presence of the reality.
+
+Cup Day is always a general holiday in the Daleland, and every soul
+crowds over to Silverdale. Shops were shut; special trains ran in
+to Grammoch-town; and the road from the little town was dazed with
+char-a-bancs, brakes, wagonettes, carriages, carts, foot-passengers,
+wending toward the Dalesman's Daughter.
+
+And soon the paddock below that little inn was humming with the crowd
+of sportsmen and spectators come to see the battle for the Shepherd's
+Trophy.
+
+There, very noticeable with its red body and yellow wheels, was the
+great Kenmuir wagon. Many an eye was directed on the handsome young pair
+who stood in it, conspicuous and unconscious, above the crowd: Maggie,
+looking in her simple print frock as sweet and fresh as any mountain
+flower; while David's fair face was all gloomy and his brows knit.
+
+In front of the wagon was a black cluster of Dalesmen, discussing
+M'Adam's chances. In the centre was Tammas holding forth. Had you passed
+close to the group you might have heard: "A man, d'yo say, Mr. Maddox? A
+h'ape, I call him"; or: "A dog? more like an 'og, I tell yo'." Round the
+old orator were Jonas, 'Enry, and oor Job, Jem Burton, Rob Saunderson,
+Tupper, Jim Mason, Hoppin, and others; while on the outskirts stood
+Sam'l Todd prophesying rain and M'Adam's victory. Close at hand Bessie
+Bolstock, who was reputed to have designs on David, was giggling
+spitefully at the pair in the Kenmuir wagon, and singing:
+
+"Let a lad aloan, lass, Let a lad a-be."
+
+While her father, Teddy, dodged in and out among the crowd with tray and
+glasses: for Cup Day was the great day of the year for him.
+
+Past the group of Dalesmen and on all sides was a mass of bobbing
+heads--Scots, Northerners, Yorkshiremen, Taffies. To right and left
+a long array of carriages and carts, ranging from the squire's quiet
+landau and Viscount Birdsaye's gorgeous barouche to Liz Burton's
+three-legged moke-cart with little Mrs. Burton, the twins, young Jake
+(who should have walked), and Monkey (ditto) packed away inside. Beyond
+the Silver Lea the gaunt Scaur raised its craggy peak, and the Pass,
+trending along its side, shone white in the sunshine.
+
+At the back of the carriages were booths, cocoanut-shies, Aunt Sallies,
+shows, bookmakers' stools, and all the panoply of such a meeting.
+Here Master Launcelot Bilks and Jacky Sylvester were fighting; Cyril
+Gilbraith was offering to take on the boxing man; Long Kirby was
+snapping up the odds against Red Wull; and Liz Burton and young Ned
+Hoppin were being photographed together, while Melia Ross in the
+background was pretending she didn't care.
+
+On the far bank of the stream was a little bevy of men and dogs,
+observed of all.
+
+The Juvenile Stakes had been run and won; Londesley's Lassie had carried
+off the Locals; and the fight for the Shepherds' Trophy was about to
+begin.
+
+"Yo're not lookin' at me noo," whispered Maggie to the silent boy by her
+side.
+
+"Nay; nor niver don't wush to agin." David answered roughly. His gaze
+was directed over the array of heads in front to where, beyond the
+Silver Lea, a group of shepherds and their dogs was clustered. While
+standing apart from the rest, in characteristic isolation, was the bent
+figure of his father, and beside him the Tailless Tyke.
+
+"Doest'o not want yo' feyther to win?" asked Maggie softly, following
+his gaze.
+
+"I'm prayin' he'll be beat," the boy answered moodily.
+
+"Eh, Davie, hoo can ye?" cried the girl, shocked.
+
+"It's easy to say, 'Eh, David,'" he snapped. "But if yo' lived along
+o' them two "--he nodded toward the stream--"'appen yo'd understand a
+bit.... 'Eh, David,' indeed! I never did!"
+
+"I know it, lad," she said tenderly; and he was appeased.
+
+"He'd give his right hand for his bless'd Wullie to win; I'd give me
+right arm to see him beat.... And oor Bob there all the while,"--he
+nodded to the far left of the line, where stood James Moore and Owd Bob,
+with Parson Leggy and the Squire.
+
+When at length Red Wull came out to run his course, he worked with the
+savage dash that always characterized him. His method was his own; but
+the work was admirably done.
+
+"Keeps right on the back of his sheep," said the parson, watching
+intently. "Strange thing they don't break!" But they didn't. There was
+no waiting, no coaxing; it was drive and devilry all through. He
+brought his sheep along at a terrific rate, never missing a turn, never
+faltering, never running out. And the crowd applauded, for the crowd
+loves a dashing display. While little M'Adam, hopping agilely about,
+his face ablaze with excitement, handled dog and sheep with a masterly
+precision that compelled the admiration even of his enemies.
+
+"M'Adam wins!" roared a bookmaker. "Twelve to one agin the field!"
+
+"He wins, dang him!" said David, low.
+
+"Wull wins!" said the parson, shutting his lips.
+
+"And deserves too!" said James Moore.
+
+"Wull wins!" softly cried the crowd.
+
+"We don't!" said Sam'l gloomily.
+
+And in the end Red Wull did Win; and there were none save Tammas, the
+bigot, and Long Kirby, who had lost a good deal of his wife's money and
+a little of his own, to challenge the justice of the verdict.
+
+The win had but a chilling reception. At first there was faint cheering;
+but it sounded like the echo of an echo, and soon died of inanition.
+To get up an ovation, there must be money at the back, or a few roaring
+fanatics to lead the dance. Here there was neither; ugly stories,
+disparaging remarks, on every hand. And the hundreds who did not know
+took their tone, as always, from those who said they did.
+
+M'Adam could but remark the absence of enthusiasm as he pushed up
+through the throng toward the committee tent. No single voice hailed
+him victor; no friendly hand smote its congratulations. Broad backs were
+turned; contemptuous glances levelled; spiteful remarks shot. Only the
+foreign element looked curiously at the little bent figure with the
+glowing face, and shrank back at the size and savage aspect of the great
+dog at his heels.
+
+But what cared he? His Wullie was acknowledged champion, the best
+sheep-dog of the year; and the little man was happy. They could turn
+their backs on him; but they could not alter that; and he could afford
+to be indifferent. "They dinna like it, lad--he! he! But they'll e'en
+ha' to thole it. Ye've won it, Wullie--won it fair."
+
+He elbowed through the press, making for the rope-guarded inclosure in
+front of the committee tent, round which the people were now packing. In
+the door of the tent stood the secretary, various stewards, and members
+of the committee. In front, alone in the roped-off space, was Lady
+Eleanour, fragile, dainty, graceful, waiting with a smile upon her face
+to receive the winner. And on a table beside her, naked and dignified,
+the Shepherd's Trophy.
+
+There it stood, kingly and impressive; its fair white sides inscribed
+with many names; cradled in three shepherds' crooks; and on the top, as
+if to guard the Cup's contents, an exquisitely carved collie's head. The
+Shepherds' Trophy, the goal of his life's race, and many another man's.
+
+He climbed over the rope, followed by Red Wull, and took off his hat
+with almost courtly deference to the fair lady before him.
+
+As he walked up to the table on which the Cup stood, a shrill voice,
+easily recognizable, broke the silence.
+
+"You'd like it better if 'twas full and yo' could swim in it, you and
+yer Wullie," it called. Whereat the crowd giggled, and Lady Eleanour
+looked indignant.
+
+The little man turned.
+
+"I'll mind drink yer health, Mr. Thornton, never fear, though I ken ye'd
+prefaire to drink yer ain," he said. At which the crowd giggled afresh;
+and a gray head at the back, which had hoped itself unrecognized,
+disappeared suddenly.
+
+The little man stood there in the stillness, sourly smiling, his face
+still wet from his exertions; while the Tailless Tyke at his side
+fronted defiantly the serried ring of onlookers, a white fence of teeth
+faintly visible between his lips.
+
+Lady Eleanour looked uneasy. Usually the lucky winner was unable to
+hear her little speech, as she gave the Cup away, so deafening was the
+applause. Now there was utter silence. She glanced up at the crowd, but
+there was no response to her unspoken appeal in that forest of hostile
+faces. And her gentle heart bled for the forlorn little man before her.
+To make it up she smiled on him so sweetly as to more than compensate
+him.
+
+"I'm sure you deserve your success, Mr. M'Adam," she said. "You and Red
+Wull there worked splendidly--everybody says so."
+
+"I've heard naethin' o't," the little man answered dryly. At which some
+one in the crowd sniggered.
+
+"And we all know what a grand dog he is; though"--with a reproving smile
+as she glanced at Red Wull's square, truncated stern--"he's not very
+polite."
+
+"His heart is good, your Leddyship, if his manners are not," M'Adam
+answered, smiling.
+
+"Liar!" came a loud voice in the silence. Lady Eleanour looked up, hot
+with indignation, and half rose from her seat. But M'Adam merely smiled.
+
+"Wullie, turn and mak' yer bow to the leddy," he said. "They'll no hurt
+us noo we're up; it's when we're doon they'll flock like corbies to the
+carrion."
+
+At that Red Wull walked up to Lady Eleanour, faintly wagging his tail;
+and she put her hand on his huge bull head and said, "Dear old Ugly!" at
+which the crowd cheered in earnest.
+
+After that, for some moments, the only sound was the gentle ripple of
+the good lady's voice and the little man's caustic replies.
+
+"Why, last winter the country was full of Red Wull's doings and yours.
+It was always M'Adam and his Red Wull have done this and that and the
+other. I declare I got quite tired of you both, I heard such a lot about
+you."
+
+The little man, cap in hand, smiled, blushed and looked genuinely
+pleased.
+
+"And when it wasn't you it was Mr. Moore and Owd Bob."
+
+"Owd Bob, bless him!" called a stentorian voice. "There cheers for oor
+Bob!"
+
+"'Ip! 'ip! 'ooray!" It was taken up gallantly, and cast from mouth
+to mouth; and strangers, though they did not understand, caught the
+contagion and cheered too; and the uproar continued for some minutes.
+
+When it was ended Lady Eleanour was standing up, a faint flush on her
+cheeks and her eyes flashing dangerously, like a queen at bay.
+
+"Yes," she cried, and her clear voice thrilled through the air like a
+trumpet. "Yes; and now three cheers for Mr. M'Adam and his Red Wull!
+Hip! hip--"
+
+"Hooray!" A little knowt of stalwarts at the back--James Moore,
+Parson Leggy, Jim Mason, and you may be sure in heart, at least, Owd
+Bob--responded to the call right lustily. The crowd joined in; and, once
+off, cheered and cheered again.
+
+"Three cheers more for Mr. M'Adam!"
+
+But the little man waved to them.
+
+"Dinna be bigger heepocrites than ye can help," he said. "Ye've done
+enough for one day, and thank ye for it."
+
+Then Lady Eleanour handed him the Cup.
+
+"Mr. M'Adam, I present you with the Champion Challenge Dale Cup, open to
+all comers. Keep it, guard it, love it as your own, and win it again if
+you can. Twice more and it's yours, you know, and it will stop forever
+beneath the shadow of the Pike. And the right place for it, say I--the
+Dale Cup for Dalesmen."
+
+The little man took the Cup tenderly.
+
+"It shall no leave the Estate or ma hoose, yer Leddyship, gin Wullie and
+I can help it," he said emphatically.
+
+Lady Eleanour retreated into the tent, and the crowd swarmed over the
+ropes and round the little man, who held the Cup beneath his arm.
+
+Long Kirby laid irreverent hands upon it.
+
+"Dinna finger it!" ordered M'Adam.
+
+"Shall!''
+
+"Shan't! Wullie, keep him aff." Which the great dog proceeded to do amid
+the laughter of the onlookers.
+
+Among the last, James Moore was borne past the little man. At sight of
+him, M'Adam's face assumed an expression of intense concern.
+
+"Man, Moore!" he cried, peering forward as though in alarm; "man, Moore,
+ye're green--positeevely verdant. Are ye in pain?" Then, catching sight
+of Owd Bob, he started back in affected horror.
+
+"And, ma certes! so's yer dog! Yer dog as was gray is green. Oh, guid
+life! "--and he made as though about to fall fainting to the ground.
+
+Then, in bantering tones: "Ah, but ye shouldna covet ----"
+
+"He'll ha' no need to covet it long, I can tell yo'," interposed
+Tammas's shrill accents.
+
+"And why for no?"
+
+"Becos next year he'll win it fra yo'. Oor Bob'll win it, little mon.
+Why? thot's why."
+
+The retort was greeted with a yell of applause from the sprinkling of
+Dalesmen in the crowd.
+
+But M'Adam swaggered away into the tent, his head up, the Cup beneath
+his arm, and Red Wull guarding his rear.
+
+"First of a' ye'll ha' to beat Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull!" he cried
+back proudly.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XI. OOR BOB
+
+
+M'ADAM'S pride in the great Cup that now graced his kitchen was supreme.
+It stood alone in the very centre of the mantelpiece, just below the old
+bell-mouthed blunderbuss that hung upon the wall. The only ornament in
+the bare room, it shone out in its silvery chastity like the moon in a
+gloomy sky.
+
+For once the little man was content. Since his mother's death David had
+never known such peace. It was not that his father became actively kind;
+rather that he forgot to be actively unkind.
+
+"Not as I care a brazen button one way or t'ither," the boy informed
+Maggie.
+
+"Then yo' should," that proper little person replied.
+
+M'Adam was, indeed, a changed being. He forgot to curse James Moore; he
+forgot to sneer at Owd Bob; he rarely visited the Sylvester Arms, to the
+detriment of Jem Burton's pocket and temper; and he was never drunk.
+
+"Soaks 'isseif at home, instead," suggested Tammas, the prejudiced. But
+the accusation was untrue.
+
+"Too drunk to git so far," said Long Kirby, kindly man.
+
+"I reck'n the Cup is kind o' company to him," said Jim Mason. "Happen
+it's lonesomeness as drives him here so much." And happen you were
+right, charitable Jim.
+
+"Best mak' maist on it while he has it, 'cos he'll not have it for
+long," Tammas remarked amid applause.
+
+Even Parson Leggy allowed--rather reluctantly, indeed, for he was but
+human--that the little man was changed wonderfully for the better.
+
+"But I am afraid it may not last," he said. "We shall see what happens
+when Owd Bob beats him for the Cup, as he certainly will. That'll be the
+critical moment."
+
+As things were, the little man spent all his spare moments with the Cup
+between his knees, burnishing it and crooning to Wullie:
+
+     "I never saw a fairer,
+     I never lo'ed a dearer,
+     And neist my heart I'll wear her,
+     For fear my jewel tine."
+
+"There, Wullie! look at her! is she no bonnie? She shines like a
+twinkle--twinkle in the sky." And he would hold it out at arm's length,
+his head cocked sideways the better to scan its bright beauties.
+
+The little man was very jealous for his treasure. David might not touch
+it; might not smoke in the kitchen lest the fumes should tarnish its
+glory; while if he approached too closely he was ordered abruptly away.
+
+"As if I wanted to touch his nasty Cup!" he complained to Maggie. "I'd
+sooner ony day--"
+
+"Hands aff, Mr. David, immediate!" she cried indignantly. "'Pertinence,
+indeed!" as she tossed her head clear of the big fingers that were
+fondling her pretty hair.
+
+So it was that M'Adam, on coming quietly into the kitchen one day,
+was consumed with angry resentment to find David actually handling
+the object of his reverence; and the manner of his doing it added a
+thousandfold to the offence.
+
+The boy was lolling indolently against the mantelpiece, his fair head
+shoved right into the Cup, his breath dimming its lustre, and his two
+hands, big and dirty, slowly revolving it before his eyes.
+
+Bursting with indignation, the little man crept up behind the boy. David
+was reading through the long list of winners.
+
+"Theer's the first on 'em," he muttered, shooting out his tongue to
+indicate the locality: "'Andrew Moore's Rough, 178--.' And theer agin--'
+James Moore's Pinch, 179--.' And agin--'Beck, 182--.' Ah, and theer's
+'im Tammas tells on! 'Rex, 183--,' and Rex, 183--.' Ay, but he was a
+rare un by all tell-in's! If he'd nob'but won but onst agin! Ah, and
+theer's none like the Gray Dogs--they all says that, and I say so
+masel'; none like the Gray Dogs o' Kenmuir, bless 'em! And we'll win
+agin too--" he broke off short; his eye had travelled down to the last
+name on the list.
+
+"'M'Adam's Wull'!" he read with unspeakable contempt, and put his great
+thumb across the name as though to wipe it out. "'M'Adam's Wull'! Goo'
+gracious sakes! P-hg-h-r-r! "--and he made a motion as though to spit
+upon the ground.
+
+But a little shoulder was into his side, two small fists were beating
+at his chest, and a shrill voice was yelling: "Devil! devil! stan'
+awa'!"--and he was tumbled precipitately away from the mantelpiece, and
+brought up abruptly against the side-wall.
+
+The precious Cup swayed on its ebony stand, the boy's hands, rudely
+withdrawn, almost overthrowing it. But the little man's first impulse,
+cursing and screaming though he was, was to steady it.
+
+"'M'Adam's Wull'! I wish he was here to teach ye, ye snod-faced,
+ox-limbed profleegit!" he cried, standing in front of the Cup, his eyes
+blazing.
+
+"Ay, 'M'Adam's Wull'! And why not 'M'Adam's Wull'? Ha' ye ony objections
+to the name?"
+
+"I didn't know yo' was theer," said David, a thought sheepishly.
+
+"Na; or ye'd not ha' said it."
+
+"I'd ha' thought it, though," muttered the boy.
+
+Luckily, however, his father did not hear. He stretched his hands up
+tenderly for the Cup, lifted it down, and began reverently to polish the
+dimmed sides with his handkerchief.
+
+"Ye're thinkin', nae doot," he cried, casting up a vicious glance at
+David, "that Wullie's no gude enough to ha' his name alangside o'
+they cursed Gray Dogs. Are ye no? Let's ha' the truth for aince--for a
+diversion."
+
+"Reck'n he's good enough if there's none better," David replied
+dispassionately.
+
+"And wha should there be better? Tell me that, ye muckle gowk."
+
+David smiled.
+
+"Eh, but that'd be long tellin', he said.
+
+"And what wad ye mean by that?" his father cried.
+
+"Nay; I was but thinkin' that Mr. Moore's Bob'll look gradely writ under
+yon." He pointed to the vacant space below Red Wull's name.
+
+The little man put the Cup back on its pedestal with hurried hands. The
+handkerchief dropped unconsidered to the floor; he turned and sprang
+furiously at the boy, who stood against the wall, still smiling; and,
+seizing him by the collar of his coat, shook him to and fro with fiery
+energy.
+
+"So ye're hopin', prayin', nae doot, that James Moore--curse him!--will
+win ma Cup awa' from me, yer ain dad. I wonder ye're no 'shamed to crass
+ma door! Ye live on me; ye suck ma blood, ye foul-mouthed leech. Wullie
+and me brak' oorsel's to keep ye in hoose and hame--and what's yer
+gratitude? Ye plot to rob us of oor rights."
+
+He dropped the boy's coat and stood back.
+
+"No rights about it," said David, still keeping his temper.
+
+"If I win is it no ma right as muckle as ony Englishman's?"
+
+Red Wull, who had heard the rising voices, came trotting in, scowled at
+David, and took his stand beside his master.
+
+"Ah, _if_ yo' win it," said David, with significant emphasis on the
+conjunction.
+
+"And wha's to beat us?"
+
+David looked at his father in well-affected surprise.
+
+"I tell yo' Owd Bob's rinin'," he answered.
+
+"And what if he is?" the other cried.
+
+"Why, even yo' should know so much," the boy sneered.
+
+The little man could not fail to understand.
+
+"So that's it!" he said. Then, in a scream, with one finger pointing to
+the great dog: "And what o' him? What'll ma Wullie be doin' the while?
+Tell me that, and ha' a care! Mind ye, he stan's here hearkenin'!" And,
+indeed, the Tailless Tyke was bristling for battle.
+
+David did not like the look of things; and edged away toward the door.
+
+"What'll Wullie be doin', ye chicken-hearted brock?" his father cried.
+
+"Im?" said the boy, now close on the door. "Im!" he said, with a slow
+contempt that made the red bristles quiver on the dog's neck. "Lookin'
+on, I should think--lookin' on. What else is he fit for? I tell yo' oor
+Bob--"
+
+"--'Oor Bob'!" screamed the little man darting forward. "'Oor Bob'! Hark
+to him. I'll 'oor--' At him, Wullie! at him!"
+
+But the Tailless Tyke needed no encouragement. With a harsh roar he
+sprang through the air, only to crash against the closing door!
+
+The outer door banged, and in another second a mocking finger tapped on
+the windowpane.
+
+"Better luck to the two on yo' next time!" laughed a scornful voice; and
+David ran down the hill toward Kenmuir.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XII. HOW RED WULL HELD THE BRIDGE
+
+
+FROM that hour the fire of M'Adam's jealousy blazed into a mighty flame.
+The winning of the Dale Cup had become a mania with him. He had won it
+once, and would again despite all the Moores, all the Gray Dogs, all the
+undutiful sons in existence; on that point he was resolved. The fact of
+his having tasted the joys of victory served to whet his desire. And now
+he felt he could never be happy till the Cup was his own--won outright.
+
+At home David might barely enter the room There the trophy stood.
+
+"I'll not ha' ye touch ma Cup, ye dirty-fingered, ill-begotten wastrel.
+Wullie and me won it--you'd naught to do wi' it. Go you to James Moore
+and James Moore's dog."
+
+"Ay, and shall I tak' Cup wi' me? or will ye bide till it's took from
+ye?"
+
+So the two went on; and every day the tension approached nearer
+breaking-point.
+
+In the Dale the little man met with no sympathy. The hearts of the
+Dalesmen were to a man with Owd Bob and his master.
+
+Whereas once at the Sylvester Arms his shrill, ill tongue had been
+rarely still, now he maintained a sullen silence; Jem Burton, at least,
+had no cause of complaint. Crouched away in a corner, with Red Wull
+beside him, the little man would sit watching and listening as the
+Dalesmen talked of Owd Bob's doings, his staunchness, sagacity, and
+coming victory.
+
+Sometimes he could restrain himself no longer. Then he would spring
+to his feet, and stand, a little swaying figure, and denounce them
+passionately in almost pathetic eloquence. These orations always
+concluded in set fashion.
+
+"Ye're all agin us!" the little man would cry in quivering voice.
+
+"We are that," Tammas would answer complacently.
+
+"Fair means or foul, ye're content sae lang as Wullie and me are beat.
+I wonder ye dinna poison him--a little arsenic, and the way's clear for
+your Bob."
+
+"'The way is clear enough wi'oot that," from Tammas caustically.
+
+Then a lengthy silence, only broken by that exceeding bitter cry: "Eh,
+Wullie, Wullie, they're all agin us!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+And always the rivals--red and gray--went about seeking their
+opportunity. But the Master, with his commanding presence and stern
+eyes, was ever ready for them. Toward the end, M'Adam, silent and
+sneering, would secretly urge on Red Wull to the attack; until, one day
+in Grammoch-town, James Moore turned on him, his blue eyes glittering.
+"D'yo' think, yo' little fule," he cried in that hard voice of his,
+"that onst they got set we should iver git either of them off alive?" It
+seemed to strike the little man as a novel idea; for, from that moment,
+he was ever the first in his feverish endeavors to oppose his small
+form, buffer-like, between the would-be combatants.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Curse as M'Adam might, threaten as he might, when the time came Owd Bob
+won.
+
+The styles of the rivals were well contrasted: the patience, the
+insinuating eloquence, combined with the splendid dash, of the one; and
+the fierce, driving fury of the other.
+
+The issue was never in doubt. It may have been that the temper of the
+Tailless Tyke gave in the time of trial; it may have been that his sheep
+were wild, as M'Adam declared; certainly not, as the little man alleged
+in choking voice, that they had been chosen and purposely set aside to
+ruin his chance. Certain it is that his tactics scared them hopelessly:
+and he never had them in hand.
+
+Act for Owd Bob, his dropping, his driving, his penning, aroused the
+loud-tongued admiration of crowd and competitors alike. He was patient
+yet persistent, quiet yet firm, and seemed to coax his charges in the
+right way in that inimitable manner of his own.
+
+When, at length, the verdict was given, and it was known that, after
+an interval of half a century, the Shepherds' Trophy was won again by a
+Gray Dog of Kenmuir, there was such a scene as has been rarely witnessed
+on the slope behind the Dalesman's Daughter.
+
+Great fists were slapped on mighty backs; great feet were stamped on the
+sun-dried banks of the Silver Lea; stalwart lungs were strained to their
+uttermost capacity; and roars of "Moore!" "Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!" "The
+Gray Dogs!" thundered up the hillside, and were flung, thundering, back.
+
+Even James Moore was visibly moved as he worked his way through the
+cheering mob; and Owd Bob, trotting alongside him in quiet dignity,
+seemed to wave his silvery brush in acknowledgment.
+
+Master Jacky Sylvester alternately turned cart-wheels and felled the
+Hon. Launcelot Bilks to the ground. Lady Eleanour, her cheeks flushed
+with pleasure, waved her parasol, and attempted to restrain her son's
+exuberance. Parson Leggy danced an unclerical jig, and shook hands with
+the squire till both those fine old gentlemen were purple in the face.
+Long Kirby selected a small man in the crowd, and bashed his hat down
+over his eyes. While Tammas, Rob Saunderson, Tupper, Hoppin, Londesley,
+and the rest joined hands and went raving round like so many giddy
+girls.
+
+Of them all, however, none was so uproarious in the mad heat of his
+enthusiasm as David M'Adam. He stood in the Kenmuir wagon beside Maggie,
+a conspicuous figure above the crowd, as he roared in hoarse ecstasy:
+
+"Weel done, oor Bob! Weel done, Mr. Moore! Yo've knocked him! Knock him
+agin! Owd Bob o' Kenmuir! Moore! Moore o' Kenmuir! Hip! Hip!" until the
+noisy young giant attracted such attention in his boisterous delight
+that Maggie had to lay a hand upon his arm to restrain his violence.
+
+Alone, on the far bank of the stream, stood the vanquished pair.
+
+The little man was trembling slightly; his face was still hot from his
+exertions; and as he listened to the ovation accorded to his conqueror,
+there was a piteous set grin upon his face. In front stood the defeated
+dog, his lips wrinkling and hackles rising, as he, too, saw and heard
+and understood.
+
+"It's a gran' thing to ha' a dutiful son. Wullie," the little man
+whispered, watching David's waving figure. "He's happy--and so are they
+a'--not sae much that James Moore has won, as that you and I are beat."
+
+Then, breaking down for a moment:
+
+"Eh, Wullie, Wullie! They're all agin us. It's you and I alane, lad."
+
+Again, seeing the squire followed by Parson Leggy, Viscount Birdsaye,
+and others of the gentry, forcing their way through the press to shake
+hands with the victor, he continued:
+
+"It's good to be in wi' the quality, Wullie. Niver mak' a friend of a
+man beneath ye in rank, nor an enemy of a man aboon ye: that's a soond
+principle, Wullie, if ye'd get on in honest England."
+
+He stood there, alone with his dog, watching the crowd on the far slope
+as it surged upward in the direction of the committee tent. Only when
+the black mass had packed itself in solid phalanges about that
+ring, inside which, just a year ago, he had stood in very different
+circumstances, and was at length still, a wintry smile played for a
+moment about his lips. He laughed a mirthless laugh.
+
+     "Bide a wee, Wullie--he! he! Bide a wee.
+     'The best-laid schemes o' mice and men
+     Gang aft agley.'"
+
+As he spoke, there came down to him, above the tumult, a faint cry of
+mingled surprise and anger. The cheering ceased abruptly. There was
+silence; then there burst on the stillness a hurricane of indignation.
+
+The crowd surged forward, then turned. Every eye was directed across the
+stream. A hundred damning fingers pointed at the solitary figure there.
+There were hoarse yells of: "There he be Yon's him! What's he done wi'
+it? Thief! Throttle him!"
+
+The mob came lumbering down the slope like one man, thundering their
+imprecations on a thousand throats. They looked dangerous, and their
+wrath was stimulated by the knot of angry Dalesmen who led the van.
+There was more than one white face among the women at the top of the
+slope as they watched the crowd blundering blindly down the hill. There
+were more men than Parson Leggy, the squire, James Moore, and the local
+constables in the thick of it all, striving frantically with voice and
+gesture, ay, and stick too, to stem the advance.
+
+It was useless; on the dark wave rolled, irresistible.
+
+On the far bank stood the little man, motionless, awaiting them with a
+grin upon his face. And a little farther in front was the Tailless Tyke,
+his back and neck like a new-shorn wheat-field, as he rumbled a vast
+challenge.
+
+"Come on, gentlemen!" the little man cried. "Come on! I'll bide for ye,
+never fear. Ye're a thousand to one and a dog. It's the odds ye like,
+Englishmen a'."
+
+And the mob, with murder in its throat, accepted the invitation and came
+on.
+
+At the moment, however, from the slope above, clear above the tramp of
+the multitude, a great voice bellowed: "Way! Way! Way for Mr. Trotter!"
+The advancing host checked and opened out; and the secretary of the
+meeting bundled through.
+
+He was a small, fat man, fussy at any time, and perpetually perspiring.
+Now his face was crimson with rage and running; he gesticulated wildly;
+vague words bubbled forth, as his short legs twinkled down the slope.
+
+The crowd paused to admire. Some one shouted a witticism, and the crowd
+laughed. For the moment the situation was saved.
+
+The fat secretary hurried on down the slope, unheeding of any insult but
+the one. He bounced over the plank-bridge: and as he came closer, M'Adam
+saw that in each hand brandished a brick.
+
+"Hoots, man! dinna throw!" he cried, making a feint as though to turn in
+sudden terror.
+
+"What's this? What's this?" gasped the secretary, waving his arms.
+
+"Bricks, 'twad seem," the other answered, staying his flight.
+
+The secretary puffed up like a pudding in a hurry.
+
+"Where's the Cup? Champion, Challenge, etc.," he jerked out. "Mind, sir,
+you're responsible! wholly responsible! Dents, damages, delays! What's
+it all mean, sir? These--these monstrous creations "--he brandished the
+bricks, and M'Adam started back--"wrapped, as I live, in straw, sir, in
+the Cup case, sir! the Cup case! No Cup! Infamous! Disgraceful! Insult
+me--meeting--committee--every one! What's it mean, sir?" He paused to
+pant, his body filling and emptying like a bladder.
+
+M'Adam approached him with one eye on the crowd, which was heaving
+forward again, threatening still, but sullen and silent.
+
+"I pit 'em there," he whispered; and drew back to watch the effect of
+his disclosure.
+
+The secretary gasped.
+
+"You--you not only do this--amazing thing--these monstrosities"--he
+hurled the bricks furiously on the unoffending ground--"but you dare to
+tell me so!"
+
+The little man smiled.
+
+"'Do wrang and conceal it, do right and confess it,' that's Englishmen's
+motto, and mine, as a rule; but this time I had ma reasons."
+
+"Reasons, sir! No reasons can justify such an extraordinary breach of
+all the--the decencies. Reasons? the reasons of a maniac. Not to say
+more, sir. Fraudulent detention--fraudulent, I say, sir! What were your
+precious reasons?"
+
+The mob with Tammas and Long Kirby at their head had now well nigh
+reached the plank-bridge. They still looked dangerous, and there were
+isolated cries of:
+
+"Duck him!"
+
+"Chuck him in!"
+
+"An' the dog!"
+
+"Wi' one o' they bricks about their necks!"
+
+"There are my reasons!" said M'Adam, pointing to the forest of menacing
+faces. "Ye see I'm no beloved amang yonder gentlemen, and"--in a stage
+whisper in the other's ear--"I thocht maybe I'd be 'tacked on the road."
+
+Tammas foremost of the crowd, had now his foot upon the first plank.
+
+"Ye robber! ye thief! Wait till we set hands on ye, you and yer
+gorilla!" he called.
+
+M'Adam half turned.
+
+"Wullie," he said quietly, "keep the bridge."
+
+At the order the Tailless Tyke shot gladly forward, and the leaders on
+the bridge as hastily back. The dog galloped on to the rattling plank,
+took his post fair and square in the centre of the narrow way, and stood
+facing the hostile crew like Cerberus guarding the gates of hell: his
+bull-head was thrust forward, hackles up, teeth glinting, and a distant
+rumbling in his throat, as though daring them to come on.
+
+"Yo' first, ole lad!" said Tammas, hopping agilely behind Long Kirby.
+
+"Nay; the old uns lead!" cried the big smith, his face gray-white. He
+wrenched round, pinned the old man by the arms, and held him forcibly
+before him as a covering shield. There ensued an unseemly struggle
+betwixt the two valiants, Tammas bellowing and kicking in the throes of
+mortal fear.
+
+"Jim Mason'll show us," he suggested at last.
+
+"Nay," said honest Jim; "I'm fear'd." He could say it with impunity; for
+the pluck of Postie Jim was a matter long past dispute.
+
+Then Jem Burton'd go first?
+
+Nay; Jem had a lovin' wife and dear little kids at 'ome.
+
+Then Big Bell?
+
+Big Bell'd see 'isseif further first.
+
+A tall figure came forcing through the crowd, his face a little paler
+than its wont, and a formidable knob-kerry in his hand.
+
+"I'm goin'!" said David.
+
+"But yo're not," answered burly Sam'l, gripping the boy from behind with
+arms like the roots of an oak. "Your time'll coom soon enough by the
+look on yo' wi' niver no hurry."
+
+And the sense of the Dalesmen was with the big man; for, as old Rob
+Saunderson said:
+
+"I reck'n he'd liefer claw on to your throat, lad, nor ony o' oors."
+
+As there was no one forthcoming to claim the honor of the lead, Tammas
+came forward with cunning counsel.
+
+"Tell yo' what, lads, we'd best let 'em as don't know nowt at all aboot
+him go first. And onst they're on, mind, we winna let 'em off; but keep
+a-shovin' and a-bovin 'on 'em forra'd. _Then_ us'll foller."
+
+By this time there was a little naked space of green round the
+bridge-head, like a fairy circle, into which the uninitiated might not
+penetrate. Round this the mob hedged: the Dalesmen in front, striving
+knavishly back and bawling to those behind to leggo that shovin'; and
+these latter urging valorously forward, yelling jeers and contumely at
+the front rank. "Come on! 'O's afraid? Lerrus through to 'em, then,
+ye Royal Stan'-backs!"--for well they knew the impossibility of their
+demand.
+
+And as they wedged and jostled thus, there stole out from their midst as
+gallant a champion as ever trod the grass. He trotted out into the
+ring, the observed of all, and paused to gaze at the gaunt figure on the
+bridge. The sun lit the sprinkling of snow on the dome of his head; one
+forepaw was off the ground; and he stood there, royally alert, scanning
+his antagonist.
+
+"Th' Owd Un!" went up in a roar fit to split the air as the hero of the
+day was recognized. And the Dalesmen gave a pace forward spontaneously
+as the gray knight-errant stole across the green.
+
+"Oor Bob'll fetch him!" they roared, their blood leaping to fever heat,
+and gripped their sticks, determined in stern reality to follow now.
+
+The gray champion trotted up on to the bridge, and paused again, the
+long hair about his neck rising like a ruff, and a strange glint in his
+eyes; and the holder of the bridge never moved. Red and Gray stood thus,
+face to face: the one gay yet resolute, the other motionless, his great
+head slowly sinking between his forelegs, seemingly petrified.
+
+There was no shouting now: it was time for deeds, not words. Only, above
+the stillness, came a sound from the bridge like the snore of a giant in
+his sleep, and blending, with it, a low, deep, purring thunder like some
+monster cat well pleased.
+
+"Wullie," came a solitary voice from the far side, "keep the bridge!"
+
+One ear went back, one ear was still forward; the great head was low and
+lower between his forelegs and the glowing eyes rolled upward so that
+the watchers could see the murderous white.
+
+Forward the gray dog stepped.
+
+Then, for the second time that afternoon, a voice, stern and hard, came
+ringing down from the slope above over the heads of the many.
+
+"Bob, lad, coom back!"
+
+"He! he! I thocht that was comin'," sneered the small voice over the
+stream.
+
+The gray dog heard, and checked.
+
+"Bob, lad, coom in, I say!"
+
+At that he swung round and marched slowly back, gallant as he had come,
+dignified still in his mortification.
+
+And Red Wull threw back his head and bellowed a paean of
+victory--challenge, triumph, scorn, all blended in that bull-like,
+blood-chilling blare.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the mean time, M'Adam and the secretary had concluded their business.
+It had been settled that the Cup was to be delivered over to James Moore
+not later than the following Saturday.
+
+"Saturday, see! at the latest!" the secretary cried as he turned and
+trotted off.
+
+"Mr. Trotter," M'Adam called after him. "I'm sorry, but ye maun bide
+this side the Lea till I've reached the foot o' the Pass. Gin they
+gentlemen"--nodding toward the crowd--"should set hands on me, why--"
+and he shrugged his shoulders significantly. "Forbye, Wullie's keepin'
+the bridge."
+
+With that the little man strolled off leisurely; now dallying to pick a
+flower, now to wave a mocking hand at the furious mob, and so slowly on
+to the foot of the Muirk Muir Pass.
+
+There he turned and whistled that shrill peculiar note.
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, to me!" he called.
+
+At that, with one last threat thrown at the' thousand souls he had held
+at bay for thirty minutes, the Tailless Tyke swung about and galloped
+after his lord.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XIII. THE FACE IN THE FRAME
+
+
+ALL Friday M'Adam never left the kitchen. He sat opposite the Cup, in a
+coma, as it were; and Red Wull lay motionless at his feet.
+
+Saturday came, and still the two never budged. Toward the evening
+the little man rose, all in a tremble, and took the Cup down from the
+mantelpiece; then he sat down again with it in his arms.
+
+"Eh, Wullie, Wullie, is it a dream? Ha' they took her fra us? Eh, but
+it's you and I alane, lad."
+
+He hugged it to him, crying silently, and rocking to and fro like a
+mother with a dying child. And Red Wull sat up on his haunches, and
+weaved from side to side in sympathy.
+
+As the dark was falling, David looked in.
+
+At the sound of the opening door the little man swung round noiselessly,
+the Cup nursed in his arms, and glared, sullen and suspicious, at the
+boy; yet seemed not to recognize him. In the half-light David could see
+the tears coursing down the little wizened face.
+
+"'Pon ma life, he's gaein' daft!" was his comment as he turned away to
+Kenmuir. And again the mourners were left alone.
+
+"A few hours noo, Wullie," the little man wailed, "and she'll be gane.
+We won her, Wullie, you and I, won her fair: she's lit the hoose for
+us; she's softened a' for us--and God kens we needed it; she was the ae
+thing we had to look to and love. And noo they're takin' her awa', and
+'twill be night agin. We've cherished her, we've garnished her, we've
+loved her like oor ain; and noo she maun gang to strangers who know her
+not."
+
+He rose to his feet, and the great dog rose with him. His voice
+heightened to a scream, and he swayed with the Cup in his arms till it
+seemed he must fall.
+
+"Did they win her fair, Wullie? Na; they plotted, they conspired, they
+worked ilka ain o' them agin us, and they beat us. Ay, and noo they're
+robbin' us--robbin' us! But they shallna ha' her. Oor's or naebody's,
+Wullie! We'll finish her sooner nor that."
+
+He banged the Cup down on the table and rushed madly out of the room,
+Red Wull at his heels. In a moment he came running back, brandishing a
+great axe about his head.
+
+"Come on, Wullie!" he cried. "'Scots wha hae'! Noo's the day and noo's
+the hour! Come on!"
+
+On the table before him, serene and beautiful, stood the target of his
+madness. The little man ran at it, swinging his murderous weapon like a
+flail.
+
+"Oor's or naebody's Wullie! Come on! 'Lay the proud usurpers low'!" He
+aimed a mighty buffet; and the Shepherds' Trophy--the Shepherds' Trophy
+which had won through the hardships of a hundred years--was almost gone.
+It seemed to quiver as the blow fell. But the cruel steel missed, and
+the axe-head sank into the wood, clean and deep, like a spade in snow.
+
+Red Wull had leapt on to the table, and in his cavernous voice was
+grumbling a chorus to his master's yells. The little man danced up and
+down, tugging and straining at the axe-handle.
+
+     "You and I, Wullie!
+     'Tyrants fall in every foe!
+     Liberty's in every blow!'"
+
+The axe-head was as immoveable as the Muir Pike.
+
+     "'Let us do or die!'"
+
+The shaft snapped, and the little man tottered back. Red Wull jumped
+down from the table, and, in doing so, brushed against the Cup. It
+toppled* over on to the floor, and rolled tinkling away in the dust.
+And the little man fled madly out of the house, still screaming his
+war-song.
+
+     *N.B.--You may see the dent in the Cup's white sides to this
+     day.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When, late that night, M'Adam returned home, the Cup was gone. Down on
+his hands and knees he traced out its path, plain to see, where it had
+rolled along the dusty floor. Beyond that there was no sign.
+
+At first he was too much overcome to speak. Then he raved round the room
+like a derelict ship, Red Wull following uneasily behind. He cursed;
+he blasphemed; he screamed and beat the walls with feverish hands. A
+stranger, passing, might well have thought this was a private Bedlam. At
+last, exhausted, he sat down and cried.
+
+"It's David, Wullie, ye may depend; David that's robbed his father's
+hoose. Oh, it's a grand thing to ha' a dutiful son!"--and he bowed his
+gray head in his hands.
+
+David, indeed, it was. He had come back to the Grange during his
+father's absence, and, taking the Cup from its grimy bed, had marched it
+away to its rightful home. For that evening at Kenmuir, James Moore had
+said to him:
+
+"David, your father's not sent the Cup. I shall come and fetch it
+to-morrow." And David knew he meant it. Therefore, in order to save a
+collision between his father and his friend--a collision the issue of
+which he dared hardly contemplate, knowing, as he did, the unalterable
+determination of the one and the lunatic passion of the other--the boy
+had resolved to fetch the Cup himself, then and there, in the teeth, if
+needs be, of his father and the Tailless Tyke. And he had done it.
+
+When he reached home that night he marched, contrary to his wont,
+straight into the kitchen.
+
+There sat his father facing the door, awaiting him, his hands upon his
+knees. For once the little man was alone; and David, brave though he
+was, thanked heaven devoutly that Red Wull was elsewhere.
+
+For a while father and son kept silence, watching one another like two
+fencers.
+
+"'Twas you as took ma Cup?" asked the little man at last, leaning
+forward in his chair.
+
+"'Twas me as took Mr. Moore's Cup," the boy replied. "I thowt yo' mun
+ha' done wi' it--I found it all bashed upon the floor."
+
+"You took it--pit up to it, nae doot, by James Moore."
+
+David made a gesture of dissent.
+
+"Ay, by James Moore," his father continued. "He dursena come hissel'
+for his ill-gotten spoils, so he sent the son to rob the father. The
+coward!"--his whole frame shook with passion. "I'd ha' thocht James
+Moore'd ha' bin man enough to come himself for what he wanted. I see noo
+I did him a wrang--I misjudged him. I kent him a heepocrite; ain o' yer
+unco gudes; a man as looks one thing, says anither, and does a third;
+and noo I ken he's a coward. He's fear'd o' me, sic as I am, five foot
+twa in ma stockin's." He rose from his chair and drew himself up to his
+full height.
+
+"Mr. Moore had nowt to do wi' it," David persisted.
+
+"Ye're lyin'. James Moore pit ye to it."
+
+"I tell yo' he did not."
+
+"Ye'd ha' bin willin' enough wi'oot him, if ye'd thocht o't, I grant ye.
+But ye've no the wits. All there is o' ye has gane to mak' yer muckle
+body. Hooiver, that's no matter. I'll settle wi' James Moore anither
+time. I'll settle wi' you noo, David M'Adam."
+
+He paused, and looked the boy over from bead to foot.
+
+"So, ye're not only an idler! a wastrel! a liar!"--he spat the words
+out. "Ye're--God help ye--a thief!"
+
+"I'm no thief!" the boy returned hotly. "I did but give to a mon what ma
+feyther--shame on him!--wrongfully kept from him."
+
+"Wrangfully?" cried the little man, advancing with burning face.
+
+"'Twas honorably done, keepin' what wasna your'n to keep! Holdin' back
+his rights from a man! Ay, if ony one's the thief, it's not me: it's
+you, I say, you!"--and he looked his father in the face with flashing
+eyes.
+
+"I'm the thief, am I?" cried the other, incoherent with passion. "Though
+ye're three times ma size, I'll teach ma son to speak so to me."
+
+The old strap, now long disused, hung in the chimney corner. As he spoke
+the little man sprang back, ripped it from the wall, and, almost before
+David realized what he was at, had brought it down with a savage slash
+across his son's shoulders; and as he smote he whistled a shrill,
+imperative note:
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, to me!"
+
+David felt the blow through his coat like a bar of hot iron laid across
+his back. His passion seethed within him; every vein throbbed; every
+nerve quivered. In a minute he would wipe out, once and for all, the
+score of years; for the moment, however, there was urgent business on
+hand. For outside he could hear the quick patter of feet hard-galloping,
+and the scurry of a huge creature racing madly to a call.
+
+With a bound he sprang at the open door; and again the strap came
+lashing down, and a wild voice:
+
+"Quick, Wullie! For God's sake, quick!"
+
+David slammed the door to. It shut with a rasping snap; and at the same
+moment a great body from without thundered against it with terrific
+violence, and a deep voice roared like the sea when thwarted of its
+prey.
+
+"Too late, agin!" said David, breathing hard; and shot the bolt home
+with a clang. Then he turned on his father.
+
+"Noo," said he, "man to man!"
+
+"Ay," cried the other, "father to son!"
+
+The little man half turned and leapt at the old musketoon hanging on the
+wall. He missed it, turned again, and struck with the strap full at
+the other's face. David caught the falling arm at the wrist, hitting it
+aside with such tremendous force that the bone all but snapped. Then
+he smote his father a terrible blow on the chest, and the little man
+staggered back, gasping, into the corner; while the strap dropped from
+his numbed fingers.
+
+Outside Red Wull whined and scratched; but the two men paid no heed.
+
+David strode forward; there was murder in his face. The little man
+saw it: his time was come; but his bitterest foe never impugned Adam
+M'Adam's courage.
+
+He stood huddled in the corner, all dishevelled, nursing one arm with
+the other, entirely unafraid.
+
+"Mind, David," he said, quite calm, "murder 'twill be, not
+manslaughter."
+
+"Murder 'twill be," the boy answered, in thick, low voice, and was
+across the room.
+
+Outside Red Wull banged and clawed high up on the door with impotent
+pats.
+
+The little man suddenly slipped his hand in his pocket, pulled out
+something, and flung it. The missile pattered on his son's face like a
+rain-drop on a charging bull, and David smiled as he came on. It dropped
+softly on the table at his side; he looked down and--it was the face of
+his mother which gazed up at him!
+
+"Mither!" he sobbed, stopping short. "Mither! Ma God, ye saved him--and
+me!"
+
+He stood there, utterly unhinged, shaking and whimpering.
+
+It was some minutes before he pulled himself together; then he walked to
+the wall, took down a pair of shears, and seated himself at the table,
+still trembling. Near him lay the miniature, all torn and crumpled, and
+beside it the deep-buried axe-head.
+
+He picked up the strap and began cutting it into little pieces.
+
+"There! and there! and there!" he said with each snip. "An' ye hit me
+agin there may be no mither to save ye."
+
+M'Adam stood huddling in the corner. He shook like an aspen leaf; his
+eyes blazed in his white face; and he still nursed one arm with the
+other.
+
+"Honor yer father," he quoted in small, low voice.
+
+
+
+
+PART IV THE BLACK KILLER
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XIV. A MAD MAN
+
+
+TAMMAS is on his feet in the tap-room of the Arms, brandishing a pewter
+mug.
+
+"Gen'lemen!" he cries, his old face flushed; "I gie you a toast. Stan'
+oop!"
+
+The knot of Dalesmen round the fire rises like one. The old man waves
+his mug before him, reckless of the good ale that drips on to the floor.
+
+"The best sheep-dog i' th' North--Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!" he cries. In an
+instant there is uproar: the merry applause of clinking pewters; the
+stamping of feet; the rattle of sticks. Rob Saunderson and old Jonas
+are cheering with the best; Tupper and Ned Hoppin are bellowing in one
+another's ears; Long Kirby and Jem Burton are thumping each other on
+the back; even Sam'l Todd and Sexton Ross are roused from their habitual
+melancholy.
+
+"Here's to Th' Owd Un! Here's to oor Bob!" yell stentorian voices; while
+Rob Saunderson has jumped on to a chair.
+
+"Wi' the best sheep-dog i' th' North I gie yo' the Shepherd's
+Trophy!--won outreet as will be!" he cries. Instantly the clamor
+redoubles.
+
+"The Dale Cup and Th' Owd Un! The Trophy and oor Bob! 'Ip, 'ip, for
+the gray dogs! 'Ip, 'ip, for the best sheep-dog as ever was or will be!
+'Ooray, 'ooray!"
+
+It is some minutes before the noise subsides; and slowly the enthusiasts
+resume their seats with hoarse throats and red faces.
+
+"Gentlemen a'!"
+
+A little unconsidered man is standing up at the back of the room. His
+face is aflame, and his hands twitch spasmodically; and, in front, with
+hackles up and eyes gleaming, is a huge, bull-like dog.
+
+"Noo," cries the little man, "I daur ye to repeat that lie!"
+
+"Lie!" screams Tammas; "lie! I'll gie 'im lie! Lemme at im', I say!"
+
+The old man in his fury is half over the surrounding ring of chairs
+before Jim Mason on the one hand and Jonas Maddox on the other can pull
+him back.
+
+"Coom, Mr. Thornton," soothes the octogenarian, "let un be. Yo' surely
+bain't angered by the likes o' 'im!"--and he jerks contemptuously toward
+the solitary figure at his back.
+
+Tammas resumes his seat unwillingly.
+
+The little man in the far corner of the room remains silent, waiting
+for his challenge to be taken up. It is in vain. And as he looks at the
+range of broad, impassive backs turned on him, he smiles bitterly.
+
+"They dursen't Wullie, not a man of them a'!" he cries.
+"They're one--two--three--four--eleven to one, Wullie, and yet
+they dursen't. Eleven of them, and every man a coward! Long
+Kirby--Thornton--Tupper--Todd--Hoppin--Ross--Burton--and the rest, and
+not one but's a bigger man nor me, and yet--Weel, we might ha' kent it.
+We should ha' kent Englishmen by noo. They're aye the same and aye have
+bin. They tell lies, black lies--"
+
+Tammas is again half out his chair and, only forcibly restrained by the
+men on either hand.
+
+"--and then they ha' na the courage to stan' by 'em. Ye're English,
+ivery man o' ye, to yer marrow."
+
+The little man's voice rises as he speaks. He seizes the tankard from
+the table at his side.
+
+"Englishmen!" he cries, waving it before him. "Here's a health! The best
+sheep-dog as iver penned a flock--Adam M'Adam's Red Wull!"
+
+He pauses, the pewter at his lips, and looks at his audience with
+flashing eyes. There is no response from them.
+
+"Wullie, here's to you!" he cries. "Luck and life to ye, ma trusty fier!
+Death and defeat to yer enemies!"
+
+     "'The warld's warld's wrack we share o't,
+     The warstle and the care o't;"
+
+He raises the tankard and drains it to its uttermost dreg.
+
+Then drawing himself up, he addresses his audience once more:
+
+"An' noo I'll warn ye aince and for a', and ye may tell James Moore I
+said it: He may plot agin us, Wullie and me; he may threaten us; he may
+win the Cup outright for his muckle favorite; but there was niver a man
+or dog yet as did Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull a hurt but in the end he
+wush't his mither hadna borne him."
+
+A little later, and he walks out of the inn, the Tailless Tyke at his
+heels.
+
+After he is gone it is Rob Saunderson who says: "The little mon's mad;
+he'll stop at nothin"; and Tammas who answers:
+
+"Nay; not even murder."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The little man had aged much of late. His hair was quite white, his eyes
+unnaturally bright, and his hands were never still, as though he were in
+everlasting pain. He looked the picture of disease.
+
+After Owd Bob's second victory he had become morose and untalkative. At
+home he often sat silent for hours together, drinking and glaring at the
+place where the Cup had been. Sometimes he talked in low, eerie voice to
+Red Wull; and on two occasions, David, turning, suddenly, had caught his
+father glowering stealthily at him with such an expression on his face
+as chilled the boy's blood. The two never spoke now; and David held this
+silent, deadly enmity far worse than the old-time perpetual warfare.
+
+It was the same at the Sylvester Arms. The little man sat alone with Red
+Wull, exchanging words with no man, drinking steadily, brooding over his
+wrongs, only now and again galvanized into sudden action.
+
+Other people than Tammas Thornton came to the conclusion that M'Adam
+would stop at nothing in the undoing of James Moore or the gray dog.
+They said drink and disappointment had turned his head; that he was mad
+and dangerous. And on New Year's day matters seemed coming to a crisis;
+for it was reported that in the gloom of a snowy evening he had drawn
+a knife on the Master in the High Street, but slipped before he could
+accomplish his fell purpose.
+
+Most of them all, David was haunted with an ever-present anxiety as to
+the little man's intentions. The boy even went so far as to warn his
+friend against his father. But the Master only smiled grimly.
+
+"Thank ye, lad," he said. "But I reck'n we can 'fend for oorsel's, Bob
+and I. Eh, Owd Un?"
+
+Anxious as David might be, he was not so anxious as to be above taking
+a mean advantage of this state of strained apprehension to work on
+Maggie's fears.
+
+One evening he was escorting her home from church, when, just before
+they reached the larch copse: "Goo' sakes! What's that?" he ejaculated
+in horror-laden accents, starting back.
+
+"What, Davie?" cried the girl, shrinking up to him all in a tremble.
+
+"Couldna say for sure. It mought be owt, or agin it mought be nowt. But
+yo' grip my arm, I'll grip yo' waist."
+
+Maggie demurred.
+
+"Canst see onythin'?" she asked, still in a flutter.
+
+"Be'ind the 'edge."
+
+"Wheer?"
+
+"Theer! "--pointing vaguely.
+
+"I canna see nowt."
+
+"Why, theer, lass. Can yo' not see? Then yo' pit your head along o'
+mine--so--closer--closer." Then, in aggrieved tones: "Whativer is the
+matter wi' yo', wench? I might be a leprosy."
+
+But the girl was walking away with her head high as the snow-capped
+Pike.
+
+"So long as I live, David M'Adam," she cried, "I'll niver go to church
+wi' you agin!"
+
+"Iss, but you will though--onst," he answered low.
+
+Maggie whisked round in a flash, superbly indignant.
+
+"What d'yo' mean, sir-r-r?"
+
+"Yo' know what I mean, lass," he replied sheepish and shuffling before
+her queenly anger.
+
+She looked him up and down, and down and up again.
+
+"I'll niver speak to you agin, Mr. M'Adam," she cried; "not if it was
+ever so--Nay, I'll walk home by myself, thank you. I'll ha' nowt to do
+wi' you."
+
+So the two must return to Kenmuir, one behind the other, like a lady and
+her footman.
+
+David's audacity had more than once already all but caused a rupture
+between the pair. And the occurrence behind the hedge set the cap on his
+impertinences. That was past enduring and Maggie by her bearing let him
+know it.
+
+David tolerated the girl's new attitude for exactly twelve minutes by
+the kitchen clock. Then: "Sulk wi' me, indeed! I'll teach her!" and he
+marched out of the door, "Niver to cross it agin, ma word!"
+
+Afterward, however, he relented so far as to continue his visits as
+before; but he made it clear that he only came to see the Master and
+hear of Owd Bob's doings. On these occasions he loved best to sit on the
+window-sill outside the kitchen, and talk and chaff with Tammas and the
+men in the yard, feigning an uneasy bashfulness when reference made to
+Bessie Bolstock. And after sitting thus for some time, he would half
+turn, look over his shoulder, and remark in indifferent tones to the
+girl within: "Oh, good-evenin'! I forgot yo', "--and then resume his
+conversation. While the girl within, her face a little pinker, her
+lips a little tighter, and her chin a little higher, would go about her
+business, pretending neither to hear nor care.
+
+The suspicions that M'Adam nourished dark designs against James Moore
+were somewhat confirmed in that, on several occasions in the bitter
+dusks of January afternoons, a little insidious figure was reported to
+have been seen lurking among the farm-buildings of Kenmuir.
+
+Once Sam'l Todd caught the little man fairly, skulking away in the
+woodshed. Sam'l took him up bodily and carried him down the slope to the
+Wastrel, shaking him gently as he went.
+
+Across the stream he put him on his feet.
+
+"If I catches yo' cadgerin' aroun' the farm agin, little mon," he
+admonished, holding up a warning finger; "I'll tak' yo' and drap yo'
+in t' Sheep-wash, I warn yo' fair. I'd ha' done it noo an' yo'd bin a
+bigger and a younger mon. But theer! yo'm sic a scrappety bit. Noo, rin
+whoam." And the little man slunk silently away.
+
+For a time he appeared there no more. Then, one evening when it was
+almost dark, James Moore, going the round of the outbuildings, felt Owd
+Bob stiffen against his side.
+
+"What's oop, lad" he whispered, halting; and, dropping his hand on the
+old dog's neck felt a ruff of rising hair beneath it.
+
+"Steady, lad, steady," he whispered; "what is 't?" He peered forward
+into the gloom; and at length discerned a little familiar figure huddled
+away in the crevice between two stacks.
+
+"It's yo, is it, M'Adam?" he said, and, bending, seized a wisp of Owd
+Bob's coat in a grip like a vice.
+
+Then, in a great voice, moved to rare anger:
+
+"Oot o' this afore I do ye a hurt, ye meeserable spyin' creetur" he
+roared. "Yo' mun wait till dark cooms to hide yo', yo' coward, afore yo
+daur coom crawlin' aboot ma hoose, frightenin' the women-folk and up to
+yer devilments. If yo've owt to say to me, coom like a mon in the open
+day. Noo git aff wi' yo', afore I lay hands to yo'!"
+
+He stood there in the dusk, tall and mighty, a terrible figure, one hand
+pointing to the gate, the other still grasping the gray dog.
+
+The little man scuttled away in the half-light, and out of the yard.
+
+On the plank-bridge he turned and shook his fist at the darkening house.
+
+"Curse ye, James Moore!" he sobbed, "I'll be even wi' ye yet."
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XV. DEATH ON THE MARCHES
+
+
+ON the top of this there followed an attempt to poison Th' Owd Un. At
+least there was no other accounting for the affair.
+
+In the dead of a long-remembered night James Moore was waked by a low
+moaning beneath his room. He leapt out of bed and ran to the window to
+see his favorite dragging about the moonlit yard, the dark head
+down, the proud tail for once lowered, the lithe limbs wooden, heavy,
+unnatural--altogether pitiful.
+
+In a moment he was downstairs and out to his friend's assistance.
+"Whativer is't, Owd Un?" he cried in anguish.
+
+At the sound of that dear voice the old dog tried to struggle to him,
+could not, and fell, whimpering.
+
+In a second the Master was with him, examining him tenderly, and crying
+for Sam'l, who slept above the stables.
+
+There was every symptom of foul play: the tongue was swollen and almost
+black; the breathing labored; the body twitched horribly; and the soft
+gray eyes all bloodshot and straining in agony.
+
+With the aid of Sam'l and Maggie, drenching first and stimulants after,
+the Master pulled him around for the moment. And soon Jim Mason and
+Parson Leggy, hurriedly summoned, came running hot-foot to the rescue.
+
+Prompt and stringent measures saved the victim--but only just. For a
+time the best sheep-dog in the North was pawing at the Gate of Death. In
+the end, as the gray dawn broke, the danger passed.
+
+The attempt to get at him, if attempt it was, aroused passionate
+indignation in the countryside. It seemed the culminating-point of the
+excitement long bubbling.
+
+There were no traces of the culprit; not a vestige to lead to
+incrimination, so cunningly had the criminal accomplished his foul task.
+But as to the perpetrator, if there where no proofs there were yet fewer
+doubts.
+
+At the Sylvester Arms, Long Kirby asked M'Adam point-blank for his
+explanation of the matter.
+
+"Hoo do I 'count for it?" the little man cried. "I dinna 'count for it
+ava."
+
+"Then hoo did it happen?" asked Tammas with asperity.
+
+"I dinna believe it did happen," the little man replied. "It's a lee
+o' James Moore's--a characteristic lee." Whereon they chucked him out
+incontinently; for the Terror for once was elsewhere.
+
+Now that afternoon is to be remembered for threefold causes. Firstly,
+because, as has been said, M'Adam was alone. Secondly, because, a few
+minutes after his ejectment, the window of the tap-room was thrown open
+from without, and the little man looked in. He spoke no word, but those
+dim, smouldering eyes of his wandered from face to face, resting for
+a second on each, as if to burn them on his memory. "I'll remember ye,
+gentlemen," he said at length quietly, shut the window, and was gone.
+
+Thirdly, for a reason now to be told.
+
+Though ten days had elapsed since the attempt on him, the gray dog had
+never been his old self since. He had attacks of shivering; his vitality
+seemed sapped; he tired easily, and, great heart, would never own it.
+At length on this day, James Moore, leaving the old dog behind him, had
+gone over to Grammoch-town to consult Dingley, the vet. On his way home
+he met Jim Mason with Gyp, the faithful Betsy's unworthy successor, at
+the Dalesman's Daughter. Together they started for the long tramp home
+over the Marches. And that journey is marked with a red stone in this
+story.
+
+All day long the hills had been bathed in impenetrable fog. Throughout
+there had been an accompanying drizzle; and in the distance the wind
+had moaned a storm-menace. To the darkness of the day was added the
+sombreness of falling night as the three began the ascent of the
+Murk Muir Pass. By the time they emerged into the Devil's Bowl it was
+altogether black and blind. But the threat of wind had passed, leaving
+utter stillness; and they could hear the splash of an otter on the far
+side of the Lone Tarn as they skirted that gloomy water's edge. When at
+length the last steep rise on to the Marches had been topped, a breath
+of soft air smote them lightly, and the curtain of fog began drifting
+away.
+
+The two men swung steadily through the heather with that reaching stride
+the birthright of moor-men and highlanders. They talked but little,
+for such was their nature: a word or two on sheep and the approaching
+lambing-time; thence on to the coming Trials; the Shepherds' Trophy;
+Owd Bob and the attempt on him; and from that to M'Adam and the Tailless
+Tyke.
+
+"D'yo' reck'n M'Adam had a hand in't?" the postman was asking.
+
+"Nay; there's no proof."
+
+"Ceptin' he's mad to get shut o' Th' Owd Un afore Cup Day."
+
+"Im or me--it mak's no differ. For a dog is disqualified from competing
+for the Trophy who has changed hands during the six months prior to the
+meeting. And this holds good though the change be only from father to
+son on the decease of the former."
+
+Jim looked up inquiringly at his companion.
+
+"D'yo' think it'll coom to that?" he asked.
+
+"What?"
+
+"Why--murder."
+
+"Not if I can help it," the other answered grimly.
+
+The fog had cleared away by now, and the moon was up. To their right,
+on the crest of a rise some two hundred yards away, a low wood stood out
+black against the sky. As they passed it, a blackbird rose up screaming,
+and a brace of wood-pigeons winged noisily away.
+
+"Hullo! hark to the yammerin'!" muttered Jim, stopping; "and at this
+time o' night too!"
+
+Some rabbits, playing in the moonlight on the outskirts of the wood, sat
+up, listened, and hopped back into security. At the same moment a big
+hill-fox slunk out of the covert. He stole a pace forward and halted,
+listening with one ear back and one pad raised; then cantered silently
+away in the gloom, passing close to the two men and yet not observing
+them.
+
+"What's up, I wonder?" mused the postman.
+
+"The fox set 'em clackerin', I reck'n," said the Master.
+
+"Not he; he was scared 'maist oot o' his skin," the other answered. Then
+in tones of suppressed excitement, with his hands on James Moore's arm:
+"And, look'ee, theer's ma Gyp a-beckonin' on us!"
+
+There, indeed, on the crest of the rise beside the wood, was the
+little lurcher, now looking back at his master, now creeping stealthily
+forward.
+
+"Ma word! theer's summat wrong yonder!" cried Jim, and jerked the
+post-bags off his shoulder. "Coom on, Master! "--and he set off running
+toward the dog; while James Moore, himself excited now, followed with an
+agility that belied his years.
+
+Some score yards from the lower edge of the spinney, upon the farther
+side of the ridge, a tiny beck babbled through its bed of peat. The
+two men, as they topped the rise, noticed a flock of black-faced
+mountain-sheep clustered in the dip 'twixt wood and stream. They stood
+martialled in close array, facing half toward the wood, half toward
+the newcomers, heads up, eyes glaring, handsome as sheep only look when
+scared.
+
+On the crest of the ridge the two men halted beside Gyp. The postman
+stood with his head a little forward, listening intently. Then he
+dropped in the heather like a dead man, pulling the other with him.
+
+"Doon, mon!" he whispered, clutching at Gyp with his spare hand.
+
+"What is't, Jim?" asked the Master, now thoroughly roused.
+
+"Summat movin' i' th' wood," the other whispered, listening
+weasel-eared.
+
+So they lay motionless for a while; but there came no sound from the
+copse.
+
+"'Appen 'twas nowt," the postman at length allowed, peering cautiously
+about. "And yet I thowt--I dunno reetly what I thowt."
+
+Then, starting to his knees with a hoarse cry of terror: "Save us!
+what's yon theer?"
+
+Then for the first time the Master raised his head and noticed, lying in
+the gloom between them and the array of sheep, a still, white heap.
+
+James Moore was a man of deeds, not words.
+
+"It's past waitin'!" he said, and sprang forward, his heart in his
+mouth.
+
+The sheep stamped and shuffled as he came, and yet did not break.
+
+"Ah, thanks be!" he cried, dropping beside the motionless body; "it's
+nob'but a sheep." As he spoke his hands wandered deftly over the
+carcase. "But what's this?" he called. "Stout* she was as me. Look at
+her fleece--crisp, close, strong; feel the flesh--firm as a rock. And
+ne'er a bone broke, ne're a scrat on her body a pin could mak'. As
+healthy as a mon--and yet dead as mutton!"
+
+     *N.B. Stout--Hearty.
+
+Jim, still trembling from the horror of his fear, came up, and knelt
+beside his friend. "Ah, but there's bin devilry in this!" he said; "I
+reck'ned they sheep had bin badly skeared, and not so long agone."
+
+"Sheep-murder, sure enough!" the other answered. "No fox's doin'--a
+girt-grown two-shear as could 'maist knock a h'ox."
+
+Jim's hands travelled from the body to the dead creature's throat. He
+screamed.
+
+"By gob, Master! look 'ee theer!" He held his hand up in the moonlight,
+and it dripped red. "And warm yet! warm!"
+
+"Tear some bracken, Jim!" ordered the other, "and set alight. We mun see
+to this."
+
+The postman did as bid. For a moment the fern smouldered and smoked,
+then the flame ran crackling along and shot up in the darkness,
+weirdly lighting the scene: to the right the low wood, a block of solid
+blackness against the sky; in front the wall of sheep, staring out of
+the gloom with bright eyes; and as centre-piece that still, white body,
+with the kneeling men and lurcher sniffing tentatively round.
+
+The victim was subjected to a critical examination. The throat, and that
+only, had been hideously mauled; from the raw wounds the flesh hung in
+horrid shreds; on the ground all about were little pitiful dabs of
+wool, wrenched off apparently in a struggle; and, crawling among the
+fern-roots, a snake-like track of red led down to the stream.
+
+"A dog's doin', and no mistakin' thot," said Jim at length, after a
+minute inspection.
+
+"Ay," declared the Master with slow emphasis, "and a sheep-dog's too,
+and an old un's, or I'm no shepherd."
+
+The postman looked up.
+
+"Why thot?" he asked, puzzled.
+
+"Becos," the Master answered, "'im as did this killed for blood--and for
+blood only. If had bin ony other dog--greyhound, bull, tarrier, or even
+a young sheep-dog--d'yo' think he'd ha' stopped wi' the one? Not he;
+he'd ha' gone through 'em, and be runnin' 'em as like as not yet,
+nippin' 'em, pullin' 'em down, till he'd maybe killed the half. But 'im
+as did this killed for blood, I say. He got it--killed just the one, and
+nary touched the others, d'yo 'see, Jim?"
+
+The postman whistled, long and low.
+
+"It's just what owd Wrottesley'd tell on," he said. "I never nob'but
+half believed him then--I do now though. D'yo' mind what th' owd lad'd
+tell, Master?"
+
+James Moore nodded.
+
+"Thot's it. I've never seen the like afore myself, but I've heard ma
+grandad speak o't mony's the time. An owd dog'll git the cravin' for
+sheep's blood on him, just the same as a mon does for the drink; he
+creeps oot o' nights, gallops afar, hunts his sheep, downs 'er, and
+satisfies the cravin'. And he nary kills but the one, they say, for he
+knows the value o' sheep same as you and me. He has his gallop, quenches
+the thirst, and then he's for home, maybe a score mile away, and no one
+the wiser i' th' mornin'. And so on, till he cooms to a bloody death,
+the murderin' traitor."
+
+"If he does!" said Jim.
+
+"And he does, they say, nigh always. For he gets bolder and bolder wi'
+not bein' caught, until one fine night a bullet lets light into him. And
+some mon gets knocked nigh endways when they bring his best tyke home i'
+th' mornin', dead, wi' the sheep's wool yet stickin' in his mouth."
+
+The postman whistled again.
+
+"It's what owd Wrottesley'd tell on to a tick. And he'd say, if ye
+mind, Master, as hoo the dog'd niver kill his master's sheep--kind o'
+conscience-like."
+
+"Ay, I've heard that," said the Master. "Queer too, and 'im bein' such a
+bad un!"
+
+Jim Mason rose slowly from his knees.
+
+"Ma word," he said, "I wish Th' Owd Un was here. He'd 'appen show us
+summat!"
+
+"I nob'but wish he was, pore owd lad!" said the Master.
+
+As he spoke there was a crash in the wood above them; a sound as of some
+big body bursting furiously through brushwood.
+
+The two men rushed to the top of the rise. In the darkness they could
+see nothing; only, standing still and holding their breaths, they could
+hear the faint sound, ever growing fainter, of some creature splashing
+in a hasty gallop over the wet moors.
+
+"Yon's him! Yon's no fox, I'll tak' oath. And a main big un, too, hark
+to him!" cried Jim. Then to Gyp, who had rushed off in hot pursuit:
+"Coom back, chunk-'ead. What's use o' you agin a gallopin' potamus?"
+
+Gradually the sounds died away and away, and were no more.
+
+"Thot's 'im, the devil!" said the Master at length.
+
+"Nay; the devil has a tail, they do say," replied Jim thoughtfully. For
+already the light of suspicion was focusing its red glare.
+
+"Noo I reck'n we're in for bloody times amang the sheep for a while,"
+said the Master, as Jim picked up his bags.
+
+"Better a sheep nor a mon," answered the postman, still harping on the
+old theme.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XVI. THE BLACK KILLER
+
+
+THAT, as James Moore had predicted, was the first only of a long
+succession of such solitary crimes.
+
+Those who have not lived in a desolate country like that about the
+Muir Pike, where sheep are paramount and every other man engaged in the
+profession pastoral, can barely imagine the sensation aroused. In market
+place, tavern, or cottage, the subject of conversation was always the
+latest sheep-murder and the yet-undetected criminal.
+
+Sometimes there would be a lull, and the shepherds would begin to
+breathe more freely. Then there would come a stormy night, when the
+heavens were veiled in the cloak of crime, and the wind moaned fitfully
+over meres and marches, and another victim would be added to the
+lengthening list.
+
+It was always such black nights, nights of wind and weather, when no man
+would be abroad, that the murderer chose for his bloody work; and that
+was how he became known from the Red Screes to the Muir Pike as the
+Black Killer. In the Daleland they still call a wild, wet night "A Black
+Killer's night:" for they say: "His ghaist'll be oot the night."
+
+There was hardly a farm in the countryside but was marked with the seal
+of blood. Kenmuir escaped, and the Grange; Rob Saunderson at the Holt,
+and Tupper at Swinsthwaite; and they were about the only lucky ones.
+
+As for Kenmuir, Tammas declared with a certain grim pride: "He knows
+better'n to coom wheer Th' Owd Un be." Whereat M'Adam was taken with a
+fit of internal spasms, rubbing his knees and cackling insanely for a
+half-hour afterward. And as for the luck of the Grange--well, there was
+a reason for that too, so the Dalesmen said.
+
+Though the area of crime stretched from the Black Water to
+Grammoch-town, twenty-odd miles, there was never a sign of the
+perpetrator. The Killer did his bloody work with a thoroughness and a
+devilish cunning that defied detection.
+
+It was plain that each murder might be set down to the same agency. Each
+was stamped with the same unmistakable sign-manual: one sheep killed,
+its throat torn into red ribands, and the others untouched.
+
+It was at the instigation of Parson Leggy that the squire imported a
+bloodhound to track the Killer to his doom. Set on at a fresh killed
+carcase at the One Tree Knowe, he carried the line a distance in the
+direction of the Muir Pike; then was thrown out by a little bustling
+beck, and never acknowledged the scent again. Afterward he became
+unmanageable, and could be no further utilized. Then there was talk of
+inducing Tommy Dobson and his pack to come over from Eskdale, but
+that came to nothing. The Master of the Border Hunt lent a couple of
+foxhounds, who effected nothing; and there were a hundred other attempts
+and as many failures. Jim Mason set a cunning trap or two and caught his
+own bob-tailed tortoise-shell and a terrible wigging from his missus;
+Ned Hoppin sat up with a gun two nights over a new slain victim and
+Londesley of the Home Farm poisoned a carcase. But the Killer never
+returned to the kill, and went about in the midst of the all, carrying
+on his infamous traffic and laughing up his sleeve.
+
+In the meanwhile the Dalesmen raged and swore vengeance; their
+impotence, their unsuccess, and their losses heating their wrath to
+madness. And the bitterest sting of it all lay in this; that though they
+could not detect him, they were nigh to positive as to the culprit.
+
+Many a time was the Black Killer named in low-voiced conclave; many a
+time did Long Kirby, as he stood in the Border Ram and watched M'Adam
+and the Terror walking down the High, nudge Jim Mason and whisper:
+
+"Theer's the Killer--oneasy be his grave!" To which practical Jim always
+made the same retort:
+
+"Ay, theer's the Killer; but wheer's the proof?"
+
+And therein lay the crux. There was scarcely a man in the countryside
+who doubted the guilt of the Tailless Tyke; but, as Jim said, where
+was the proof? They could but point to his well-won nickname; his evil
+notoriety; say that, magnificent sheep-dog as he was, he was known even
+in his work as a rough handler of stock; and lastly remark significantly
+that the grange was one of the few farms that had so far escaped
+unscathed. For with the belief that the Black Killer was a sheep-dog
+they held it as an article of faith that he would in honour spare his
+master's flock.
+
+There may, indeed, have been prejudice in their judgement. For each has
+his private grudge against the Terror; and nigh every man bore on his
+own person, or his clothes, or on the body of his dog, the mark of that
+huge savage.
+
+Proof?
+
+"Why, he near killed ma Lassie!" cries Londesley.
+
+"And he did kill the Wexer!"
+
+"And Wan Tromp!"
+
+"And see pore old Wenus!" says John Swan, and pulls out that fair
+Amazon, battered almost past recognition, but a warrioress still.
+
+"That's Red Wull--bloody be his end!"
+
+"And he laid ma Rasper by for nigh three weeks!" continues Tupper,
+pointing to the yet-unhealed scars on the neck of the big bobtail. "See
+thisey--his work."
+
+"And look here!" cries Saunderson, exposing a ragged wound in Shep's
+throat; "thot's the Terror--black be his fa'!"
+
+"Ay," says Long Kirby with an oath; "the tykes love him nigh as much as
+we do."
+
+"Yes," says Tammas. "Yo' jest watch!"
+
+The old man slips out of the tap-room; and in another moment from the
+road without comes a heavy, regular pat-pat-pat, as of some big creature
+approaching, and, blending with the sound, little shuffling footsteps.
+
+In an instant every dog in the room has risen to his feet and stands
+staring at the door with sullen, glowing eyes; lips wrinkling, bristles
+rising, throats rumbling.
+
+An unsteady hand fumbles at the door; a reedy voice calls, "Wullie, come
+here!" and the dogs move away, surly to either side of the fireplace,
+tails down, ears back, grumbling still; the picture of cowed passion.
+Then the door opens; Tammas enters, grinning; and each, after a moment's
+scrutiny, resumes his former position before the fire.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Meanwhile over M'Adam, seemingly all unsuspicious of these suspicions,
+a change had come. Whether it was that for the time he heard less of the
+best sheep-dog in the North, or for some more occult reason, certain it
+is that he became his old self. His tongue wagged as gayly and bitterly
+as ever, and hardly a night passed but he infuriated Tammas almost to
+blows with his innuendoes and insidious sarcasms.
+
+Old Jonas Maddox, one evening at the Sylvester Arms, inquired of him
+what his notion was as to the identity of the Killer.
+
+"I hae ma suspicions, Mr. Maddox; I hae ma suspicions," the little man
+replied, cunningly wagging his head and giggling. But more than that
+they could not elicit from him. A week later, however, to the question:
+
+"And what are yo' thinkin' o' this black Killer, Mr. M'adam?"
+
+"Why _black?_" the little man asked earnestly; "why _black_ mair than
+white--or _gray_ we'll say?" Luckily for him, however, the Dalesmen are
+slow of wit as of speech.
+
+David, too, marked the difference in his father, who nagged at him now
+and then with all the old spirit. At first he rejoiced in then change,
+preferring his outward and open warfare to that aforetime stealthy
+enmity. But soon he almost wished the other back; for the older he grew
+the more difficult did he find it to endure calmly these everlasting
+bickerings.
+
+For one reason he was truly glad of the altered condition of affairs; he
+believed that, for the nonce, at least his father had abandoned any
+ill designs he might have cherished against James Moore; those sneaking
+visits to Kenmuir were, he hoped, discontinued.
+
+Yet Maggie Moore, had she been on speaking terms with him, could have
+undeceived him. For, one night, when alone in the kitchen, on suddenly
+looking up, she had seen to her horror a dim, moonlike face glued
+against the windowpane. In the first mad panic of the moment she almost
+screamed, and dropped her work; then--a true Moore--controlled herself
+and sat feigning to work, yet watching all the while.
+
+It was M'Adam, she recognized that: the face pale in its framework
+of black; the hair lying dank and dark on his forehead; and the white
+eyelids blinking, slow, regular, horrible. She thought of the stories
+she had heard of his sworn vengeance on her father, and her heart stood
+still, though she never moved. At length with a gasp of relief she
+discerned that the eyes were not directed on her. Stealthily following
+their gaze, she saw they rested on the Shepherds' Trophy; and on the Cup
+they remained fixed, immovable, while she sat motionless and watched.
+
+An hour, it seemed to her, elapsed before they shifted their direction,
+and wandered round the room. For a second they dwelt upon her; then the
+face withdrew into the night.
+
+Maggie told no one what she had seen. Knowing well how terrible her
+father was in his anger, she deemed it wiser to keep silence. While as
+for David M'Adam, she would never speak to him again!
+
+And not for a moment did that young man surmise whence his father came
+when, on the night in question, M'Adam returned to the Grange, chuckling
+to himself. David was growing of late accustomed to these fits of
+silent, unprovoked merriment; and when his father began giggling and
+muttering to Red Wull, at first he paid no heed.
+
+"He! he! Wullie. Aiblins we'll beat him yet. There's many a slip
+twixt Cup and lip--eh, Wullie, he! he!" And he made allusion to the
+flourishing of the wicked and their fall; ending always with the same
+refrain: "He! he! Wullie. Aiblins we'll beat him yet."
+
+In this strain he continued until David, his patience exhausted, asked
+roughly:
+
+"What is't yo' mumblin' aboot? Wha is it yo'll beat, you and yer
+Wullie?"
+
+The lad's tone was as contemptuous as his words. Long ago he had cast
+aside any semblance of respect for his father.
+
+M'Adam only rubbed his knees and giggled.
+
+"Hark to the dear lad, Wullie! Listen hoo pleasantly he addresses his
+auld dad!" Then turning on his son, and leering at him: "What is it,
+ye ask? Wha should it be but the Black Killer? Wha else is there I'd be
+wushin' to hurt?"
+
+"The Black Killer!" echoed the boy, and looked at his father in
+amazement.
+
+Now David was almost the only man in Wastrel-dale who denied Red Wull's
+identity with the Killer. "Nay," he said once; "he'd kill me, given half
+a chance, but a sheep--no." Yet, though himself of this opinion, he knew
+well what the talk was, and was astonished accordingly at his father's
+remark.
+
+"The Black Killer, is it? What d'you know o' the Killer?" he inquired.
+
+"Why _black_, I wad ken? Why _black?_" the little man asked, leaning
+forward in his chair.
+
+Now David, though repudiating in the village Red Wull's complicity
+with the crimes, at home was never so happy as when casting cunning
+innuendoes to that effect.
+
+"What would you have him then?" he asked. "Red, yaller, muck-dirt
+colour?"--and he stared significantly at the Tailless Tyke, who was
+lying at his master's feet. The little man ceased rubbing his knees and
+eyed the boy. David shifted uneasily beneath that dim, persistent stare.
+
+"Well?" he said at length gruffly.
+
+The little man giggled, and his two thin hands took up their task again.
+
+"Aiblins his puir auld doited fool of a dad kens mair than the dear lad
+thinks for, ay, or wushes--eh, Wullie, he! he!"
+
+"Then what is it you do know, or think yo' know?" David asked irritably.
+
+The little man nodded and chuckled.
+
+"Naethin' ava, laddie, naethin' worth the mention. Only aiblins the
+Killer'll be caught afore sae lang."
+
+David smiled incredulously, wagging his head in offensive scepticism.
+
+"Yo'll catch him yo'self, I s'pose, you and yer Wullie? Tak' a chair on
+to the Marches, whistle a while, and when the Killer comes, why! pit a
+pinch o' salt upon his tail--if he had one."
+
+At the last words, heavily punctuated by the speaker, the little man
+stopped his rubbing as though shot.
+
+"What wad ye mean by that?" he asked softly.
+
+"What wad I?" the boy replied.
+
+"I dinna ken for sure," the little man answered; "and it's aiblins just
+as well for you, dear lad"--in fawning accents--"that I dinna." He
+began rubbing and giggling afresh. "It's a gran' thing, Wullie, to ha'
+a dutiful son; a shairp lad wha has no silly sens o' shame aboot
+sharpenin' his wits at his auld dad's expense. And yet, despite
+oor facetious lad there, aiblins we will ha' a hand in the Killer's
+catchin', you and I, Wullie--he! he!" And the great dog at his feet
+wagged his stump tail in reply.
+
+David rose from his chair and walked across the room to where his father
+sat.
+
+"If yo' know sic a mighty heap," he shouted, "happen you'll just tell me
+what yo' do know!"
+
+M'Adam stopped stroking Red Wull's massive head, and looked up.
+
+"Tell ye? Ay, wha should I tell if not ma dear David? Tell? Ay, I'll
+tell ye this"--with a sudden snarl of bitterness--"That you'd be the
+vairy last person I wad tell."
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XVII. A MAD DOG
+
+
+DAVID and Maggie, meanwhile, were drifting further and further apart. He
+now thought the girl took too much upon herself; that this assumption of
+the woman and the mother was overdone. Once, on a Sunday, he caught her
+hearing Andrew his catechism. He watched the performance through a crack
+in the door, and listened, giggling, to her simple teaching. At length
+his merriment grew so boisterous that she looked up, saw him, and,
+straightway rising to her feet, crossed the room and shut the door;
+tendering her unspoken rebuke with such a sweet dignity that he slunk
+away for once decently ashamed. And the incident served to add point to
+his hostility.
+
+Consequently he was seldom at Kenmuir, and more often at home,
+quarrelling with his father.
+
+Since that day, two years before, when the boy had been an instrument in
+the taking of the Cup from him, father and son had been like two vessels
+charged with electricity, contact between which might result at any
+moment in a shock and a flash. This was the outcome not of a moment, but
+of years.
+
+Of late the contest had raged markedly fierce; for M'Adam noticed his
+son's more frequent presence at home, and commented on the fact in his
+usual spirit of playful raillery.
+
+"What's come to ye, David?" he asked one day. "Yer auld dad's head is
+nigh turned wi' yer condescension. Is James Moore feared ye'll steal the
+Cup fra him, as ye stole it from me, that he'll not ha' ye at Kenmuir?
+or what is it?"
+
+"I thought I could maybe keep an eye on the Killer gin I stayed here,"
+David answered, leering at Red Wull.
+
+"Ye'd do better at Kenmuir--eh, Wullie!" the little man replied.
+
+"Nay," the other answered, "he'll not go to Kenmuir. There's Th' Owd Un
+to see to him there o' nights."
+
+The little man whipped round.
+
+"Are ye so sure he is there o' nights, ma lad?" he asked with slow
+significance.
+
+"He was there when some one--I dinna say who, though I have ma
+thoughts--tried to poison him," sneered the boy, mimicking his father's
+manner.
+
+M'Adam shook his head.
+
+"If he was poisoned, and noo I think aiblins he was, he didna pick it up
+at Kenmuir, I tell ye that," he said, and marched out of the room.
+
+In the mean time the Black Killer pursued his bloody trade unchecked.
+The public, always greedy of a new sensation, took up the matter.
+In several of the great dailies, articles on the "Agrarian Outrages"
+appeared, followed by lengthy correspondence. Controversy raged high;
+each correspondent had his own theory and his own solution of the
+problem; and each waxed indignant as his were discarded for another's.
+
+The Terror had reigned already two months when, with the advent of the
+lambing-time, matters took a yet more serious aspect.
+
+It was bad enough to lose one sheep, often the finest in the pack; but
+the hunting of a flock at a critical moment, which was incidental to the
+slaughter of the one, the scaring of these woolly mothers-about-to-be
+almost out of their fleeces, spelt for the small farmers something akin
+to ruin, for the bigger ones a loss hardly bearable.
+
+Such a woful season had never been known; loud were the curses, deep
+the vows of revenge. Many a shepherd at that time patrolled all night
+through with his dogs, only to find in the morning that the Killer had
+slipped him and havocked in some secluded portion of his beat.
+
+It was heartrending work; and all the more so in that, though his
+incrimination seemed as far off as ever, there was still the same
+positiveness as to the culprit's identity.
+
+Long Kirby, indeed, greatly daring, went so far on one occasion as to
+say to the little man: "And d'yo' reck'n the Killer is a sheep-dog,
+M'Adam?"
+
+"I do," the little man replied with conviction.
+
+"And that he'll spare his own sheep?"
+
+"Niver a doubt of it."
+
+"Then," said the smith with a nervous cackle, "it must lie between you
+and Tupper and Saunderson."
+
+The little man leant forward and tapped the other on the arm.
+
+"Or Kenmuir, ma friend," he said. "Ye've forgot Kenmuir."
+
+"So I have," laughed the smith, "so I have."
+
+"Then I'd not anither time," the other continued, still tapping. "I'd
+mind Kenmuir, d'ye see, Kirby?"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was about the middle of the lambing-time, when the Killer was working
+his worst, that the Dalesmen had a lurid glimpse of Adam M'Adam as he
+might be were he wounded through his Wullie.
+
+Thus it came about: It was market-day in Grammoch-town, and in the
+Border Ram old Rob Saunderson was the centre of interest. For on the
+previous night Rob, who till then had escaped unscathed, had lost a
+sheep to the Killer: and--far worse--his flock of Herdwicks, heavy in
+lamb, had been galloped with disastrous consequences.
+
+The old man, with tears in his eyes, was telling how on four nights that
+week he had been up with Shep to guard against mishap; and on the fifth,
+worn out with his double labor, had fallen asleep at his post. But
+a very little while he slumbered; yet when, in the dawn, he woke and
+hurried on his rounds, he quickly came upon a mangled sheep and the
+pitiful relic of his flock. A relic, indeed! For all about were cold
+wee lambkins and their mothers, dead and dying of exhaustion and their
+unripe travail--a slaughter of the innocents.
+
+The Dalesmen were clustered round the old shepherd, listening with
+lowering countenances, when a dark gray head peered in at the door and
+two wistful eyes dwelt for a moment on the speaker.
+
+"Talk o' the devil!" muttered M'Adam, but no man heard him. For Red
+Wull, too, had seen that sad face, and, rising from his master's feet,
+had leapt with a roar at his enemy, toppling Jim Mason like a ninepin in
+the fury of his charge.
+
+In a second every dog in the room, from the battered Venus to Tupper's
+big Rasper, was on his feet, bristling to have at the tyrant and wipe
+out past injuries, if the gray dog would but lead the dance.
+
+It was not to be, however. For Long Kirby was standing at the door with
+a cup of hot coffee in his hand. Barely had he greeted the gray dog
+with--
+
+"Ullo, Owd Un!" when hoarse yells of "'Ware, lad! The Terror!" mingled
+with Red Wull's roar.
+
+Half turning, he saw the great dog bounding to the attack. Straightway
+he flung the boiling contents of his cup full in that rage-wracked
+countenance. The burning liquid swished against the huge bull-head.
+Blinding, bubbling, scalding, it did its fell work well; nothing escaped
+that merciless torrent. With a cry of agony, half bellow, half howl,
+Red Wull checked in his charge. From without the door was banged to; and
+again the duel was postponed. While within the tap-room a huddle of men
+and dogs were left alone with a mad man and a madder brute.
+
+Blind, demented, agonized, the Tailless Tyke thundered about the little
+room gnashing, snapping, oversetting; men, tables, chairs swirled off
+their legs as though they had been dolls. He spun round like a monstrous
+teetotum; he banged his tortured head against the wall; he burrowed
+into the unyielding floor. And all the while M'Adam pattered after him,
+laying hands upon him only to be flung aside as a terrier flings a rat.
+Now up, now down again, now tossed into a corner, now dragged upon
+the floor, yet always following on and crying in supplicating tones,
+"Wullie, Wullie, let me to ye! let yer man ease ye!" and then, with
+a scream and a murderous glance, "By ----, Kirby, I'll deal wi' you
+later!"
+
+The uproar was like hell let loose. You could hear the noise of oaths
+and blows, as the men fought for the door, a half-mile away. And above
+it the horrid bellowing and the screaming of that shrill voice.
+
+Long Kirby was the first man out of that murder-hole; and after him
+the others toppled one by one--men and dogs jostling one another in
+the frenzy of their fear. Big Bell, Londesley, Tupper, Hoppin, Teddy
+Bolstock, white-faced and trembling; and old Saunderson they pulled out
+by his heels. Then the door was shut with a clang, and the little man
+and mad dog were left alone.
+
+In the street was already a big-eyed crowd, attracted by the uproar;
+while at the door was James Moore, seeking entrance. "Happen I could
+lend the little mon a hand," said he; but they withheld him forcibly.
+
+Inside was pandemonium: bangings like the doors of hell; the bellowing
+of that great voice; the patter of little feet; the slithering of a
+body on the floor; and always that shrill, beseeching prayer, "Wullie,
+Wullie, let me to ye!" and, in a scream, "By ----, Kirby, I'll be wi' ye
+soon!"
+
+Jim Mason it was who turned, at length, to the smith and whispered,
+"Kirby, lad, yo'd best skip it."
+
+The big man obeyed and ran. The stamp-stamp of his feet on the hard road
+rang above the turmoil. As the long legs vanished round the corner and
+the sound of the fugitive died away, a panic seized the listening crowd.
+
+A woman shrieked; a girl fainted; and in two minutes the street was as
+naked of men as the steppes of Russia in winter: here a white face at a
+window; there a door ajar; and peering round a far corner a frightened
+boy. One man only scorned to run. Alone, James Moore stalked down the
+centre of the road, slow and calm, Owd Bob trotting at his heels.
+
+It was a long half-hour before the door of the inn burst open, and
+M'Adam came out with a run, flinging the door behind him.
+
+He rushed into the middle of the road; his sleeves were rolled at
+the wrist like a surgeon's; and in his right hand was a black-handled
+jack-knife.
+
+"Noo, by ----!" he cried in a terrible voice, "where is he?"
+
+He looked up and down the road, darting his fiery glances everywhere;
+and his face was whiter than his hair.
+
+Then he turned and hunted madly down the whole length of the High,
+nosing like a weasel in every cranny, stabbing at the air as he went,
+and screaming, "By ----, Kirby, wait till I get ye!"
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XVIII. HOW THE KILLER WAS SINGED
+
+
+No further harm came of the incident; but it served as a healthy
+object-lesson for the Dalesmen.
+
+A coincidence it may have been, but, as a fact, for the fortnight
+succeeding Kirby's exploit there was a lull in the crimes. There
+followed, as though to make amends, the seven days still remembered in
+the Daleland as the Bloody Week.
+
+On the Sunday the Squire lost a Cheviot ewe, killed not a hundred yards
+from the Manor wall. On the Monday a farm on the Black Water was marked
+with the red cross. On Tuesday--a black night--Tupper at Swinsthwaite
+came upon the murderer at his work; he fired into the darkness without
+effect; and the Killer escaped with a scaring. On the following night
+Viscount Birdsaye lost a shearling ram, for which he was reported to
+have paid a fabulous sum. Thursday was the one blank night of the week.
+On Friday Tupper was again visited and punished heavily, as though in
+revenge for that shot.
+
+On the Saturday afternoon a big meeting was held at the Manor to discuss
+measures. The Squire presided; gentlemen and magistrates were there in
+numbers, and every farmer in the country-side.
+
+To start the proceedings the Special Commissioner read a futile letter
+from the Board of Agriculture. After him Viscount Birdsaye rose and
+proposed that a reward more suitable to the seriousness of the case
+than the paltry 5 pounds of the Police should be offered, and backed his
+proposal with a 25 pound cheque. Several others spoke, and, last of all,
+Parson Leggy rose.
+
+He briefly summarized the history of the crimes; reiterated his belief
+that a sheep-dog was the criminal; declared that nothing had occurred
+to shake his conviction; and concluded by offering a remedy for their
+consideration. Simple it was, so he said, to laughableness; yet, if
+their surmise was correct, it would serve as an effectual preventive if
+not cure, and would at least give them time to turn round. He paused.
+
+"My suggestion is: That every man-jack of you who owns a sheep-dog ties
+him up at night."
+
+The farmers were given half an hour to consider the proposal, and
+clustered in knots talking it over. Many an eye was directed on M'Adam;
+but that little man appeared all unconscious.
+
+"Weel, Mr. Saunderson," he was saying in, shrill accents, "and shall ye
+tie Shep?"
+
+"What d'yo' think?" asked Rob, eying the man at whom the measure was
+aimed.
+
+"Why, it's this way, I'm thinkin'," the little man replied. "Gin ye haud
+Shep's the guilty one I _wad_, by all manner o' means--or shootin'd be
+aiblins better. If not, why"--he shrugged his shoulders significantly;
+and having shown his hand and driven the nail well home, the little man
+left the meeting.
+
+James Moore stayed to see the Parson's resolution negatived, by a large
+majority, and then he too quitted the hall. He had foreseen the result,
+and, previous to the meeting, had warned the Parson how it would be.
+
+"Tie up!" he cried almost indignantly, as Owd Bob came galloping up
+to his whistle; "I think I see myself chainin' yo', owd lad, like any
+murderer. Why, it's yo' has kept the Killer off Kenmuir so far, I'll
+lay."
+
+At the lodge-gate was M'Adam, for once without his familiar spirit,
+playing with the lodge-keeper's child; for the little man loved all
+children but his own, and was beloved of them. As the Master approached
+he looked up.
+
+"Weel, Moore," he called, "and are you gaein' to tie yer dog?"
+
+"I will if you will yours," the Master answered grimly.
+
+"Na," the little man replied, "it's Wullie as frichts the Killer aff the
+Grange. That's why I've left him there noo."
+
+"It's the same wi' me," the Master said. "He's not come to Kenmuir yet,
+nor he'll not so long as Th' Owd Un's loose, I reck'n."
+
+"Loose or tied, for the matter o' that," the little man rejoined,
+"Kenmuir'll escape." He made the statement dogmatically, snapping his
+lips.
+
+The Master frowned.
+
+"Why that?" he asked.
+
+"Ha' ye no heard what they're sayin'?" the little man inquired with
+raised eyebrows.
+
+"Nay; what?"
+
+"Why, that the mere repitation o' th' best sheep-dog in the North'
+should keep him aff. An' I guess they're reet," and he laughed shrilly
+as he spoke.
+
+The Master passed on, puzzled.
+
+"Which road are ye gaein' hame?" M'Adam called after him. "Because,"
+with a polite smile, "I'll tak' t'ither."
+
+"I'm off by the Windy Brae," the Master answered, striding on. "Squire
+asked me to leave a note wi' his shepherd t'other side o' the Chair."
+So he headed away to the left, making for home by the route along the
+Silver Mere.
+
+It is a long sweep of almost unbroken moorland, the well-called Windy
+Brae; sloping gently down in mile on mile of heather from the Mere
+Marches on the top to the fringe of the Silver Mere below. In all that
+waste of moor the only break is the quaint-shaped Giant's Chair,
+puzzle of geologists, looking as though plumped down by accident in the
+heathery wild. The ground rises suddenly from the uniform grade of the
+Brae; up it goes, ever growing steeper, until at length it runs abruptly
+into a sheer curtain of rock--the Fall--which rises perpendicular some
+forty feet, on the top of which rests that tiny grassy bowl--not twenty
+yards across--they call the Scoop.
+
+The Scoop forms the seat of the Chair and reposes on its collar of rock,
+cool and green and out of the world, like wine in a metal cup; in front
+is the forty-foot Fall; behind, rising sheer again, the wall of rock
+which makes the back of the Chair. Inaccessible from above, the only
+means of entrance to that little dell are two narrow sheep-tracks, which
+crawl dangerously up between the sheer wall on the one hand and the
+sheer Fall on the other, entering it at opposite sides.
+
+It stands out clear-cut from the gradual incline, that peculiar
+eminence; yet as the Master and Owd Bob debouched on to the Brae it was
+already invisible in the darkening night.
+
+Through the heather the two swung, the Master thinking now with a smile
+of David and Maggie; wondering what M'Adam had meant; musing with a
+frown on the Killer; pondering on his identity--for he was half of
+David's opinion as to Red Wull's innocence; and thanking his stars that
+so far Kenmuir had escaped, a piece of luck he attributed entirely to
+the vigilance of Th' Owd Un, who, sleeping in the porch, slipped out at
+all hours and went his rounds, warding off danger. And at the thought
+he looked down for the dark head which should be travelling at his knee;
+yet could not see it, so thick hung the pall of night.
+
+So he brushed his way along, and ever the night grew blacker; until,
+from the swell of the ground beneath his feet, he knew himself skirting
+the Giant's Chair.
+
+Now as he sped along the foot of the rise, of a sudden there burst
+on his ear the myriad patter of galloping feet. He turned, and at the
+second a swirl of sheep almost bore him down. It was velvet-black,
+and they fled furiously by, yet he dimly discovered, driving at their
+trails, a vague hound-like form.
+
+"The Killer, by thunder!" he ejaculated, and, startled though he was,
+struck down at that last pursuing shape, to miss and almost fall.
+
+"Bob, lad!" he cried, "follow on!" and swung round; but in the darkness
+could not see if the gray dog had obeyed.
+
+The chase swept on into the night, and, far above him on the hill-side,
+he could now hear the rattle of the flying feet. He started hotly in
+pursuit, and then, recognizing the futility of following where he
+could not see his hand, desisted. So he stood motionless, listening
+and peering into the blackness, hoping Th' Owd Un was on the villain's
+heels.
+
+He prayed for the moon; and, as though in answer, the lantern of the
+night shone out and lit the dour face of the Chair above him. He shot a
+glance at his feet; and thanked heaven on finding the gray dog was not
+beside him.
+
+Then he looked up. The sheep had broken, and were scattered over the
+steep hill-side, still galloping madly. In the rout one pair of darting
+figures caught and held his gaze: the foremost dodging, twisting,
+speeding upward, the hinder hard on the leader's heels, swift,
+remorseless, never changing. He looked for a third pursuing form; but
+none could he discern.
+
+"He mun ha' missed him in the dark," the Master muttered, the sweat
+standing on his brow, as he strained his eyes upward.
+
+Higher and higher sped those two dark specks, far out-topping the
+scattered remnant of the flock. Up and up, until of a sudden the sheer
+Fall dropped its relentless barrier in the path of the fugitive. Away,
+scudding along the foot of the rock-wall struck the familiar track
+leading to the Scoop, and up it, bleating pitifully, nigh spent, the
+Killer hard on her now.
+
+"He'll doon her in the Scoop!" cried the Master hoarsely, following
+with fascinated eyes. "Owd Un! Owd Un! wheer iver are yo' gotten to?" he
+called in agony; but no Owd Un made reply.
+
+As they reached the summit, just as he had prophesied, the two black
+dots were one; and down they rolled together into the hollow of the
+Scoop, out of the Master's ken. At the same instant the moon, as though
+loth to watch the last act of the bloody play, veiled her face.
+
+It was his chance. "Noo!"--and up the hillside he sped like a young man,
+girding his loins for the struggle. The slope grew steep and steeper;
+but on and on he held in the darkness, gasping painfully, yet running
+still, until the face of the Fall blocked his way too.
+
+There he paused a moment, and whistled a low call. Could he but dispatch
+the old dog up the one path to the Scoop, while he took the other, the
+murderer's one road to safety would be blocked.
+
+He waited, all expectant; but no cold muzzle was shoved into his hand.
+Again he whistled. A pebble from above almost dropped on him, as if the
+criminal up there had moved to the brink of the Fall to listen; and he
+dared no more.
+
+He waited till all was still again, then crept, cat-like, along the
+rock-foot, and hit, at length, the track up which a while before had
+fled Killer and victim. Up that ragged way he crawled on hands and
+knees. The perspiration rolled off his face; one elbow brushed the rock
+perpetually; one hand plunged ever and anon into that naked emptiness on
+the other side.
+
+He prayed that the moon might keep in but a little longer; that his feet
+might be saved from falling, where a slip might well mean death, certain
+destruction to any chance of success. He cursed his luck that Th' Owd Un
+had somehow missed him in the dark; for now he must trust to chance, his
+own great strength, and his good oak stick. And as he climbed, he laid
+his plan: to rush in on the Killer as he still gorged and grapple
+with him. If in the darkness he missed--and in that narrow arena the
+contingency was improbable--the murderer might still, in the panic of
+the moment, forget the one path to safety and leap over the Fall to his
+destruction.
+
+At length he reached the summit and paused to draw breath. The
+black void before him was the Scoop, and in its bosom--not ten yards
+away--must be lying the Killer and the killed.
+
+He crouched against the wet rock-face and listened. In that dark
+silence, poised 'twixt heaven and earth, he seemed a million miles apart
+from living soul.
+
+No sound, and yet the murderer must be there. Ay, there was the tinkle
+of a dislodged stone; and again, the tread of stealthy feet.
+
+The Killer was moving; alarmed; was off.
+
+Quick!
+
+He rose to his full height; gathered himself, and leapt.
+
+Something collided with him as he sprang; something wrestled madly with
+him; something wrenched from beneath him; and in a clap he heard
+the thud of a body striking ground far below, and the slithering and
+splattering of some creature speeding furiously down the hill-side and
+away.
+
+"Who the blazes?" roared he.
+
+"What the devil?" screamed a little voice.
+
+The moon shone out.
+
+"Moore!"
+
+"M'Adam!"
+
+And there they were still struggling over the body of a dead sheep.
+
+In a second they had disengaged and rushed to the edge of the Fall. In
+the quiet they could still hear the scrambling hurry of the fugitive far
+below them. Nothing was to be seen, however, save an array of startled
+sheep on the hill-side, mute witnesses of the murderer's escape.
+
+The two men turned and eyed each other; the one grim, the other
+sardonic: both dishevelled and suspicious.
+
+"Well?''
+
+"Weel?"
+
+A pause and, careful scrutiny.
+
+"There's blood on your coat."
+
+"And on yours."
+
+Together they walked hack into the little moonlit hollow. There lay the
+murdered sheep in a pool of blood. Plain it was to see whence the marks
+on their coats came. M'Adam touched the victim's head with his foot. The
+movement exposed its throat. With a shudder he replaced it as it was.
+
+The two men stood back and eyed one another.
+
+"What are yo' doin' here?"
+
+"After the Killer. What are you?"
+
+"After the Killer?"
+
+"Hoo did you come?"
+
+"Up this path," pointing to the one behind him. "Hoo did you?"
+
+"Up this."
+
+Silence; then again:
+
+"I'd ha' had him but for yo'."
+
+"I did have him, but ye tore me aff,"
+
+A pause again.
+
+"Where's yer gray dog?" This time the challenge was unmistakable.
+
+"I sent him after the Killer. Wheer's your Red Wull?"
+
+"At hame, as I tell't ye before."
+
+"Yo' mean yo' left him there?" M'Adam's fingers twitched.
+
+"He's where I left him."
+
+James Moore shrugged his shoulders. And the other began:
+
+"When did yer dog leave ye?"
+
+"When the Killer came past."
+
+"Ye wad say ye missed him then?"
+
+"I say what I mean."
+
+"Ye say he went after the Killer. Noo the Killer was here," pointing to
+the dead sheep. "Was your dog here, too?"
+
+"If he had been he'd been here still."
+
+"Onless he went over the Fall!"
+
+"That was the Killer, yo' fule."
+
+"Or your dog."
+
+"There was only _one_ beneath me. I felt him."
+
+"Just so," said M'Adam, and laughed. The other's brow contracted.
+
+"An' that was a big un," he said slowly. The little man stopped his
+cackling.
+
+"There ye lie," he said, smoothly. "He was small."
+
+They looked one another full in the eyes.
+
+"That's a matter of opinion," said the Master.
+
+"It's a matter of fact," said the other.
+
+The two stared at one another, silent and stern, each trying to fathom
+the other's soul; then they turned again to the brink of the Fall.
+Beneath them, plain to see, was the splash and furrow in the shingle
+marking the Killer's line of retreat. They looked at one another again,
+and then each departed the way he had come to give his version of the
+story.
+
+"'If Th' Owd Un had kept wi' me, I should ha' had him."
+
+And--
+
+"I tell ye I did have him, but James Moore pulled me aff. Strange, too,
+his dog not bein' wi' him!"
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XIX. LAD AND LASS
+
+
+AN immense sensation this affair of the Scoop created in the Daleland.
+It spurred the Dalesmen into fresh endeavors. James Moore and M'Adam
+were examined and re-examined as to the minutest details of the matter.
+The whole country-side was placarded with huge bills, offering 100
+pounds reward for the capture of the criminal dead or alive. While the
+vigilance of the watchers was such that in a single week they bagged a
+donkey, an old woman, and two amateur detectives.
+
+In Wastrel-dale the near escape of the Killer, the collision between
+James Moore and Adam, and Owd Bob's unsuccess, who was not wont to fail,
+aroused intense excitement, with which was mingled a certain anxiety as
+to their favorite.
+
+For when the Master had reached home that night, he had found the old
+dog already there; and he must have wrenched his foot in the pursuit or
+run a thorn into it, for he was very lame. Whereat, when it was reported
+at the Sylvester Arms, M'Adam winked at Red Wull and muttered, "Ah,
+forty foot is an ugly tumble."
+
+A week later the little man called at Kenmuir. As he entered the yard,
+David was standing outside the kitchen window, looking very glum and
+miserable. On seeing his father, however, the boy started forward, all
+alert.
+
+"What d'yo' want here?" he cried roughly.
+
+"Same as you, dear lad," the little man giggled, advancing. "I come on a
+visit."
+
+"Your visits to Kenmuir are usually paid by night, so I've heard," David
+sneered.
+
+The little man affected not to hear.
+
+"So they dinna allow ye indoors wi' the Cup," he laughed. "They know yer
+little ways then, David."
+
+"Nay, I'm not wanted in there," David answered bitterly, but not so loud
+that his father could hear. Maggie within the kitchen heard, however,
+but paid no heed; for her heart was hard against the boy, who of late,
+though he never addressed her, had made himself as unpleasant in a
+thousand little ways as only David M'Adam could.
+
+At that moment the Master came stalking into the yard, Owd Bob
+preceding him; and as the old dog recognized his visitor he bristled
+involuntarily.
+
+At the sight of the Master M'Adam hurried forward.
+
+"I did but come to ask after the tyke," he said, "Is he gettin' over his
+lameness?"
+
+James Moore looked surprised; then his stern face relaxed into a cordial
+smile. Such generous anxiety as to the welfare of Red Wull's rival was a
+wholly new characteristic in the little man.
+
+"I tak' it kind in yo', M'Adam," he said, "to come and inquire."
+
+"Is the thorn oot?" asked the little man with eager interest, shooting
+his head forward to stare closely at the other.
+
+"It came oot last night wi' the poulticin'," the Master answered,
+returning the other's gaze, calm and steady.
+
+"I'm glad o' that," said the little man, still staring. But his yellow,
+grinning face said as plain words, "What a liar ye are, James Moore."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The days passed on. His father's taunts and gibes, always becoming more
+bitter, drove David almost to distraction.
+
+He longed to make it up with Maggie; he longed for that tender sympathy
+which the girl had always extended to him when his troubles with his
+father were heavy on him. The quarrel had lasted for months now, and
+he was well weary of it, and utterly ashamed. For, at least, he had the
+good grace to acknowledge that no one was to blame but himself; and that
+it had been fostered solely by his ugly pride.
+
+At length he could endure it no longer, and determined to go to the
+girl and ask forgiveness. It would be a bitter ordeal to him; always
+unwilling to acknowledge a fault, even to himself, how much harder would
+it be to confess it to this strip of a girl. For a time he thought it
+was almost more than he could do. Yet, like his father, once set upon
+a course, nothing could divert him. So, after a week of doubts and
+determinations, of cowardice and courage, he pulled himself together and
+off he set.
+
+An hour it took him from the Grange to the bridge over the Wastrel--an
+hour which had wont to be a quarter. Now, as he walked on up the slope
+from the stream, very slowly, heartening himself for his penance, he was
+aware of a strange disturbance in the yard above him: the noisy cackling
+of hens, the snorting of pigs disturbed, and above the rest the cry of a
+little child ringing out in shrill distress.
+
+He set to running, and sped up the slope as fast as his long legs would
+carry him. As he took the gate in his stride, he saw the white-clad
+figure of Wee Anne fleeing with unsteady, toddling steps, her fair hair
+streaming out behind, and one bare arm striking wildly back at a great
+pursuing sow.
+
+David shouted as he cleared the gate, but the brute paid no heed, and
+was almost touching the fugitive when Owd Bob came galloping round the
+corner, and in a second had flashed between pursuer and pursued. So
+close were the two that as he swung round on the startled sow, his tail
+brushed the baby to the ground; and there she lay kicking fat legs to
+heaven and calling on all her gods.
+
+David, leaving the old dog to secure the warrior pig, ran round to her;
+but he was anticipated. The whole matter had barely occupied a minute's
+time; and Maggie, rushing from the kitchen, now had the child in her
+arms and was hurrying back with her to the house.
+
+"Eh, ma pet, are yo' hurted, dearie?" David could hear her asking
+tearfully, as he crossed the yard and established himself in the door.
+
+"Well," said he, in bantering tones, "yo'm a nice wench to ha' charge o'
+oor Annie!"
+
+It was a sore subject with the girl, and well he knew it. Wee Anne, that
+golden-haired imp of mischief, was forever evading her sister-mother's
+eye and attempting to immolate herself. More than once she had only been
+saved from serious hurt by the watchful devotion of Owd Bob, who always
+found time, despite his many labors, to keep a guardian eye on his
+well-loved lassie. In the previous winter she had been lost on a bitter
+night on the Muir Pike; once she had climbed into a field with the
+Highland bull, and barely escaped with her life, while the gray dog held
+the brute in check; but a little while before she had been rescued from
+drowning by the Tailless Tyke; there had been numerous other mischances;
+and now the present mishap. But the girl paid no heed to her tormentor
+in her joy at finding the child all unhurt.
+
+"Theer! yo' bain't so much as scratted, ma precious, is yo'?" she cried.
+"Rin oot agin, then," and the baby toddled joyfully away.
+
+Maggie rose to her feet and stood with face averted. David's eyes dwelt
+lovingly upon her, admiring the pose of the neat head with its thatch of
+pretty brown hair; the slim figure, and slender ankles, peeping modestly
+from beneath her print frock.
+
+"Ma word! if yo' dad should hear tell o' hoo his Anne--" he broke off
+into a long-drawn whistle.
+
+Maggie kept silence; but her lips quivered, and the flush deepened on
+her cheek.
+
+"I'm fear'd I'll ha' to tell him," the boy continued, "'Tis but ma
+duty."
+
+"Yo' may tell wham yo' like what yo' like," the girl replied coldly; yet
+there was a tremor in her voice.
+
+"First yo' throws her in the stream," David went on remorselessly; "then
+yo' chucks her to the pig, and if it had not bin for me--"
+
+"Yo', indeed!" she broke in contemptuously. "Yo'! 'twas Owd Bob reskied
+her. Yo'd nowt' to do wi' it, 'cept lookin' on--'bout what yo're fit
+for."
+
+"I tell yo'," David pursued stubbornly, "an it had not bin for me yo'
+wouldn't have no sister by noo. She'd be lyin', she would, pore little
+lass, cold as ice, pore mite, wi' no breath in her. An' when yo' dad
+coom home there'd be no Wee Anne to rin to him, and climb on his knee,
+and yammer to him, and beat his face. An he'd say, 'What's gotten to oor
+Annie, as I left wi' yo'?' And then yo'd have to tell him, 'I never took
+no manner o' fash after her, dad; d'reckly yo' back was turned, I--'"
+
+The girl sat down, buried her face in her apron, and indulged in the
+rare luxury of tears.
+
+"Yo're the cruellest mon as iver was, David M'Adam," she sobbed, rocking
+to and fro.
+
+He was at her side in a moment, tenderly bending over her.
+
+"Eh, Maggie, but I am sorry, lass--"
+
+She wrenched away from beneath his hands.
+
+"I hate yo'," she cried passionately.
+
+He gently removed her hands from before her tear-stained face.
+
+"I was nob'but laffin', Maggie," he pleaded; "say yo' forgie me."
+
+"I don't," she cried, struggling. "I think yo're the hatefullest lad as
+iver lived."
+
+The moment was critical; it was a time for heroic measures.
+
+"No, yo' don't, lass," he remonstrated; and, releasing her wrists,
+lifted the little drooping face, wet as it was, like the earth after
+a spring shower, and, holding it between his two big hands, kissed it
+twice.
+
+"Yo' coward!" she cried, a flood of warm red crimsoning her cheeks; and
+she struggled vainly to be free.
+
+"Yo' used to let me," he reminded her in aggrieved tones.
+
+"I niver did!" she cried, more indignant than truthful.
+
+"Yes, yo' did, when we was little uns; that is, yo' was allus for
+kissin' and I was allus agin it. And noo," with whole-souled bitterness,
+"I mayn't so much as keek at yo' over a stone wall."
+
+However that might be, he was keeking at her from closer range now; and
+in that position--for he held her firmly still--she could not help
+but keek back. He looked so handsome--humble for once; penitent yet
+reproachful; his own eyes a little moist; and, withal, his old audacious
+self--that, despite herself, her anger grew less hot.
+
+"Say yo' forgie me and I'll let yo' go."
+
+"I don't, nor niver shall," she answered firmly; but there was less
+conviction in her heart than voice.
+
+"Iss yo' do, lass," he coaxed, and kissed her again.
+
+She struggled faintly.
+
+"Hoo daur yo'?" she cried through her tears. But he was not to be moved.
+
+"Will yo' noo?" he asked.
+
+She remained dumb, and he kissed her again.
+
+"Impidence!" she cried.
+
+"Ay," said he, closing her mouth.
+
+"I wonder at ye, Davie!" she said, surrendering.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+After that Maggie must needs give in; and it was well understood, though
+nothing definite had been said, that the boy and girl were courting. And
+in the Dale the unanimous opinion was that the young couple would make
+"a gradely pair, surely."
+
+M'Adam was the last person to hear the news, long after it had been
+common knowledge in the village. It was in the Sylvester Arms he first
+heard it, and straightway fell into one of those foaming frenzies
+characteristic of him.
+
+"The dochter o' Moore o' Kenmuir, d'ye say? sic a dochter o' sic a man!
+The dochter o' th' one man in the warld that's harmed me aboon the rest!
+I'd no ha' believed it gin ye'd no tell't me. Oh, David, David! I'd no
+ha' thocht it even o' you, ill son as ye've aye bin to me. I think he
+might ha' waited till his auld dad was gone, and he'd no had to wait
+lang the noo." Then the little man sat down and burst into tears.
+Gradually, however, he resigned himself, and the more readily when he
+realized that David by his act had exposed a fresh wound into which he
+might plunge his barbed shafts. And he availed himself to the full
+of his new opportunities. Often and often David was sore pressed to
+restrain himself.
+
+"Is't true what they're sayin' that Maggie Moore's nae better than she
+should be?" the little man asked one evening with anxious interest.
+
+"They're not sayin' so, and if they were 'twad be a lie," the boy
+answered angrily.
+
+M'Adam leant back in his chair and nodded his head.
+
+"Ay, they tell't me that gin ony man knew 'twad be David M'Adam."
+
+David strode across the room.
+
+"No, no mair o' that," he shouted. "Y'ought to be 'shamed, an owd mon
+like you, to speak so o' a lass." The little man edged close up to his
+son, and looked up into the fair flushed face towering above him.
+
+"David," he said in smooth soft tones, "I'm 'stonished ye dinna strike
+yen auld dad." He stood with his hands clasped behind his back as if
+daring the young giant to raise a finger against him. "Ye maist might
+noo," he continued suavely. "Ye maun be sax inches taller, and a good
+four stane heavier. Hooiver, aiblins ye're wise to wait. Anither year
+twa I'll be an auld man, as ye say, and feebler, and Wullie here'll be
+gettin' on, while you'll be in the prime o' yer strength. Then I think
+ye might hit me wi' safety to your person, and honor to yourself."
+
+He took a pace back, smiling.
+
+"Feyther," said David, huskily, "one day yo'll drive me too far."
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XX. THE SNAPPING OF THE STRING
+
+
+THE spring was passing, marked throughout with the bloody trail of
+the Killer. The adventure in the Scoop scared him for a while into
+innocuousness; then he resumed his game again with redoubled zest.
+It seemed likely he would harry the district till some lucky accident
+carried him off, for all chance there was of arresting him.
+
+You could still hear nightly in the Sylvester Arms and elsewhere the
+assertion, delivered with the same dogmatic certainty as of old, "It's
+the Terror, I tell yo'!" and that irritating, inevitable reply: "Ay; but
+wheer's the proof?" While often, at the same moment, in a house not far
+away, a little lonely man was sitting before a low-burnt fire, rocking
+to and fro, biting his nails, and muttering to the great dog whose head
+lay between his knees: "If we had but the proof, Wullie! if we had
+but the proof! I'd give ma right hand aff my arm gin we had the proof
+to-morrow."
+
+Long Kirby, who was always for war when some one else was to do the
+fighting, suggested that David should be requested, in the name of the
+Dalesmen, to tell M'Adam that he must make an end to Red Wull. But Jim
+Mason quashed the proposal, remarking truly enough that there was too
+much bad blood as it was between father and son; while Tammas proposed
+with a sneer that the smith should be his own agent in the matter.
+
+Whether it was this remark of Tammas's which stung the big man into
+action, or whether it was that the intensity of his hate gave him
+unusual courage, anyhow, a few days later, M'Adam caught him lurking in
+the granary of the Grange.
+
+The little man may not have guessed his murderous intent; yet the
+blacksmith's white-faced terror, as he crouched away in the darkest
+corner, could hardly have escaped remark; though--and Kirby may thank
+his stars for it--the treacherous gleam of a gun-barrel, ill-concealed
+behind him, did.
+
+"Hullo, Kirby!" said M'Adam cordially, "ye'll stay the night wi' me?"
+And the next thing the big man heard was a giggle on the far side the
+door, lost in the clank of padlock and rattle of chain. Then--through
+a crack--"Good-night to ye. Hope ye'll be comfie." And there he stayed
+that night, the following day and next night--thirty-six hours in all,
+with swedes for his hunger and the dew off the thatch for his thirst.
+
+Meanwhile the struggle between David and his father seemed coming to a
+head. The little man's tongue wagged more bitterly than ever; now it was
+never at rest--searching out sores, stinging, piercing.
+
+Worst of all, he was continually dropping innuendoes, seemingly innocent
+enough, yet with a world of subtile meaning at their back, respecting
+Maggie. The leer and wink with which, when David came home from
+Kenmuir at nights, he would ask the simple question, "And was she kind,
+David--eh, eh?" made the boy's blood boil within him.
+
+And the more effective the little man saw his shots to be, the more
+persistently he plied them. And David retaliated in kind. It was a war
+of reprisals. There was no peace; there were no truces in which to
+bury the dead before the opponents set to slaying others. And every day
+brought the combatants nearer to that final struggle, the issue of which
+neither cared to contemplate.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There came a Saturday, toward the end of the spring, long to be
+remembered by more than David in the Dale.
+
+For that young man the day started sensationally. Rising before
+cock-crow, and going to the window, the first thing he saw in the misty
+dawn was the gaunt, gigantic figure of Red Wull, hounding up the hill
+from the Stony Bottom; and in an instant his faith was shaken to its
+foundation.
+
+The dog was travelling up at a long, slouching trot; and as he rapidly
+approached the house, David saw that his flanks were all splashed with
+red mud, his tongue out, and the foam dripping from his jaws, as though
+he had come far and fast.
+
+He slunk up to the house, leapt on to the sill of the unused
+back-kitchen, some five feet from the ground, pushed with his paw at the
+cranky old hatchment, which was its only covering; and, in a second, the
+boy, straining out of the window the better to see, heard the rattle of
+the boards as the dog dropped within the house.
+
+For the moment, excited as he was, David held his peace. Even the Black
+Killer took only second place in his thoughts that morning. For this was
+to be a momentous day for him.
+
+That afternoon James Moore and Andrew would, he knew, be over at
+Grammoch-town, and, his work finished for the day, he was resolved to
+tackle Maggie and decide his fate. If she would have him--well, he would
+go next morning and thank God for it, kneeling beside her in the
+tiny village church; if not, he would leave the Grange and all its
+unhappiness behind, and straightway plunge out into the world.
+
+All through a week of stern work he had looked forward to this hard-won
+half-holiday. Therefore, when, as he was breaking off at noon, his
+father turned to him and said abruptly:
+
+"David, ye're to tak' the Cheviot lot o'er to Grammoch-town at once," he
+answered shortly:
+
+"Yo' mun tak' 'em yo'sel', if yo' wish 'em to go to-day."
+
+"Na," the little man answered; "Wullie and me, we're busy. Ye're to tak'
+'em, I tell ye."
+
+"I'll not," David replied. "If they wait for me, they wait till Monday,"
+and with that he left the room.
+
+"I see what 'tis," his father called after him; "she's give ye a tryst
+at Kenmuir. Oh, ye randy David!"
+
+"Yo' tend yo' business; I'll tend mine," the boy answered hotly.
+
+Now it happened that on the previous day Maggie had given him a
+photograph of herself, or, rather, David had taken it and Maggie had
+demurred. As he left the room it dropped from his pocket. He failed to
+notice his loss, but directly he was gone M'Adam pounced on it.
+
+"He! he! Wullie, what's this?" he giggled, holding the photograph into
+his face. "He! he! it's the jade hersel', I war'nt; it's Jezebel!"
+
+He peered into the picture.
+
+"She kens what's what, I'll tak' oath, Wullie. See her eyes--sae saft
+and languishin'; and her lips--such lips, Wullie!" He held the picture
+down for the great dog to see: then walked out of the room, still
+sniggering, and chucking the face insanely beneath its cardboard chin.
+
+Outside the house he collided against David. The boy had missed his
+treasure and was hurrying back for it.
+
+"What yo' got theer?" he asked suspiciously.
+
+"Only the pictur' o' some randy quean," his father answered, chucking
+away at the inanimate chin.
+
+"Gie it me!" David ordered fiercely. "It's mine."
+
+"Na, na," the little man replied. "It's no for sic douce lads as dear
+David to ha' ony touch wi' leddies sic as this."
+
+"Gie it me, I tell ye, or I'll tak' it!" the boy shouted.
+
+"Na, na; it's ma duty as yer dad to keep ye from sic limmers." He
+turned, still smiling, to Red Wull.
+
+"There ye are, Wullie!" He threw the photograph to the dog. "Tear her,
+Wullie, the Jezebel!"
+
+The Tailless Tyke sprang on the picture, placed one big paw in the very
+centre of the face, forcing it into the muck, and tore a corner off;
+then he chewed the scrap with unctious, slobbering gluttony, dropped it,
+and tore a fresh piece.
+
+David dashed forward.
+
+"Touch it, if ye daur, ye brute!" he yelled; but his father seized him
+and held him back.
+
+"'And the dogs o' the street,'" he quoted. David turned furiously on
+him.
+
+"I've half a mind to brak' ivery bone in yer body!" he shouted, "robbin'
+me o' what's mine and throwin' it to yon black brute!"
+
+"Whist, David, whist!" soothed the little man. "Twas but for yer ain
+good yer auld dad did it. 'Twas that he had at heart as he aye has.
+Rin aff wi' ye noo to Kenmuir. She'll mak' it up to ye, I war'nt. She's
+leeberal wi' her favors, I hear. Ye've but to whistle and she'll come."
+
+David seized his father by the shoulder.
+
+"An' yo' gie me much more o' your sauce," he roared.
+
+"Sauce, Wullie," the little man echoed in a gentle voice.
+
+"I'll twist yer neck for yo'!"
+
+"He'll twist my neck for me."
+
+"I'll gang reet awa', I warn yo', and leave you and yer Wullie to yer
+lone."
+
+The little man began to whimper.
+
+"It'll brak' yer auld dad's heart, lad," he said.
+
+"Nay; yo've got none. But 'twill ruin yo', please God. For yo' and
+yer Wullie'll get ne'er a soul to work for yo'--yo' cheeseparin',
+dirty-tongued Jew."
+
+The little man burst into an agony of affected tears, rocking to and
+fro, his face in his hands.
+
+"Waesucks, Wullue! d'ye hear him? He is gaein' to leave us--the son o'
+my bosom! my Benjamin! my little Davie! he's gaein' awa'!"
+
+David turned away down the hill; and M'Adam lifted his stricken face and
+waved a hand at him.
+
+"'Adieu, dear amiable youth!'" he cried in broken voice; and straightway
+set to sobbing again.
+
+Half-way down to the Stony Bottom David turned.
+
+"I'll gie yo' a word o' warnin'," he shouted back. "I'd advise yo' to
+keep a closer eye to yer Wullie's goings on, 'specially o' nights, or
+happen yo'll wake to a surprise one mornin'."
+
+In an instant the little man ceased his fooling.
+
+"And why that?" he asked, following down the hill.
+
+"I'll tell yo'. When I wak' this mornin' I walked to the window, and
+what d'yo' think I see? Why, your Wullie gollopin' like a good un up
+from the Bottom, all foamin', too, and red-splashed, as if he'd coom
+from the Screes. What had he bin up to, I'd like to know?"
+
+"What should he be doin'," the little man replied, "but havin' an eye to
+the stock? and that when the Killer might be oot."
+
+David laughed harshly.
+
+"Ay, the Killer was oot, I'll go bail, and yo' may hear o't afore the
+evenin', ma man," and with that he turned away again.
+
+As he had foreseen, David found Maggie alone. But in the heat of his
+indignation against his father he seemed to have forgotten his
+original intent, and instead poured his latest troubles into the girl's
+sympathetic ear.
+
+"There's but one mon in the world he wishes worse nor me," he was
+saying. It was late in the afternoon, and he was still inveighing
+against his father and his fate. Maggie sat in her father's chair by the
+fire, knitting; while he lounged on the kitchen table, swinging his long
+legs.
+
+"And who may that be?" the girl asked.
+
+"Why, Mr. Moore, to be sure, and Th' Owd Un, too. He'd do either o' them
+a mischief if he could."
+
+"But why, David?" she asked anxiously. "I'm sure dad niver hurt him, or
+ony ither mon for the matter o' that."
+
+David nodded toward the Dale Cup which rested on the mantelpiece in
+silvery majesty.
+
+"It's yon done it," he said. "And if Th' Owd Un wins agin, as win he
+will, bless him! why, look out for 'me and ma Wullie'; that's all."
+
+Maggie shuddered, and thought of the face at the window.
+
+"'Me and ma Wullie,'" David continued; "I've had about as much of them
+as I can swaller. It's aye the same--'Me and ma Wullie,' and 'Wullie and
+me,' as if I never put ma hand to a stroke! Ugh!"--he made a gesture of
+passionate disgust--"the two on 'em fair madden me. I could strike the
+one and throttle t'other," and he rattled his heels angrily together.
+
+"Hush, David," interposed the girl; "yo' munna speak so o' your dad;
+it's agin the commandments."
+
+"'Tain't agin human nature," he snapped in answer. "Why, 'twas nob'but
+yester' morn' he says in his nasty way, 'David, ma gran' fellow, hoo ye
+work! ye 'stonish me!' And on ma word, Maggie"--there were tears in the
+great boy's eyes--"ma back was nigh broke wi' toilin'. And the Terror,
+he stands by and shows his teeth, and looks at me as much as to say,
+'Some day, by the grace o' goodness, I'll ha' my teeth in your throat,
+young mon.'"
+
+Maggie's knitting dropped into her lap and she looked up, her soft eyes
+for once flashing.
+
+"It's cruel, David; so 'tis!" she cried. "I wonder yo' bide wi' him. If
+he treated me so, I'd no stay anither minute. If it meant the House for
+me I'd go," and she looked as if she meant it.
+
+David jumped off the table.
+
+"Han' yo' niver guessed why I stop, lass, and me so happy at home?" he
+asked eagerly.
+
+Maggie's eyes dropped again.
+
+"Hoo should I know?" she asked innocently.
+
+"Nor care, neither, I s'pose," he said in reproachful accents. "Yo' want
+me me to go and leave yo', and go reet awa'; I see hoo 'tis. Yo' wouldna
+mind, not yo', if yo' was niver to see pore David agin. I niver thowt
+yo' welly like me, Maggie; and noo I know it."
+
+"Yo' silly lad," the girl murmured, knitting steadfastly.
+
+"Then yo' do," he cried, triumphant, "I knew yo' did." He approached
+close to her chair, his face clouded with eager anxiety.
+
+"But d'yo' like me more'n just _likin'_, Maggie? d'yo'," he bent and
+whispered in the little ear.
+
+The girl cuddled over her work so that he could not see her face.
+
+"If yo' won't tell me yo' can show me," he coaxed. "There's other things
+besides words."
+
+He stood before her, one hand on the chair-back on either side. She sat
+thus, caged between his arms, with drooping eyes and heightened color.
+
+"Not so close, David, please," she begged, fidgeting uneasily; but the
+request was unheeded.
+
+"Do'ee move away a wee," she implored.
+
+"Not till yo've showed me," he said, relentless.
+
+"I canna, Davie," she cried with laughing, petulance.
+
+"Yes, yo' can, lass."
+
+"Tak' your hands away, then."
+
+"Nay; not till yo've showed me."
+
+A pause.
+
+"Do'ee, Davie," she supplicated.
+
+And--
+
+"Do'ee," he pleaded.
+
+She tilted her face provokingly, but her eyes were still down.
+
+"It's no manner o' use, Davie."
+
+"Iss, 'tis," he coaxed.
+
+"Niver."
+
+"Please."
+
+A lengthy pause.
+
+"Well, then--" She looked up, at last, shy, trustful, happy; and the
+sweet lips were tilted further to meet his.
+
+And thus they were situated, lover-like, when a low, rapt voice broke in
+on them,--
+
+ 'A dear-lov'd lad, convenience snug,
+A treacherous inclination.'
+
+"Oh, Wullie, I wush you were here!"
+
+It was little M'Adam. He was leaning in at the open window, leering at
+the young couple, his eyes puckered, an evil expression on his face.
+
+"The creetical moment! and I interfere! David, ye'll never forgie me."
+
+The boy jumped round with an oath; and Maggie, her face flaming, started
+to her feet. The tone, the words, the look of the little man at the
+window were alike insufferable.
+
+"By thunder! I'll teach yo' to come spyin' on me!" roared David. Above
+him on the mantelpiece blazed the Shepherds' Trophy. Searching any
+missile in his fury, he reached up a hand for it.
+
+"Ay, gie it me back, Ye robbed me o't," the little man cried, holding
+out his arms as if to receive it.
+
+"Dinna, David," pleaded Maggie, with restraining hand on her lover's
+arm.
+
+"By the Lord! I'll give him something!" yelled the boy. Close by there
+stood a pail of soapy water. He seized it, swung it, and slashed its
+contents at the leering face in the window.
+
+The little man started back, but the dirty torrent caught him and soused
+him through. The bucket followed, struck him full on the chest, and
+rolled him over in the mud. After it with a rush came David.
+
+"I'll let yo' know, spyin' on me!" he yelled. "I'll--"
+
+Maggie, whose face was as white now as it had been crimson, clung to
+him, hampering him.
+
+"Dinna, David, dinna!" she implored. "He's yer ain dad."
+
+"I'll dad him! I'll learn him!" roared David half through the window.
+
+At the moment Sam'l Todd came floundering furiously round the corner,
+closely followed by 'Enry and oor Job.
+
+"Is he dead?" shouted Sam'l seeing the prostrate form.
+
+"Ho! ho!" went the other two.
+
+They picked up the draggled little man and hustled him out of the yard
+like a thief, a man on either side and a man behind.
+
+As they forced him through the gate, he struggled round.
+
+"By Him that made ye! ye shall pay for this, David M'Adam, you and
+yer--"
+
+But Sam'l's big hand descended on his mouth, and he was borne away
+before that last ill word had flitted into being.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXI. HORROR OF DARKNESS
+
+
+IT was long past dark that night when M'Adam staggered home.
+
+All that evening at the Sylvester Arms his imprecations against David
+had made even the hardest shudder. James Moore, Owd Bob, and the Dale
+Cup were for once forgotten as, in his passion, he cursed his son.
+
+The Dalesmen gathered fearfully away from the little dripping madman.
+For once these men, whom, as a rule, no such geyser outbursts could
+quell, were dumb before him; only now and then shooting furtive glances
+in his direction, as though on the brink of some daring enterprise
+of which he was the objective. But M'Adam noticed nothing, suspected
+nothing.
+
+When, at length, he lurched into the kitchen of the Grange, there was no
+light and the fire burnt low. So dark was the room that a white riband
+of paper pinned on to the table escaped his remark.
+
+The little man sat down heavily, his clothes still sodden, and resumed
+his tireless anathema.
+
+"I've tholed mair fra him, Wullie, than Adam M'Adam ever thocht to thole
+from ony man. And noo it's gane past bearin'. He struck me, Wullie!
+struck his ain father. Ye see it yersel', Wullie. Na, ye werena there.
+Oh, gin ye had but bin, Wullie! Him and his madam! But I'll gar him ken
+Adam M'Adam. I'll stan' nae mair!"
+
+He sprang to his feet and, reaching up with trembling hands, pulled down
+the old bell-mouthed blunderbuss that hung above the mantelpiece.
+
+"We'll mak' an end to't, Wullie, so we will, aince and for a'!" And he
+banged the weapon down upon the table. It lay right athwart that slip of
+still condemning paper, yet the little man saw it not.
+
+Resuming his seat, he prepared to wait. His hand sought the pocket of
+his coat, and fingered tenderly a small stone bottle, the fond companion
+of his widowhood. He pulled it out, uncorked it, and took a long pull;
+then placed it on the table by his side.
+
+Gradually the gray head lolled; the shrivelled hand dropped and hung
+limply down, the finger-tips brushing the floor; and he dozed off into a
+heavy sleep, while Red Wull watched at his feet.
+
+It was not till an hour later that David returned home.
+
+As he approached the lightless house, standing in the darkness like a
+body with the spirit fled, he could but contrast this dreary home of his
+with the bright kitchen and cheery faces he had left.
+
+Entering the house, he groped to the kitchen door and opened it; then
+struck a match and stood in the doorway peering in.
+
+"Not home, bain't he?" he muttered, the tiny light above his head. "Wet
+inside as well as oot by noo, I'll lay. By gum! but 'twas a lucky thing
+for him I didna get ma hand on him this evenin'. I could ha' killed
+him." He held the match above his head.
+
+Two yellow eyes, glowing in the darkness like cairngorms, and a small
+dim figure bunched up in a chair, told him his surmise was wrong. Many
+a time had he seen his father in such case before, and now he muttered
+contemptuously:
+
+"Drunk; the leetle swab! Sleepin' it off, I reck'n."
+
+Then he saw his mistake. The hand that hung above the floor twitched and
+was still again.
+
+There was a clammy silence. A mouse, emboldened by the quiet, scuttled
+across the hearth. One mighty paw lightly moved; a lightning tap, and
+the tiny beast lay dead.
+
+Again that hollow stillness: no sound, no movement; only those two
+unwinking eyes fixed on him immovable.
+
+At length a small voice from the fireside broke the quiet.
+
+"Drunk--the--leetle--swab!"
+
+Again a clammy silence, and a life-long pause.
+
+"I thowt yo' was sleepin'," said David, at length, lamely.
+
+"Ay, so ye said. 'Sleepin' it aff'; I heard ye." Then, still in the same
+small voice, now quivering imperceptibly, "Wad ye obleege me, sir, by
+leetin' the lamp? Or, d'ye think, Wullie, 'twad be soilin' his dainty
+fingers? They're mair used, I'm told, to danderin' with the bonnie brown
+hair o' his--"
+
+"I'll not ha' ye talk o' ma Maggie so," interposed the boy passionately.
+
+"_His_ Maggie, mark ye, Wullie--_his_! I thocht 'twad soon get that
+far."
+
+"Tak' care, dad! I'll stan' but little more," the boy warned him in
+choking voice; and began to trim the lamp with trembling fingers.
+
+M'Adam forthwith addressed himself to Red Wull.
+
+"I suppose no man iver had sic a son as him, Wullie. Ye ken what I've
+done for him, an' ye ken hoo he's repaid it. He's set himsel' agin
+me; he's misca'd me; he's robbed me o' ma Cup; last of all, he struck
+me--struck me afore them a'. We've toiled for him, you and I, Wullie;
+we've slaved to keep him in hoose an' hame, an' he's passed his time,
+the while, in riotous leevin', carousin' at Kenmuir, amusin' himself'
+wi' his--" He broke off short. The lamp was lit, and the strip of paper,
+pinned on to the table, naked and glaring, caught his eye.
+
+"What's this?" he muttered; and unloosed the nail that clamped it down.
+
+This is what he read:
+
+"Adam Mackadam yer warned to mak' an end to yer Red Wull will be best
+for him and the Sheep. This is the first yo'll have two more the third
+will be the last--"
+
+It was written in pencil, and the only signature was a dagger, rudely
+lined in red.
+
+M'Adam read the paper once, twice, thrice. As he slowly assimilated
+its meaning, the blood faded from his face. He stared at it and still
+stared, with whitening face and pursed lips. Then he stole a glance at
+David's broad back.
+
+"What d'ye ken o' this, David?" he asked, at length, in a dry thin
+voice, reaching forward in his chair.
+
+"O' what?"
+
+"O' this," holding up the slip. "And ye'el obleege me by the truth for
+once."
+
+David turned, took up the paper, read it, and laughed harshly.
+
+"It's coom to this, has it?" he said, still laughing, and yet with
+blanching face.
+
+"Ye ken what it means. I daresay ye pit it there; aiblins writ it. Ye'll
+explain it." The little man spoke in the same small, even voice, and his
+eyes never moved off his son's face.
+
+"I've heard naethin'.... I'd like the truth, David, if ye can tell it."
+
+The boy smiled a forced, unnatural smile, looking from his father to the
+paper in his hand.
+
+"Yo' shall have it, but yo'll not like it. It's this: Tupper lost a
+sheep to the Killer last night."
+
+"And what if he did?" The little man rose smoothly to his feet. Each
+noticed the others' face--dead-white.
+
+"Why, he--lost--it--on--Wheer d'yo' think?" He drawled the words out,
+dwelling almost lovingly on each.
+
+"Where?"
+
+"On--the--Red--Screes."
+
+The crash was coming--inevitable now. David knew it, knew that nothing
+could avert it, and braced himself to meet it. The smile had fled from
+his face, and his breath fluttered in his throat like the wind before a
+thunderstorm.
+
+"What of it?" The little man's voice was calm as a summer sea.
+
+"Why, your Wullie--as I told yo'--was on the Screes last night."
+
+"Go on, David."
+
+"And this," holding up the paper, "tells you that they ken as I ken
+noo, as maist o' them ha' kent this mony a day, that your Wullie, Red
+Wull--the Terror--"
+
+"Go on."
+
+"Is--"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"The Black Killer."
+
+It was spoken.
+
+The frayed string was snapped at last. The little man's hand flashed to
+the bottle that stood before him.
+
+"Ye--liar!" he shrieked, and threw it with all his strength at the boy's
+head. David dodged and ducked, and the bottle hurtled over his shoulder.
+
+Crash! it whizzed into the lamp behind, and broke on the wall beyond,
+its contents trickling down the wall to the floor.
+
+For a moment, darkness. Then the spirits met the lamp's smouldering wick
+and blazed into flame.
+
+By the sudden light David saw his father on the far side the table,
+pointing with crooked forefinger. By his side Red Wull was standing
+alert, hackles up, yellow fangs bared, eyes lurid; and, at his feet, the
+wee brown mouse lay still and lifeless.
+
+"Oot o' ma hoose! Back to Kenmuir! Back to yer ----" The unpardonable
+word, unmistakable, hovered for a second on his lips like some foul
+bubble, and never burst.
+
+"No mither this time!" panted David, racing round the table.
+
+"Wullie!"
+
+The Terror leapt to the attack; but David overturned the table as
+he ran, the blunderbuss crashing to the floor; it fell, opposing a
+momentary barrier in the dog's path.
+
+"Stan' off, ye--!" screeched the little man, seizing a chair in both
+hands; "stan' off, or I'll brain ye!"
+
+But David was on him.
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, to me!"
+
+Again the Terror came with a roar like the sea. But David, with a mighty
+kick catching him full on the jaw, repelled the attack.
+
+Then he gripped his father round the waist and lifted him from the
+ground. The little man, struggling in those iron arms, screamed, cursed,
+and battered at the face above him, kicking and biting in his frenzy.
+
+"The Killer! wad ye ken wha's the Killer? Go and ask 'em at Kenmuir! Ask
+yer ----"
+
+David swayed slightly, crushing the body in his arms till it seemed
+every rib must break; then hurled it from him with all the might of
+passion. The little man fell with a crash and a groan.
+
+The blaze in the corner flared, flickered, and died. There was
+hell-black darkness, and silence of the dead.
+
+David stood against the wall, panting, every nerve tightstrung as the
+hawser of a straining ship.
+
+In the corner lay the body of his father, limp and still; and in the
+room one other living thing was moving.
+
+He clung close to the wall, pressing it with wet hands. The horror of
+it all, the darkness, the man in the corner, that moving something,
+petrified him.
+
+"Feyther!" he whispered.
+
+There was no reply. A chair creaked at an invisible touch. Something was
+creeping, stealing, crawling closer.
+
+David was afraid.
+
+"Feyther!" he whispered in hoarse agony, "are yo' hurt?"
+
+The words were stifled in his throat. A chair overturned with a crash; a
+great body struck him on the chest; a hot, pestilent breath volleyed in
+his face, and wolfish teeth were reaching for his throat.
+
+"Come on, Killer!" he screamed.
+
+The horror of suspense was past. It had come, and with it he was himself
+again.
+
+Back, back, back, along the wall he was borne. His hands entwined
+themselves around a hairy throat; he forced the great head with its
+horrid lightsome eyes from him; he braced himself for the effort, lifted
+the huge body at his breast, and heaved it from him. It struck the wall
+and fell with a soft thud.
+
+As he recoiled a hand clutched his ankle and sought to trip him. David
+kicked back and down with all his strength. There was one awful groan,
+and he staggered against the door and out.
+
+There he paused, leaning against the wall to' breathe.
+
+He struck a match and lifted his foot to see where the hand had clutched
+him.
+
+God! there was blood on his heel.
+
+Then a great fear laid hold on him. A cry was suffocated in his breast
+by the panting of his heart.
+
+He crept back to the kitchen door and listened.
+
+Not a sound.
+
+Fearfully he opened it a crack.
+
+Silence of the tomb.
+
+He banged it to. It opened behind him, and the fact lent wings to his
+feet.
+
+He turned and plunged out into the night, and ran through the blackness
+for his life. And a great owl swooped softly by and hooted mockingly:
+
+"For your life! for your life! for your life!"
+
+
+
+
+PART V OWD BOB O' KENMUIR
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXII A MAN AND A MAID
+
+
+IN the village even the Black Killer and the murder on the Screes were
+forgotten in this new sensation. The mystery in which the affair was
+wrapped, and the ignorance as to all its details, served to whet the
+general interest. There had been a fight; M'Adam and the Terror had been
+mauled; and David had disappeared--those were the facts. But what was
+the origin of the affray no one could say.
+
+One or two of the Dalesmen had, indeed, a shrewd suspicion. Tupper
+looked guilty; Jem Burton muttered, "I knoo hoo 'twould be"; while as
+for Long Kirby, he vanished entirely, not to reappear till three months
+had sped.
+
+Injured as he had been, M'Adam was yet sufficiently recovered to appear
+in the Sylvester Arms on the Saturday following the battle. He entered
+the tap-room silently with never a word to a soul; one arm was in a
+sling and his head bandaged. He eyed every man present critically; and
+all, except Tammas, who was brazen, and Jim Mason, who was innocent,
+fidgeted beneath the stare. Maybe it was well for Long Kirby he was not
+there.
+
+"Onythin' the matter?" asked Jem, at length, rather lamely, in view of
+the plain evidences of battle.
+
+"Na, na; naethin' oot o' the ordinar'," the little man replied,
+giggling. "Only David set on me, and me sleepin'. And," with a shrug,
+"here I am noo." He sat down, wagging his bandaged head and grinning.
+"Ye see he's sae playfu', is Davie. He wangs ye o'er the head wi' a
+chair, kicks ye in the jaw, stamps on yer wame, and all as merry as
+May." And nothing further could they get from him, except that if David
+reappeared it was his firm resolve to hand him over to the police for
+attempted parricide.
+
+"'Brutal assault on an auld man by his son!' 'Twill look well in the
+Argus; he! he! They couldna let him aff under two years, I'm thinkin'."
+
+M'Adam's version of the affair was received with quiet incredulity. The
+general verdict was that he had brought his punishment entirely on his
+own head. Tammas, indeed, who was always rude when he was not witty,
+and, in fact, the difference between the two things is only one of
+degree, told him straight: "It served yo' well reet. An' I nob'but wish
+he'd made an end to yo'."
+
+"He did his best, puir lad," M'Adam reminded him gently.
+
+"We've had enough o' yo'," continued the uncompromising old man. "I'm
+fair grieved he didna slice yer throat while he was at it."
+
+At that M'Adam raised his eyebrows, stared, and then broke into a low
+whistle.
+
+"That's it, is it?" he muttered, as though a new light was dawning on
+him. "Ah, noo I see."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The days passed on. There was still no news of the missing one, and
+Maggie's face became pitifully white and haggard.
+
+Of course she did not believe that David had attempted to murder his
+father, desperately tried as she knew he had been. Still, it was a
+terrible thought to her that he might at any moment be arrested; and her
+girlish imagination was perpetually conjuring up horrid pictures of a
+trial, conviction, and the things that followed.
+
+Then Sam'l started a wild theory that the little man had murdered his
+son, and thrown the mangled body down the dry well at the Grange. The
+story was, of course, preposterous, and, coming from such a source,
+might well have been discarded with the ridicule it deserved. Yet it
+served to set the cap on the girl's fears; and she resolved, at whatever
+cost, to visit the Grange, beard M'Adam, and discover whether he could
+not or would not allay her gnawing apprehension.
+
+Her intent she concealed from her father, knowing well that were she to
+reveal it to him, he would gently but firmly forbid the attempt; and on
+an afternoon some fortnight after David's disappearance, choosing her
+opportunity, she picked up a shawl, threw it over her head, and fled
+with palpitating heart out of the farm and down the slope to the
+Wastrel.
+
+The little plank-bridge rattled as she tripped across it; and she fled
+faster lest any one should have heard and come to look. And, indeed, at
+the moment it rattled again behind her, and she started guiltily round.
+It proved, however, to be only Owd Bob, sweeping after, and she was
+glad.
+
+"Comin' wi' me, lad?" she asked as the old dog cantered up, thankful to
+have that gray protector with her.
+
+Round Langholm now fled the two conspirators; over the summer-clad lower
+slopes of the Pike, until, at length, they reached the Stony Bottom.
+Down the bramble-covered bank of the ravine the girl slid; picked her
+way from stone to stone across the streamlet tinkling in that rocky bed;
+and scrambled up the opposite bank.
+
+At the top she halted and looked back. The smoke from Kenmuir was
+winding slowly up against the sky; to her right the low gray cottages of
+the village cuddled in the bosom of the Dale; far away over the Marches
+towered the gaunt Scaur; before her rolled the swelling slopes of the
+Muir Pike; while behind--she glanced timidly over her shoulder--was the
+hill, at the top of which squatted the Grange, lifeless, cold, scowling.
+
+Her heart failed her. In her whole life she had never spoken to M'Adam.
+Yet she knew him well enough from all David's accounts--ay, and hated
+him for David's sake. She hated him and feared him, too; feared him
+mortally--this terrible little man. And, with a shudder, she recalled
+the dim face at the window, and thought of his notorious hatred of her
+father. But even M'Adam could hardly harm a girl coming, broken-hearted,
+to seek her lover. Besides, was not Owd Bob with her?
+
+And, turning, she saw the old dog standing a little way up the hill,
+looking back at her as though he wondered why she waited. "Am I not
+enough?" the faithful gray eyes seemed to say.
+
+"Lad, I'm fear'd," was her answer to the unspoken question.
+
+Yet that look determined her. She clenched her little teeth, drew the
+shawl about her, and set off running up the hill.
+
+Soon the run dwindled to a walk, the walk to a crawl, and the crawl to
+a halt. Her breath was coming painfully, and her heart pattered against
+her side like the beatings of an imprisoned bird. Again her gray
+guardian looked up, encouraging her forward.
+
+"Keep close, lad," she whispered, starting forward afresh. And the old
+dog ranged up beside her, shoving into her skirt, as though to let her
+feel his presence.
+
+So they reached the top of the hill; and the house stood before them,
+grim, unfriendly.
+
+The girl's face was now quite white, yet set; the resemblance to her
+father was plain to see. With lips compressed and breath quick-coming,
+she crossed the threshold, treading softly as though in a house of the
+dead. There she paused and lifted a warning finger at her companion,
+bidding him halt without; then she turned to the door on the left of the
+entrance and tapped.
+
+She listened, her head buried in the shawl, close to the wood panelling.
+There was no answer; she could only hear the drumming of her heart.
+
+She knocked again. From within came the scraping of a chair cautiously
+shoved back, followed by a deep-mouthed cavernous growl.
+
+Her heart stood still, but she turned the handle and entered, leaving a
+crack open behind.
+
+On the far side the room a little man was sitting. His head was swathed
+in dirty bandages, and a bottle was on the table beside him. He was
+leaning forward; his face was gray, and there was a stare of naked
+horror in his eyes. One hand grasped the great dog who stood at his
+side, with yellow teeth glinting, and muzzle hideously wrinkled; with
+the other he pointed a palsied finger at her.
+
+"Ma God! wha are ye?" he cried hoarsely.
+
+The girl stood hard against the door, her fingers still on the handle;
+trembling like an aspen at the sight of that uncannie pair.
+
+That look in the little man's eyes petrified her: the swollen pupils;
+lashless lids, yawning wide; the broken range of teeth in that gaping
+mouth, froze her very soul. Rumors of the man's insanity tided back on
+her memory.
+
+"I'm--I--" the words came in trembling gasps.
+
+At the first utterance, however, the little man's hand dropped; he leant
+back in his chair and gave a soul-bursting sigh of relief.
+
+No woman had crossed that threshold since his wife died; and, for a
+moment, when first the girl had entered silent-footed, aroused from
+dreaming of the long ago, he had thought this shawl-clad figure with the
+pale face and peeping hair no earthly visitor; the spirit, rather, of
+one he had loved long since and lost, come to reproach him with a broken
+troth.
+
+"Speak up, I canna hear," he said, in tones mild compared with those
+last wild words.
+
+"I--I'm Maggie Moore," the girl quavered.
+
+"Moore! Maggie Moore, d'ye say?" he cried, half rising from his chair,
+a flush of color sweeping across his face, "the dochter o' James Moore?"
+He paused for an answer, glowering at her; and she shrank, trembling,
+against the door.
+
+The little man leant back in his chair. Gradually a grim smile crept
+across his countenance.
+
+"Weel, Maggie Moore," he said, halfamused, "ony gate ye're a good
+plucked un." And his wizened countenance looked at her almost kindly
+from beneath its dirty crown of bandages.
+
+At that the girl's courage returned with a rush. After all this little
+man was not so very terrible. Perhaps he would be kind. And in the
+relief of the moment, the blood swept back into her face.
+
+There was not to be peace yet, however. The blush was still hot upon her
+cheeks, when she caught the patter of soft steps in the passage without.
+A dark muzzle flecked with gray pushed in at the crack of the door; two
+anxious gray eyes followed.
+
+Before she could wave him back, Red Wull had marked the intruder. With
+a roar he tore himself from his master's restraining hand, and dashed
+across the room.
+
+"Back, Bob!" screamed Maggie, and the dark head withdrew. The door
+slammed with a crash as the great dog flung himself against it, and
+Maggie was hurled, breathless and white-faced, into a corner.
+
+M'Adam was on his feet, pointing with a shrivelled finger, his face
+diabolical.
+
+"Did you bring him? did you bring _that_ to ma door?"
+
+Maggie huddled in the corner in a palsy of trepidation. Her eyes gleamed
+big and black in the white face peering from the shawl.
+
+Red Wull was now beside her snarling horribly. With nose to the bottom
+of the door and busy paws he was trying to get out; while, on the other
+side, Owd Bob, snuffling also at the crack, scratched and pleaded to get
+in. Only two miserable wooden inches separated the pair.
+
+"I brought him to protect me. I--I was afraid."
+
+M'Adam sat down and laughed abruptly.
+
+"Afraid! I wonder ye were na afraid to bring him here. It's the first
+time iver he's set foot on ma land, and 't had best be the last" He
+turned to the great dog. "Wullie, Wullie, wad ye?" he called. "Come
+here. Lay ye doon--so--under ma chair--good lad. Noo's no the time to
+settle wi' him"--nodding toward the door. "We can wait for that, Wullie;
+we can wait." Then, turning to Maggie, "Gin ye want him to mak' a show
+at the Trials two months hence, he'd best not come here agin. Gin he
+does, he'll no leave ma land alive; Wullie'll see to that. Noo, what is
+'t ye want o'me?"
+
+The girl in the corner, scared almost out of her senses by this last
+occurrence, remained dumb.
+
+M'Adam marked her hesitation, and grinned sardonically.
+
+"I see hoo 'tis," said he; "yer dad's sent ye. Aince before he wanted
+somethin' o' me, and did he come to fetch it himself like a man? Not he.
+He sent the son to rob the father." Then, leaning forward in his chair
+and glaring at the girl, "Ay, and mair than that! The night the lad
+set on me he cam'"--with hissing emphasis--"straight from Kenmuir!" He
+paused and stared at her intently, and she was still dumb before him.
+"Gin I'd ben killed, Wullie'd ha' bin disqualified from competin' for
+the Cup. With Adam M'Adam's Red Wull oot o' the way--noo d'ye see? Noo
+d'ye onderstan'?"
+
+She did not, and he saw it and was satisfied. What he had been saying
+she neither knew nor cared. She only remembered the object of her
+mission; she only saw before her the father of the man she loved; and a
+wave of emotion surged up in her breast.
+
+She advanced timidly toward him, holding out her hands.
+
+"Eh, Mr. M'Adam," she pleaded, "I come to ask ye after David." The shawl
+had slipped from her head, and lay loose upon her shoulders; and she
+stood before him with her sad face, her pretty hair all tossed, and her
+eyes big with unshed tears--a touching suppliant.
+
+"Will ye no tell me wheer he is? I'd not ask it, I'd not trouble yo',
+but I've bin waitin' a waefu' while, it seems, and I'm wearyin' for news
+o' him."
+
+The little man looked at her curiously. "Ah, noo I mind me,"--this to
+himself. "You' the lass as is thinkin' o' marryin' him?"
+
+"We're promised," the girl answered simply.
+
+"Weel," the other remarked, "as I said afore, ye're a good plucked un."
+Then, in a tone in which, despite the cynicism, a certain indefinable
+sadness was blended, "Gin he mak's you as good husband as he mad' son to
+me, ye'll ha' made a maist remairkable match, my dear."
+
+Maggie fired in a moment.
+
+"A good feyther makes a good son," she answered almost pertly; and then,
+with infinite tenderness, "and I'm prayin' a good wife'll make a good
+husband."
+
+He smiled scoffingly.
+
+"I'm feared that'll no help ye much," he said.
+
+But the girl never heeded this last sneer, so set was she on her
+purpose. She had heard of the one tender place in the heart of this
+little man with the tired face and mocking tongue, and she resolved to
+attain her end by appealing to it.
+
+"Yo' loved a lass yo'sel' aince, Mr. M'Adam," she said. "Hoo would yo'
+ha' felt had she gone away and left yo'? Yo'd ha' bin mad; yo' know yo'
+would. And, Mr. M'Adam, I love the lad yer wife loved." She was kneeling
+at his feet now with both hands on his knees, looking up at him. Her sad
+face and quivering lips pleaded for her more eloquently than any words.
+
+The little man was visibly touched.
+
+"Ay, ay, lass, that's enough," he said, trying to avoid those big
+beseeching eyes which would not be avoided.
+
+"Will ye no tell me?" she pleaded.
+
+"I canna tell ye, lass, for why, I dinna ken," he answered querulously.
+In truth, he was moved to the heart by her misery.
+
+The girl's last hopes were dashed. She had played her last card and
+failed. She had clung with the fervor of despair to this last resource,
+and now it was torn from her. She had hoped, and now there was no hope.
+In the anguish of her disappointment she remembered that this was the
+man who, by his persistent cruelty, had driven her love into exile.
+
+She rose to her feet and stood back.
+
+"Nor ken, nor care!" she cried bitterly.
+
+At the words all the softness fled from the little man's face.
+
+"Ye do me a wrang, lass; ye do indeed," he said, looking up at her with
+an assumed ingenuousness which, had she known him better, would have
+warned her to beware. "Gin I kent where the lad was I'd be the vairy
+first to let you, and the p'lice, ken it too; eh, Wullie! he! he!" He
+chuckled at his wit and rubbed his knees, regardless of the contempt
+blazing in the girl's face.
+
+"I canna tell ye where he is now, but ye'd aiblins care to hear o' when
+I saw him last." He turned his chair the better to address her.
+
+"Twas like so: I was sittin' in this vairy chair it was, asleep, when
+he crep' up behind an' lep' on ma back. I knew naethin' o't till I found
+masel' on the floor an' him kneelin' on me. I saw by the look on him he
+was set on finishin' me, so I said--"
+
+The girl waved her hand at him, superbly disdainful.
+
+"Yo' ken yo're lyin', ivery word o't," she cried.
+
+The little man hitched his trousers, crossed his legs, and yawned.
+
+"An honest lee for an honest purpose is a matter ony man may be proud
+of, as you'll ken by the time you're my years, ma lass."
+
+The girl slowly crossed the room. At the door she turned.
+
+"Then ye'll no tell me wheer he is?" she asked with a heart-breaking
+trill in her voice.
+
+"On ma word, lass, I dinna ken," he cried, half passionately.
+
+"On your word, Mr. M'Adam" she said with a quiet scorn in her voice that
+might have stung Iscariot.
+
+The little man spun round in his chair, an angry red dyeing his cheeks.
+In another moment he was suave and smiling again.
+
+"I canna tell ye where he is noo," he said, unctuously; "but aiblins, I
+could let ye know where he's gaein' to."
+
+"Can yo'? will yo'?" cried the simple girl all unsuspecting. In a moment
+she was across the room and at his knees.
+
+"Closer, and I'll whisper." The little ear, peeping from its nest of
+brown, was tremblingly approached to his lips. The little man lent
+forward and whispered one short, sharp word, then sat back, grinning, to
+watch the effect of his disclosure.
+
+He had his revenge, an unworthy revenge on such a victim. And, watching
+the girl's face, the cruel disappointment merging in the heat of her
+indignation, he had yet enough nobility to regret his triumph.
+
+She sprang from him as though he were unclean.
+
+"An' yo' his father!" she cried, in burning tones.
+
+She crossed the room, and at the door paused. Her face was white again
+and she was quite composed.
+
+"If David did strike you, you drove him to it," she said, speaking in
+calm, gentle accents. "Yo' know, none so well, whether yo've bin a good
+feyther to him, and him no mither, poor laddie! Whether yo've bin to him
+what she'd ha' had yo' be. Ask yer conscience, Mr. M'Adam. An' if he
+was a wee aggravatin' at times, had he no reason? He'd a heavy cross to
+bear, had David, and yo' know best if yo' helped to ease it for him."
+
+The little man pointed to the door; but the girl paid no heed.
+
+"D'yo' think when yo' were cruel to him, jeerin' and fleerin', he never
+felt it, because he was too proud to show ye? He'd a big saft heart, had
+David, beneath the varnish. Mony's the time when mither was alive, I've
+seen him throw himsel' into her arms, sobbin', and cry, 'Eh, if I had
+but mither! 'Twas different when mither was alive; he was kinder to me
+then. An' noo I've no one; I'm alone.' An' he'd sob and sob in mither's
+arms, and she, weepin' hersel', would comfort him, while he, wee laddie,
+would no be comforted, cryin' broken-like, 'There's none to care for me
+noo; I'm alone. Mither's left me and eh! I'm prayin' to be wi' her!'"
+
+The clear, girlish voice shook. M'Adam, sitting with face averted,
+waved to her, mutely ordering her to be gone. But she held on, gentle,
+sorrowful, relentless.
+
+"An' what'll yo' say to his mither when yo meet her, as yo' must soon
+noo, and she asks yo', 'An what o' David? What o' th' lad I left wi'
+yo', Adam, to guard and keep for me, faithful and true, till this Day?'
+And then yo'll ha' to speak the truth, God's truth; and yo'll ha' to
+answer, 'Sin' the day yo' left me I niver said a kind word to the lad.
+I niver bore wi' him, and niver tried to. And in the end I drove him by
+persecution to try and murder me.' Then maybe she'll look at yo'--yo'
+best ken hoo--and she'll say, 'Adam, Adam! is this what I deserved fra
+yo'?'"
+
+The gentle, implacable voice ceased. The girl turned and slipped softly
+out of the room; and M'Adam was left alone to his thoughts and his dead
+wife's memory.
+
+"Mither and father, baith! Mither and father, baith!" rang remorselessly
+in his ears.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXIII TH' OWD UN
+
+
+THE Black Killer still cursed the land. Sometimes there would be a
+cessation in the crimes; then a shepherd, going his rounds, would notice
+his sheep herding together, packing in unaccustomed squares; a raven,
+gorged to the crop, would rise before him and flap wearily away, and he
+would come upon the murderer's latest victim.
+
+The Dalesmen were in despair, so utterly futile had their efforts been.
+There was no proof; no hope, no apparent probability that the end was
+near. As for the Tailless Tyke, the only piece of evidence against him
+had flown with David, who, as it chanced, had divulged what he had seen
+to no man.
+
+The 100 pound reward offered had brought no issue. The police had done
+nothing. The Special Commissioner had been equally successful. After
+the affair in the Scoop the Killer never ran a risk, yet never missed a
+chance.
+
+Then, as a last resource, Jim Mason made his attempt. He took a holiday
+from his duties and disappeared into the wilderness. Three days and
+three nights no man saw him.
+
+On the morning of the fourth he reappeared, haggard, unkempt, a furtive
+look haunting his eyes, sullen for once, irritable, who had never been
+irritable before--to confess his failure. Cross-examined further, he
+answered with unaccustomed fierceness: "I seed nowt, I tell ye. Who's
+the liar as said I did?"
+
+But that night his missus heard him in his sleep conning over something
+to himself in slow, fearful whisper, "Two on 'em; one ahint t'other. The
+first big--bull-like; t'ither--" At which point Mrs. Mason smote him a
+smashing blow in the ribs, and he woke in a sweat, crying terribly, "Who
+said I seed--"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The days were slipping away; the summer was hot upon the land, and with
+it the Black Killer was forgotten; David was forgotten; everything
+sank into oblivion before the all-absorbing interest of the coming Dale
+trials.
+
+The long-anticipated battle for the Shepherds' Trophy was looming close;
+soon everything that hung upon the issue of that struggle would be
+decided finally. For ever the justice of Th' Owd Un' claim to his
+proud title would be settled. If he won, he won outright--a thing
+unprecedented in the annals of the Cup; if he won, the place of Owd Bob
+o' Kenmuir as first in his profession was assured for all time. Above
+all, it was the last event in the six years' struggle 'twixt Red and
+Gray It was the last time those two great rivals would meet in battle.
+The supremacy of one would be decided once and for all. For win or lose,
+it was the last public appearance of the Gray Dog of Kenmuir.
+
+And as every hour brought the great day nearer, nothing else was talked
+of in the country-side. The heat of the Dalesmen's enthusiasm was only
+intensified by the fever of their apprehension. Many a man would lose
+more than he cared to contemplate were Th' Owd Un beat. But he'd not be!
+Nay; owd, indeed, he was--two years older than his great rival; there
+were a hundred risks, a hundred chances; still: "What's the odds agin
+Owd Bob o' Kenmuir? I'm takin' 'em. Who'll lay agin Th' Owd Un?"
+
+And with the air saturated with this perpetual talk of the old dog,
+these everlasting references to his certain victory; his ears drumming
+with the often boast that the gray dog was the best in the North,
+M'Adam became the silent, ill-designing man of six months since--morose,
+brooding, suspicious, muttering of conspiracy, plotting revenge.
+
+The scenes at the Sylvester Arms were replicas of those of previous
+years. Usually the little man sat isolated in a far corner, silent
+and glowering, with Red Wull at his feet. Now and then he burst into
+a paroxysm of insane giggling, slapping his thigh, and muttering,
+"Ay, it's likely they'll beat us, Wullie. Yet aiblins there's a wee
+somethin'--a somethin' we ken and they dinna, Wullie,--eh! Wullie, he!
+he!" And sometimes he would leap to his feet and address his pot-house
+audience, appealing to them passionately, satirically, tearfully, as the
+mood might be on him; and his theme was always the same: James Moore,
+Owd Bob, the Cup, and the plots agin him and his Wullie; and always he
+concluded with that hint of the surprise to come.
+
+Meantime, there was no news of David; he had gone as utterly as a ship
+foundered in mid-Atlantic. Some said he'd 'listed; some, that he'd gone
+to sea. And "So he 'as," corroborated Sam'l, "floatin', 'eels uppards."
+
+With no gleam of consolation, Maggie's misery was such as to rouse
+compassion in all hearts. She went no longer blithely singing about
+her work; and all the springiness had fled from her gait. The people of
+Kenmuir vied with one another in their attempts to console their young
+mistress.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Maggie was not the only one in whose life David's absence had created
+a void. Last as he would have been to own it, M'Adam felt acutely the
+boy's loss. It may have been he missed the ever-present butt; it may
+have been a nobler feeling. Alone with Red Wull, too late he felt his
+loneliness. Sometimes, sitting in the kitchen by himself, thinking of
+the past, he experienced sharp pangs of remorse; and this was all the
+more the case after Maggie's visit. Subsequent to that day the little
+man, to do him justice, was never known to hint by word or look an ill
+thing of his enemy's daughter. Once, indeed, when Melia Ross was drawing
+on a dirty imagination with Maggie for subject, M'Adam shut her up with:
+"Ye're a maist amazin' big liar, Melia Ross."
+
+Yet, though for the daughter he had now no evil thought, his hatred for
+the father had never been so uncompromising.
+
+He grew reckless in his assertions. His life was one long threat against
+James Moore's. Now he openly stated his conviction that, on the eventful
+night of the fight, James Moore, with object easily discernible, had
+egged David on to murder him.
+
+"Then why don't yo' go and tell him so, yo' muckle liar?" roared Tammas
+at last, enraged to madness.
+
+"I will!" said M'Adam. And he did.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was on the day preceding the great summer sheep fair at Grammoch-town
+that he fulfilled his vow.
+
+That is always a big field-day at Kenmuir; and on this occasion James
+Moore and Owd Bob had been up and working on the Pike from the rising of
+the sun. Throughout the straggling lands of Kenmuir the Master went
+with his untiring adjutant, rounding up, cutting out, drafting. It was
+already noon when the flock started from the yard.
+
+On the gate by the stile, as the party came up, sat M'Adam.
+
+"I've a word to say to you, James Moore," he announced, as the Master
+approached.
+
+"Say it then, and quick. I've no time to stand gossipin' here, if yo'
+have," said the Master.
+
+M'Adam strained forward till he nearly toppled off the gate.
+
+"Queer thing, James Moore, you should be the only one to escape this
+Killer."
+
+"Yo' forget yoursel', M'Adam."
+
+"Ay, there's me," acquiesced the little man. "But you--hoo d'yo' 'count
+for _your_ luck?"
+
+James Moore swung round and pointed proudly at the gray dog, now
+patrolling round the flock.
+
+"There's my luck!" he said.
+
+M'Adam laughed unpleasantly.
+
+"So I thought," he said, "so I thought! And I s'pose ye're thinkin' that
+yer luck," nodding at the gray dog, "will win you the Cup for certain a
+month hence."
+
+"I hope so!" said the Master.
+
+"Strange if he should not after all," mused the little man.
+
+James Moore eyed him suspiciously. "What d'yo' mean?" he asked sternly.
+M'Adam shrugged his shoulders. "There's mony a slip 'twixt Cup and lip,
+that's a'. I was thinkin' some mischance might come to him."
+
+The Master's eyes flashed dangerously. He recalled the many rumors he
+had heard, and the attempt on the old dog early in the year.
+
+"I canna think ony one would be coward enough to murder him," he said,
+drawing himself up.
+
+M'Adam leant forward. There was a nasty glitter in his eye, and his face
+was all a-tremble.
+
+"Ye'd no think ony one 'd be cooard enough to set the son to murder the
+father. Yet some one did--set the lad on to 'sassinate me. He failed at
+me, and next, I suppose, he'll try at Wullie!" There was a flush on
+the sallow face, and a vindictive ring in the thin voice. "One way or
+t'ither, fair or foul, Wullie or me, ain or baith, has got to go afore
+Cup Day, eh, James Moore! eh?"
+
+The Master put his hand on the latch of the gate, "That'll do, M'Adam,"
+he said. "I'll stop to hear no more, else I might get angry wi' yo'. Noo
+git off this gate, yo're trespassin' as 'tis."
+
+He shook the gate. M'Adam tumbled off, and went sprawling into the sheep
+clustered below. Picking himself up, he dashed on through the flock,
+waving his arms, kicking fantastically, and scattering confusion
+everywhere.
+
+"Just wait till I'm thro' wi' 'em, will yo'?" shouted the Master, seeing
+the danger.
+
+It was a request which, according to the etiquette of shepherding, one
+man was bound to grant another. But M'Adam rushed on regardless, dancing
+and gesticulating. Save for the lightning vigilance of Owd Bob, the
+flock must have broken.
+
+"I think yo' might ha' waited!" remonstrated the Master, as the little
+man burst his way through.
+
+"Noo, I've forgot somethin'!" the other cried, and back he started as he
+had gone.
+
+It was more than human nature could tolerate.
+
+"Bob, keep him off!"
+
+A flash of teeth; a blaze of gray eyes; and the old dog had leapt
+forward to oppose the little man's advance.
+
+"Shift oot o' ma light!" cried he, striving to dash past.
+
+"Hold him, lad!"
+
+And hold him the old dog did, while his master opened the gate and put
+the flock through, the opponents dodging in front of one another like
+opposing three-quarter-backs at the Rugby game.
+
+"Oot o' ma path, or I'll strike!" shouted the little man in a fury, as
+the last sheep passed through the gate.
+
+"I'd not," warned the Master.
+
+"But I will!" yelled M'Adam; and, darting forward as the gate swung to,
+struck furiously at his opponent.
+
+He missed, and the gray dog charged at him like a mail-train.
+
+"Hi! James Moore--" but over he went like a toppled wheelbarrow, while
+the old dog turned again, raced at the gate, took it magnificently in
+his stride, and galloped up the lane after his master.
+
+At M'Adam's yell, James Moore had turned.
+
+"Served yo' properly!" he called back. "He'll larn ye yet it's not wise
+to tamper wi' a gray dog or his sheep. Not the first time he's downed
+ye, I'm thinkin'!"
+
+The little man raised himself painfully to his elbow and crawled toward
+the gate. The Master, up the lane, could hear him cursing as he dragged
+himself. Another moment, and a head was poked through the bars of the
+gate, and a devilish little face looked after him.
+
+"Downed me, by--, he did!" the little man cried passionately. "I owed ye
+baith somethin' before this, and noo, by ----, I owe ye somethin' more.
+An' mind ye, Adam M'Adam pays his debts!"
+
+"I've heard the contrary," the Master replied drily, and turned away up
+the lane toward the Marches.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXIV A SHOT IN THE NIGHT
+
+
+IT was only three short weeks before Cup Day that one afternoon Jim
+Mason brought a letter to Kenmuir. James Moore opened it as the postman
+still stood in the door.
+
+It was from Long Kirby--still in retirement--begging him for mercy's
+sake to keep Owd Bob safe within doors at nights; at all events till
+after the great event was over. For Kirby knew, as did every Dalesman,
+that the old dog slept in the porch, between the two doors of the house,
+of which the outer was only loosely closed by a chain, so that the
+ever-watchful guardian might slip in and out and go his rounds at any
+moment of the night.
+
+This was how the smith concluded his ill-spelt note: "Look out for
+M'Adam i tell you i _know_ hel tri at thowd un afore cup day--failin im
+you if the ole dog's bete i'm a ruined man i say so for the luv o' God
+keep yer eyes wide."
+
+The Master read the letter, and handed it to the postman, who perused it
+carefully.
+
+"I tell yo' what," said Jim at length, speaking with an earnestness that
+made the other stare, "I wish yo'd do what he asks yo': keep Th' Owd Un
+in o' nights, I mean, just for the present."
+
+The Master shook his head and laughed, tearing the letter to pieces.
+
+"Nay," said he; "M'Adam or no M'Adam, Cup or no Cup, Th' Owd Un has the
+run o' ma land same as he's had since a puppy. Why, Jim, the first night
+I shut him up that night the Killer comes, I'll lay."
+
+The postman turned wearily away, and the Master stood looking after him,
+wondering what had come of late to his former cheery friend.
+
+Those two were not the only warnings James Moore received. During
+the weeks immediately preceding the Trials, the danger signal was
+perpetually flaunted beneath his nose.
+
+Twice did Watch, the black cross-bred chained in the straw-yard, hurl a
+brazen challenge on the night air. Twice did the Master, with lantern,
+Sam'l and Owd Bob, sally forth and search every hole and corner on the
+premises--to find nothing. One of the dairy-maids gave notice, avowing
+that the farm was haunted; that, on several occasions in the early
+morning, she had seen a bogie flitting down the slope to the Wastrel--a
+sure portent, Sam'l declared, of an approaching death in the house.
+While once a shearer, coming up from the village, reported having seen,
+in the twilight of dawn, a little ghostly figure, haggard and startled,
+stealing silently from tree to tree in the larch-copse by the lane. The
+Master, however, irritated by these constant alarms, dismissed the story
+summarily.
+
+"One thing I'm sartin o'," said he. "There's not a critter moves on
+Kenmuir at nights but Th' Owd Un knows it."
+
+Yet, even as he said it, a little man, draggled, weary-eyed, smeared
+with dew and dust, was limping in at the door of a house barely a mile
+away. "Nae luck, Wullie, curse it!" he cried, throwing himself into a
+chair, and addressing some one who was not there--"nae luck. An' yet I'm
+sure o't as I am that there's a God in heaven."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+M'Adam had become an old man of late. But little more than fifty, yet he
+looked to have reached man's allotted years. His sparse hair was quite
+white; his body shrunk and bowed; and his thin hand shook like an aspen
+as it groped to the familiar bottle.
+
+In another matter, too, he was altogether changed. Formerly, whatever
+his faults, there had been no harder-working man in the country-side.
+At all hours, in all weathers, you might have seen him with his gigantic
+attendant going his rounds. Now all that was different: he never put his
+hand to the plough, and with none to help him the land was left wholly
+untended; so that men said that, of a surety, there would be a farm to
+let on the March Mere Estate come Michaelmas.
+
+Instead of working, the little man sat all day in the kitchen at home,
+brooding over his wrongs, and brewing vengeance. Even the Sylvester
+Arms knew him no more; for he stayed where he was with his dog and his
+bottle. Only, when the shroud of night had come down to cover him,
+he slipped out and away on some errand on which not even Red Wull
+accompanied him.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+So the time glided on, till the Sunday before the Trials came round.
+
+All that day M'Adam sat in his kitchen, drinking, muttering, hatching
+revenge.
+
+"Curse it, Wullie! curse it! The time's slippin'--slippin'--slippin'!
+Thursday next--but three days mair! and I haena the proof--I haena the
+proof!"--and he rocked to and fro, biting his nails in the agony of his
+impotence.
+
+All day long he never moved. Long after sunset he sat on; long after
+dark had eliminated the features of the room.
+
+"They're all agin us, Wullie. It's you and I alane, lad. M'Adam's to be
+beat somehow, onyhow; and Moore's to win. So they've settled it, and
+so 'twill be--onless, Wullie, onless--but curse it! I've no the
+proof!"--and he hammered the table before him and stamped on the floor.
+
+At midnight he arose, a mad, desperate plan looming through his fuddled
+brain.
+
+"I swore I'd pay him, Wullie, and I will. If I hang for it I'll be even
+wi' him. I haena the proof, but I _know_--I _know_!" He groped his way
+to the mantel piece with blind eyes and swirling brain. Reaching up
+with fumbling hands, he took down the old blunderbuss from above the
+fireplace.
+
+"Wullie," he whispered, chuckling hideously, "Wullie, come on! You and
+I--he! he!" But the Tailless Tyke was not there. At nightfall he had
+slouched silently out of the house on business he best wot of. So his
+master crept out of the room alone--on tiptoe, still chuckling.
+
+The cool night air refreshed him, and he stepped stealthily along,
+his quaint weapon over his shoulder: down the hill; across the Bottom;
+skirting the Pike; till he reached the plank-bridge over the Wastrel.
+
+He crossed it safely, that Providence whose care is drunkards placing
+his footsteps. Then he stole up the slope like a hunter stalking his
+prey.
+
+Arrived at the gate, he raised himself cautiously, and peered over into
+the moonlit yard. There was no sign or sound of living creature. The
+little gray house slept peacefully in the shadow of the Pike, all
+unaware of the man with murder in his heart laboriously climbing the
+yard-gate.
+
+The door of the porch was wide, the chain hanging limply down, unused;
+and the little man could see within, the moon shining on the iron studs
+of the inner door, and the blanket of him who should have slept there,
+and did not.
+
+"He's no there, Wullie! He's no there!" He jumped down from the gate.
+Throwing all caution to the winds, he reeled recklessly across the yard.
+The drunken delirium of battle was on him. The fever of anticipated
+victory flushed his veins. At length he would take toll for the injuries
+of years.
+
+Another moment, and he was in front of the good oak door, battering at
+it madly with clubbed weapon, yelling, dancing, screaming vengeance.
+
+"Where is he? What's he at? Come and tell me that, James Moore! Come
+doon, I say, ye coward! Come and meet me like a man!
+
+     Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
+     Scots wham Bruce has aften led--
+     Welcome to your gory bed
+     Or to victorie!'"
+
+The soft moonlight streamed down on the white-haired madman thundering
+at the door, screaming his war-song.
+
+The quiet farmyard, startled from its sleep, awoke in an uproar. Cattle
+shifted in their stalls; horses whinnied; fowls chattered, aroused by
+the din and dull thudding of the blows: and above the rest, loud and
+piercing, the shrill cry of a terrified child.
+
+Maggie, wakened from a vivid dream of David chasing the police, hurried
+a shawl around her, and in a minute had the baby in her arms and was
+comforting her--vaguely fearing the while that the police were after
+David.
+
+James Moore flung open a window, and, leaning out, looked down on the
+dishevelled figure below him.
+
+M'Adam heard the noise, glanced up, and saw his enemy. Straightway he
+ceased his attack on the door, and, running beneath the window, shook
+his weapon up at his foe.
+
+"There ye are, are ye? Curse ye for a coward! curse ye for a liar! Come
+doon, I say, James Moore! come doon--I daur ye to it! Aince and for a'
+let's settle oor account."
+
+The Master, looking down from above, thought that at length the little
+man's brain had gone.
+
+"What is't yo' want?" he asked, as calmly as he could, hoping to gain
+time.
+
+"What is't I want?" screamed the madman. "Hark to him! He crosses me in
+ilka thing; he plots agin me; he robs me o' ma Cup; he sets ma son agin
+me and pits him on to murder me! And in the end he--"
+
+"Coom, then, coom! I'll--"
+
+"Gie me back the Cup ye stole, James Moore! Gie me back ma son ye've
+took from me! And there's anither thing. What's yer gray dog doin'?
+Where's yer--"
+
+The Master interposed again:
+
+"I'll coom doon and talk things over wi' yo'." he said soothingly. But
+before he could withdraw, M'Adam had jerked his weapon to his shoulder
+and aimed it full at his enemy's head.
+
+The threatened man looked down the gun's great quivering mouth, wholly
+unmoved.
+
+"Yo' mon hold it steadier, little mon, if yo'd hit!" he said grimly.
+"There, I'll coom help yo'!" He withdrew slowly; and all the time was
+wondering where the gray dog was.
+
+In another moment he was downstairs, undoing the bolts and bars of the
+door. On the other side stood M'Adam, his blunderbuss at his shoulder,
+his finger trembling on the trigger, waiting.
+
+"Hi, Master! Stop, or yo're dead!" roared a voice from the loft on the
+other side the yard.
+
+"Feyther! feyther! git yo' back!" screamed Maggie, who saw it all from
+the window above the door.
+
+Their cries were too late! The blunderbuss went off with a roar,
+belching out a storm of sparks and smoke. The shot peppered the door
+like hail, and the whole yard seemed for a moment wrapped in flame.
+
+"Aw! oh! ma gummy! A'm waounded A'm a goner! A'm shot! 'Elp! Murder! Eh!
+Oh!" bellowed a lusty voice--and it was not James Moore's.
+
+The little man, the cause of the uproar, lay quite still upon the
+ground, with another figure standing over him. As he had stood, finger
+on trigger, waiting for that last bolt to be drawn, a gray form,
+shooting whence no one knew, had suddenly and silently attacked him from
+behind, and jerked him backward to the ground. With the shock of the
+fall the blunderbuss had gone off.
+
+The last bolt was thrown back with a clatter, and the Master emerged. In
+a glance he took in the whole scene: the fallen man; the gray dog; the
+still-smoking weapon.
+
+"Yo', was't Bob lad?" he said. "I was wonderin' wheer yo' were. Yo'
+came just at the reet moment, as yo' aye do!" Then, in a loud voice,
+addressing the darkness: "Yo're not hurt, Sam'l Todd--I can tell that
+by yer noise; it was nob'but the shot off the door warmed yo'. Coom away
+doon and gie me a hand."
+
+He walked up to M'Adam, who still lay gasping on the ground. The shock
+of the fall and recoil of the weapon had knocked the breath out of the
+little man's body; beyond that he was barely hurt.
+
+The Master stood over his fallen enemy and looked sternly down at him.
+
+"I've put up wi' more from you, M'Adam, than I would from ony other
+man," he said. "But this is too much--comin' here at night wi' loaded
+arms, scarin' the wimmen and childer oot o' their lives, and I can
+but think meanin' worse. If yo' were half a man I'd gie yo' the finest
+thrashin' iver yo' had in yer life. But, as yo' know well, I could no
+more hit yo' than I could a woman. Why yo've got this down on me yo' ken
+best. I niver did yo' or ony ither mon a harm. As to the Cup, I've got
+it and I'm goin' to do ma best to keep it--it's for yo' to win it from
+me if yo' can o' Thursday. As for what yo' say o' David, yo' know it's a
+lie. And as for what yo're drivin' at wi' yer hints and mysteries, I've
+no more idee than a babe unborn. Noo I'm goin' to lock yo' up, yo're not
+safe abroad. I'm thinkin' I'll ha' to hand ye o'er to the p'lice."
+
+With the help of Sam'l he half dragged, half supported the
+stunned little man across the yard; and shoved him into a tiny
+semi-subterraneous room, used for the storage of coal, at the end of the
+farm-buildings.
+
+"Yo' think it over that side, ma lad," called the Master grimly, as he
+turned the key, "and I will this." And with that he retired to bed.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Early in the morning he went to release his prisoner. But he was a
+minute too late. For scuttling down the slope and away was a little
+black-begrimed, tottering figure with white hair blowing in the wind.
+The little man had broken away a wooden hatchment which covered a
+manhole in the wall of his prison-house, squeezed his small body
+through, and so escaped.
+
+"Happen it's as well," thought the Master, watching the flying figure.
+Then, "Hi, Bob, lad!" he called; for the gray dog, ears back, tail
+streaming, was hurling down the slope after the fugitive.
+
+On the bridge M'Adam turned, and, seeing his pursuer hot upon him,
+screamed, missed his footing, and fell with a loud splash into the
+stream--almost in that identical spot into which, years before, he had
+plunged voluntarily to save Red Wull.
+
+On the bridge Owd Bob halted and looked down at the man struggling in
+the water below. He made a half move as though to leap in to the rescue
+of his enemy; then, seeing it was unnecessary, turned and trotted back
+to his master.
+
+"Yo' nob'but served him right, I'm thinkin'," said the Master. "Like
+as not he came here wi' the intent to mak' an end to yo.' Well, after
+Thursday, I pray God we'll ha' peace. It's gettin' above a joke." The
+two turned back into the yard.
+
+But down below them, along the edge of the stream, for the second time
+in this story, a little dripping figure was tottering homeward. The
+little man was crying--the hot tears mingling on his cheeks with
+the undried waters of the Wastrel--crying with rage, mortification,
+weariness.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXV THE SHEPHERDS' TROPHY
+
+Cup Day.
+
+
+It broke calm and beautiful, no cloud on the horizon, no threat of storm
+in the air; a fitting day on which the Shepherds' Trophy must be won
+outright.
+
+And well it was so. For never since the founding of the Dale Trials had
+such a concourse been gathered together on the North bank of the Silver
+Lea. From the Highlands they came; from the far Campbell country; from
+the Peak; from the county of many acres; from all along the silver
+fringes of the Solway; assembling in that quiet corner of the earth to
+see the famous Gray Dog of Kenmuir fight his last great battle for the
+Shepherds' Trophy.
+
+By noon the gaunt Scaur looked down on such a gathering as it had never
+seen. The paddock at the back of the Dalesman's Daughter was packed with
+a clammering, chattering multitude: animated groups of farmers; bevies
+of solid rustics; sharp-faced townsmen; loud-voiced bookmakers; giggling
+girls; amorous boys,--thrown together like toys in a sawdust bath;
+whilst here and there, on the outskirts of the crowd, a lonely man and
+wise-faced dog, come from afar to wrest his proud title from the best
+sheep-dog in the North.
+
+At the back of the enclosure was drawn up a formidable array of carts
+and carriages, varying as much in quality and character as did their
+owners. There was the squire's landau rubbing axle-boxes with Jem
+Burton's modest moke-cart; and there Viscount Birdsaye's flaring
+barouche side by side with the red-wheeled wagon of Kenmuir.
+
+In the latter, Maggie, sad and sweet in her simple summer garb, leant
+over to talk to Lady Eleanour; while golden-haired wee Anne, delighted
+with the surging crowd around, trotted about the wagon, waving to her
+friends, and shouting from very joyousness.
+
+Thick as flies clustered that motley assembly on the north bank of the
+Silver Lea. While on the other side the stream was a little group of
+judges, inspecting the course.
+
+The line laid out ran thus: the sheep must first be found in the big
+enclosure to the right of the starting flag; then up the slope and away
+from the spectators; around a flag and obliquely down the hill again;
+through a gap in the wall; along the hillside, parrallel to the Silver
+Lea; abruptly to the left through a pair of flags--the trickiest turn of
+them all; then down the slope to the pen, which was set up close to the
+bridge over the stream.
+
+The proceedings began with the Local Stakes, won by Rob Saunderson's
+veteran, Shep. There followed the Open Juveniles, carried off by Ned
+Hoppin's young dog. It was late in the afternoon when, at length, the
+great event of the meeting was reached.
+
+In the enclosure behind the Dalesman's Daughter the clamor of the crowd
+increased tenfold, and the yells of the bookmakers were redoubled.
+
+"Walk up, gen'lemen, walk up! the ole firm! Rasper? Yessir--twenty to
+one bar two! Twenty to one bar two! Bob? What price, Bob? Even money,
+sir--no, not a penny longer, couldn't do it! Red Wull? 'oo says Red
+Wull?"
+
+On the far side the stream is clustered about the starting flag the
+finest array of sheep-dogs ever seen together.
+
+"I've never seen such a field, and I've seen fifty," is Parson Leggy's
+verdict.
+
+There, beside the tall form of his master, stands Owd Bob o' Kenmuir,
+the observed of all. His silvery brush fans the air, and he holds his
+dark head high as he scans his challengers, proudly conscious that
+to-day will make or mar his fame. Below him, the mean-looking,
+smooth-coated black dog is the unbeaten Pip, winner of the renowned
+Cambrian Stakes at Llangollen--as many think the best of all the good
+dogs that have come from sheep-dotted Wales. Beside him that handsome
+sable collie, with the tremendous coat and slash of white on throat
+and face, is the famous MacCallum More, fresh from his victory at the
+Highland meeting. The cobby, brown dog, seeming of many breeds, is from
+the land o' the Tykes--Merry, on whom the Yorkshiremen are laying as
+though they loved him. And Jess, the wiry black-and-tan, is the favorite
+of the men of of the Derwent and Dove. Tupper's big blue Rasper is
+there; Londesley's Lassie; and many more--too many to mention: big and
+small, grand and mean, smooth and rough--and not a bad dog there.
+
+And alone, his back to the others, stands a little bowed, conspicuous
+figure--Adam M'Adam; while the great dog beside him, a hideous
+incarnation of scowling defiance, is Red Wull, the Terror o' the Border.
+
+The Tailless Tyke had already run up his fighting colors. For MacCallum
+More, going up to examine this forlorn great adversary, had conceived
+for him a violent antipathy, and, straightway, had spun at him with
+all the fury of the Highland cateran, who attacks first and explains
+afterward. Red Wull, forthwith, had turned on him with savage, silent
+gluttony; bob-tailed Rasper was racing up to join in the attack; and in
+another second the three would have been locked inseparably--but just in
+time M'Adam intervened. One of the judges came hurrying up.
+
+"Mr. M'Adam," he cried angrily, "if that brute of yours gets fighting
+again, hang me if I don't disqualify him! Only last year at the Trials
+he killed the young Cossack dog."
+
+A dull flash of passion swept across M'Adam's face. "Come here,
+Wullie!" he called. "Gin yon Hielant tyke attacks ye agin, ye're to be
+disqualified."
+
+He was unheeded. The battle for the Cup had begun--little Pip leading
+the dance.
+
+On the opposite slope the babel had subsided now. Hucksters left their
+wares, and bookmakers their stools, to watch the struggle. Every eye
+was intent on the moving figures of man and dog and three sheep over the
+stream.
+
+One after one the competitors ran their course and penned their
+sheep--there was no single failure. And all received their just meed of
+applause, save only Adam M'Adam's Red Wull.
+
+Last of all, when Owd Bob trotted out to uphold his title, there went up
+such a shout as made Maggie's wan cheeks to blush with pleasure, and wee
+Anne to scream right lustily.
+
+His was an incomparable exhibition. Sheep should be humored rather than
+hurried; coaxed, rather than coerced. And that sheep-dog has attained
+the summit of his art who subdues his own personality and leads his
+sheep in pretending to be led. Well might the bosoms of the Dalesmen
+swell with pride as they watched their favorite at his work; well might
+Tammas pull out that hackneyed phrase, "The brains of a mon and the way
+of a woman"; well might the crowd bawl their enthusiasm, and Long Kirby
+puff his cheeks and rattle the money in his trouser pockets.
+
+But of this part it is enough to say that Pip, Owd Bob, and Red Wull
+were selected to fight out the struggle afresh.
+
+The course was altered and stiffened. On the far side the stream it
+remained as before; up the slope; round a flag; down the hill again;
+through the gap in the wall; along the hillside; down through the two
+flags; turn; and to the stream again. But the pen was removed from its
+former position, carried over the bridge, up the near slope, and the
+hurdles put together at the very foot of the spectators.
+
+The sheep had to be driven over the plank bridge, and the penning done
+beneath the very nose of the crowd. A stiff course, if ever there was
+one; and the time allowed, ten short minutes.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The spectators hustled and elbowed in their endeavors to obtain a
+good position. And well they might; for about to begin was the finest
+exhibition of sheep-handling any man there was ever to behold.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Evan Jones and Little Pip led off.
+
+Those two, who had won on many a hard-fought field, worked together
+as they had never worked before. Smooth and swift, like a yacht in
+Southampton Water; round the flag, through the gap, they brought their
+sheep. Down between the two flags--accomplishing right well that awkward
+turn; and back to the bridge.
+
+There they stopped: the sheep would not face that narrow way. Once,
+twice, and again, they broke; and each time the gallant little Pip, his
+tongue out and tail quivering, brought them back to the bridge-head.
+
+At length one faced it; then another, and--it was too late. Time was up.
+The judges signalled; and the Welshman called off his dog and withdrew.
+
+Out of sight of mortal eye, in a dip of the ground, Evan Jones sat down
+and took the small dark head between his knees--and you may be sure the
+dog's heart was heavy as the man's. "We did our pest, Pip," he cried
+brokenly, "but we're peat--the first time ever we've been!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+No time to dally.
+
+James Moore and Owd Bob were off on their last run.
+
+No applause this time; not a voice was raised; anxious faces; twitching
+fingers; the whole crowd tense as a stretched wire. A false turn, a
+wilful sheep, a cantankerous judge, and the gray dog would be beat. And
+not a man there but knew it.
+
+Yet over the stream master and dog went about their business never
+so quiet, never so collected; for all the world as though they were
+rounding up a flock on the Muir Pike.
+
+The old dog found his sheep in a twinkling and a wild, scared trio they
+proved. Rounding the first flag, one bright-eyed wether made a dash
+for the open. He was quick; but the gray dog was quicker: a splendid
+recover, and a sound like a sob from the watchers on the hill.
+
+Down the slope they came for the gap in the wall. A little below the
+opening, James Moore took his stand to stop and turn them; while a
+distance behind his sheep loitered Owd Bob, seeming to follow rather
+than drive, yet watchful of every movement and anticipating it. On he
+came, one eye on his master, the other on his sheep; never hurrying
+them, never flurrying them, yet bringing them rapidly along.
+
+No word was spoken; barely a gesture made; yet they worked, master and
+dog, like one divided.
+
+Through the gap, along the hill parallel to the spectators, playing into
+one another's hands like men at polo.
+
+A wide sweep for the turn at the flags, and the sheep wheeled as though
+at the word of command, dropped through them, and travelled rapidly for
+the bridge.
+
+"Steady!" whispered the crowd.
+
+"Steady, man!" muttered Parson Leggy.
+
+"Hold 'em, for God's sake!" croaked Kirby huskily. "D--n! I knew it! I
+saw it coming!"
+
+The pace down the hill had grown quicker--too quick. Close on the bridge
+the three sheep made an effort to break. A dash--and two were checked;
+but the third went away like the wind, and after him Owd Bob, a gray
+streak against the green.
+
+Tammas was cursing silently; Kirby was white to the lips; and in the
+stillness you could plainly hear the Dalesmen's sobbing breath, as it
+fluttered in their throats.
+
+"Gallop! they say he's old and slow!" muttered the Parson. "Dash! Look
+at that!" For the gray dog, racing like the Nor'easter over the sea, had
+already retrieved the fugitive.
+
+Man and dog were coaxing the three a step at a time toward the bridge.
+
+One ventured--the others followed.
+
+In the middle the leader stopped and tried to turn--and time was flying,
+flying, and the penning alone must take minutes. Many a man's hand was
+at his watch, but no one could take his eyes off the group below him to
+look.
+
+"We're beat! I've won bet, Tammas!" groaned Sam'l. (The two had a
+long-standing wager on the matter.) "I allus knoo hoo 'twould be. I
+allus told yo' th' owd tyke--"
+
+Then breaking into a bellow, his honest face crimson with enthusiasm:
+"Coom on, Master! Good for yo', Owd Un! Yon's the style!"
+
+For the gray dog had leapt on the back of the hindmost sheep; it had
+surged forward against the next, and they were over, and making up the
+slope amidst a thunder of applause.
+
+At the pen it was a sight to see shepherd and dog working together.
+The Master, his face stern and a little whiter than its wont, casting
+forward with both hands, herding the sheep in; the gray dog, his eyes
+big and bright, dropping to hand; crawling and creeping, closer and
+closer.
+
+"They're in!--Nay--Ay--dang me! Stop 'er! Good, Owd Un! Ah-h-h, they're
+in!" And the last sheep reluctantly passed through--on the stroke of
+time.
+
+A roar went up from the crowd; Maggie's white face turned pink; and
+the Dalesmen mopped their wet brows. The mob surged forward, but the
+stewards held them back.
+
+"Back, please! Don't encroach! M'Adam's to come!"
+
+From the far bank the little man watched the scene. His coat and cap
+were off, and his hair gleamed white in the sun; his sleeves were rolled
+up; and his face was twitching but set as he stood--ready.
+
+The hubbub over the stream at length subsided. One of the judges nodded
+to him.
+
+"Noo, Wullie--noo or niver!--'Scots wha hae'! "--and they were off.
+
+"Back, gentlemen! back! He's off--he's coming! M'Adam's coming!"
+
+They might well shout and push; for the great dog was on to his sheep
+before they knew it; and they went away with a rush, with him right on
+their backs. Up the slope they swept and round the first flag, already
+galloping. Down the hill for the gap, and M'Adam was flying ahead to
+turn them. But they passed him like a hurricane, and Red Wull was in
+front with a rush and turned them alone.
+
+"M'Adam wins! Five to four M'Adam! I lay agin Owd Bob!" rang out a clear
+voice in the silence.
+
+Through the gap they rattled, ears back, feet twinkling like the wings
+of driven grouse.
+
+"He's lost 'em! They'll break! They're away!" was the cry.
+
+Sam'l was half up the wheel of the Kenmuir wagon; every man was on his
+toes; ladies were standing in their carriages; even Jim Mason's face
+flushed with momentary excitement.
+
+The sheep were tearing along the hillside, all together, like a white
+scud. After them, galloping like a Waterloo winner, raced Red Wull. And
+last of all, leaping over the ground like a demoniac, making not for the
+two flags, but the plank-bridge, the white-haired figure of M'Adam.
+
+"He's beat! The Killer's beat!" roared a strident voice.
+
+"M'Adam wins! Five to four M'Adam! I lay agin Owd Bob!" rang out the
+clear reply.
+
+Red Wull was now racing parallel to the fugitives and above them. All
+four were travelling at a terrific rate; while the two flags were barely
+twenty yards in front, below the line of flight and almost parallel to
+it. To effect the turn a change of direction must be made almost through
+a right angle.
+
+"He's beat! he's beat! M'Adam's beat! Can't make it nohow!" was the
+roar.
+
+From over the stream a yell--"Turn 'em, Wullie!"
+
+At the word the great dog swerved down on the flying three. They turned,
+still at the gallop, like a troop of cavalry, and dropped, clean and
+neat, between the flags; and down to the stream they rattled, passing
+M'Adam on the way as though he was standing.
+
+"Weel done, Wullie!" came the scream from the far bank; and from the
+crowd went up an involuntary burst of applause.
+
+"Ma word!
+
+"Did yo' see that?"
+
+"By gob!"
+
+It was a turn, indeed, of which the smartest team in the galloping
+horse-gunners might well have been proud. A shade later, and they must
+have overshot the mark; a shade sooner, and a miss.
+
+"He's not been two minutes so far. We're beaten--don't you think so,
+Uncle Leggy?" asked Muriel Sylvester, looking up piteously into the
+parson's face.
+
+"It's not what I think, my dear; it's what the judges think," the parson
+replied; and what he thought their verdict would be was plainly writ on
+his face for all to read.
+
+Right on to the centre of the bridge the leading sheep galloped
+and--stopped abruptly.
+
+Up above in the crowd there was utter silence; staring eyes; rigid
+fingers. The sweat was dripping off Long Kirby's face; and, at the
+back, a green-coated bookmaker slipped his note-book in his pocket, and
+glanced behind him. James Moore, standing in front of them all, was the
+calmest there.
+
+Red Wull was not to be denied. Like his forerunner he leapt on the back
+of the hindmost sheep. But the red dog was heavy where the gray was
+light. The sheep staggered, slipped, and fell.
+
+Almost before it had touched the water, M'Adam, his face afire and eyes
+flaming, was in the stream. In a second he had hold of the struggling
+creature, and, with an almost superhuman effort, had half thrown, half
+shoved it on to the bank.
+
+Again a tribute of admiration, led by James Moore.
+
+The little man scrambled, panting, on to the bank and raced after sheep
+and dog. His face was white beneath the perspiration; his breath came in
+quavering gasps; his trousers were wet and clinging to his legs; he was
+trembling in every limb, and yet indomitable.
+
+They were up to the pen, and the last wrestle began. The crowd, silent
+and motionless, craned forward to watch the uncanny, white-haired little
+man and the huge dog, working so close below them. M'Adam's face was
+white; his eyes staring, unnaturally bright; his bent body projected
+forward; and he tapped with his stick on the ground like a blind man,
+coaxing the sheep in. And the Tailless Tyke, his tongue out and flanks
+heaving, crept and crawled and worked up to the opening, patient as he
+had never been before.
+
+They were in at last.
+
+There was a lukewarm, half-hearted cheer; then silence.
+
+Exhausted and trembling, the little man leant against the pen, one
+hand on it; while Red Wull, his flanks still heaving, gently licked the
+other. Quite close stood James Moore and the gray dog; above was the
+black wall of people, utterly still; below, the judges comparing notes.
+In the silence you could almost hear the panting of the crowd.
+
+Then one of the judges went up to James Moore and shook him by the hand.
+
+The gray dog had won. Owd Bob o' Kenmuir had won the Shepherds' Trophy
+outright.
+
+A second's palpitating silence; a woman's hysterical laugh--and
+a deep-mouthed bellow rent the expectant air: shouts, screams,
+hat-tossings, back-clappings blending in a din that made the
+many-winding waters of the Silver Lea quiver and quiver again.
+
+Owd Bob o' Kenmuir had won the Shepherds' Trophy outright.
+
+Maggie's face flushed a scarlet hue. Wee Anne flung fat arms toward
+her triumphant Bob, and screamed with the best. Squire and parson, each
+red-cheeked, were boisterously shaking hands. Long Kirby, who had not
+prayed for thirty years, ejaculated with heartfelt earnestness, "Thank
+God!" Sam'l Todd bellowed in Tammas's ear, and almost slew him with his
+mighty buffets. Among the Dalesmen some laughed like drunken men; some
+cried like children; all joined in that roaring song of victory.
+
+To little M 'Adam, standing with his back to the crowd, that storm of
+cheering came as the first announcement of defeat.
+
+A wintry smile, like the sun over a March sea, crept across his face.
+
+"We might a kent it, Wullie," he muttered, soft and low. The tension
+loosed, the battle lost, the little man almost broke down. There were
+red dabs of color in his face; his eyes were big; his lips pitifully
+quivering; he was near to sobbing.
+
+An old man--utterly alone he had staked his all on a throw--and lost.
+
+Lady Eleanour marked the forlorn little figure, standing solitary on the
+fringe of the uproarious mob. She noticed the expression on his face;
+and her tender heart went out to the lone man in his defeat.
+
+She went up to him and laid a hand upon his arm.
+
+"Mr. M'Adam," she said timidly, "won't you come and sit down in the
+tent? You look _so_ tired! I can find you a corner where no one shall
+disturb you."
+
+The little man wrenched roughly away. The unexpected kindness, coming
+at that moment, was almost too much for him. A few paces off he turned
+again.
+
+"It's reel kind o' yer ladyship," he said huskily; and tottered away to
+be alone with Red Wull.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Meanwhile the victors stood like rocks in the tideway. About them surged
+a continually changing throng, shaking the man's hand, patting the dog.
+
+Maggie had carried wee Anne to tender her congratulations; Long Kirby
+had come; Tammas, Saunderson, Hoppin, Tupper, Londesley--all but Jim
+Mason; and now, elbowing through the press, came squire and parson.
+
+"Well done, James! well done, indeed! Knew you'd win! told you so eh,
+eh!" Then facetiously to Owd Bob: "Knew you would, Robert, old man!
+Ought to Robert the Dev--musn't be a naughty boy--eh, eh!"
+
+"The first time ever the Dale Cup's been won outright!" said the Parson,
+"and I daresay it never will again. And I think Kenmuir's the very
+fittest place for its final home, and a Gray Dog of Kenmuir for its
+winner."
+
+"Oh, by the by!" burst in the squire. "I've fixed the Manor dinner for
+to-day fortnight, James. Tell Saunderson and Tupper, will you? Want all
+the tenants there." He disappeared into the crowd, but in a minute had
+fought his way back. "I'd forgotten something!" he shouted. "Tell your
+Maggie perhaps you'll have news for her after it eh! eh!" and he was
+gone again.
+
+Last of all, James Moore was aware of a white, blotchy, grinning face at
+his elbow.
+
+"I maun congratulate ye, Mr. Moore. Ye've beat us--you and the
+gentlemen--judges."
+
+"'Twas a close thing, M'Adam," the other answered. "An' yo' made a gran'
+fight. In ma life I niver saw a finer turn than yours by the two flags
+yonder. I hope yo' bear no malice."
+
+"Malice! Me? Is it likely? Na, na. 'Do onto ivery man as he does onto
+you--and somethin' over,' that's my motter. I owe ye mony a good turn,
+which I'll pay ye yet. Na, na; there's nae good fechtin' agin fate--and
+the judges. Weel, I wush you well o' yer victory. Aiblins' twill be oor
+turn next."
+
+Then a rush, headed by Sam'l, roughly hustled the one away and bore the
+other off on its shoulders in boisterous triumph.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In giving the Cup away, Lady Eleanour made a prettier speech than ever.
+Yet all the while she was haunted by a white, miserable face; and all
+the while she was conscious of two black moving dots in the Murk Muir
+Pass opposite her--solitary, desolate, a contrast to the huzzaing crowd
+around.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+That is how the champion challenge Dale Cup, the world-known Shepherds'
+Trophy, came to wander no more; won outright by the last of the Gray
+Dogs of Kenmuir--Owd Bob.
+
+Why he was the last of the Gray Dogs is now to be told.
+
+
+
+
+PART VI THE BLACK KILLER
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXVI RED-HANDED
+
+
+THE SUN was hiding behind the Pike. Over the lowlands the feathery
+breath of night hovered still. And the hillside was shivering in the
+chillness of dawn.
+
+Down on the silvery sward beside the Stony Bottom there lay the ruffled
+body of a dead sheep. All about the victim the dewy ground was dark and
+patchy like dishevelled velvet; bracken trampled down; stones
+displaced as though by straggling feet; and the whole spotted with the
+all-pervading red.
+
+A score yards up the hill, in a writhing confusion of red and gray, two
+dogs at death-grips. While yet higher, a pack of wild-eyed hill-sheep
+watched, fascinated, the bloody drama.
+
+The fight raged. Red and gray, blood-spattered, murderous-eyed; the
+crimson froth dripping from their jaws; now rearing high with arching
+crests and wrestling paws; now rolling over in tumbling, tossing,
+worrying disorder--the two fought out their blood-feud.
+
+Above, the close-packed flock huddled and stamped, ever edging nearer
+to watch the issue. Just so must the women of Rome have craned round the
+arenas to see two men striving in death-struggle.
+
+The first cold flicker of dawn stole across the green. The red eye of
+the morning peered aghast over the shoulder of the Pike. And from the
+sleeping dale there arose the yodling of a man driving his cattle home.
+
+Day was upon them.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+James Moore was waked by a little whimpering cry beneath his window.
+He leapt out of bed and rushed to look; for well he knew 'twas not for
+nothing that the old dog was calling.
+
+"Lord o' mercy! whativer's come to yo', Owd Un?" he cried in anguish.
+And, indeed, his favorite, war-daubed almost past recognition, presented
+a pitiful spectacle.
+
+In a moment the Master was downstairs and out, examining him.
+
+"Poor old lad, yo' have caught it this time!" he cried. There was a
+ragged tear on the dog's cheek; a deep gash in his throat from which the
+blood still welled, staining the white escutcheon on his chest; while
+head and neck were clotted with the red.
+
+Hastily the Master summoned Maggie. After her, Andrew came hurrying
+down. And a little later a tiny, night-clad, naked-footed figure
+appeared in the door, wide-eyed, and then fled, screaming.
+
+They doctored the old warrior on the table in the kitchen. Maggie
+tenderly washed his wounds, and dressed them with gentle, pitying
+fingers; and he stood all the while grateful yet fidgeting, looking up
+into his master's face as if imploring to be gone.
+
+"He mun a had a rare tussle wi' some one--eh, dad?" said the girl, as
+she worked.
+
+"Ay; and wi' whom? 'Twasn't for nowt he got fightin', I war'nt. Nay;
+he's a tale to tell, has The Owd Un, and--A h-h-h! I thowt as much. Look
+'ee!" For bathing the bloody jaws, he had come upon a cluster of tawny
+red hair, hiding in the corners of the lips.
+
+The secret was out. Those few hairs told their own accusing tale. To but
+one creature in the Daleland could they belong--"Th' Tailless Tyke."
+
+"He mun a bin trespassin'!" cried Andrew.
+
+"Ay, and up to some o' his bloody work, I'll lay my life," the Master
+answered. "But Th' Owd Un shall show us."
+
+The old dog's hurts proved less severe than had at first seemed
+possible. His good gray coat, forest-thick about his throat, had never
+served him in such good stead. And at length, the wounds washed and sewn
+up, he jumped down all in a hurry from the table and made for the door.
+
+"Noo, owd lad, yo' may show us," said the Master, and, with Andrew,
+hurried after him down the hill, along the stream, and over Langholm
+How. And as they neared the Stony Bottom, the sheep, herding in groups,
+raised frightened heads to stare.
+
+Of a sudden a cloud of poisonous flies rose, buzzing, up before them;
+and there in a dimple of the ground lay a murdered sheep. Deserted by
+its comrades, the glazed eyes staring helplessly upward, the throat
+horribly worried, it slept its last sleep.
+
+The matter was plain to see. At last the Black Killer had visited
+Kenmuir.
+
+"I guessed as much," said the Master, standing over the mangled body.
+"Well, it's the worst night's work ever the Killer done. I reck'n Th'
+Owd Un come on him while he was at it; and then they fought. And, ma
+word! it munn ha' bin a fight too." For all around were traces of that
+terrible struggle: the earth torn up and tossed, bracken uprooted, and
+throughout little dabs of wool and tufts of tawny hair, mingling with
+dark-stained iron-gray wisps.
+
+James Moore walked slowly over the battlefield, stooping down as though
+he were gleaning. And gleaning he was.
+
+A long time he bent so, and at length raised himself.
+
+"The Killer has killed his last," he muttered; "Red Wull has run his
+course." Then, turning to Andrew: "Run yo' home, lad, and fetch the men
+to carry yon away," pointing to the carcass, "And Bob, lad, yo 'ye done
+your work for to-day, and right well too; go yo' home wi' him. I'm off
+to see to this!"
+
+He turned and crossed the Stony Bottom. His face was set like a rock.
+At length the proof was in his hand. Once and for all the hill-country
+should be rid of its scourge.
+
+As he stalked up the hill, a dark head appeared at his knee. Two big
+grey eyes; half doubting, half penitent, wholly wistful, looked up at
+him, and a silvery brush signalled a mute request.
+
+"Eh, Owd Un, but yo' should ha' gone wi' Andrew," the Master said.
+"Hooiver, as yo' are here, come along." And he strode away up the hill,
+gaunt and menacing, with the gray dog at his heels.
+
+As they approached the house, M'Adam was standing in the door, sucking
+his eternal twig. James Moore eyed him closely as he came, but the sour
+face framed in the door betrayed nothing. Sarcasm, surprise, challenge,
+were all writ there, plain to read; but no guilty consciousness of the
+other's errand, no storm of passion to hide a failing heart. If it was
+acting it was splendidly done.
+
+As man and dog passed through the gap in the hedge, the expression on
+the little man's face changed again. He started forward.
+
+"James Moore, as I live!" he cried, and advanced with both hands
+extended, as though welcoming a long-lost brother. "'Deed and it's a
+weary while sin' ye've honored ma puir hoose." And, in fact, it was nigh
+twenty years. "I tak' it gey kind in ye to look in on a lonely auld man.
+Come ben and let's ha' a crack. James Moore kens weel hoo welcome he aye
+is in ma bit biggin'."
+
+The Master ignored the greeting.
+
+"One o' ma sheep been killed back o' t' Dyke," he announced shortly,
+jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
+
+"The Killer?"
+
+"The Killer."
+
+The cordiality beaming in every wrinkle of the little man's face was
+absorbed in a wondering interest; and that again gave place to sorrowful
+sympathy.
+
+"Dear, dear! it's come to that, has it--at last?" he said gently, and
+his eyes wandered to the gray dog and dwelt mournfully upon him. "Man,
+I'm sorry--I canna tell ye I'm surprised. Masel', I kent it all alang.
+But gin Adam M'Adam had tell't ye, no ha' believed him. Weel, weel, he's
+lived his life, gin ony dog iver did; and noo he maun gang where
+he's sent a many before him. Puir mon! puir tyke!" He heaved a sigh,
+profoundly melancholy, tenderly sympathetic. Then, brightening up a
+little: "Ye'll ha' come for the gun?"
+
+James Moore listened to this harangue at first puzzled. Then he caught
+the other's meaning, and his eyes flashed.
+
+"Ye fool, M'Adam! did ye hear iver tell o' a sheep-dog worryin' his
+master's sheep?"
+
+The little man was smiling and suave again now, rubbing his hands softly
+together.
+
+"Ye're right, I never did. But your dog is not as ither dogs--'There's
+none like him--none,' I've heard ye say so yersel, mony a time. An' I'm
+wi' ye. There's none like him--for devilment." His voice began to quiver
+and his face to blaze. "It's his cursed cunning that's deceived ivery
+one but me--whelp o' Satan that he is!" He shouldered up to his tall
+adversary. "If not him, wha else had done it?" he asked, looking, up
+into the other's face as if daring him to speak.
+
+The Master's shaggy eyebrows lowered. He towered above the other like
+the Muir Pike above its surrounding hills.
+
+"Wha, ye ask?" he replied coldly, "and I answer you. Your Red Wull,
+M'Adam, your Red Wull. It's your Wull's the Black Killer! It's your
+Wull's bin the plague o' the land these months past! It's your Wull's
+killed ma sheep back o'yon!"
+
+At that all the little man's affected good-humor fled.
+
+"Ye lee, mon! ye lee!" he cried in a dreadful scream, dancing up to his
+antagonist. "I knoo hoo 'twad be. I said so. I see what ye're at. Ye've
+found at last--blind that ye've been!--that it's yer ain hell's tyke
+that's the Killer; and noo ye think by yer leein' impitations to throw
+the blame on ma Wullie. Ye rob me o' ma Cup, ye rob me o' ma son, ye
+wrang me in ilka thing; there's but ae thing left me--Wullie. And noo
+ye're set on takin' him awa'. But ye shall not--I'll kill ye first!"
+
+He was all a-shake, bobbing up and down like a stopper in a soda-water
+bottle, and almost sobbing.
+
+"Ha' ye no wranged me enough wi' oo that? Ye lang-leggit liar, wi' yer
+skulkin murderin' tyke!" he cried. "Ye say it's Wullie. Where's yer
+proof?"--and he snapped his fingers in the other's face.
+
+The Master was now as calm as his foe was passionate. "Where?" he
+replied sternly; "why, there!" holding out his right hand. "Yon's proof
+enough to hang a hunner'd." For lying in his broad palm was a little
+bundle of that damning red hair.
+
+"Where?"
+
+"There!"
+
+"Let's see it!" The little man bent to look closer.
+
+"There's for yer proof!" he cried, and spat deliberately down into the
+other's naked palm. Then he stood back, facing his enemy in a manner to
+have done credit to a nobler deed.
+
+James Moore strode forward. It looked as if he was about to make an end
+of his miserable adversary, so strongly was he moved. His chest heaved,
+and the blue eyes blazed. But just as one had thought to see him
+take his foe in the hollow of his hand and crush him, who should come
+stalking round the corner of the house but the Tailless Tyke?
+
+A droll spectacle he made, laughable even at that moment. He limped
+sorely, his head and neck were swathed in bandages, and beneath their
+ragged fringe the little eyes gleamed out fiery and bloodshot.
+
+Round the corner he came, unaware of strangers; then straightway
+recognizing his visitors, halted abruptly. His hackles ran up, each
+individual hair stood on end till his whole body resembled a new-shorn
+wheat-field; and a snarl, like a rusty brake shoved hard down escaped
+from between his teeth. Then he trotted heavily forward, his head
+sinking low and lower as he came.
+
+And Owd Bob, eager to take up the gage of battle, advanced, glad and
+gallant, to meet him. Daintily he picked his way across the yard, head
+and tail erect, perfectly self-contained. Only the long gray hair
+about his neck stood up like the ruff of a lady of the court of Queen
+Elizabeth.
+
+But the war-worn warriors were not to be allowed their will.
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, wad ye!" cried the little man.
+
+"Bob, lad, coom in!" called the other. Then he turned and looked down at
+the man beside him, contempt flaunting in every feature.
+
+"Well?" he said shortly.
+
+M'Adam's hands were opening and shutting; his face was quite white
+beneath the tan; but he spoke calmly.
+
+"I'll tell ye the whole story, and it's the truth," he said slowly. "I
+was up there the morn"--pointing to the window above--"and I see Wullie
+crouchin' down alangside the Stony Bottom. (Ye ken he has the run o'
+ma land o' neets, the same as your dog.) In a minnit I see anither dog
+squatterin' alang on your side the Bottom. He creeps up to the sheep on
+th' hillside, chases 'em, and doons one. The sun was risen by then, and
+I see the dog clear as I see you noo. It was that dog there--I swear
+it!" His voice rose as he spoke, and he pointed an accusing finger at
+Owd Bob.
+
+"Noo, Wullie! thinks I. And afore ye could clap yer hands, Wullie was
+over the Bottom and on to him as he gorged--the bloody-minded murderer!
+They fought and fought--I could hear the roarin' a't where I stood. I
+watched till I could watch nae langer, and, all in a sweat, I rin doon
+the stairs and oot. When I got there, there was yer tyke makin' fu'
+split for Kenmuir, and Wullie comin' up the hill to me. It's God's
+truth, I'm tellin' ye. Tak' him hame, James Moore, and let his dinner be
+an ounce o' lead. 'Twill be the best day's work iver ye done."
+
+The little man must be lying--lying palpably. Yet he spoke with
+an earnestness, a seeming belief in his own story, that might have
+convinced one who knew him less well. But the Master only looked down on
+him with a great scorn.
+
+"It's Monday to-day," he said coldly. "I gie yo' till Saturday. If yo've
+not done your duty by then--and well you know what 'tis--I shall come
+do it for ye. Ony gate, I shall come and see. I'll remind ye agin o'
+Thursday--yo'll be at the Manor dinner, I suppose. Noo I've warned yo',
+and you know best whether I'm in earnest or no. Bob, lad!"
+
+He turned away, but turned again.
+
+"I'm sorry for ye, but I've ma duty to do--so've you. Till Saturday I
+shall breathe no word to ony soul o' this business, so that if you see
+good to put him oot o' the way wi'oot bother, no one need iver know as
+hoo Adam M'Adam's Red Wull was the Black Killer."
+
+He turned away for the second time. But the little man sprang after him,
+and clutched him by the arm.
+
+"Look ye here, James Moore!" he cried in thick, shaky, horrible voice.
+"Ye're big, I'm sma'; ye're strang, I'm weak; ye've ivery one to your
+back, I've niver a one; you tell your story, and they'll believe ye--for
+you gae to church; I'll tell mine, and they'll think I lie--for I dinna.
+But a word in your ear! If iver agin I catch ye on ma land, by--!"--he
+swore a great oath--"I'll no spare ye. You ken best if I'm in earnest or
+no." And his face was dreadful to see in its hideous determinedness.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXVII FOR THE DEFENCE
+
+
+THAT night a vague story was whispered In the Sylvester Arms. But
+Tammas, on being interrogated, pursed his lips and said: "Nay, I'm sworn
+to say nowt." Which was the old man's way of putting that he knew nowt.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On Thursday morning, James Moore and Andrew came down arrayed in all
+their best. It was the day of the squire's annual dinner to his tenants.
+
+The two, however, were not allowed to start upon their way until they
+had undergone a critical inspection by Maggie; for the girl liked her
+mankind to do honor to Kenmuir on these occasions. So she brushed
+up Andrew, tied his scarf, saw his boots and hands were clean, and
+titivated him generally till she had converted the ungainly hobbledehoy
+into a thoroughly "likely young mon."
+
+And all the while she was thinking of that other boy for whom on such
+gala days she had been wont to perform like offices. And her father,
+marking the tears in her eyes, and mindful of the squire's mysterious
+hint, said gently:
+
+"Cheer up, lass. Happen I'll ha' news for you the night!"
+
+The girl nodded, and smiled wanly.
+
+"Happen so, dad," she said. But in her heart she doubted.
+
+Nevertheless it was with a cheerful countenance that, a little later,
+she stood in the door with wee Anne and Owd Bob and waved the travellers
+Godspeed; while the golden-haired lassie, fiercely gripping the old
+dog's tail with one hand and her sister with the other, screamed them a
+wordless farewell.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The sun had reached its highest when the two wayfarers passed through
+the gray portals of the Manor.
+
+In the stately entrance hall, imposing with all the evidences of a long
+and honorable line, were gathered now the many tenants throughout the
+wide March Mere Estate. Weather-beaten, rent-paying sons of the soil;
+most of them native-born, many of them like James Moore, whose fathers
+had for generations owned and farmed the land they now leased at the
+hands of the Sylvesters--there in the old hall they were assembled,
+a mighty host. And apart from the others, standing as though in irony
+beneath the frown of one of those steel-clad warriors who held the door,
+was little M'Adam, puny always, paltry now, mocking his manhood.
+
+The door at the far end of the hall opened, and the squire entered,
+beaming on every one.
+
+"Here you are--eh, eh! How are you all? Glad to see ye! Good-day, James!
+Good-day, Saunderson! Good-day to you all! Bringin' a friend with me eh,
+eh!" and he stood aside to let by his agent, Parson Leggy, and last of
+all, shy and blushing, a fair-haired young giant.
+
+"If it bain't David!" was the cry. "Eh, lad, we's fain to see yo'! And
+yo'm lookin' stout, surely!" And they thronged about the boy, shaking
+him by the hand, and asking him his story.
+
+'Twas but a simple tale. After his flight on the eventful night he had
+gone south, drovering. He had written to Maggie, and been surprised and
+hurt to receive no reply. In vain he had waited, and too proud to write
+again, had remained ignorant of his father's recovery, neither caring
+nor daring to return. Then by mere chance, he had met the squire at the
+York cattle-show; and that kind man, who knew his story, had eased his
+fears and obtained from him a promise to return as soon as the term of
+his engagement had expired. And there he was.
+
+The Dalesmen gathered round the boy, listening to his tale, and in
+return telling him the home news, and chaffing him about Maggie.
+
+Of all the people present, only one seemed unmoved, and that was M'Adam.
+When first David had entered he had started forward, a flush of color
+warming his thin cheeks; but no one had noticed his emotion; and now,
+back again beneath his armor, he watched the scene, a sour smile playing
+about his lips.
+
+"I think the lad might ha' the grace to come and say he's sorry for
+'temptin' to murder me. Hooiver"--with a characteristic shrug--"I
+suppose I'm onraisonable."
+
+Then the gong rang out its summons, and the squire led the way into the
+great dining-hall. At the one end of the long table, heavy with all the
+solid delicacies of such a feast, he took his seat with the Master of
+Kenmuir upon his right. At the other end was Parson Leggy. While down
+the sides the stalwart Dalesmen were arrayed, with M'Adam a little lost
+figure in the centre.
+
+At first they talked but little, awed like children: knives plied,
+glasses tinkled, the carvers had all their work, only the tongues were
+at rest. But the squire's ringing laugh and the parson's cheery tones
+soon put them at their ease; and a babel of voices rose and waxed.
+
+Of them all, only M'Adam sat silent. He talked to no man, and you may
+be sure no one talked to him. His hand crept oftener to his glass than
+plate, till the sallow face began to flush, and the dim eyes to grow
+unnaturally bright.
+
+Toward the end of the meal there was loud tapping on the table, calls
+for silence, and men pushed back their chairs. The squire was on his
+feet to make his annual speech.
+
+He started by telling them how glad he was to see them there. He made
+an allusion to Owd Bob and the Shepherds' Trophy which was heartily
+applauded. He touched on the Black Killer, and said he had a remedy
+to propose: that Th' Owd Un should be set upon the criminal's track--a
+suggestion which was received with enthusiasm, while M'Adam's cackling
+laugh could be heard high above the rest.
+
+From that he dwelt upon the existing condition of agriculture, the
+depression in which he attributed to the late Radical Government. He
+said that now with the Conservatives in office, and a ministry composed
+of "honorable men and gentlemen," he felt convinced that things would
+brighten. The Radicals' one ambition was to set class against class,
+landlord against tenant. Well, during the last five hundred years, the
+Sylvesters had rarely been--he was sorry to have to confess it--good men
+(laughter and dissent); but he never yet heard of the Sylvester--though
+he shouldn't say it--who was a bad landlord (loud applause).
+
+This was a free country, and any tenant of his who was not content (a
+voice, "'Oo says we bain't?")--"thank you, thank you!"--well, there was
+room for him outside. (Cheers.) He thanked God from the bottom of his
+heart that, during the forty years he had been responsible for the
+March Mere Estate, there had never been any friction between him and his
+people (cheers), and he didn't think there ever would be. (Loud cheers.)
+
+"Thank you, thank you!" And his motto was, "Shun a Radical as you do the
+devil!"--and he was very glad to see them all there--very glad; and he
+wished to give them a toast, "The Queen! God bless her!" and--wait a
+minute!--with her Majesty's name to couple--he was sure that gracious
+lady would wish it--that of "Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!" Then he sat down
+abruptly amid thundering applause.
+
+The toasts duly honoured, James Moore, by prescriptive right as Master
+of Kenmuir, rose to answer.
+
+He began by saying that he spoke "as representing all the tenants,"--but
+he was interrupted.
+
+"Na," came a shrill voice from half-way down the table. "Yell except me,
+James Moore. I'd as lief be represented by Judas!"
+
+There were cries of "Hold ye gab, little mon!" and the squire's voice,
+"That'll do, Mr. M'Adam!"
+
+The little man restrained his tongue, but his eyes gleamed like a
+ferret's; and the Master continued his speech.
+
+He spoke briefly and to the point, in short phrases. And all the while
+M'Adam kept up a low-voiced, running commentary. At length he could
+control himself no longer. Half rising from his chair, he leant forward
+with hot face and burning eyes, and cried: "Sit doon, James Moore! Hoo
+daur ye stan' there like an honest man, ye whitewashed sepulchre? Sit
+doon, I say, or"--threateningly--"wad ye hae me come to ye?"
+
+At that the Dalesmen laughed uproariously, and even the Master's grim
+face relaxed. But the squire's voice rang out sharp and stern.
+
+"Keep silence and sit down, Mr. M'Adam! D'you hear me, sir? If I have to
+speak to you again it will be to order you to leave the room."
+
+The little man obeyed, sullen and vengeful, like a beaten cat.
+
+The Master concluded his speech by calling on all present to give three
+cheers for the squire, her ladyship, and the young ladies.
+
+The call was responded to enthusiastically, every man standing. Just as
+the noise was at its zenith, Lady Eleanour herself, with her two fair
+daughters, glided into the gallery at the end of the hall; whereat the
+cheering became deafening.
+
+Slowly the clamor subsided. One by one the tenants sat down. At length
+there was left standing only one solitary figure--M 'Adam.
+
+His face was set, and he gripped the chair in front of him with thin,
+nervous hands.
+
+"Mr. Sylvester," he began in low yet clear voice, "ye said this is a
+free country and we're a' free men. And that bein' so, I'll tak' the
+liberty, wi' yer permission, to say a word. It's maybe the last time
+I'll be wi' ye, so I hope ye'll listen to me."
+
+The Dalesmen looked surprised, and the squire uneasy. Nevertheless he
+nodded assent.
+
+The little man straightened himself. His face was tense as though
+strung up to a high resolve. All the passion had fled from it, all
+the bitterness was gone; and left behind was a strange, enobling
+earnestness. Standing there in the silence of that great hall, with
+every eye upon him, he looked like some prisoner at the bar about to
+plead for his life.
+
+"Gentlemen," he began, "I've bin amang ye noo a score years, and I can
+truly say there's not a man in this room I can ca' 'Friend.'" He looked
+along the ranks of upturned faces. "Ay, David, I see ye, and you, Mr.
+Hornbut, and you, Mr. Sylvester--ilka one o' you, and not one as'd back
+me like a comrade gin a trouble came upon me." There was no rebuke in
+the grave little voice--it merely stated a hard fact.
+
+"There's I doot no one amang ye but has some one--friend or blood--wham
+he can turn to when things are sair wi' him. I've no one.
+
+"'I bear alane my lade o' care'--alane wi' Wullie, who stands to me,
+blaw or snaw, rain or shine. And whiles I'm feared he'll be took from
+me." He spoke this last half to himself, a grieved, puzzled expression
+on his face, as though lately he had dreamed some ill dream.
+
+"Forbye Wuilie, I've no friend on God's earth. And, mind ye, a bad man
+aften mak's a good friend--but ye've never given me the chance. It's a
+sair thing that, gentlemen, to ha' to fight the battle o' life alane: no
+one to pat ye on th' back, no one to say 'Weel done.' It hardly gies
+a man a chance. For gin he does try and yet fails, men never mind the
+tryin', they only mark the failin'."
+
+"I dinna blame ye. There's somethin' bred in me, it seems, as sets ivery
+one agin me. It's the same wi' Wullie and the tykes--they're doon on him
+same as men are on me. I suppose we was made so. Sin' I was a lad it's
+aye bin the same. From school days I've had ivery one agin me."
+
+"In ma life I've had three fiends. Ma mither--and she went; then ma
+wife"--he gave a great swallow--"and she's awa'; and I may say they're
+the only two human bein's as ha' lived on God's earth in ma time that
+iver tried to bear wi' me;--and Wullie. A man's mither--a man's wife--a
+man's dog! it's aften a' he has in this warld; and the more he prizes
+them the more like they are to be took from him." The little earnest
+voice shook, and the dim eyes puckered and filled.
+
+"Sin' I've bin amang ye--twenty-odd years--can any man here mind
+speakin' any word that wasna ill to me?" He paused; there was no reply.
+
+"I'll tell ye. All the time I've lived here I've had one kindly word
+spoke to me, and that a fortnight gone, and not by a man then--by her
+ladyship, God bless her!" He glanced up into the gallery. There was
+no one visible there; but a curtain at one end shook as though it were
+sobbing.
+
+"Weel, I'm thinkin' we'll be gaein' in a wee while noo, Wullie and me,
+alane and thegither, as we've aye done. And it's time we went. Ye've had
+enough o' us, and it's no for me to blame ye. And when I'm gone what'll
+ye say o' me? 'He was a drunkard.' I am. 'He was a sinner.' I am. 'He
+was ilka thing he shouldna be.' I am. 'We're glad he's gone.' That's
+what ye'll say o' me. And it's but ma deserts."
+
+The gentle, condemning voice ceased, and began again.
+
+"That's what I am. Gin things had been differ', aiblins I'd ha' bin
+differ'. D'ye ken Robbie Burns? That's a man I've read, and read, and
+read. D'ye ken why I love him as some o' you do yer Bibles? Because
+there's a humanity about him. A weak man hissel', aye slippin',
+slippin', slippin', and tryin' to haud up; sorrowin' ae minute, sinnin'
+the next; doin' ill deeds and wishin' 'em undone--just a plain human
+man, a sinner. And that's why I'm thinkin he's tender for us as is like
+him. _He understood._ It's what he wrote--after ain o' his tumbles, I'm
+thinkin'--that I was goin' to tell ye:
+
+     'Then gently scan yer brother man,
+     Still gentler sister woman,
+     Though they may gang a kennin' wrang,
+     To step aside is human'--
+
+the doctrine o' Charity. Gie him his chance, says Robbie, though he be
+a sinner. Mony a mon'd be differ', mony bad'd be gude, gin they had but
+their chance. Gie 'em their chance, says he; and I'm wi' him. As 'tis,
+ye see me here--a bad man wi' still a streak o' good in him. Gin I'd had
+ma chance, aiblins 'twad be--a good man wi' just a spice o' the devil in
+him. A' the differ' betune what is and what might ha' bin."
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXVIII THE DEVIL'S BOWL
+
+
+HE sat down. In the great hall there was silence, save for a tiny sound
+from the gallery like a sob suppressed.
+
+The squire rose hurriedly and left the room. After him, one by one,
+trailed the tenants. At length, two only remained--M'Adam, sitting
+solitary with a long array of empty chairs on either hand; and, at the
+far end of the table, Parson Leggy, stern, upright, motionless.
+
+When the last man had left the room the parson rose, and with lips
+tight-set strode across the silent hall.
+
+"M'Adam," he said rapidly and almost roughly, "I've listened to
+what you've said, as I think we all have, with a sore heart. You hit
+hard--but I think you were right. And if I've not done my duty by you as
+I ought--and I fear I've not--it's now my duty as God's minister to be
+the first to say I'm sorry." And it was evident from his face what an
+effort the words cost him.
+
+The little man tilted back his chair, and raised his head.
+
+It was the old M'Adam who looked up. The thin lips were curled; a grin
+was crawling across the mocking face; and he wagged his head gently, as
+he looked at the speaker through the slits of his half-closed eyes.
+
+"Mr. Hornbut, I believe ye thocht me in earnest, 'deed and I do!" He
+leaned back in his chair and laughed softly. "Ye swallered it all
+down like best butter. Dear, dear! to think o' that!" Then, stretching
+forward:
+
+"Mr. Hornbut, I was playin' wi' ye."
+
+The parson's face, as he listened, was ugly to watch. He shot out a hand
+and grabbed the scoffer by his coat; then dropped it again and turned
+abruptly away.
+
+As he passed through the door a little sneering voice called after him:
+
+"Mr. Hornbut, I ask ye hoo you, a minister o' the Church of England,
+can reconcile it to yer conscience to think--though it be but for a
+minute--that there can be ony good in a man and him no churchgoer? Sir,
+ye're a heretic--not to say a heathen!" He sniggered to himself, and his
+hand crept to a half-emptied wine decanter.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+An hour later, James Moore, his business with the squire completed,
+passed through the hall on his way out. Its only occupant was now
+M'Adam, and the Master walked straight up to his enemy.
+
+"M'Adam," he said gruffly, holding out a sinewy hand, "I'd like to
+say--"
+
+The little man knocked aside the token of friendship.
+
+"Na, na. No cant, if ye please, James Moore. That'll aiblins go doon
+wi' the parsons, but not wi' me. I ken you and you ken me, and all the
+whitewash i' th' warld'll no deceive us."
+
+The Master turned away, and his face was hard as the nether millstone.
+But the little man pursued him.
+
+"I was nigh forgettin'," he said. "I've a surprise for ye, James Moore.
+But I hear it's yer birthday on Sunday, and I'll keep it till then--he!
+he!"
+
+"Ye'll see me before Sunday, M'Adam," the other answered. "On Saturday,
+as I told yo', I'm comin' to see if yo've done yer duty."
+
+"Whether ye come, James Moore, is your business. Whether ye'll iver go,
+once there, I'll mak' mine. I've warned ye twice noo--" and the little
+man laughed that harsh, cackling laugh of his.
+
+At the door of the hall the Master met David. "Noo, lad, yo're comin'
+along wi' Andrew and me," he said; "Maggie'll niver forgie us if we
+dinna bring yo' home wi' us."
+
+"Thank you kindly, Mr. Moore," the boy replied. "I've to see squire
+first; and then yo' may be sure I'll be after you."
+
+The Master faltered a moment.
+
+"David, ha'n yo' spoke to yer father yet?" he asked in low voice. "Yo'
+should, lad."
+
+The boy made a gesture of dissent.
+
+"I canna," he said petulantly.
+
+"I would, lad," the other advised. "An' yo' don't yo' may be sorry
+after."
+
+As he turned away he heard the boy's steps, dull and sodden, as he
+crossed the hall; and then a thin, would-be cordial voice in the
+emptiness:
+
+"I declar' if 'tisna David! The return o' the Prodeegal--he! he! So
+ye've seen yer auld dad at last, and the last; the proper place, say
+ye, for yen father--he! he! Eh, lad, but I'm blithe to see ye. D'ye mind
+when we was last thegither? Ye was kneelin' on ma chest: 'Your time's
+come, dad,' says you, and wangs me o'er the face--he! he! I mind it as
+if 'twas yesterday. Weel, weel, we'll say nae mair about it. Boys will
+be boys. Sons will be sons. Accidents will happen. And if at first ye
+don't succeed, why, try, try again--he! he!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Dusk was merging into darkness when the Master and Andrew reached the
+Dalesman's Daughter. It had been long dark when they emerged from the
+cosy parlor of the inn and plunged out into the night.
+
+As they crossed the Silver Lea and trudged over that familiar ground,
+where a fortnight since had been fought out the battle of the Cup, the
+wind fluttered past them in spasmodic gasps.
+
+"There 's trouble in the wind," said the Master.
+
+"Ay," answered his laconic son.
+
+All day there had been no breath of air, and the sky dangerously blue.
+But now a world of black was surging up from the horizon, smothering the
+star-lit night; and small dark clouds, like puffs of smoke, detaching
+themselves from the main body, were driving tempestuously forward--the
+vanguard of the storm.
+
+In the distance was a low rumbling like heavy tumbrils on the floor of
+heaven. All about, the wind sounded hollow like a mighty scythe on corn.
+The air was oppressed with a leaden blackness--no glimmer of light on
+any hand; and as they began the ascent of the Pass they reached out
+blind hands to feel along the rock-face.
+
+A sea-fret, cool and wetting, fell. A few big rain-drops splashed
+heavily down. The wind rose with a leap and roared past them up the
+rocky track. And the water-gates of heaven were flung wide.
+
+Wet and weary, they battled on; thinking sometimes of the cosy parlor
+behind; sometimes of the home in front; wondering whether Maggie, in
+flat contradiction of her father's orders, would be up to welcome them;
+or whether only Owd Bob would come out to meet them.
+
+The wind volleyed past them like salvoes of artillery. The rain stormed
+at them from above; spat at them from the rock-face; and leapt up at
+them from their feet.
+
+Once they halted for a moment, finding a miserable shelter in a crevice
+of the rock.
+
+"It's a Black Killer's night," panted the Master. "I reck'n he's oot."
+
+"Ay," the boy gasped, "reck'n he is." Up and up they climbed through the
+blackness, blind and buffeted. The eternal thunder of the rain was all
+about them; the clamor of the gale above; and far beneath, the roar of
+angry waters.
+
+Once, in a lull in the storm, the Master turned and looked back into the
+blackness along the path they had come.
+
+"Did ye hear onythin'?" he roared above the muffled soughing of the
+wind.
+
+"Nay!" Andrew shouted back.
+
+"I thowt I heard a step!" the Master cried, peering down. But nothing
+could he see.
+
+Then the wind leaped to life again like a giant from his sleep, drowning
+all sound with its hurricane voice; and they turned and bent to their
+task again.
+
+Nearing the summit, the Master turned once more.
+
+"There it was again!" he called; but his words were swept away on the
+storm; and they buckled to the struggle afresh.
+
+Ever and anon the moon gleamed down through the riot of tossing sky.
+Then they could see the wet wall above them, with the water tumbling
+down its sheer face; and far below, in the roaring gutter of the Pass a
+brown-stained torrent. Hardly, however, had they time to glance around
+when a mass of cloud would hurry jealously up, and all again was
+blackness and noise.
+
+At length, nigh spent, they topped the last and steepest pitch of the
+Pass, and emerged into the Devil's Bowl. There, overcome with their
+exertions, they flung themselves on to the soaking ground to draw
+breath.
+
+Behind them, the wind rushed with a sullen roar up the funnel of the
+Pass. It screamed above them as though ten million devils were a-horse;
+and blurted out on to the wild Marches beyond.
+
+As they lay there, still panting, the moon gleamed down in momentary
+graciousness. In front, through the lashing rain, they could discern the
+hillocks that squat, hag-like, round the Devil's Bowl; and lying in its
+bosom, its white waters, usually so still, ploughed now into a thousand
+furrows, the Lone Tarn.
+
+The Master raised his head and craned forward at the ghostly scene. Of
+a sudden he reared himself on to his arms, and stayed motionless awhile.
+Then he dropped as though dead, forcing down Andrew with an iron hand.
+
+"Lad, did'st see?" he whispered.
+
+"Nay; what was't?" the boy replied, roused by his father's tone.
+
+"There!"
+
+But as the Master pointed forward, a blur of cloud intervened and all
+was dark. Quickly it passed; and again the lantern of the night shone
+down. And Andrew, looking with all his eyes, saw indeed.
+
+There, in front, by the fretting waters of the Tarn, packed in a solid
+phalanx, with every head turned in the same direction, was a flock of
+sheep. They were motionless, all-intent, staring with horror-bulging
+eyes. A column of steam rose from their bodies into the rain-pierced
+air. Panting and palpitating, yet they stood with their backs to the
+water, as though determined to sell their lives dearly. Beyond them,
+not fifty yards away, crouched a humpbacked boulder, casting a long,
+misshapen shadow in the moonlight. And beneath it were two black
+objects, one still struggling feebly.
+
+"The Killer!" gasped the boy, and, all ablaze with excitement, began
+forging forward.
+
+"Steady, lad, steady!" urged his father, dropping a restraining hand on
+the boy's shoulder.
+
+Above them a huddle of clouds flung in furious rout across the night,
+and the moon was veiled.
+
+"Follow, lad!" ordered the Master, and began to crawl silently forward.
+As stealthily Andrew pursued. And over the sodden ground they crept, one
+behind the other, like two' night-hawks on some foul errand.
+
+On they crawled, lying prone during the blinks of moon, stealing forward
+in the dark; till, at length, the swish of the rain on the waters of the
+Tarn, and the sobbing of the flock in front, warned them they were near.
+
+They skirted the trembling pack, passing so close as to brush against
+the flanking sheep; and yet unnoticed, for the sheep were soul-absorbed
+in the tragedy in front. Only, when the moon was in, Andrew could hear
+them huddling and stamping in the darkness. And again, as it shone out,
+fearfully they edged closer to watch the bloody play.
+
+Along the Tarn edge the two crept. And still the gracious moon hid their
+approach, and the drunken wind drowned with its revelry the sound of
+their coming.
+
+So they stole on, on hands and knees, with hearts aghast and fluttering
+breath; until, of a sudden, in a lull of wind, they could hear, right
+before them, the smack and slobber of bloody lips, chewing their bloody
+meal.
+
+"Say thy prayers, Red Wull. Thy last minute's come!" muttered the
+Master, rising to his knees. Then, in Andrew's ear: "When I rush, lad,
+follow!" For he thought, when the moon rose, to jump in on the great
+dog, and, surprising him as he lay gorged and unsuspicious, to deal him
+one terrible swashing blow, and end forever the lawless doings of the
+Tailless Tyke.
+
+The moon flung off its veil of cloud. White and cold, it stared down
+into the Devil's Bowl; on murderer and murdered.
+
+Within a hand's cast of the avengers of blood humped the black boulder.
+On the border of its shadow lay a dead sheep; and standing beside the
+body, his coat all ruffled by the hand of the storm--Owd Bob--Owd Bob o'
+Kenmuir.
+
+Then the light went in, and darkness covered the land.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXIX THE DEVIL'S BOWL
+
+
+IT was Owd Bob. There could be no mistaking. In the wide world there
+was but one Owd Bob o' Kenmuir. The silver moon gleamed down on the dark
+head and rough gray coat, and lit the white escutcheon on his chest.
+
+And in the darkness James Moore was lying with his face pressed downward
+that he might not see.
+
+Once he raised himself on his arms; his eyes were shut and face
+uplifted, like a blind man praying. He passed a weary hand across his
+brow; his head dropped again; and he moaned and moaned like a man in
+everlasting pain.
+
+Then the darkness lifted a moment, and he stole a furtive glance, like a
+murderer's at the gallows-tree, at the scene in front.
+
+It was no dream; clear and cruel in the moonlight the humpbacked
+boulder; the dead sheep; and that gray figure, beautiful, motionless,
+damned for all eternity.
+
+The Master turned his face and looked at Andrew, a dumb, pitiful
+entreaty in his eyes; but in the boy's white, horror-stricken
+countenance was no comfort. Then his head lolled down again, and the
+strong man was whimpering.
+
+"He! he! he! 'Scuse ma laffin', Mr. Moore--he! he! he!"
+
+A little man, all wet and shrunk, sat hunching on a mound above them,
+rocking his shrivelled form to and fro in the agony of his merriment.
+
+"Ye raskil--he! he! Ye rogue--he! he!" and he shook his fist waggishly
+at the unconscious gray dog. "I owe ye anither grudge for this--ye've
+anteecipated me"--and he leant back and shook this way and that in
+convulsive mirth.
+
+The man below him rose heavily to his feet, and tumbled toward the
+mocker, his great figure swaying from side to side as though in blind
+delirium, moaning still as he went. And there was that on his face which
+no man can mistake. Boy that he was, Andrew knew it.
+
+"Feyther! feyther! do'ee not!" he pleaded, running after his father and
+laying impotent hands on him.
+
+But the strong man shook him off like a fly, and rolled on, swaying and
+groaning, with that awful expression plain to see in the moonlight.
+
+In front the little man squatted in the rain, bowed double still; and
+took no thought to flee.
+
+"Come on, James Moore! Come on!" he laughed, malignant joy in his voice;
+and something gleamed bright in his right hand, and was hid again. "I've
+bin waitin' this a weary while noo. Come on!"
+
+Then had there been done something worse than sheep-murder in the
+dreadful lonesomeness of the Devil's Bowl upon that night; but of
+a sudden, there sounded the splash of a man's foot, falling heavily
+behind; a hand like a falling tree smote the Master on the shoulder; and
+a voice roared above the noise of the storm:
+
+"Mr. Moore! Look, man! look!"
+
+The Master tried to shake off that detaining grasp; but it pinned him
+where he was, immovable.
+
+"Look, I tell yo'!" cried that great voice again.
+
+A hand pushed past him and pointed; and sullenly he turned, ignoring the
+figure at his side, and looked.
+
+The wind had dropped suddenly as it had risen; the little man on the
+mound had ceased to chuckle; Andrew's sobs were hushed; and in the
+background the huddled flock edged closer. The world hung balanced on
+the pinpoint of the moment. Every eye was in the one direction.
+
+With dull, uncomprehending gaze James Moore stared as bidden. There was
+the gray dog naked in the moonlight, heedless still of any witnesses;
+there the murdered sheep, lying within and without that distorted shade;
+and there the humpbacked boulder.
+
+He stared into the shadow, and still stared.
+
+Then he started as though struck. The shadow of the boulder had moved!
+
+Motionless, with head shot forward and bulging eyes, he gazed.
+
+Ay, ay, ay; he was sure of it--a huge dim outline as of a lion
+_couchant_, in the very thickest of the blackness.
+
+At that he was seized with such a palsy of trembling that he must have
+fallen but for the strong arm about his waist.
+
+Clearer every moment grew that crouching figure; till at length they
+plainly could discern the line of arching loins, the crest, thick as a
+stallion's, the massive, wagging head. No mistake this time. There he
+lay in the deepest black, gigantic, revelling in his horrid debauch--the
+Black Killer!
+
+And they watched him at his feast. Now he burrowed into the spongy
+flesh; now turned to lap the dark pool which glittered in the moonlight
+at his side like claret in a silver cup. Now lifting his head, he
+snapped irritably at the rain-drops, and the moon caught his wicked,
+rolling eye and the red shreds of flesh dripping from his jaw. And
+again, raising his great muzzle as if about to howl, he let the
+delicious nectar trickle down his throat and ravish his palate.
+
+So he went on, all unsuspicious, wisely nodding in slow-mouthed
+gluttony. And in the stillness, between the claps of wind, they could
+hear the smacking of his lips.
+
+While all the time the gray dog stood before him, motionless, as though
+carved in stone.
+
+At last, as the murderer rolled his great head from side to side, he saw
+that still figure. At the sight he leaped back, dismayed. Then with a
+deep-mouthed roar that shook the waters of the Tarn he was up and across
+his victim with fangs bared, his coat standing erect in wet, rigid
+furrows from topknot to tail.
+
+So the two stood, face to face, with perhaps a yard of rain-pierced air
+between them.
+
+The wind hushed its sighing to listen. The moon stared down, white
+and dumb. Away at the back the sheep edged closer. While save for the
+everlasting thunder of the rain, there was utter stillness.
+
+An age, it seemed, they waited so. Then a voice, clear yet low and far
+away, like a bugle in a distant city, broke the silence.
+
+"Eh, Wullie!" it said.
+
+There was no anger in the tones, only an incomparable reproach; the
+sound of the cracking of a man's heart.
+
+At the call the great dog leapt round, snarling in hideous passion. He
+saw the small, familiar figure, clear-cut against the tumbling sky; and
+for the only time in his life Red Wull was afraid.
+
+His blood-foe was forgotten; the dead sheep was forgotten; everything
+was sunk in the agony of that moment. He cowered upon the ground, and
+a cry like that of a lost soul was wrung from him; it rose on the still
+night air and floated, wailing, away; and the white waters of the Tarn
+thrilled in cold pity; out of the lonely hollow; over the desolate
+Marches; into the night.
+
+On the mound above stood his master. The little man's white hair was
+bared to the night wind; the rain trickled down his face; and his hands
+were folded behind his back. He stood there, looking down into the dell
+below him, as a man may stand at the tomb of his lately buried wife. And
+there was such an expression on his face as I cannot describe.
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, to me!" he cried at length; and his voice sounded weak
+and far, like a distant memory.
+
+At that, the huge brute came crawling toward him on his belly,
+whimpering as he came, very pitiful in his distress. He knew his fate as
+every sheep-dog knows it. That troubled him not. His pain, insufferable,
+was that this, his friend and father, who had trusted him, should have
+found him in his sin.
+
+So he crept up to his master's feet; and the little man never moved.
+
+"Wullie--ma Wullie!" he said very gently. "They've aye bin agin me--and
+noo you! A man's mither--a man's wife--a man's dog! they're all I've
+iver had; and noo ain o' they three has turned agin me! Indeed I am
+alone!"
+
+At that the great dog raised himself, and placing his forepaws on his
+master's chest tenderly, lest he should hurt him who was already hurt
+past healing, stood towering above him; while the little man laid his
+two colds hands on the dog's shoulders.
+
+So they stood, looking at one another, like a man and his love.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At M'Adam's word, Owd Bob looked up, and for the first time saw his
+master.
+
+He seemed in nowise startled, but trotted over to him. There was nothing
+fearful in his carriage, no haunting blood-guiltiness in the true gray
+eyes which never told a lie, which never, dog-like, failed to look you
+in the face. Yet his tail was low, and, as he stopped at his master's
+feet, he was quivering. For he, too, knew, and was not unmoved.
+
+For weeks he had tracked the Killer; for weeks he had followed him as he
+crossed Kenmuir, bound on his bloody errands; yet always had lost him on
+the Marches. Now, at last, he had run him to ground. Yet his heart went
+out to his enemy in his distress.
+
+"I thowt t'had been yo', lad," the Master whispered, his hand on the
+dark head at his knee--"I thowt t'had bin yo'!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Rooted to the ground, the three watched the scene between M'Adam and his
+Wull.
+
+In the end the Master was whimpering; Andrew crying; and David turned
+his back.
+
+At length, silent, they moved away.
+
+"Had I--should I go to him" asked David hoarsely, nodding toward his
+father.
+
+"Nay, nay, lad," the Master replied. "Yon's not a matter for a mon's
+friends."
+
+So they marched out of the Devil's Bowl, and left those two alone
+together.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A little later, as they trampled along, James Moore heard little
+pattering, staggering footsteps behind.
+
+He stopped, and the other two went on.
+
+"Man," a voice whispered, and a face, white and pitiful, like a mother's
+pleading for her child, looked into his--"Man, ye'll no tell them a' I'd
+no like 'em to ken 'twas ma Wullie. Think an 't had bin yer ain dog."
+
+"You may trust me!" the other answered thickly.
+
+The little man stretched out a palsied hand.
+
+"Gie us yer hand on't. And G-God bless ye, James Moore!"
+
+So these two shook hands in the moonlight, with none to witness it but
+the God who made them.
+
+And that is why the mystery of the Black Killer is yet unsolved in
+the Daleland. Many have surmised; besides those three only one other
+knows--knows now which of those two he saw upon a summer night was the
+guilty, which the innocent. And Postie Jim tells no man.
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXX. THE TAILLESS TYKE AT BAY
+
+
+ON the following morning there was a sheep-auction at the Dalesman's
+Daughter.
+
+Early as many of the farmers arrived, there was one earlier. Tupper, the
+first man to enter the sand-floored parlor, found M'Adam before him.
+
+He was sitting a little forward in his chair; his thin hands rested on
+his knees; and on his face was a gentle, dreamy expression such as no
+man had ever seen there before. All the harsh wrinkles seemed to have
+fled in the night; and the sour face, stamped deep with the bitterness
+of life, was softened now, as if at length at peace.
+
+"When I coom doon this mornin'," said Teddy Bolstock in a whisper, "I
+found 'im sittin' just so. And he's nor moved nor spoke since."
+
+"Where's th' Terror, then?" asked Tupper, awed somehow into like hushed
+tones.
+
+"In t' paddock at back," Teddy answered, "marchin' hoop and doon, hoop
+and doon, for a' the world like a sentry-soger. And so he was when I
+looked oot o' window when I wake."
+
+Then Londesley entered, and after him, Ned Hoppin, Rob Saunderson, Jim
+Mason, and others, each with his dog. And each man, as he came in and
+saw the little lone figure for once without its huge attendant genius,
+put the same question; while the dogs sniffed about the little man, as
+though suspecting treachery. And all the time M'Adam sat as though
+he neither heard nor saw, lost in some sweet, sad dream; so quite, so
+silent, that more than one thought he slept.
+
+After the first glance, however, the farmers paid him little heed,
+clustering round the publican at the farther end of the room to hear the
+latest story of Owd Bob.
+
+It appeared that a week previously, James Moore with a pack of sheep had
+met the new Grammoch-town butcher at the Dalesmen's Daughter. A bargain
+concluded, the butcher started with the flock for home. As he had no
+dog, the Master offered him Th' Owd Un. "And he'll pick me i' th' town
+to-morrow," said he.
+
+Now the butcher was a stranger in the land. Of course he had heard of
+Owd Bob o' Kenmuir, yet it never struck him that this handsome gentleman
+with the quiet, resolute manner, who handled sheep as he had never seen
+them handled, was that hero--"the best sheep-dog in the North."
+
+Certain it is that by the time the flock was penned in the enclosure
+behind the shop, he coveted the dog--ay, would even offer ten pounds for
+him!
+
+Forthwith the butcher locked him up in an outhouse--summit of indignity;
+resolving to make his offer on the morrow.
+
+When the morrow came he found no dog in the outhouse, and, worse, no
+sheep in the enclosure. A sprung board showed the way of escape of the
+one, and a displaced hurdle that of the other. And as he was making the
+discovery, a gray dog and a flock of sheep, travelling along the road
+toward the Dalesman's Daughter, met the Master.
+
+From the first, Owd Bob had mistrusted the man. The attempt to confine
+him set the seal on his suspicions. His master's sheep were not for such
+a rogue; and he worked his own way out and took the sheep along with
+him.
+
+The story was told to a running chorus of--"Ma word! Good, Owd Un!--Ho!
+ho! did he thot?"
+
+Of them all, only M'Adam sat strangely silent.
+
+Rob Saunderson, always glad to draw the little man, remarked it.
+
+"And what d'yo' think o' that, Mr. M'Adam, for a wunnerfu' story of a
+wunnerfu' tyke?" he asked.
+
+"It's a gude tale, a vera gude tale," the little man answered dreamily.
+"And James Moore didna invent it; he had it from the Christmas number
+o' the _Flock-keeper_ in saxty." (On the following Sunday, old Rob, from
+sheer curiosity, reached down from his shelf the specified number of the
+paper. To his amazement he found the little man was right. There was the
+story almost identically. None the less is it also true of Owd Bob o'
+Kenmuir.)
+
+"Ay, ay," the little man continued, "and in a day or two James Moore'll
+ha' anither tale to tell ye--a better tale, ye'll think it--mair
+laffable. And yet--ay---no---I'll no believe it! I niver loved James
+Moore, but I think, as Mr. Hornbut aince said, he'd rather die than lie.
+Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!" he continued in a whisper. "Up till the end I canna
+shake him aff. Hafflins I think that where I'm gaein' to there'll be
+gray dogs sneakin' around me in the twilight. And they're aye behind and
+behind, and I canna, canna--"
+
+Teddy Bolstock interrupted, lifting his hand for silence.
+
+"D'yo' hear thot?--Thunder!"
+
+They listened; and from without came a gurgling, jarring roar, horrible
+to hear.
+
+"It's comin' nearer!"
+
+"Nay, it's goin' away!"
+
+"No thunder thot!"
+
+"More like the Lea in flood. And yet--Eh, Mr. M'Adam, what is it?"
+
+The little man had moved at last. He was on his feet, staring about him,
+wild-eyed.
+
+"Where's yer dogs?" he almost screamed.
+
+"Here's ma--Nay, by thunder! but he's not!" was the astonished cry.
+
+In the interest of the story no man had noticed that his dog had risen
+from his side; no one had noticed a file of shaggy figures creeping out
+of the room.
+
+"I tell ye it's the tykes! I tell ye it's the tykes! They're on ma
+Wullie--fifty to one they're on him! My God! My God! And me not there!
+Wullie, Wullie! "--in a scream--"I'm wi' ye!"
+
+At the same moment Bessie Boistock rushed in, white-faced.
+
+"Hi! Feyther! Mr. Saunderson! all o' you! T'tykes fightin' mad! Hark!"
+
+There was no time for that. Each man seized his stick and rushed for the
+door; and M'Adam led them all.
+
+A rare thing it was for M'Adam and Red Wull to be apart. So rare, that
+others besides the men in that little tap-room noticed it.
+
+Saunderson's old Shep walked quietly to the back door of the house and
+looked out.
+
+There on the slope below him he saw what he sought, stalking up and
+down, gaunt and grim, like a lion at feeding-time. And as the old dog
+watched, his tail was gently swaying as though he were well pleased.
+
+He walked back into the tap-room just as Teddy began his tale. Twice
+he made the round of the room, silent-footed. From dog to dog he went,
+stopping at each as though urging him on to some great enterprise. Then
+he made for the door again, looking back to see if any followed.
+
+One by one the others rose and trailed out after him: big blue Rasper,
+Londesley's Lassie, Ned Hoppin's young dog; Grip and Grapple, the
+publican's bull-terriers; Jim Mason's Gyp, foolish and flirting even
+now; others there were; and last of all, waddling heavily in the rear,
+that scarred Amazon, the Venus.
+
+Out of the house they pattered, silent and unseen, with murder in their
+hearts. At last they had found their enemy alone. And slowly, in a black
+cloud, like the shadow of death, they dropped down the slope upon him.
+
+And he saw them coming, knew their errand--as who should better than the
+Terror of the Border?--and was glad. Death it might be, and such an
+one as he would wish to die--at least distraction from that long-drawn,
+haunting pain. And he smiled grimly as he looked at the approaching
+crowd, and saw there was not one there but he had humbled in his time.
+
+He ceased his restless pacing, and awaited them. His great head was high
+as he scanned them contemptuously, daring them to come on.
+
+And on they came, marching slow and silent like soldiers at a funeral:
+young and old; bob-tailed and bull; terrier and collie; flocking like
+vultures to the dead. And the Venus, heavy with years, rolled after them
+on her bandy legs panting in her hurry lest she should be late. For had
+she not the blood of her blood to avenge?
+
+So they came about him, slow, certain, murderous, opening out to cut
+him off on every side. There was no need. He never thought to move. Long
+odds 'twould be--crushingly heavy; yet he loved them for it, and was
+trembling already with the glory of the coming fight.
+
+They were up to him now; the sheep-dogs walking round him on their toes,
+stiff and short like cats on coals; their hacks a little humped; heads
+averted; yet eying him askance.
+
+And he remained stock-still nor looked at them. His great chin was
+cocked, and his muzzle wrinkled in a dreadful grin. As he stood there,
+shivering a little, his eyes rolling back, his breath grating in his
+throat to set every bristle on end, he looked a devil indeed.
+
+The Venus ranged alongside him. No preliminary stage for her; she never
+walked where she could stand, or stood where she could lie. But stand
+she must now, breathing hard through her nose, never taking her eyes off
+that pad she had marked for her own. Close beside her were crop-eared
+Grip and Grapple, looking up at the line above them where hairy neck and
+shoulder joined. Behind was big Rasper, and close to him Lassie. Of the
+others, each had marked his place, each taken up his post.
+
+Last of all, old Shep took his stand full in front of his enemy, their
+shoulders almost rubbing, head past head.
+
+So the two stood a moment, as though they were whispering; each
+diabolical, each rolling back his eyes to watch the other. While from
+the little mob there rose a snarling, bubbling snore, like some giant
+wheezing in his sleep.
+
+Then like lightning each struck. Rearing high, they wrestled with
+striving paws and the expression of fiends incarnate. Down they went,
+Shep underneath, and the great dog with a dozen of these wolves of hell
+upon him. Rasper, devilish, was riding on his back; the Venus--well for
+him!--had struck and missed; but Grip and Grapple had their hold; and
+the others, like leaping demoniacs, were plunging into the whirlpool
+vortex of the fight.
+
+And there, where a fortnight before he had fought and lost the battle of
+the Cup, Red Wull now battled for his life.
+
+Long odds! But what cared he? The long-drawn agony of the night was
+drowned in that glorious delirium. The hate of years came bubbling
+forth. In that supreme moment he would avenge his wrongs. And he went in
+to fight, revelling like a giant in the red lust of killing.
+
+Long odds! Never before had he faced such a galaxy of foes. His one
+chance lay in quickness: to prevent the swarming crew getting their hold
+till at least he had diminished their numbers.
+
+Then it was a sight to see the great brute, huge as a bull-calf, strong
+as a bull, rolling over and over and up again, quick as a kitten;
+leaping here, striking there; shaking himself free; swinging his
+quarters; fighting with feet and body and teeth--every inch of him at
+war. More than once he broke right through the mob; only to turn again
+and face it. No flight for him; nor thought of it.
+
+Up and down the slope the dark mass tossed, like some hulk the sport
+of the waves. Black and white, sable and gray, worrying at that great
+centre-piece. Up and down, roaming wide, leaving everywhere a trail of
+red.
+
+Gyp he had pinned and hurled over his shoulder. Grip followed; he shook
+her till she rattled, then flung her afar; and she fell with a horrid
+thud, not to rise. While Grapple, the death to avenge, hung tighter. In
+a scarlet, soaking patch of the ground lay Big Bell's lurcher, doubled
+up in a dreadful ball. And Hoppin's young dog, who three hours before
+had been the children's tender playmate, now fiendish to look on,
+dragged after the huddle up the hill. Back the mob rolled on her. When
+it was passed, she lay quite still, grinning; a handful of tawny hair
+and flesh in her dead mouth.
+
+So they fought on. And ever and anon a great figure rose up from the
+heaving inferno all around; rearing to his full height, his head ragged
+and bleeding, the red foam dripping from his jaws. Thus he would appear
+momentarily, like some dark rock amid a raging sea; and down he would go
+again.
+
+Silent now they fought, dumb and determined. Only you might have heard
+the rend and rip of tearing flesh; a hoarse gurgle as some dog went
+down; the panting of dry throats; and now and then a sob from that
+central figure. For he was fighting for his life. The Terror of the
+Border was at bay.
+
+All who meant it were on him now. The Venus, blinded with blood, had her
+hold at last; and never but once in a long life of battles had she let
+go; Rasper, his breath coming in rattles, had him horribly by the loins;
+while a dozen other devils with red eyes and wrinkled nostrils clung
+still.
+
+Long odds! And down he went, smothered beneath the weight of numbers,
+yet struggled up again. His great head was torn and dripping; his eyes a
+gleam of rolling red and white; the little tail stern and stiff like
+the gallant stump of a flagstaff shot away. He was desperate, but
+indomitable; and he sobbed as he fought doggedly on.
+
+Long odds! It could not last. And down he went at length, silent
+still--never a cry should they wring from him in his agony; the Venus
+glued to that mangled pad; Rasper beneath him now; three at his throat;
+two at his ears; a crowd on flanks and body.
+
+The Terror of the Border was down at last!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Wullie, ma Wullie!" screamed M'Adam, bounding down the slope a crook's
+length in front of the rest. "Wullie! Wullie! to me!"
+
+At the shrill cry the huddle below was convulsed. It heaved and swelled
+and dragged to and fro, like the sea lashed into life by some dying
+leviathan.
+
+A gigantic figure, tawny and red, fought its way to the surface. A great
+tossing head, bloody past recognition, flung out from the ruck. One
+quick glance he shot from his ragged eyes at the little flying form in
+front; then with a roar like a waterfall plunged toward it, shaking off
+the bloody leeches as he went.
+
+"Wullie! Wullie! I'm wi' ye!" cried that little voice, now so near.
+
+Through--through--through!--an incomparable effort and his last. They
+hung to his throat, they clung to his muzzle, they were round and about
+him. And down he went again with a sob and a little suffocating cry,
+shooting up at his master one quick, beseeching glance as the sea of
+blood closed over him--worrying, smothering, tearing, like foxhounds at
+the kill.
+
+They left the dead and pulled away the living. And it was no light task,
+for the pack were mad for blood.
+
+At the bottom of the wet mess of hair and red and flesh was old Shep,
+stone-dead. And as Saunderson pulled the body out, his face was working;
+for no man can lose in a crack the friend of a dozen years, and remain
+unmoved.
+
+The Venus lay there, her teeth clenched still in death; smiling that her
+vengeance was achieved. Big Rasper, blue no longer, was gasping out his
+life. Two more came crawling out to find a quiet spot where they might
+lay them down to die. Before the night had fallen another had gone to
+his account. While not a dog who fought upon that day but carried the
+scars of it with him to his grave.
+
+The Terror o' th' Border, terrible in his life, like Samson, was yet
+more terrible in his dying.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Down at the bottom lay that which once had been Adam M'Adam's Red Wull.
+
+At the sight the little man neither raved nor swore: it was past that
+for him. He sat down, heedless of the soaking ground, and took the
+mangled head in his lap very tenderly.
+
+"They've done ye at last, Wullie--they've done ye at last," he said
+quietly; unalterably convinced that the attack had been organized while
+he was detained in the tap-room.
+
+On hearing the loved little voice, the dog gave one weary wag of his
+stump-tail. And with that the Tailless Tyke, Adam M'Adam's Red Wull, the
+Black Killer, went to his long home.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+One by one the Dalesmen took away their dead, and the little man was
+left alone with the body of his last friend.
+
+Dry-eyed he sat there, nursing the dead dog's head; hour after
+hour--alone--crooning to himself:
+
+     "'Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought,
+     An' wi' the weary warl' fought!
+     An'  mony an anxious day I thought
+     We wad be beat.'
+
+An' noo we are, Wullie--noo we are!"
+
+So he went on, repeating the lines over and over again, always with the
+same sad termination.
+
+"A man's mither--a man's wife--a man's dog! They three are a' little
+M'Adam iver had to back him! D'ye mind the auld mither, Wullie? And her,
+'Niver be down-hearted, Adam; ye've aye got yer mither,' And ae day I
+had not. And Flora, Wullie (ye remember Flora, Wullie? Na, na; ye'd
+not) wi' her laffin' daffin' manner, cryin' to one: 'Adam, ye say ye're
+alane. But ye've me--is that no enough for ony man?' And God kens
+it was--while it lasted!" He broke down and sobbed a while. "And you
+Wullie--and you! the only man friend iver I had!" He sought the dog's
+bloody paw with his right hand.
+
+     "'An' here's a hand, my trusty fier,
+     An gie's a hand o' thine;
+     An'  we'll tak' a right guid willie-waught,
+     For auld lang syne.'"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He sat there, muttering, and stroking the poor head upon his lap,
+bending over it, like a mother over a sick child.
+
+"They've done ye at last, lad--done ye sair. And noo I'm thinkin'
+they'll no rest content till I'm gone. And oh, Wullie!"--he bent down
+and whispered--"I dreamed sic an awfu' thing--that ma Wullie--but there!
+'twas but a dream."
+
+So he sat on, crooning to the dead dog; and no man approached him. Only
+Bessie of the inn watched the little lone figure from afar.
+
+It was long past noon when at length he rose, laying the dog's head
+reverently down, and tottered away toward that bridge which once the
+dead thing on the slope had held against a thousand.
+
+He crossed it and turned; there was a look upon his face, half hopeful,
+half fearful, very piteous to see.
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, to me!" he cried; only the accents, formerly so fiery,
+were now weak as a dying man's.
+
+A while he waited in vain.
+
+"Are ye no comin', Wullie?" he asked at length in quavering tones.
+"Ye've not used to leave me."
+
+He walked away a pace, then turned again and whistled that shrill, sharp
+call, only now it sounded like a broken echo of itself.
+
+"Come to me, Wullie!" he implored, very pitifully. "'Tis the first time
+iver I kent ye not come and me whistlin'. What ails ye, lad?"
+
+He recrossed the bridge, walking blindly like a sobbing child; and yet
+dry-eyed.
+
+Over the dead body he stooped.
+
+"What ails ye, Wullie?" he asked again. "Will you, too, leave me?"
+
+Then Bessie, watching fearfully, saw him bend, sling the great body on
+his back, and stagger away.
+
+Limp and hideous, the carcase hung down from the little man's shoulders.
+The huge head, with grim, wide eyes and lolling tongue, jolted and
+swagged with the motion, seeming to grin a ghastly defiance at the world
+it had left. And the last Bessie saw of them was that bloody, rolling
+head, with the puny legs staggering beneath their load, as the two
+passed out of the world's ken.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the Devil's Bowl, next day, they found the pair: Adam M'Adam and his
+Red Wull, face to face; dead, not divided; each, save for the other,
+alone. The dog, his saturnine expression glazed and ghastly in the
+fixedness of death, propped up against that humpbacked boulder beneath
+which, a while before, the Black Killer had dreed his weird; and, close
+by, his master lying on his back, his dim dead eyes staring up at the
+heaven, one hand still clasping a crumpled photograph; the weary body
+at rest at last, the mocking face--mocking no longer--alight with a
+whole-souled, transfiguring happiness.
+
+
+
+
+POSTSCRIPT
+
+
+Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull lie buried together: one just within, the
+other just without, the consecrated pale.
+
+The only mourners at the funeral were David, James Moore, Maggie, and a
+gray dog peering through the lych-gate.
+
+During the service a carriage stopped at the churchyard, and a lady with
+a stately figure and a gentle face stepped out and came across the grass
+to pay a last tribute to the dead. And Lady Eleanour, as she joined
+the little group about the grave, seemed to notice a more than usual
+solemnity in the parson's voice as he intoned: "Earth to earth--ashes
+to ashes--dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to
+eternal life."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When you wander in the gray hill-country of the North, in the loneliest
+corner of that lonely land you may chance upon a low farmhouse, lying in
+the shadow of the Muir Pike.
+
+Entering, a tall old man comes out to greet you--the Master of Kenmuir.
+His shoulders are bent now; the hair that was so dark is frosted; but
+the blue-gray eyes look you as proudly in the face as of yore.
+
+And while the girl with the glory of yellow hair is preparing food for
+you--they are hospitable to a fault, these Northerners--you will notice
+on the mantelpiece, standing solitary, a massive silver cup, dented.
+
+That is the world-known Shepherds' Trophy, won outright, as the old man
+will tell you, by Owd Bob, last and best of the Gray Dogs of Kenmuir.
+The last because he is the best; because once, for a long-drawn unit of
+time, James Moore had thought him to be the worst.
+
+When at length you take your leave, the old man accompanies you to the
+top of the slope to point you your way.
+
+"Yo' cross the stream; over Langholm How, yonder; past the Bottom; and
+oop th' hill on far side. Yo'll come on th' house o' top. And happen
+yo'll meet Th' Owd Un on the road. Good-day to you, sir, good-day."
+
+So you go as he has bidden you; across the stream, skirting the How,
+over the gulf and up the hill again.
+
+On the way, as the Master has foretold, you come upon an old gray dog,
+trotting soberly along. Th' Owd Un, indeed, seems to spend the evening
+of his life going thus between Kenmuir and the Grange. The black muzzle
+is almost white now; the gait, formerly so smooth and strong, is stiff
+and slow; venerable, indeed, is he of whom men still talk as the best
+sheep-dog in the North.
+
+As he passes, he pauses to scan you. The noble head is high, and one
+foot raised; and you look into two big gray eyes such as you have never
+seen before--soft, a little dim, and infinitely sad.
+
+That is Owd Bob o' Kenmuir, of whom the tales are many as the flowers on
+the May. With him dies the last of the immortal line of the Gray Dogs of
+Kenmuir.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+You travel on up the bill, something pensive, and knock at the door of
+the house on the top.
+
+A woman, comely with the inevitable comeliness of motherhood, opens to
+you. And nestling in her arms is a little boy with golden hair and happy
+face, like one of Correggio's cherubs.
+
+You ask the child his name. He kicks and crows, and looks up at his
+mother; and in the end lisps roguishly, as if it was the merriest joke
+in all this merry world, "Adum Mataddum."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Bob, Son of Battle, by Alfred Ollivant
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+    .figleft   {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;}
+    .figright  {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;}
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+               text-align: right;}
+    pre        { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;}
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+  <body>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Bob, Son of Battle, by Alfred Ollivant
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Bob, Son of Battle
+
+Author: Alfred Ollivant
+
+Release Date: December 8, 2008 [EBook #2795]
+Last Updated: March 16, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BOB, SON OF BATTLE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      BOB, SON OF BATTLE
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      By Alfred Ollivant
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <blockquote>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br /> <a href="#link2H_PART"> PART I. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;<b>THE COMING OF
+        THE TAILLESS TYKE</b> <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> Chapter I.
+        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE GRAY DOG <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> Chapter
+        II. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A SON OF HAGAR <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003">
+        Chapter III. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;RED WULL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004">
+        Chapter IV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;FIRST BLOOD <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_PART2">
+        PART II. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;<b>THE LITTLE MAN</b> <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0005"> Chapter V. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A MAN'S SON <br /><br />
+        <a href="#link2HCH0006"> Chapter VI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A LICKING OR A LIE
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> Chapter VII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        WHITE WINTER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> Chapter VIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;M'ADAM
+        AND HIS COAT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_PART3"> PART III. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;<b>THE
+        SHEPHERDS' TROPHY</b> <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> Chapter IX.
+        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;RIVALS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> Chapter X.
+        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;RED WULL WINS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011">
+        Chapter XI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;OOR BOB <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012">
+        Chapter XII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;HOW RED WULL HELD THE BRIDGE <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0013"> Chapter XIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE FACE IN THE
+        FRAME <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_PART4"> PART IV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;<b>THE
+        BLACK KILLER</b> <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0014"> Chapter XIV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+        MAD MAN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> Chapter XV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;DEATH
+        ON THE MARCHES <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> Chapter XVI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        BLACK KILLER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> Chapter XVII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+        MAD DOG <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> Chapter XVIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;HOW
+        THE KILLER WAS SINGED <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> Chapter XIX.
+        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;LAD AND LASS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> Chapter
+        XX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE SNAPPING OF THE STRING <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0021"> Chapter XXI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;HORROR OF DARKNESS
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_PART5"> PART V. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;<b>OWD BOB O'
+        KENMUIR</b> <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0022"> Chapter XXII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+        MAN AND A MAID <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0023"> Chapter XXIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;TH'
+        OWD UN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0024"> Chapter XXIV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+        SHOT IN THE NIGHT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0025"> Chapter XXV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        SHEPHERDS' TROPHY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_PART6"> PART VI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;<b>THE
+        BLACK KILLER</b> <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0026"> Chapter XXVI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;RED-HANDED
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0027"> Chapter XXVII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;FOR
+        THE DEFENCE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0028"> Chapter XXVIII. &nbsp;&nbsp;</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        DEVIL'S BOWL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0029"> Chapter XXIX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        DEVIL'S BOWL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0030"> Chapter XXX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        TAILLESS TYKE AT BAY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> POSTSCRIPT.
+        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <br /><br />
+      </p>
+    </blockquote>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_PART" id="link2H_PART">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      PART I THE COMING OF THE TAILLESS TYKE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter I. THE GRAY DOG
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      THE sun stared brazenly down on a gray farmhouse lying, long and low in
+      the shadow of the Muir Pike; on the ruins of peel-tower and barmkyn,
+      relics of the time of raids, it looked; on ranges of whitewashed
+      outbuildings; on a goodly array of dark-thatched ricks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the stack-yard, behind the lengthy range of stables, two men were
+      thatching. One lay sprawling on the crest of the rick, the other stood
+      perched on a ladder at a lower level.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The latter, small, old, with shrewd nut-brown countenance, was Tammas
+      Thornton, who had served the Moores of Kenmuir for more than half a
+      century. The other, on top of the stack, wrapped apparently in gloomy
+      meditation, was Sam'l Todd. A solid Dales&mdash;man, he, with huge hands
+      and hairy arms; about his face an uncomely aureole of stiff, red hair; and
+      on his features, deep-seated, an expression of resolute melancholy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, the Gray Dogs, bless 'em!&rdquo; the old man was saying. &ldquo;Yo' canna beat
+      'em not nohow. Known 'em ony time this sixty year, I have, and niver knew
+      a bad un yet. Not as I say, mind ye, as any on 'em cooms up to Rex son o'
+      Rally. Ah, he was a one, was Rex! We's never won Cup since his day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor niver shall agin, yo' may depend,&rdquo; said the other gloomily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Tammas clucked irritably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;G'long, Sam'! Todd!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;Yo' niver happy onless yo' making'
+      yo'self miser'ble. I niver see sich a chap. Niver win agin? Why, oor young
+      Bob he'll mak' a right un, I tell yo', and I should know. Not as what
+      he'll touch Rex son o' Rally, mark ye! I'm niver saying' so, Sam'l Todd.
+      Ah, he was a one, was Rex! I could tell yo' a tale or two o' Rex. I mind
+      me hoo&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The big man interposed hurriedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've heard it afore, Tammas, I welly 'ave,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Tammas paused and looked angrily up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo've heard it afore, have yo', Sam'l Todd?&rdquo; he asked sharply. &ldquo;And what
+      have yo' heard afore?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' stories, owd lad&mdash;yo' stories o' Rex son o' Rally.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which on' em
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All on 'em, Tammas, all on 'em&mdash;mony a time. I'm fair sick on 'em,
+      Tammas, I welly am,&rdquo; he pleaded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man gasped. He brought down his mallet with a vicious smack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll niver tell yo' a tale agin, Sam'l Todd, not if yo' was to go on yo'
+      bended knees for't. Nay; it bain't no manner o' use talkin'. Niver agin,
+      says I.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I niver askt yo',&rdquo; declared honest Sam'l.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor it wouldna ha' bin no manner o' use if yo' had,&rdquo; said the other
+      viciously. &ldquo;I'll niver tell yo' a tale agin if I was to live to be a
+      hunderd.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo'll not live to be a hunderd, Tammas Thornton, nor near it,&rdquo; said Sam'l
+      brutally.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll live as long as some, I warrant,&rdquo; the old man replied with spirit.
+      &ldquo;I'll live to see Cup back i' Kenmuir, as I said afore.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If yo' do,&rdquo; the other declared with emphasis, &ldquo;Sam'l Todd niver spake a
+      true word. Nay, nay, lad; yo're owd, yo're wambly, your time's near run or
+      I'm the more mistook.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For mussy's sake hold yo' tongue, Sam'l Todd! It's clack-clack all day&mdash;&rdquo;
+       The old man broke off suddenly, and buckled to his work with suspicious
+      vigor. &ldquo;Mak' a show yo' bin workin', lad,&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;Here's Master
+      and oor Bob.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As he spoke, a tall gaitered man with weather-beaten face, strong, lean,
+      austere, and the blue-gray eyes of the hill-country, came striding into
+      the yard. And trotting soberly at his heels, with the gravest, saddest
+      eyes ever you saw, a sheep-dog puppy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A rare dark gray he was, his long coat, dashed here and there with lighter
+      touches, like a stormy sea moonlit. Upon his chest an escutcheon of purest
+      white, and the dome of his head showered, as it were, with a sprinkling of
+      snow. Perfectly compact, utterly lithe, inimitably graceful with his
+      airy-fairy action; a gentleman every inch, you could not help but stare at
+      him&mdash;Owd Bob o' Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the foot of the ladder the two stopped. And the young dog, placing his
+      forepaws on a lower rung, looked up, slowly waving his silvery brush.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A proper Gray Dog!&rdquo; mused Tammas, gazing down into the dark face beneath
+      him. &ldquo;Small, yet big; light to get about on backs o' his sheep, yet not
+      too light. Wi' a coat hard a-top to keep oot Daleland weather, soft as
+      sealskin beneath. And wi' them sorrerful eyes on him as niver goes but wi'
+      a good un. Amaist he minds me o' Rex son o' Rally.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, dear! Oh, dear!&rdquo; groaned Sam'l. But the old man heard him not.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did 'Enry Farewether tell yo' hoo he acted this mornin', Master?&rdquo; he
+      inquired, addressing the man at the foot of the ladder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; said the other, his stern eyes lighting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, 'twas this way, it seems,&rdquo; Tammas continued. &ldquo;Young bull gets
+      'isseif loose, somegate and marches oot into yard, o'erturns milkpail, and
+      prods owd pigs i' ribs. And as he stands lookin' about un, thinking' what
+      he shall be up to next, oor Bob sees un 'An' what yo' doin' here, Mr.
+      Bull?' he seems to say, cockin' his ears and trottin' up gay-like. Wi'
+      that bull bloats fit to bust 'isseif, lashes wi's tail, waggles his head,
+      and gets agate o' chargin' 'im. But Bob leaps oot o' way, quick as
+      lightnin' yet cool as butter, and when he's done his foolin drives un back
+      agin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who seed all this?&rdquo; interposed Sam'l, sceptically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Enry Farewether from the loft. So there, Fat'ead!&rdquo; Tammas replied, and
+      continued his tale. &ldquo;So they goes on; bull chargin' and Bob drivin' un
+      back and back, hoppin' in and oot agin, quiet as a cowcumber, yet
+      determined. At last Mr. Bull sees it's no manner o' use that gate, so he
+      turns, rares up, and tries to jump wall. Nary a bit. Young dog jumps in on
+      un and nips him by tail. Wi' that, bull tumbles down in a hurry, turns wi'
+      a kind o' groan, and marches back into stall, Bob after un. And then, dang
+      me!&rdquo;&mdash;the old man beat the ladder as he loosed off this last titbit,&mdash;&ldquo;if
+      he doesna sit' isseif i' door like a sentrynel till 'Enry Farewether coom
+      up. Hoo's that for a tyke not yet a year?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Even Sam'l Todd was moved by the tale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well done, oor Bob!&rdquo; he cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good, lad!&rdquo; said the Master, laying a hand on the dark head at his knee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' may well say that,&rdquo; cried Tammas in a kind of ecstasy. &ldquo;A proper Gray
+      Dog, I tell yo'. Wi' the brains of a man and the way of a woman. Ah, yo'
+      canna beat 'em nohow, the Gray Dogs o' Kenmuir!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The patter of cheery feet rang out on the plank-bridge over the stream
+      below them. Tammas glanced round.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here's David,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Late this mornin' he be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A fair-haired boy came spurring up the slope, his face all aglow with the
+      speed of his running. Straightway the young dog dashed off to meet him
+      with a fiery speed his sober gait belied. The two raced back together into
+      the yard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor lad!&rdquo; said Sam'l gloomily, regarding the newcomer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor heart!&rdquo; muttered Tammas. While the Master's face softened visibly.
+      Yet there looked little to pity in this jolly, rocking lad with the tousle
+      of light hair and fresh, rosy countenance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;G'mornin', Mister Moore! Morn'n, Tammas! Morn'n, Sam'l!&rdquo; he panted as he
+      passed; and ran on through the hay-carpeted yard, round the corner of the
+      stable, and into the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the kitchen, a long room with red-tiled floor and latticed windows, a
+      woman, white-aproned and frail-faced, was bustling about her morning
+      business. To her skirts clung a sturdy, bare-legged boy; while at the oak
+      table in the centre of the room a girl with brown eyes and straggling hair
+      was seated before a basin of bread and milk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So yo've coom at last, David!&rdquo; the woman cried, as the boy entered; and,
+      bending, greeted him with a tender, motherly salutation, which he returned
+      as affectionately. &ldquo;I welly thowt yo'd forgot us this mornin'. Noo sit
+      you' doon beside oor Maggie.&rdquo; And soon he, too, was engaged in a task twin
+      to the girl's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two children munched away in silence, the little bare-legged boy
+      watching them, the while, critically. Irritated by this prolonged stare,
+      David at length turned on him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Weel, little Andrew,&rdquo; he said, speaking in that paternal fashion in which
+      one small boy loves to address another. &ldquo;Weel, ma little lad, yo'm coomin'
+      along gradely.&rdquo; He leant back in his chair the better to criticise his
+      subject. But Andrew, like all the Moores, slow of speech, preserved a
+      stolid silence, sucking a chubby thumb, and regarding his patron a thought
+      cynically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David resented the expression on the boy's countenance, and half rose to
+      his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' put another face on yo', Andrew Moore,&rdquo; he cried threateningly, &ldquo;or
+      I'll put it for yo'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie, however, interposed opportunely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did yo' feyther beat yo' last night?&rdquo; she inquired in a low voice; and
+      there was a shade of anxiety in the soft brown eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; the boy answered; &ldquo;he was a-goin' to, but he never did. Drunk,&rdquo; he
+      added in explanation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What was he goin' to beat yo' for, David?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Moore.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What for? Why, for the fun o't&mdash;to see me squiggle,&rdquo; the boy
+      replied, and laughed bitterly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' shouldna speak so o' your dad, David,&rdquo; reproved the other as severely
+      as was in her nature.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dad! a fine dad! I'd dad him an I'd the chance,&rdquo; the boy muttered beneath
+      his breath. Then, to turn the conversation:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Us should be startin', Maggie,&rdquo; he said, and going to the door. &ldquo;Bob! Owd
+      Bob, lad! Ar't coomin' along?&rdquo; he called.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The gray dog came springing up like an antelope, and the three started off
+      for school together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Moore stood in the doorway, holding Andrew by the hand, and watched
+      the departing trio.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tis a pretty pair, Master, surely,&rdquo; she said softly to her husband, who
+      came up at the moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, he'll be a fine lad if his fether'll let him,&rdquo; the tall man answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tis a shame Mr. M'Adam should lead him such a life,&rdquo; the woman continued
+      indignantly. She laid a hand on her husband's arm, and looked up at him
+      coaxingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Could yo' not say summat to un, Master, think 'ee? Happen he'd 'tend to
+      you,&rdquo; she pleaded. For Mrs. Moore imagined that there could be no one but
+      would gladly heed what James Moore, Master of Kenmuir, might say to him.
+      &ldquo;He's not a bad un at bottom, I do believe,&rdquo; she continued. &ldquo;He never took
+      on so till his missus died. Eh, but he was main fond o' her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her husband shook his head &ldquo;Nay, mother,&rdquo; he said &ldquo;'Twould nob' but mak'
+      it worse for t' lad. M'Adam'd listen to no one, let alone me.&rdquo; And,
+      indeed, he was right; for the tenant of the Grange made no secret of his
+      animosity for his straight-going, straight-speaking neighbor.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Owd Bob, in the mean time, had escorted the children to the larch-copse
+      bordering on the lane which leads to the village. Now he crept stealthily
+      back to the yard, and established himself behind the water-butt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How he played and how he laughed; how he teased old Whitecap till that
+      gray gander all but expired of apoplexy and impotence; how he ran the roan
+      bull-calf, and aroused the bitter wrath of a portly sow, mother of many,
+      is of no account.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last, in the midst of his merry mischief-making, a stern voice arrested
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bob, lad, I see 'tis time we larned you yo' letters.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So the business of life began for that dog of whom the simple farmer-folk
+      of the Daleland still love to talk,&mdash;Bob, son of Battle, last of the
+      Gray Dogs of Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter II. A SON OF HAGAR
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      It is a lonely country, that about the Wastrel-dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Parson Leggy Hornbut will tell you that his is the smallest church in the
+      biggest parish north of the Derwent, and that his cure numbers more square
+      miles than parishioners. Of fells and ghylls it consists, of becks and
+      lakes; with here a scattered hamlet and there a solitary hill sheep-farm.
+      It is a country in which sheep are paramount; and every other Dalesman is
+      engaged in that profession which is as old as Abel. And the talk of the
+      men of the land is of wethers and gimmers, of tup-hoggs, ewe tegs in wool,
+      and other things which are but fearsome names to you and me; and always of
+      the doings or misdoings, the intelligence or stupidity, of their
+      adjutants, the sheep-dogs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of all the Daleland, the country from the Black Water to Grammoch Pike is
+      the wildest. Above the tiny stone-built village of Wastrel-dale the Muir
+      Pike nods its massive head. Westward, the desolate Mere Marches, from
+      which the Sylvesters' great estate derives its name, reach away in mile on
+      mile of sheep infested, wind-swept moorland. On the far side of the
+      Marches is that twin dale where flows the gentle Silver Lea. And it is
+      there in the paddocks at the back of the Dalesman's Daughter, that, in the
+      late summer months, the famous sheep-dog Trials of the North are held.
+      There that the battle for the Dale Cup, the world-known Shepherds' Trophy,
+      is fought out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Past the little inn leads the turnpike road to the market-centre of the
+      district&mdash;Grammoch-town. At the bottom of the paddocks at the back of
+      the inn winds the Silver Lea. Just there a plank bridge crosses the
+      stream, and, beyond, the Murk Muir Pass crawls up the sheer side of the
+      Scaur on to the Mere Marches.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the head of the Pass, before it debouches on to those lonely
+      sheep-walks which divide the two dales, is that hollow, shuddering with
+      gloomy possibilities, aptly called the Devil's Bowl. In its centre the
+      Lone Tarn, weirdly suggestive pool, lifts its still face to the sky. It
+      was beside that black, frozen water, across whose cold surface the storm
+      was swirling in white snow-wraiths, that, many, many years ago (not in
+      this century), old Andrew Moore came upon the mother of the Gray Dogs of
+      Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the North, every one who has heard of the Muir Pike&mdash;and who has
+      not?&mdash;has heard of the Gray Dogs of Kenmuir, every one who has heard
+      of the Shepherd's Trophy&mdash;and who has not?&mdash;knows their fame. In
+      that country of good dogs and jealous masters the pride of place has long
+      been held unchallenged. Whatever line may claim to follow the Gray Dogs
+      always lead the van. And there is a saying in the land: &ldquo;Faithfu' as the
+      Moores and their tykes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      On the top dresser to the right of the fireplace in the kitchen of Kenmuir
+      lies the family Bible. At the end you will find a loose sheet&mdash;the
+      pedigree of the Gray Dogs; at the beginning, pasted on the inside, an
+      almost similar sheet, long since yellow with age&mdash;the family register
+      of the Moores of Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Running your eye down the loose leaf, once, twice, and again it will be
+      caught by a small red cross beneath a name, and under the cross the one
+      word &ldquo;Cup.&rdquo; Lastly, opposite the name of Rex son of Rally, are two of
+      those proud, tell-tale marks. The cup referred to is the renowned Dale Cup&mdash;Champion
+      Challenge Dale Cup, open to the world. Had Rex won it but once again the
+      Shepherds' Trophy, which many men have lived to win, and died still
+      striving after, would have come to rest forever in the little gray house
+      below the Pike.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not to be, however. Comparing the two sheets, you read beneath the
+      dog's name a date and a pathetic legend; and on the other sheet, written
+      in his son's boyish hand, beneath the name of Andrew Moore the same date
+      and the same legend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From that day James Moore, then but a boy, was master of Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So past Grip and Rex and Rally, and a hundred others, until at the foot of
+      the page you come to that last name&mdash;Bob, son of Battle.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      From the very first the young dog took to his work in a manner to amaze
+      even James Moore. For a while he watched his mother, Meg, at her business,
+      and with that seemed to have mastered the essentials of sheep tactics.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Rarely had such fiery élan been seen on the sides of the Pike; and with it
+      the young dog combined a strange sobriety, an admirable patience, that
+      justified, indeed, the epithet. &ldquo;Owd.&rdquo; Silent he worked, and resolute; and
+      even in those days had that famous trick of coaxing the sheep to do his
+      wishes;&mdash;blending, in short, as Tammas put it, the brains of a man
+      with the way of a woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Parson Leggy, who was reckoned the best judge of a sheep or sheep-dog
+      'twixt Tyne and Tweed, summed him up in the one word &ldquo;Genius.&rdquo; And James
+      Moore himself, cautious man, was more than pleased.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the village, the Dalesmen, who took a personal pride in the Gray Dogs
+      of Kenmuir, began to nod sage heads when &ldquo;oor&rdquo; Bob was mentioned. Jim
+      Mason, the postman, whose word went as far with the villagers as Parson
+      Leggy's with the gentry, reckoned he'd never seen a young un as so took
+      his fancy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That winter it grew quite the recognized thing, when they had gathered of
+      a night round the fire in the Sylvester Arms, with Tammas in the centre,
+      old Jonas Maddox on his right, Rob Saunderson of the Holt on the left, and
+      the others radiating away toward the sides, for some one to begin with:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, and what o' oor Bob, Mr. Thornton?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To which Tammas would always make reply:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yo' ask Sam'l there. He'll tell yo' better'n me, &ldquo;&mdash;and would
+      forthwith plunge, himself, into a yarn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And the way in which, as the story proceeded, Tupper of Swinsthwaite
+      winked at Ned Hoppin of Fellsgarth, and Long Kirby, the smith, poked Jem
+      Burton, the publican, in the ribs, and Sexton Ross said, &ldquo;Ma word, lad!&rdquo;
+       spoke more eloquently than many words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One man only never joined in the chorus of admiration. Sitting always
+      alone in the background, little M'Adam would listen with an incredulous
+      grin on his sallow face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, ma certes! The devil's in the dog! It's no cannie ava!&rdquo; he would
+      continually exclaim, as Tammas told his tale.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      In the Daleland you rarely see a stranger's face. Wandering in the wild
+      country about the twin dales at the time of this story, you might have met
+      Parson Leggy, striding along with a couple of varmint terriers at his
+      heels, and young Cyril Gilbraith, whom he was teaching to tie flies and
+      fear God, beside him; or Jim Mason, postman by profession, poacher by
+      predilection, honest man and sportsman by nature, hurrying along with the
+      mail-bags on his shoulder, a rabbit in his pocket, and the faithful Betsy
+      a yard behind. Besides these you might have hit upon a quiet shepherd and
+      a wise-faced dog; Squire Sylvester, going his rounds upon a sturdy cob;
+      or, had you been lucky, sweet Lady Eleanour bent upon some errand of mercy
+      to one of the many tenants.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was while the Squire's lady was driving through the village on a visit*
+      to Tammas's slobbering grandson&mdash;it was shortly after Billy
+      Thornton's advent into the world&mdash;that little M'Adam, standing in the
+      door of the Sylvester Arms, with a twig in his mouth and a sneer fading
+      from his lips, made his ever-memorable remark:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sall!&rdquo; he said, speaking in low, earnest voice; &ldquo;'tis a muckle wumman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     Note:* It was this visit which figured in the Grammoch-town
+     <i>Argus</i> (local and radical) under the heading of &ldquo;Alleged
+     Wholesale Corruption by Tory Agents.&rdquo; And that is why, on
+     the following market day, Herbert Trotter, journalist,
+     erstwhile gentleman, and Secretary of the Dale Trials, found
+     himself trying to swim in the public horse-trough.
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What? What be sayin', mon?&rdquo; cried old Jonas, startled out of his usual
+      apathy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam turned sharply on the old man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I said the wumman wears a muckle hat!&rdquo; he snapped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Blotted out as it was, the observation still remains&mdash;a tribute of
+      honest admiration. Doubtless the Recording Angel did not pass it by. That
+      one statement anent the gentle lady of the manor is the only personal
+      remark ever credited to little M'Adam not born of malice and all
+      uncharitableness. And that is why it is ever memorable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little Scotsman with the sardonic face had been the tenant of the
+      Grange these many years; yet he had never grown acclimatized to the land
+      of the Southron. With his shrivelled body and weakly legs he looked among
+      the sturdy, straight-limbed sons of the hill-country like some brown,
+      wrinkled leaf holding its place midst a galaxy of green. And as he
+      differed from them physically, so he did morally.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He neither understood them nor attempted to. The North-country character
+      was an unsolved mystery to him, and that after ten years' study. &ldquo;One-half
+      o' what ye say they doot, and they let ye see it; t'ither half they
+      disbelieve, and they tell ye so,&rdquo; he once said. And that explained his
+      attitude toward them, and consequently theirs toward him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood entirely alone; a son of Hagar, mocking. His sharp, ill tongue
+      was rarely still, and always bitter. There was hardly a man in the land,
+      from Langholm How to the market-cross in Grammoch-town, but had at one
+      time known its sting, endured it in silence&mdash;for they are slow of
+      speech, these men of the fells and meres&mdash;and was nursing his
+      resentment till a day should bring that chance which always comes. And
+      when at the Sylvester Arms, on one of those rare occasions when M'Adam was
+      not present, Tammas summed up the little man in that historic phrase of
+      his, &ldquo;When he's drunk he's wi'lent, and when he bain't he's wicious,&rdquo;
+       there was an applause to gratify the blasé heart of even Tammas Thornton.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet it had not been till his wife's death that the little man had allowed
+      loose rein to his ill-nature. With her firmly gentle hand no longer on the
+      tiller of his life, it burst into fresh being. And alone in the world with
+      David, the whole venom of his vicious temperament was ever directed
+      against the boy's head. It was as though he saw in his fair-haired son the
+      unconscious cause of his ever-living sorrow. All the more strange this,
+      seeing that, during her life, the boy had been to poor Flora M'Adam as her
+      heart's core. And the lad was growing up the very antithesis of his
+      father. Big and hearty, with never an ache or ill in the whole of his
+      sturdy young body; of frank, open countenance; while even his speech was
+      slow and burring like any Dale-bred boy's. And the fact of it all, and
+      that the lad was palpably more Englishman than Scot&mdash;ay, and gloried
+      in it&mdash;exasperated the little man, a patriot before everything, to
+      blows. While, on top of it, David evinced an amazing pertness fit to have
+      tried a better man than Adam M'Adam.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the death of his wife, kindly Elizabeth Moore had, more than once,
+      offered such help to the lonely little man as a woman only can give in a
+      house that knows no mistress. On the last of these occasions, after
+      crossing the Stony Bottom, which divides the two farms, and toiling up the
+      hill to the Grange, she had met M'Adam in the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' maun let me put yo' bit things straight for yo', mister,&rdquo; she had
+      said shyly; for she feared the little man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank ye, Mrs. Moore,&rdquo; he had answered with the sour smile the Dalesmen
+      knew so well, &ldquo;but ye maun think I'm a waefu' cripple.&rdquo; And there he had
+      stood, grinning sardonically, opposing his small bulk in the very centre
+      of the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Moore had turned down the hill, abashed and hurt at the reception of
+      her offer; and her husband, proud to a fault, had forbidden her to repeat
+      it. Nevertheless her motherly heart went out in a great tenderness for the
+      little orphan David. She knew well the desolateness of his life; his
+      father's aversion from him, and its inevitable consequences.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It became an institution for the boy to call every morning at Kenmuir, and
+      trot off to the village school with Maggie Moore. And soon the lad came to
+      look on Kenmuir as his true home, and James and Elizabeth Moore as his
+      real parents. His greatest happiness was to be away from the Grange. And
+      the ferret-eyed little man there noted the fact, bitterly resented it, and
+      vented his ill-humor accordingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was this, as he deemed it, uncalled-for trespassing on his authority
+      which was the chief cause of his animosity against James Moore. The Master
+      of Kenmuir it was at whom he was aiming when he remarked one day at the
+      Arms: &ldquo;Masel', I aye prefaire the good man who does no go to church, to
+      the bad man who does. But then, as ye say, Mr. Burton, I'm peculiar.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man's treatment of David, exaggerated as it was by eager
+      credulity, became at length such a scandal to the Dale that Parson Leggy
+      determined to bring him to task on the matter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now M'Adam was the parson's pet antipathy. The bluff old minister, with
+      his brusque manner and big heart, would have no truck with the man who
+      never went to church, was perpetually in liquor, and never spoke good of
+      his neighbors. Yet he entered upon the interview fully resolved not to be
+      betrayed into an unworthy expression of feeling; rather to appeal to the
+      little man's better nature.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The conversation had not been in progress two minutes, however, before he
+      knew that, where he had meant to be calmly persuasive, he was fast become
+      hotly abusive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You, Mr. Hornbut, wi' James Moore to help ye, look after the lad's soul,
+      I'll see to his body,&rdquo; the little man was saying.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The parson's thick gray eyebrows lowered threateningly over his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You ought to be ashamed of yourself to talk like that. Which d'you think
+      the more important, soul or body? Oughtn't you, his father, to be the very
+      first to care for the boy's soul? If not, who should? Answer me, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man stood smirking and sucking his eternal twig, entirely
+      unmoved by the other's heat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye're right, Mr. Hornbut, as ye aye are. But my argiment is this: that I
+      get at his soul best through his leetle carcase.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The honest parson brought down his stick with an angry thud.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;M'Adam, you're a brute&mdash;a brute!&rdquo; he shouted. At which outburst the
+      little man was seized with a spasm of silent merriment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A fond dad first, a brute afterward, aiblins&mdash;he! he! Ah, Mr.
+      Hornbut! ye 'ford me vast diversion, ye do indeed, 'my loved, my honored,
+      much-respected friend.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you paid as much heed to your boy's welfare as you do to the bad
+      poetry of that profligate ploughman&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      An angry gleam shot into the other's eyes. &ldquo;D'ye ken what blasphemy is,
+      Mr. Hornbut?&rdquo; he asked, shouldering a pace forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the first time in the dispute the parson thought he was about to score
+      a point, and was calm accordingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should do; I fancy I've a specimen of the breed before me now. And
+      d'you know what impertinence is?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should do; I fancy I've&mdash;I awd say it's what gentlemen aften are
+      unless their mammies whipped 'em as lads.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment the parson looked as if about to seize his opponent and shake
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;M'Adam,&rdquo; he roared, &ldquo;I'll not stand your insolences!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man turned, scuttled indoors, and came running back with a
+      chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Permit me!&rdquo; he said blandly, holding it before him like a haircutter for
+      a customer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The parson turned away. At the gap in the hedge he paused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll only say one thing more,&rdquo; he called slowly. &ldquo;When your wife, whom I
+      think we all loved, lay dying in that room above you, she said to you in
+      my presence&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was M'Adam's turn to be angry. He made a step forward with burning
+      face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aince and for a', Mr. Hornbut,&rdquo; he cried passionately, &ldquo;onderstand I'll
+      not ha' you and yer likes lay yer tongues on ma wife's memory whenever it
+      suits ye. You can say what ye like aboot me&mdash;lies, sneers, snash&mdash;and
+      I'll say naethin'. I dinna ask ye to respect me; I think ye might do sae
+      muckle by her, puir lass. She never harmed ye. Gin ye canna let her bide
+      in peace where she lies doon yonder&rdquo;&mdash;he waved in the direction of
+      the churchyard&mdash;&ldquo;ye'll no come on ma land. Though she is dead she's
+      mine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Standing in front of his house, with flushed face and big eyes, the little
+      man looked almost noble in his indignation. And the parson, striding away
+      down the hill, was uneasily conscious that with him was not the victory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter III. RED WULL
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      THE winter came and went; the lambing season was over, and spring already
+      shyly kissing the land. And the back of the year's work broken, and her
+      master well started on a fresh season, M'Adam's old collie, Cuttie Sark,
+      lay down one evening and passed quietly away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little black-and-tan lady, Parson Leggy used to say, had been the only
+      thing on earth M'Adam cared for. Certainly the two had been wondrously
+      devoted; and for many a market-day the Dalesmen missed the shrill,
+      chuckling cry which heralded the pair's approach: &ldquo;Weel done, Cuttie
+      Sark!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man felt his loss acutely, and, according to his wont, vented
+      his ill-feeling on David and the Dalesmen. In return, Tammas, whose forte
+      lay in invective and alliteration, called him behind his back, &ldquo;A wenomous
+      one!&rdquo; and &ldquo;A wiralent wiper!&rdquo; to the applause of tinkling pewters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A shepherd without his dog is like a ship without a rudder, and M'Adam
+      felt his loss practically as well as otherwise. Especially did he
+      experience this on a day when he had to take a batch of draft-ewes over to
+      Grammoch-town. To help him Jem Burton had lent the services of his
+      herring-gutted, herring-hearted, greyhound lurcher, Monkey. But before
+      they had well topped Braithwaite Brow, which leads from the village on to
+      the marches, M'Adam was standing in the track with a rock in his hand, a
+      smile on his face, and the tenderest blandishments in his voice as he
+      coaxed the dog to him. But Master Monkey knew too much for that. However,
+      after gamboling a while longer in the middle of the flock, a boulder,
+      better aimed than its predecessors, smote him on the hinder parts and sent
+      him back to the Sylvester Arms, with a sore tail and a subdued heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the rest, M'Adam would never have won over the sheep-infested marches
+      alone with his convoy had it not been for the help of old Saunderson and
+      Shep, who caught him on the way and aided him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was in a very wrathful mood that on his way home he turned into the
+      Dalesman's Daughter in Silverdale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The only occupants of the tap-room, as he entered, were Teddy Bolstock,
+      the publican, Jim Mason, with the faithful Betsy beneath his chair and the
+      post-bags flung into the corner, and one long-limbed, drover-like man&mdash;a
+      stranger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And he coom up to Mr. Moore,&rdquo; Teddy was saying, &ldquo;and says he, 'I'll gie
+      ye twal' pun for yon gray dog o' yourn.' 'Ah,' says Moore, 'yo' may gie me
+      twal' hunner'd and yet you'll not get ma Bob.'&mdash;Eh, Jim?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And he did thot,&rdquo; corroborated Jim. &ldquo;'Twal' hunner'd,' says he.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;James Moore and his dog agin&rdquo; snapped M'Adam. &ldquo;There's ithers in the
+      warld for bye them twa.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, but none like 'em,&rdquo; quoth loyal Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Na, thanks be. Gin there were there'd be no room for Adam M'Adam in this
+      'melancholy vale.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was silence a moment, and then&mdash;:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're wantin' a tyke, bain't you, Mr. M'Adam?&rdquo; Jim asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man hopped round all in a hurry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What!&rdquo; he cried in well-affected eagerness, scanning the yellow mongrel
+      beneath the chair. &ldquo;Betsy for sale! Guid life! Where's ma check-book?&rdquo;
+       Whereat Jim, most easily snubbed of men, collapsed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam took off his dripping coat and crossed the room to hang it on a
+      chair-back. The stranger drover followed the meagre, shirt-clad figure
+      with shifty eyes; then he buried his face in his mug.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam reached out a hand for the chair; and as he did so, a bomb in
+      yellow leapt out from beneath it, and, growling horribly, attacked his
+      ankles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Curse ye!&rdquo; cried M'Adam, starting back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye devil, let me alone!&rdquo; Then turning fiercely on the drover, &ldquo;Yours,
+      mister?&rdquo; he asked. The man nodded. &ldquo;Then call him aff, can't ye? D&mdash;n
+      ye!&rdquo; At which Teddy Bolstock withdrew, sniggering; and Jim Mason slung the
+      post-bags on to his shoulder and plunged out into the rain, the faithful
+      Betsy following, disconsolate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The cause of the squall, having beaten off the attacking force, had
+      withdrawn again beneath its chair. M'Adam stooped down, still cursing, his
+      wet coat on his arm, and beheld a tiny yellow puppy, crouching defiant in
+      the dark, and glaring out with fiery light eyes. Seeing itself remarked,
+      it bared its little teeth, raised its little bristles, and growled a
+      hideous menace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A sense of humor is many a man's salvation, and was M'Adam's one redeeming
+      feature. The laughableness of the thing&mdash;this ferocious atomy defying
+      him&mdash;struck home to the little man. Delighted at such a display of
+      vice in so tender a plant, he fell to chuckling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye leetle devil!&rdquo; he laughed. &ldquo;He! he! ye leetle devil!&rdquo; and flipped
+      together finger and thumb in vain endeavor to coax the puppy to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it growled, and glared more terribly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop it, ye little snake, or I'll flatten you!&rdquo; cried the big drover, and
+      shuffled his feet threateningly. Whereat the puppy, gurgling like hot
+      water in a kettle, made a feint as though to advance and wipe them out,
+      these two bad men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam laughed again, and smote his leg.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Keep a ceevil tongue and yer distance,&rdquo; says he, &ldquo;or I'll e'en ha' to
+      mak' ye. Though he is but as big as a man's thumb, a dog's a dog for a'
+      that&mdash;he! he! the leetle devil.&rdquo; And he fell to flipping finger and
+      thumb afresh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye're maybe wantin' a dog?&rdquo; inquired the stranger. &ldquo;Yer friend said as
+      much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ma friend lied; it's his way,&rdquo; M'Adam replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm willin' to part wi' him,&rdquo; the other pursued.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man yawned. &ldquo;Weel, I'll tak' him to oblige ye,&rdquo; he said
+      indifferently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The drover rose to his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's givin' 'im ye, fair givin' im ye, mind! But I'll do it!&rdquo;&mdash;he
+      smacked a great fist into a hollow palm. &ldquo;Ye may have the dog for a pun'&mdash;I'll
+      only ask <i>you</i> a pun',&rdquo; and he walked away to the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam drew back, the better to scan his would-be benefactor; his lower
+      jaw dropped, and he eyed the stranger with a drolly sarcastic air.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A poun', man! A pouxi'&mdash;for yon noble dorg!&rdquo; he pointed a crooked
+      forefinger at the little creature, whose scowling mask peered from beneath
+      the chair. &ldquo;Man, I couldna do it. Na, na; ma conscience wadna permit me.
+      'Twad be fair robbin' ye. Ah, ye Englishmen!&rdquo; he spoke half to himself,
+      and sadly, as if deploring the unhappy accident of his nationality; &ldquo;it's
+      yer grand, open-hairted generosity that grips a puir Scotsman by the
+      throat. A poun'! and for yon!&rdquo; He wagged his head mournfully, cocking it
+      sideways the better to scan his subject.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take him or leave him,&rdquo; ordered the drover truculently, still gazing out
+      of the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wi' yer permission I'll leave him,&rdquo; M'Adam answered meekly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm short o' the ready,&rdquo; the big man pursued, &ldquo;or I wouldna part with
+      him. Could I bide me time there's many'd be glad to give me a tenner for
+      one o' that bree&mdash;&rdquo; he caught himself up hastily&mdash;&ldquo;for a dog sic
+      as that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And yet ye offer him me for a poun'! Noble indeed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Nevertheless the little man had pricked his ears at the other's slip and
+      quick correction. Again he approached the puppy, dangling his coat before
+      him to protect his ankles; and again that wee wild beast sprang out,
+      seized the coat in its small jaw, and worried it savagely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam stooped quickly and picked up his tiny assailant; and the puppy,
+      suspended by its neck, gurgled and slobbered; then, wriggling desperately
+      round, made its teeth meet in its adversary's shirt. At which M'Adam shook
+      it gently and laughed. Then he set to examining it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Apparently some six weeks old; a tawny coat, fiery eyes, a square head
+      with small, cropped ears, and a comparatively immense jaw; the whole
+      giving promise of great strength, if little beauty. And this effect was
+      enhanced by the manner of its docking. For the miserable relic of a tail,
+      yet raw, looked little more than a red button adhering to its wearer's
+      stern.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam's inspection was as minute as it was apparently absorbing; he
+      omitted nothing from the square muzzle to the lozenge-like scut. And every
+      now and then he threw a quick glance at the man at the window, who was
+      watching the careful scrutiny a thought uneasily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye've cut him short,&rdquo; he said at length, swinging round on the drover.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay; strengthens their backs,&rdquo; the big man answered with averted gaze.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam's chin went up in the air; his mouth partly opened and his eyelids
+      partly closed as he eyed his informant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, ay,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gie him back to me,&rdquo; ordered the drover surlily. He took the puppy and
+      set it on the floor; whereupon it immediately resumed its former fortified
+      position. &ldquo;Ye're no buyer; I knoo that all along by that face on ye,&rdquo; he
+      said in insulting tones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye wad ha' bought him yerseif', nae doot?&rdquo; M'Adam inquired blandly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In course; if you says so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or airblins ye bred him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Appen I did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye'll no be from these parts?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will I no?&rdquo; answered the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A smile of genuine pleasure stole over M'Adam's face. He laid his hand on
+      the other's arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Man,&rdquo; he said gently, &ldquo;ye mind me o' hame.&rdquo; Then almost in the same
+      breath: &ldquo;Ye said ye found him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the stranger's turn to laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ha! ha! Ye teekle me, little mon. Found 'im? Nay; I was give 'im by a
+      friend. But there's nowt amiss wi' his breedin', ye may believe me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The great fellow advanced to the chair under which the puppy lay. It leapt
+      out like a lion, and fastened on his huge boot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A rare bred un, look 'ee! a rare game un. Ma word, he's a big-hearted un!
+      Look at the back on him; see the jaws to him; mark the pluck of him!&rdquo; He
+      shook his booted foot fiercely, tossing his leg to and fro like a tree in
+      a wind. But the little creature, now raised ceilingward, now dashed to the
+      ground, held on with incomparable doggedness, till its small jaw was all
+      bloody and muzzle wrinkled with the effort.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, ay, that'll do,&rdquo; M'Adam interposed, irritably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The drover ceased his efforts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, I'll mak' ye a last offer.&rdquo; He thrust his head down to a level with
+      the other's, shooting out his neck. &ldquo;It's throwin' him at ye, mind.
+      'Tain't buyin' him ye'll be&mdash;don't go for to deceive yourself. Ye may
+      have him for fifteen shillin'. Why do I do it, ye ask? Why, 'cos I think
+      ye'll be kind to him,&rdquo; as the puppy retreated to its chair, leaving a
+      spotted track of red along its route.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, ye wadna be happy gin ye thocht he'd no a comfortable hame,
+      conseederate man?&rdquo; M'Adam answered, eyeing the dark track on the floor.
+      Then he put on his coat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Na, na, he's no for me. Weel, I'll no detain ye. Good-nicht to ye,
+      mister!&rdquo; and he made for the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A gran' worker he'll be,&rdquo; called the drover after him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay; muckle wark he'll mak' amang the sheep wi' sic a jaw and sic a
+      temper. Weel, I maun be steppin'. Good-nicht to ye.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye'll niver have sich anither chanst.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor niver wush to. Na, na; he'll never mak' a sheep-dog&rdquo;; and the little
+      man turned up the collar of his coat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will he not?&rdquo; cried the other scornfully. &ldquo;There niver yet was one o'
+      that line&mdash;&rdquo; he stopped abruptly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man spun round.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Iss?&rdquo; he said, as innocent as any child; &ldquo;ye were sayin'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The other turned to the window and watched the rain falling monotonously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye'll be wantin' wet,&rdquo; he said adroitly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, we could do wi' a drappin'. And he'll never mak' a sheep-dog.&rdquo; He
+      shoved his cap down on his head. &ldquo;Weel, good-nicht to ye!&rdquo; and he stepped
+      out into the rain.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      It was long after dark when the bargain was finally struck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Adam M'Adam's Red Wull became that little man's property for the following
+      realizable assets: ninepence in cash&mdash;three coppers and a doubtful
+      sixpence; a plug of suspicious tobacco in a well-worn pouch; and an old
+      watch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's clean givin' 'im ye,&rdquo; said the stranger bitterly, at the end of the
+      deal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's mair the charity than aught else mak's me sae leeberal,&rdquo; the other
+      answered gently. &ldquo;I wad not like to see ye pinched.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank ye kindly,&rdquo; the big man replied with some acerbity, and plunged out
+      into the darkness and rain. Nor was that long-limbed drover-man ever again
+      seen in the countryside. And the puppy's previous history&mdash;whether he
+      was honestly come by or no, whether he was, indeed, of the famous Red
+      McCulloch* strain, ever remained a mystery in the Daleland.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     *N. B.&mdash;You may know a Red McCulloch anywhere by the ring of
+     white upon his tail some two inches from the root.
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter IV. FIRST BLOOD
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      AFTER that first encounter in the Dalesman's Daughter, Red Wull, for so
+      M'Adam called him, resigned himself complacently to his lot; recognizing,
+      perhaps, his destiny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thenceforward the sour little man and the vicious puppy grew, as it were,
+      together. The two were never apart. Where M'Adam was, there was sure to be
+      his tiny attendant, bristling defiance as he kept ludicrous guard over his
+      master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man and his dog were inseparable. M'Adam never left him even at
+      the Grange.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+&ldquo;I couldna trust ma Wullie at hame alone wi' the dear lad,&rdquo; was his
+explanation. &ldquo;I ken weel I'd come back to find a wee corpse on the
+floor, and David singin':
+
+     'My heart is sair, I daur na tell,
+     My heart is sair for somebody.'
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      Ay, and he'd be sair elsewhere by the time I'd done wi' him&mdash;he! he!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The sneer at David's expense was as characteristic as it was unjust. For
+      though the puppy and the boy were already sworn enemies, yet the lad would
+      have scorned to harm so small a foe. And many a tale did David tell at
+      Kenmuir of Red Wull's viciousness, of his hatred of him (David), and his
+      devotion to his master; how, whether immersed in the pig-bucket or chasing
+      the fleeting rabbit, he would desist at once, and bundle, panting, up at
+      his master's call; how he routed the tomcat and drove him from the
+      kitchen; and how he clambered on to David's bed and pinned him murderously
+      by the nose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of late the relations between M'Adam and James Moore had been unusually
+      strained. Though they were neighbors, communications between the two were
+      of the rarest; and it was for the first time for many a long day that, on
+      an afternoon shortly after Red Wull had come into his possession, M'Adam
+      entered the yard of Kenmuir, bent on girding at the master for an alleged
+      trespass at the Stony Bottom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wi' yer permission, Mr. Moore,&rdquo; said the little man, &ldquo;I'll wheestle ma
+      dog,&rdquo; and, turning, he whistled a shrill, peculiar note like the cry of a
+      disturbed peewit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Straightway there came scurrying desperately up, ears back, head down,
+      tongue out, as if the world depended on his speed, a little tawny beetle
+      of a thing, who placed his forepaws against his master's ankles and looked
+      up into his face; then, catching sight of the strangers, hurriedly he took
+      up his position between them and M'Adam, assuming his natural attitude of
+      grisly defiance. Such a laughable spectacle he made, that martial mite,
+      standing at bay with bristles up and teeth bared, that even James Moore
+      smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ma word! Ha' yo' brought his muzzle, man?&rdquo; cried old Tammas, the
+      humorist; and, turning, climbed all in a heat on to an upturned bucket
+      that stood by. Whereat the puppy, emboldened by his foe's retreat,
+      advanced savagely to the attack, buzzing round the slippery pail like a
+      wasp on a windowpane, in a vain attempt to reach the old man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Tammas stood on the top, hitching his trousers and looking down on his
+      assailant, the picture of mortal fear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Elp! Oh, 'elp!&rdquo; he bawled. &ldquo;Send for the sogers! Fetch the p'lice! For
+      lawk-amussy's sake call him off, man!&rdquo; Even Sam'l Todd, watching the scene
+      from the cart-shed, was tickled and burst into a loud guffaw, heartily
+      backed by 'Enry and oor Job. While M'Adam remarked: &ldquo;Ye're fitter for a
+      stage than a stable-bucket, Mr. Thornton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How didst come by him?&rdquo; asked Tammas, nodding at the puppy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Found him,&rdquo; the little man replied, sucking his twig. &ldquo;Found him in ma
+      stockin' on ma birthday. A present from ma leetle David for his auld dad,
+      I doot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So do I,&rdquo; said Tammas, and was seized with sudden spasm of seemingly
+      causeless merriment. For looking up as M'Adam was speaking, he had caught
+      a glimpse of a boy's fair head, peering cautiously round the cow-shed,
+      and, behind, the flutter of short petticoats. They disappeared as silently
+      as they had come; and two small figures, just returned from school, glided
+      away and sought shelter in the friendly darkness of a coal-hole.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Coom awa', Maggie, coom awa'! 'Tis th' owd un, 'isself,&rdquo; whispered a
+      disrespectful voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam looked round suspiciously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's that?&rdquo; he asked sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the moment, however, Mrs. Moore put her head out of the kitchen window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Coom thy ways in, Mister M'Adam, and tak' a soop o' tea,&rdquo; she called
+      hospitably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank ye kindly, Mrs. Moore, I will,&rdquo; he answered, politely for him. And
+      this one good thing must be allowed of Adam M'Adam: that, if there was
+      only one woman of whom he was ever known to speak well, there was also
+      only one, in the whole course of his life, against whom he ever insinuated
+      evil&mdash;and that was years afterward, when men said his brain was
+      sapped. Flouts and jeers he had for every man, but a woman, good or bad,
+      was sacred to him. For the sex that had given him his mother and his wife
+      he had that sentiment of tender reverence which, if a man still preserve,
+      he cannot be altogether bad. As he turned into the house he looked back at
+      Red Wull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, we may leave him,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;That is, gin ye're no afraid, Mr.
+      Thornton?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Of what happened while the men were within doors, it is enough to tell two
+      things. First, that Owd Bob was no bully. Second, this: In the code of
+      sheep-dog honor there is written a word in stark black letters; and
+      opposite it another word, writ large in the color of blood. The first is
+      &ldquo;Sheep-murder&rdquo;; the second, &ldquo;Death.&rdquo; It is the one crime only to be wiped
+      away in blood; and to accuse of the crime is to offer the one unpardonable
+      insult. Every sheep-dog knows it, and every shepherd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That afternoon, as the men still talked, the quiet echoes of the farm rung
+      with a furious animal cry, twice repeated: &ldquo;Shot for sheep-murder&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Shot
+      for sheep-murder&rdquo;; followed by a hollow stillness.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      The two men finished their colloquy. The matter was concluded peacefully,
+      mainly owing to the pacifying influence of Mrs. Moore. Together the three
+      went out into the yard; Mrs. Moore seizing the opportunity to shyly speak
+      on David's behalf.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's such a good little lad, I do think,&rdquo; she was saying.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye should ken, Mrs. Moore,&rdquo; the little man answered, a thought bitterly;
+      &ldquo;ye see enough of him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' mun be main proud of un, mester,&rdquo; the woman continued, heedless of
+      the sneer: &ldquo;an' 'im growin' such a gradely lad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam shrugged his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I barely ken the lad,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;By sight I know him, of course, but
+      barely to speak to. He's but seldom at hame.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An' hoo proud his mother'd be if she could see him,&rdquo; the woman continued,
+      well aware of his one tender place. &ldquo;Eh, but she was fond o' him, so she
+      was.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      An angry flush stole over the little man's face. Well he understood the
+      implied rebuke; and it hurt him like a knife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, ay, Mrs. Moore,&rdquo; he began. Then breaking off, and looking about him&mdash;&ldquo;Where's
+      ma Wullie?&rdquo; he cried excitedly. &ldquo;James Moore!&rdquo; whipping round on the
+      Master, &ldquo;ma Wullie's gone&mdash;gone, I say!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Elizabeth Moore turned away indignantly. &ldquo;I do declar' he tak's more fash
+      after yon little yaller beastie than iver he does after his own flesh,&rdquo;
+       she muttered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie, ma we doggie! Wullie, where are ye? James Moore, he's gone&mdash;ma
+      Wullie's gone!&rdquo; cried the little man, running about the yard, searching
+      everywhere.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cannot 'a' gotten far,&rdquo; said the Master, reassuringly, looking about him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Niver no tellin',&rdquo; said Sam'l, appearing on the scene, pig-bucket in
+      hand. &ldquo;I misdoot yo'll iver see your dog agin, mister.&rdquo; He turned
+      sorrowfully to M'Adam.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That little man, all dishevelled, and with the perspiration standing on
+      his face, came hurrying out of the cow-shed and danced up to the Master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's robbed I am&mdash;robbed, I tell ye!&rdquo; he cried recklessly. &ldquo;Ma wee
+      Wull's bin stolen while I was ben your hoose, James Moore!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' munna say that, ma mon. No robbin' at Kenmuir,&rdquo; the Master answered
+      sternly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then where is he? It's for you to say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've ma own idee, I 'aye,&rdquo; Sam'l announced opportunely, pig-bucket
+      uplifted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam turned on him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, man? What is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I misdoot yo'll iver see your dog agin, mister,&rdquo; Sam'l repeated, as if he
+      was supplying the key to the mystery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Noo, Sam'l, if yo' know owt tell it,&rdquo; ordered his master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sam'l grunted sulkily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wheer's oor Bob, then?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At that M'Adam turned on the Master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tis that, nae doot. It's yer gray dog, James Moore, yer &mdash;&mdash;
+      dog. I might ha' kent it,&rdquo;&mdash;and he loosed off a volley of foul words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sweerin' will no find him,&rdquo; said the Master coldly. &ldquo;Noo, Sam'l.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The big man shifted his feet, and looked mournfully at M'Adam.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Twas 'appen 'aif an hour agone, when I sees oor Bob goin' oot o' yard
+      wi' little yaller tyke in his mouth. In a minnit I looks agin&mdash;and
+      theer! little yaller 'un was gone, and oor Bob a-sittin' a-lickin' his
+      chops. Gone foriver, I do reck'n. Ah, yo' may well take on, Tammas
+      Thornton!&rdquo; For the old man was rolling about the yard, bent double with
+      merriment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam turned on the Master with the resignation of despair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Man, Moore,&rdquo; he cried piteously, &ldquo;it's yer gray dog has murdered ma wee
+      Wull! Ye have it from yer ain man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense,&rdquo; said the Master encouragingly. &ldquo;'Tis but yon girt oof.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sam'l tossed his head and snorted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Coom, then, and i'll show yo',&rdquo; he said, and led the way out of the yard.
+      And there below them on the slope to the stream, sitting like Justice at
+      the Courts of Law, was Owd Bob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Straightway Sam'l whose humor was something of the calibre of old Ross's,
+      the sexton, burst into horse-merriment. &ldquo;Why's he sittin' so still, think
+      'ee? Ho! Ho! See un lickin' his chops&mdash;ha! ha!&rdquo;&mdash;and he roared
+      afresh. While from afar you could hear the distant rumbling of 'Enry and
+      oor Job.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the sight, M'Adam burst into a storm of passionate invective, and would
+      have rushed on the dog had not James Moore forcibly restrained him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bob, lad,&rdquo; called the Master, &ldquo;coom here!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But even as he spoke, the gray dog cocked his ears, listened a moment, and
+      then shot down the slope. At the same moment Tammas hallooed: &ldquo;Theer he
+      be! yon's yaller un coomin' oot o' drain! La, Sam'l!&rdquo; And there, indeed,
+      on the slope below them, a little angry, smutty-faced figure was crawling
+      out of a rabbit-burrow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye murderin' devil, wad ye duar touch ma Wullie?&rdquo; yelled M'Adam, and,
+      breaking away, pursued hotly down the hill; for the gray dog had picked up
+      the puppy, like a lancer a tent-peg, and was sweeping on, his captive in
+      his mouth, toward the stream.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Behind, hurried James Moore and Sam'l, wondering what the issue of the
+      comedy would be. After them toddled old Tammas, chuckling. While over the
+      yard-wall was now a little cluster of heads: 'Enry, oor Job, Maggie and
+      David, and Vi'let Thornton, the dairy-maid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Straight on to the plank-bridge galloped Owd Bob. In the middle he halted,
+      leant over, and dropped his prisoner; who fell with a cool plop into the
+      running water beneath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Another moment and M'Adam had reached the bank of the stream. In he
+      plunged, splashing and cursing, and seized the struggling puppy; then
+      waded back, the waters surging about his waist, and Red Wull, limp as a
+      wet rag, in his hand. The little man's hair was dripping, for his cap was
+      gone; his clothes clung to him, exposing the miserableness of his figure;
+      and his eyes blazed like hot ashes in his wet face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He sprang on to the bank, and, beside himself with passion, rushed at Owd
+      Bob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Curse ye for a &mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stan' back, or yo'll have him at your throat!&rdquo; shouted the Master,
+      thundering up. &ldquo;Stan' back, I say, yo' fule!&rdquo; And, as the little man still
+      came madly on, he reached forth his hand and hurled him back; at the same
+      moment, bending, he buried the other hand deep in Owd Bob's shaggy neck.
+      It was but just in time; for if ever the fierce desire of battle gleamed
+      in gray eyes, it did in the young dog's as M'Adam came down on him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man staggered, tottered, and fell heavily. At the shock, the
+      blood gushed from his nose, and, mixing with the water on his face, ran
+      down in vague red streams, dripping off his chin; while Red Wull, jerked
+      from his grasp, was thrown afar, and lay motionless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Curse ye!&rdquo; M'Adam screamed, his face dead-white save for the running red
+      about his jaw. &ldquo;Curse ye for a cowardly Englishman!&rdquo; and, struggling to
+      his feet, he made at the Master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Sam'l interposed his great bulk between the two.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Easy, little mon,&rdquo; he said leisurely, regarding the small fury before him
+      with mournful interest. &ldquo;Eh, but thee do be a little spit-cat, surely!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore stood, breathing deep, his hand still buried in Owd Bob's
+      coat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If yo'd touched him,&rdquo; he explained, &ldquo;I couldna ha' stopped him. He'd ha'
+      mauled yo' afore iver I could ha' had him off. They're bad to hold, the
+      Gray Dogs, when they're roosed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, ma word, that they are!&rdquo; corroborated Tammas, speaking from the
+      experience of sixty years. &ldquo;Once on, yo' canna get 'em off.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man turned away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye're all agin me,&rdquo; he said, and his voice shook. A pitiful figure he
+      made, standing there with the water dripping from him. A red stream was
+      running slowly from his chin; his head was bare, and face working.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore stood eyeing him with some pity and some contempt. Behind was
+      Tammas, enjoying the scene. While Sam'l regarded them all with an
+      impassive melancholy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam turned and bent over Red Wull, who still lay like a dead thing. As
+      his master handled him, the button-tail quivered feebly; he opened his
+      eyes, looked about him, snarled faintly, and glared with devilish hate at
+      the gray dog and the group with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man picked him up, stroking him tenderly. Then he turned away
+      and on to the bridge. Half-way across he stopped. It rattled feverishly
+      beneath him, for he still trembled like a palsied man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Man, Moore!&rdquo; he called, striving to quell the agitation in his voice&mdash;&ldquo;I
+      wad shoot yon dog.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Across the bridge he turned again. &ldquo;Man, Moore!&rdquo; he called and paused.
+      &ldquo;Ye'll not forget this day.&rdquo; And with that the blood flared up a dull
+      crimson into his white face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_PART2" id="link2H_PART2">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      PART II THE LITTLE MAN
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter V. A MAN'S SON
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      THE storm, long threatened, having once burst, M'Adam allowed loose rein
+      to his bitter animosity against James Moore.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two often met. For the little man frequently returned home from the
+      village by the footpath across Kenmuir. It was out of his way, but he
+      preferred it in order to annoy his enemy and keep a watch upon his doings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He haunted Kenmuir like its evil genius. His sallow face was perpetually
+      turning up at inopportune moments. When Kenmuir Queen, the prize
+      short-horn heifer, calved unexpectedly and unattended in the dip by the
+      lane, Tammas and the Master, summoned hurriedly by Owd Bob, came running
+      up to find the little man leaning against the stile, and shaking with
+      silent merriment. Again, poor old Staggy, daring still in his dotage, took
+      a fall while scrambling on the steep banks of the Stony Bottom. There he
+      lay for hours, unnoticed and kicking, until James Moore and Owd Bob came
+      upon him at length, nearly exhausted. But M'Adam was before them. Standing
+      on the far bank with Red Wull by his side, he called across the gulf with
+      apparent concern: &ldquo;He's bin so sin' yesternight.&rdquo; Often James Moore, with
+      all his great strength of character, could barely control himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There were two attempts to patch up the feud. Jim Mason, who went about
+      the world seeking to do good, tried in his shy way to set things right.
+      But M'Adam and his Red Wull between them soon shut him and Betsy up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mind yer letters and yer wires, Mr. Poacher-Postman. Ay, I saw 'em
+      baith: th' ain doon by the Haughs, t'ither in the Bottom. And there's
+      Wullie, the humorsome chiel, havin' a rare game wi' Betsy.&rdquo; There, indeed,
+      lay the faithful Betsy, suppliant on her back, paws up, throat exposed,
+      while Red Wull, now a great-grown puppy, stood over her, his habitually
+      evil expression intensified into a fiendish grin, as with wrinkled muzzle
+      and savage wheeze he waited for a movement as a pretext to pin: &ldquo;Wullie,
+      let the leddy be&mdash;ye've had yer dinner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Parson Leggy was the other would-be mediator; for he hated to see the two
+      principal parishioners of his tiny cure at enmity. First he tackled James
+      Moore on the subject; but that laconic person cut him short with, &ldquo;I've
+      nowt agin the little mon,&rdquo; and would say no more. And, indeed, the quarrel
+      was none of his making.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of the parson's interview with M'Adam, it is enough to say here that, in
+      the end, the angry old minister would of a surety have assaulted his
+      mocking adversary had not Cyril Gilbraith forcibly withheld him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And after that the vendetta must take its course unchecked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David was now the only link between the two farms. Despite his father's
+      angry commands, the boy clung to his intimacy with the Moores with a
+      doggedness that no thrashing could overcome. Not a minute of the day when
+      out of school, holidays and Sundays included, but was passed at Kenmuir.
+      It was not till late at night that he would sneak back to the Grange, and
+      creep quietly up to his tiny bare room in the roof&mdash;not supperless,
+      indeed, motherly Mrs. Moore had seen to that. And there he would lie awake
+      and listen with a fierce contempt as his father, hours later, lurched into
+      the kitchen below, lilting liquorishly:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;We are na fou, we're nae that fou,
+     But just a drappie in our e'e;
+     The cock may craw, the day may daw',
+     And ay we'll taste the barley bree!&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      And in the morning the boy would slip quietly out of the house while his
+      father still slept; only Red Wull would thrust out his savage head as the
+      lad passed, and snarl hungrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sometimes father and son would go thus for weeks without sight of one
+      another. And that was David's aim&mdash;to escape attention. It was only
+      his cunning at this game of evasion that saved him a thrashing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man seemed devoid of all natural affection for his son. He
+      lavished the whole fondness of which his small nature appeared capable on
+      the Tailless Tyke, for so the Dalesmen called Red Wull. And the dog he
+      treated with a careful tenderness that made David smile bitterly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man and his dog were as alike morally as physically they were
+      contrasted. Each owed a grudge against the world and was determined to pay
+      it. Each was an Ishmael among his kind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      You saw them thus, standing apart, leper-like, in the turmoil of life; and
+      it came quite as a revelation to happen upon them in some quiet spot of
+      nights, playing together, each wrapped in the game, innocent, tender,
+      forgetful of the hostile world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two were never separated except only when M'Adam came home by the path
+      across Kenmuir. After that first misadventure he never allowed his friend
+      to accompany him on the journey through the enemy's country; for well he
+      knew that sheep-dogs have long memories.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To the stile in the lane, then, Red Wull would follow him. There he would
+      stand, his great head poked through the bars, watching his master out of
+      sight; and then would turn and trot, self-reliant and defiant, sturdy and
+      surly, down the very centre of the road through the village&mdash;no
+      playing, no enticing away, and woe to that man or dog who tried to stay
+      him in his course! And so on, past Mother Ross's shop, past the Sylvester
+      Arms, to the right by Kirby's smithy, over the Wastrel by the Haughs, to
+      await his master at the edge of the Stony Bottom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man, when thus crossing Kenmuir, often met Owd Bob, who had the
+      free run of the farm. On these occasions he passed discreetly by; for,
+      though he was no coward, yet it is bad, single-handed, to attack a Gray
+      Dog of Kenmuir; while the dog trotted soberly on his way, only a steely
+      glint in the big gray eyes betraying his knowledge of the presence of his
+      foe. As surely, however, as the little man, in his desire to spy out the
+      nakedness of the land, strayed off the public path, so surely a gray
+      figure, seeming to spring from out the blue, would come fiercely, silently
+      driving down on him; and he would turn and run for his life, amid the
+      uproarious jeers of any of the farm-hands who were witness to the
+      encounter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On these occasions David vied with Tammas in facetiousness at his father's
+      expense.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good on yo', little un!&rdquo; he roared from behind a wall, on one such
+      occurrence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bain't he a runner, neither?&rdquo; yelled Tammas, not to be outdone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See un skip it&mdash;ho! ho! Look to his knees a-wamblin'! from the
+      undutiful son in ecstasy. An' I'd knees like yon, I'd wear petticoats.&rdquo; As
+      he spoke, a swinging box on the ear nearly knocked the young reprobate
+      down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;D'yo' think God gave you a dad for you to jeer at? Y'ought to be ashamed
+      o' yo'self. Serve yo' right if he does thrash yo' when yo' get home.&rdquo; And
+      David, turning round, found James Moore close behind him, his heavy
+      eyebrows lowering over his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Luckily, M'Adam had not distinguished his son's voice among the others.
+      But David feared he had; for on the following morning the little man said
+      to him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;David, ye'll come hame immediately after school to-day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will I?&rdquo; said David pertly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      ''Ye will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I tell ye to, ma lad&rdquo;; and that was all the reason he would give.
+      Had he told the simple fact that he wanted help to drench a &ldquo;husking&rdquo; ewe,
+      things might have gone differently. As it was, David turned away defiantly
+      down the hill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The afternoon wore on. Schooltime was long over; still there was no David.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man waited at the door of the Grange, fuming, hopping from one
+      leg to the other, talking to Red Wull, who lay at his feet, his head on
+      his paws, like a tiger waiting for his prey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length he could restrain himself no longer; and started running down
+      the hill, his heart burning with indignation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait till we lay hands on ye, ma lad,&rdquo; he muttered as he ran. &ldquo;We'll warm
+      ye, we'll teach ye.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the edge of the Stony Bottom he, as always, left Red Wull. Crossing it
+      himself, and rounding Langholm How, he espied James Moore, David, and Owd
+      Bob walking away from him and in the direction of Kenmuir. The gray dog
+      and David were playing together, wrestling, racing, and rolling. The boy
+      had never a thought for his father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man ran up behind them, unseen and unheard, his feet softly
+      pattering on the grass. His hand had fallen on David's shoulder before the
+      boy had guessed his approach.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did I bid ye come hame after school, David?&rdquo; he asked, concealing his
+      heat beneath a suspicious suavity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maybe. Did I say I would come?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The pertness of tone and words, alike, fanned his father's resentment into
+      a blaze. In a burst of passion he lunged forward at the boy with his
+      stick. But as he smote, a gray whirlwind struck him fair on the chest, and
+      he fell like a snapped stake, and lay, half stunned, with a dark muzzle an
+      inch from his throat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Git back, Bob!&rdquo; shouted James Moore, hurrying up. &ldquo;Git back, I tell yo'!&rdquo;
+       He bent over the prostrate figure, propping it up anxiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are yo' hurt, M'Adam? Eh, but I am sorry. He thought yo' were going for
+      to strike the lad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David had now run up, and he, too, bent over his father with a very scared
+      face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are yo' hurt, feyther?&rdquo; he asked, his voice trembling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man rose unsteadily to his feet and shook off his supporters.
+      His face was twitching, and he stood, all dust-begrimed, looking at his
+      son.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye're content, aiblins, noo ye've seen yer father's gray head bowed in
+      the dust,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Twas an accident,&rdquo; pleaded James Moore. &ldquo;But I <i>am</i> sorry. He
+      thought yo' were goin' to beat the lad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So I was&mdash;so I will.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If ony's beat it should be ma Bob here tho' he nob'but thought he was
+      doin' right. An' yo' were aff the path.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man looked at his enemy, a sneer on his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye canna thrash him for doin' what ye bid him. Set yer dog on me, if ye
+      will, but dinna beat him when he does yer biddin'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did not set him on yo', as you know,&rdquo; the Master replied warmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam shrugged his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll no argie wi' ye, James Moore,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I'll leave you and what ye
+      call yer conscience to settle that. My business is not wi' you.&mdash;David!&rdquo;
+       turning to his son.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A stranger might well have mistaken the identity of the boy's father. For
+      he stood now, holding the Master's arm; while a few paces above them was
+      the little man, pale but determined, the expression on his face betraying
+      his consciousness of the irony of the situation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will ye come hame wi' me and have it noo, or stop wi' him and wait till
+      ye get it?&rdquo; he asked the boy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;M'Adam, I'd like yo' to&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;None o' that, James Moore.&mdash;David, what d'ye say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David looked up into his protector's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo'd best go wi' your feyther, lad,&rdquo; said the Master at last, thickly.
+      The boy hesitated, and clung tighter to the shielding arm; then he walked
+      slowly over to his father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A bitter smile spread over the little man's face as he marked this new
+      test of the boy's obedience to the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To obey his frien' he foregoes the pleasure o' disobeyin' his father,&rdquo; he
+      muttered. &ldquo;Noble!&rdquo; Then he turned homeward, and the boy followed in his
+      footsteps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore and the gray dog stood looking after them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know yo'll not pay off yer spite agin me on the lad's head, M'Adam,&rdquo; he
+      called, almost appealingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll do ma duty, thank ye, James Moore, wi'oot respect o' persons,&rdquo; the
+      little man cried back, never turning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Father and son walked away, one behind the other, like a man and his dog,
+      and there was no word said between them. Across the Stony Bottom, Red
+      Wull, scowling with bared teeth at David, joined them. Together the three
+      went up the bill to the Grange.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the kitchen M'Adam turned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Noo, I'm gaein' to gie ye the gran'est thrashin' ye iver dreamed of. Tak'
+      aff yer coat!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy obeyed, and stood up in his thin shirt, his face white and set as
+      a statue's. Red Wull seated himself on his haunches close by, his ears
+      pricked, licking his lips, all attention.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man suppled the great ash-plant in his hands and raised it. But
+      the expression on the boy's face arrested his arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say ye're sorry and I'll let yer aff easy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One mair chance&mdash;yer last! Say yer 'shamed o' yerself'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man brandished his cruel, white weapon, and Red Wull shifted a
+      little to obtain a better view.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Git on wi' it,&rdquo; ordered David angrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man raised the stick again and&mdash;threw it into the farthest
+      corner of the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It fell with a rattle on the floor, and M'Adam turned away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye're the pitifulest son iver a man had,&rdquo; he cried brokenly. &ldquo;Gin a man's
+      son dinna haud to him, wha can he expect to?&mdash;no one. Ye're
+      ondootiful, ye're disrespectfu', ye're maist ilka thing ye shouldna be;
+      there's but ae thing I thocht ye were not&mdash;a coward. And as to that,
+      ye've no the pluck to say ye're sorry when, God knows, ye might be. I
+      canna thrash ye this day. But ye shall gae nae mair to school. I send ye
+      there to learn. Ye'll not learn&mdash;ye've learnt naethin' except
+      disobedience to me&mdash;ye shall stop at hame and work.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His father's rare emotion, his broken voice and working face, moved David
+      as all the stripes and jeers had failed to do. His conscience smote him.
+      For the first time in his life it dimly dawned on him that, perhaps, his
+      father, too, had some ground for complaint; that, perhaps, he was not a
+      good son.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He half turned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Feyther&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Git oot o' ma sight!&rdquo; M'Adam cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And the boy turned and went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter VI. A LICKING OR A LIE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      THENCEFORWARD David buckled down to work at home, and in one point only
+      father and son resembled&mdash;industry. A drunkard M'Adam was, but a
+      drone, no.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy worked at the Grange with tireless, indomitable energy; yet he
+      could never satisfy his father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man would stand, a sneer on his face and his thin lips
+      contemptuously curled, and flout the lad's brave labors.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is he no a gran' worker, Wullie? 'Tis a pleasure to watch him, his hands
+      in his pockets, his eyes turned heavenward!&rdquo; as the boy snatched a
+      hard-earned moment's rest. &ldquo;You and I, Wullie, we'll brak' oorsel's
+      slavin' for him while he looks on and laffs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And so on, the whole day through, week in, week out; till he sickened with
+      weariness of it all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In his darkest hours David thought sometimes to run away. He was miserably
+      alone on the cold bosom of the world. The very fact that he was the son of
+      his father isolated him in the Daleland. Naturally of a reserved
+      disposition, he had no single friend outside Kenmuir. And it was only the
+      thought of his friends there that withheld him. He could not bring himself
+      to part from them; they were all he had in the world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So he worked on at the Grange, miserably, doggedly, taking blows and abuse
+      alike in burning silence. But every evening, when work was ended, he
+      stepped off to his other home beyond the Stony Bottom. And on Sundays and
+      holidays&mdash;for of these latter he took, unasking, what he knew to be
+      his due&mdash;all day long, from cock-crowing to the going down of the
+      sun, he would pass at Kenmuir. In this one matter the boy was invincibly
+      stubborn. Nothing his father could say or do sufficed to break him of the
+      habit. He endured everything with white-lipped, silent doggedness, and
+      still held on his way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once past the Stony Bottom, he threw his troubles behind him with a
+      courage that did him honor. Of all the people at Kenmuir two only ever
+      dreamed the whole depth of his unhappiness, and that not through David.
+      James Moore suspected something of it all, for he knew more of M'Adam than
+      did the others. While Owd Bob knew it as did no one else. He could tell it
+      from the touch of the boy's hand on his head; and the story was writ large
+      upon his face for a dog to read. And he would follow the lad about with a
+      compassion in his sad gray eyes greater than words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David might well compare his gray friend at Kenmuir with that other at the
+      Grange.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Tailless Tyke had now grown into an immense dog, heavy of muscle and
+      huge of bone. A great bull head; undershot jaw, square and lengthy and
+      terrible; vicious, yellow-gleaming eyes; cropped ears; and an expression
+      incomparably savage. His coat was a tawny, lion-like yellow, short, harsh,
+      dense; and his back, running up from shoulder to loins, ended abruptly in
+      the knob-like tail. He looked like the devil of a dogs' hell. And his
+      reputation was as bad as his looks. He never attacked unprovoked; but a
+      challenge was never ignored, and he was greedy of insults. Already he had
+      nigh killed Rob Saunderson's collie, Shep; Jem Burton's Monkey fled
+      incontinently at the sound of his approach; while he had even fought a
+      round with that redoubtable trio, the Vexer, Venus, and Van Tromp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nor, in the matter of war, did he confine himself to his own kind. His
+      huge strength and indomitable courage made him the match of almost
+      anything that moved. Long Kirby once threatened him with a broomstick; the
+      smith never did it again. While in the Border Ram he attacked Big Bell,
+      the Squire's underkeeper, with such murderous fury that it took all the
+      men in the room to pull him off.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      More than once had he and Owd Bob essayed to wipe out mutual memories, Red
+      Wull, in this case only, the aggressor. As yet, however, while they fenced
+      a moment for that deadly throat-grip, the value of which each knew so
+      well, James Moore had always seized the chance to intervene.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's right, hide him ahint yer petticoats,&rdquo; sneered M'Adam on one of
+      these occasions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hide? It'll not be him I'll hide, I warn you, M'Adam,&rdquo; the Master
+      answered grimly, as he stood, twirling his good oak stick between the
+      would-be duellists. Whereat there was a loud laugh at the little man's
+      expense.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It seemed as if there were to be other points of rivalry between the two
+      than memories. For, in the matter of his own business&mdash;the handling
+      of sheep&mdash;Red Wull bid fair to be second only throughout the Daleland
+      to the Gray Dog of Kenmuir. And M'Adam was patient and painstaking in the
+      training of his Wullie in a manner to astonish David. It would have been
+      touching, had it not been so unnatural in view of his treatment of his own
+      blood, to watch the tender carefulness with which the little man moulded
+      the dog beneath his hands. After a promising display he would stand,
+      rubbing his palms together, as near content as ever he was.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+&ldquo;Weel done, Wullie! Weel done. Bide a wee and we'll show 'em a thing or
+two, you and I, Wullie.
+
+     &ldquo;'The warld's wrack we share o't,
+     The warstle and the care o't.'
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      For it's you and I alane, lad.&rdquo; And the dog would trot up to him, place
+      his great forepaws on his shoulders, and stand thus with his great head
+      overtopping his master's, his ears back, and stump tail vibrating.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      You saw them at their best when thus together, displaying each his one
+      soft side to the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From the very first David and Red Wull were open enemies: under the
+      circumstances, indeed, nothing else was possible. Sometimes the great dog
+      would follow on the lad's heels with surly, greedy eyes, never leaving him
+      from sunrise to sundown, till David could hardly hold his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So matters went on for a never-ending year. Then there came a climax.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One evening, on a day throughout which Red Wull had dogged him thus
+      hungrily, David, his work finished, went to pick up his coat, which he had
+      left hard by. On it lay Red Wull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Git off ma coat!&rdquo; the boy ordered angrily, marching up. But the great dog
+      never stirred: he lifted a lip to show a fence of white, even teeth, and
+      seemed to sink lower in the ground; his head on his paws, his eyes in his
+      forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come and take it!&rdquo; he seemed to say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now what, between master and dog, David had endured almost more than he
+      could bear that day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' won't, won't yo', girt brute!&rdquo; he shouted, and bending, snatched a
+      corner of the coat and attempted to jerk it away. At that, Red Wull rose,
+      shivering, to his feet, and with a low gurgle sprang at the boy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David, quick as a flash, dodged, bent, and picked up an ugly stake, lying
+      at his feet. Swinging round, all in a moment, he dealt his antagonist a
+      mighty buffet on the side of the head. Dazed with the blow, the great dog
+      fell; then, recovering himself, with a terrible, deep roar he sprang
+      again. Then it must have gone hard with the boy, fine-grown, muscular
+      young giant though he was. For Red Wull was now in the first bloom of that
+      great strength which earned him afterward an undying notoriety in the
+      land.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As it chanced, however, M'Adam had watched the scene from the kitchen. And
+      now he came hurrying out of the house, shrieking commands and curses at
+      the combatants. As Red Wull sprang, he interposed between the two, head
+      back and eyes flashing. His small person received the full shock of the
+      charge. He staggered, but recovered, and in an imperative voice ordered
+      the dog to heel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he turned on David, seized the stake from his hand, and began
+      furiously belaboring the boy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll teach ye to strike&mdash;a puir&mdash;dumb&mdash;harmless&mdash;creetur,
+      ye&mdash;cruel&mdash;cruel&mdash;-lad!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Hoo daur ye strike&mdash;ma&mdash;&mdash;Wullie?
+      yer&mdash;father's&mdash;&mdash;Wullie? Adam&mdash;M 'Adam's&mdash;Red
+      Wull?&rdquo; He was panting from his exertions, and his eyes were blazing. &ldquo;I
+      pit up as best I can wi' all manner o' disrespect to masel'; but when it
+      comes to takin' ma puir Wullie, I canna thole it. Ha' ye no heart?&rdquo; he
+      asked, unconscious of the irony of the question.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As much as some, I reck'n,&rdquo; David muttered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, what's that? What d'ye say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye may thrash me till ye're blind; and it's nob'but yer duty; but if only
+      one daurs so much as to look at yer Wullie ye're mad,&rdquo; the boy answered
+      bitterly. And with that he turned away defiantly and openly in the
+      direction of Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam made a step forward, and then stopped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll see ye agin, ma lad, this evenin',&rdquo; he cried with cruel
+      significance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I doot but yo'll be too drunk to see owt&mdash;except, 'appen, your
+      bottle,&rdquo; the boy shouted back; and swaggered down the hill.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      At Kenmuir that night the marked and particular kindness of Elizabeth
+      Moore was too much for the overstrung lad. Overcome by the contrast of her
+      sweet motherliness, he burst into a storm of invective against his father,
+      his home, his life&mdash;everything.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't 'ee, Davie, don't 'ee, dearie!&rdquo; cried Mrs. Moore, much distressed.
+      And taking him to her she talked to the great, sobbing boy as though he
+      were a child. At length he lifted his face and looked up; and, seeing the
+      white, wan countenance of his dear comforter, was struck with tender
+      remorse that he had given way and pained her, who looked so frail and thin
+      herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He mastered himself with an effort; and, for the rest of the evening, was
+      his usual cheery self. He teased Maggie into tears; chaffed stolid little
+      Andrew; and bantered Sam'l Todd until that generally impassive man
+      threatened to bash his snout for him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet it was with a great swallowing at his throat that, later, he turned
+      down the slope for home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore and Parson Leggy accompanied him to the bridge over the
+      Wastrel, and stood a while watching as he disappeared into the summer
+      night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yon's a good lad,&rdquo; said the Master half to himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; the parson replied; &ldquo;I always thought there was good in the boy, if
+      only his father'd give him a chance. And look at the way Owd Bob there
+      follows him. There's not another soul outside Kenmuir he'd do that for.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, sir,&rdquo; said the Master. &ldquo;Bob knows a mon when he sees one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He does,&rdquo; acquiesced the other. &ldquo;And by the by, James, the talk in the
+      village is that you've settled not to run him for the Cup. Is, that so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master nodded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is, sir. They're all mad I should, but I mun cross 'em. They say he's
+      reached his prime&mdash;and so he has o' his body, but not o' his brain.
+      And a sheep-dog&mdash;unlike other dogs&mdash;is not at his best till his
+      brain is at its best&mdash;and that takes a while developin', same as in a
+      mon, I reck'n.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, well,&rdquo; said the parson, pulling out a favorite phrase, &ldquo;waiting's
+      winning&mdash;waiting's winning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      David slipped up into his room and into bed unseen, he hoped. Alone with
+      the darkness, he allowed himself the rare relief of tears; and at length
+      fell asleep. He awoke to find his father standing at his bedside. The
+      little man held a feeble dip-candle in his hand, which lit his sallow face
+      in crude black and white. In the doorway, dimly outlined, was the great
+      figure of Red Wull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whaur ha' ye been the day?&rdquo; the little man asked. Then, looking down on
+      the white stained face beneath him, he added hurriedly: &ldquo;If ye like to
+      lie, I'll believe ye.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David was out of bed and standing up in his night-shirt. He looked at his
+      father contemptuously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I ha' bin at Kenmuir. I'll not lie for yo' or your likes,&rdquo; he said
+      proudly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man shrugged his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tell a lee and stick to it,' is my rule, and a good one, too, in honest
+      England. I for one 'll no think ony the worse o' ye if yer memory plays
+      yer false.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;D'yo' think I care a kick what yo' think o' me?&rdquo; the boy asked brutally.
+      &ldquo;Nay; there's 'nough liars in this fam'ly wi'oot me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The candle trembled and was still again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A lickin' or a lie&mdash;tak' yer choice!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy looked scornfully down on his father. Standing on his naked feet,
+      he already towered half a head above the other and was twice the man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;D'yo' think I'm fear'd o' a thrashin' fra yo'? Goo' gracious me!&rdquo; he
+      sneered. &ldquo;Why, I'd as lief let owd Grammer Maddox lick me, for all I
+      care.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A reference to his physical insufficiencies fired the little man as surely
+      as a lighted match powder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye maun be cauld, standin' there so. Rin ye doon and fetch oor little
+      frien'&rdquo;&mdash;a reference to a certain strap hanging in the kitchen. &ldquo;I'll
+      see if I can warm ye.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David turned and stumbled down the unlit, narrow stairs. The hard, cold
+      boards struck like death against his naked feet. At his heels followed Red
+      Wull, his hot breath fanning the boy's bare legs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So into the kitchen and back up the stairs, and Red Wull always following.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll no despair yet o' teachin' ye the fifth commandment, though I kill
+      masel' in doin' it!&rdquo; cried the little man, seizing the strap from the
+      boy's numb grasp.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      When it was over, M'Adam turned, breathless, away. At the threshold of the
+      room he stopped and looked round: a little, dim-lit, devilish figure,
+      framed in the door; while from the blackness behind, Red Wull's eyes
+      gleamed yellow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Glancing back, the little man caught such an expression on David's face
+      that for once he was fairly afraid. He banged the door and hobbled
+      actively down the stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter VII. THE WHITE WINTER
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      M'ADAM&mdash;in his sober moments at least&mdash;never touched David
+      again; instead, he devoted himself to the more congenial exercise of the
+      whiplash of his tongue. And he was wise; for David, who was already nigh a
+      head the taller of the two, and comely and strong in proportion, could, if
+      he would, have taken his father in the hollow of his hand and crumpled him
+      like a dry leaf. Moreover, with his tongue, at least, the little man
+      enjoyed the noble pleasure of making the boy wince. And so the war was
+      carried on none the less vindictively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile another summer was passing away, and every day brought fresh
+      proofs of the prowess of Owd Bob. Tammas, whose stock of yarns anent Rex
+      son of Rally had after forty years' hard wear begun to pall on the loyal
+      ears of even old Jonas, found no lack of new material now. In the
+      Dalesman's Daughter in Silverdale and in the Border Ram at Grammoch-town,
+      each succeeding market day brought some fresh tale. Men told how the gray
+      dog had outdone Gypsy Jack, the sheep-sneak; how he had cut out a Kenmuir
+      shearling from the very centre of Londesley's pack; and a thousand like
+      stories.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Gray Dogs of Kenmuir have always been equally heroes and favorites in
+      the Daleland. And the confidence of the Dalesmen in Owd Bob was now
+      invincible. Sometimes on market days he would execute some unaccountable
+      maneuvre, and... strange shepherd would ask: &ldquo;What's the gray dog at?&rdquo; To
+      which the nearest Dalesman would reply: &ldquo;Nay, I canno tell ye! But he's
+      reet enough. Yon's Owd Bob o' Kenmuir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Whereon the stranger would prick his ears and watch with close attention.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yon's Owd Bob o' Kenmuir, is he?&rdquo; he would say; for already among the
+      faculty the name was becoming known. And never in such a case did the
+      young dog fail to justify the faith of his supporters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It came, therefore, as a keen disappointment to every Dalesman, from
+      Herbert Trotter, Secretary of the Trials, to little Billy Thornton, when
+      the Master persisted in his decision not to run the dog for the Cup in the
+      approaching Dale Trials; and that though parson, squire, and even Lady
+      Eleanour essayed to shake his purpose. It was nigh fifty years since Rex
+      son o' Rally had won back the Trophy for the land that gave it birth; it
+      was time, they thought, for a Daleland dog, a Gray Dog of Kenmuir&mdash;the
+      terms are practically synonymous&mdash;to bring it home again. And Tammas,
+      that polished phrase-maker, was only expressing the feelings of every
+      Dalesman in the room when, one night at the Arms, he declared of Owd Bob
+      that &ldquo;to ha' run was to ha' won.&rdquo; At which M'Adam sniggered audibly and
+      winked at Red Wull. &ldquo;To ha' run was to ha' one&mdash;lickin'; to rin next
+      year'll be to&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Win next year.&rdquo; Tammas interposed dogmatically. &ldquo;Onless&rdquo;&mdash;with
+      shivering sarcasm&mdash;&ldquo;you and yer Wullie are thinkin' o' winnin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man rose from his solitary seat at the back of the room and
+      pattered across. &ldquo;Wullie and I are thinkin' o' t,&rdquo; he whispered loudly in
+      the old man's ear. &ldquo;And mair: what Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull think o'
+      doin', that, ye may remairk, Mr. Thornton, they do. Next year we rin, and
+      next year&mdash;we win. Come, Wullie, we'll leave 'em to chew that&rdquo;; and
+      he marched out of the room amid the jeers of the assembled topers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When quiet was restored, it was Jim Mason who declared: &ldquo;One thing
+      certain, win or no, they'll not be far off.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile the summer ended abruptly. Hard on the heels of a sweltering
+      autumn the winter came down. In that year the Daleland assumed very early
+      its white cloak. The Silver Mere was soon ice-veiled; the Wastrel rolled
+      sullenly down below Kenmuir, its creeks and quiet places tented with
+      jagged sheets of ice; while the Scaur and Muir Pike raised hoary heads
+      against the frosty blue. It was the season still remembered in the North
+      as the White Winter&mdash;the worst, they say, since the famous 1808.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For days together Jim Mason was stuck with his bags in the Dalesman's
+      Daughter, and there was no communication between the two Dales. On the
+      Mere Marches the snow massed deep and impassable in thick, billowy drifts.
+      In the Devil's Bowl men said it lay piled some score feet deep. And sheep,
+      seeking shelter in the ghylls and protected spots, were buried and lost in
+      their hundreds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That is the time to test the hearts of shepherds and sheep-dogs, when the
+      wind runs ice-cold across the waste of white, and the low woods on the
+      upland walks shiver black through a veil of snow, and sheep must be found
+      and folded or lost: a trial of head as well as heart, of resource as well
+      as resolution.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In that winter more than one man and many a dog lost his life in the quiet
+      performance of his duty, gliding to death over the slippery snow-shelves,
+      or overwhelmed beneath an avalanche of the warm, suffocating white:
+      &ldquo;smoored,&rdquo; as they call it. Many a deed was done, many a death died,
+      recorded only in that Book which holds the names of those&mdash;men or
+      animals, souls or no souls&mdash;who tried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They found old Wrottesley, the squire's head shepherd, lying one morning
+      at Gill's foot, like a statue in its white bed, the snow gently blowing
+      about the venerable face, calm and beautiful in death. And stretched upon
+      his bosom, her master's hands blue, and stiff, still clasped about her
+      neck, his old dog Jess. She had huddled there, as a last hope, to keep the
+      dear, dead master warm, her great heart riven, hoping where there was no
+      hope.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That night she followed him to herd sheep in a better land. Death from
+      exposure, Dingley, the vet., gave it; but as little M'Adam, his eyes
+      dimmer than their wont, declared huskily; &ldquo;We ken better, Wullie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril Gilbraith, a young man not overburdened with emotions, told with a
+      sob in his voice how, at the terrible Rowan Rock, Jim Mason had stood,
+      impotent, dumb, big-eyed, watching Betsy&mdash;Betsy, the friend and
+      partner of the last ten years&mdash;slipping over the ice-cold surface,
+      silently appealing to the hand that had never failed her before&mdash;sliding
+      to Eternity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the Daleland that winter the endurance of many a shepherd and his dog
+      was strained past breaking-point. From the frozen Black Water to the
+      white-peaked Grammoch Pike two men only, each always with his shaggy
+      adjutant, never owned defeat; never turned back; never failed in a thing
+      attempted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the following spring, Mr. Tinkerton, the squire's agent, declared that
+      James Moore and Adam M'Adam&mdash;Owd Bob, rather, and Red Wull&mdash;had
+      lost between them fewer sheep than any single farmer on the whole March
+      Mere Estate&mdash;a proud record.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of the two, many a tale was told that winter. They were invincible,
+      incomparable; worthy antagonists.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was Owd Bob who, when he could not drive the band of Black Faces over
+      the narrow Razorback which led to safety, induced them to <i>follow</i>
+      him across that ten-inch death-track, one by one, like children behind
+      their mistress. It was Red Wull who was seen coming down the precipitous
+      Saddler's How, shouldering up that grand old gentleman, King o' the Dale,
+      whose leg was broken.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The gray dog it was who found Cyril Gilbraith by the White Stones, with a
+      cigarette and a sprained ankle, on the night the whole village was out
+      with lanterns searching for the well-loved young scapegrace. It was the
+      Tailless Tyke and his master who one bitter evening came upon little Mrs.
+      Burton, lying in a huddle beneath the lea of the fast-whitening Druid's
+      Pillar with her latest baby on her breast. It was little M'Adam who took
+      off his coat and wrapped the child in it; little M'Adam who unwound his
+      plaid, threw it like a breastband across the dog's great chest, and tied
+      the ends round the weary woman's waist. Red Wull it was who dragged her
+      back to the Sylvester Arms and life, straining like a giant through the
+      snow, while his master staggered behind with the babe in his arms. When
+      they reached the inn it was M'Adam who, with a smile on his face, told the
+      landlord what he thought of him for sending <i>his</i> wife across the
+      Marches on such a day and on his errand. To which: &ldquo;I'd a cauld,&rdquo; pleaded
+      honest Jem.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For days together David could not cross the Stony Bottom to Kenmuir. His
+      enforced confinement to the Grange led, however, to no more frequent
+      collisions than usual with his father. For M'Adam and Red Wull were out,
+      at all hours, in all weathers, night and day, toiling at their work of
+      salvation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last, one afternoon, David managed to cross the Bottom at a point where
+      a fallen thorn-tree gave him a bridge over the soft snow. He stayed but a
+      little while at Kenmuir, yet when he started for home it was snowing
+      again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By the time he had crossed the ice-draped bridge over the Wastrel, a
+      blizzard was raging. The wind roared past him, smiting him so that he
+      could barely stand; and the snow leaped at him so that he could not see.
+      But he held on doggedly; slipping, sliding, tripping, down and up again,
+      with one arm shielding his face. On, on, into the white darkness, blindly
+      on sobbing, stumbling, dazed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length, nigh dead, he reached the brink of the Stony Bottom. He looked
+      up and he looked down, but nowhere in that blinding mist could he see the
+      fallen thorn-tree. He took a step forward into the white morass, and 'sank
+      up to his thigh. He struggled feebly to free himself, and sank deeper. The
+      snow wreathed, twisting, round him like a white flame, and he collapsed,
+      softly crying, on that soft bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I canna&mdash;I canna!&rdquo; he moaned.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Little Mrs. Moore, her face whiter and frailer than ever, stood at the
+      window, looking out into the storm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I canna rest for thinkin' o' th' lad,&rdquo; she said. Then, turning, she saw
+      her husband, his fur cap down over his ears, buttoning his pilot-coat
+      about his throat, while Owd Bob stood at his feet, waiting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye're no goin', James?&rdquo; she asked, anxiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I am, lass,&rdquo; he answered; and she knew him too well to say more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So those two went quietly out to save life or lose it, nor counted the
+      cost.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Down a wind-shattered slope&mdash;over a spar of ice&mdash;up an eternal
+      hill&mdash;a forlorn hope.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a whirlwind chaos of snow, the tempest storming at them, the white
+      earth lashing them, they fought a good fight. In front, Owd Bob, the snow
+      clogging his shaggy coat, his hair cutting like lashes of steel across
+      eyes, his head lowered as he followed the finger of God; and close behind,
+      James Moore, his back stern against the storm, stalwart still, yet swaying
+      like a tree before the wind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So they battled through to the brink of the Stony Bottom&mdash;only to
+      arrive too late.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For, just as the Master peering about him, had caught sight of a shapeless
+      lump lying motionless in front, there loomed across the snow-choked gulf
+      through the white riot of the storm a gigantic figure forging, doggedly
+      forward, his great head down to meet the hurricane. And close behind,
+      buffeted and bruised, stiff and staggering, a little dauntless figure
+      holding stubbornly on, clutching with one hand at the gale; and a shrill
+      voice, whirled away on the trumpet tones of the wind, crying:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     'Noo, Wullie, wi' me!
+     Scots wha' hae wi' Wallace bled!
+     Scots wham Bruce has often led!
+     Welcome to &mdash;&mdash;!'
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here he is, Wullie!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     '&mdash;or to victorie!&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      The brave little voice died away. The quest; was over; the lost sheep
+      found. And the last James Moore saw of them was the same small, gallant
+      form, half carrying, half dragging the rescued boy out of the Valley of
+      the Shadow and away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David was none the worse for his adventure, for on reaching home M'Adam
+      produced a familiar bottle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here's something to warm yer inside, and&rdquo;&mdash;making a feint at the
+      strap on the walls&mdash;' &ldquo;here's something to do the same by yer &mdash;&mdash;.
+      But, Wullie, oot again!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And out they went&mdash;unreckoned heroes.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      It was but a week later, in the very heart of the bitter time, that there
+      came a day when, from gray dawn to grayer eve, neither James Moore nor Owd
+      Bob stirred out into the wintry white. And the Master's face was hard and
+      set as it always was in time of trouble.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Outside, the wind screamed down the Dale; while the snow fell
+      relentlessly; softly fingering the windows, blocking the doors, and piling
+      deep against the walls. Inside the house there was a strange quiet; no
+      sound save for hushed voices, and upstairs the shuffling of muffled feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Below, all day long, Owd Bob patrolled the passage like some silent, gray
+      spectre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once there came a low knocking at the door; and David, his face and hair
+      and cap smothered in the all-pervading white, came in with an eddy of
+      snow. He patted Owd Bob, and moved on tiptoe into the kitchen. To him came
+      Maggie softly, shoes in hand, with white, frightened face. The two
+      whispered anxiously awhile like brother and sister as they were; then the
+      boy crept quietly away; only a little pool of water on the floor and wet,
+      treacherous foot-dabs toward the door testifying to the visitor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Toward evening the wind died down, but the mourning flakes still fell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With the darkening of night Owd Bob retreated to the porch and lay down on
+      his blanket. The light from the lamp at the head of the stairs shone
+      through the crack of open door on his dark head and the eyes that never
+      slept.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The hours passed, and the gray knight still kept his vigil. Alone in the
+      darkness&mdash;alone, it almost seemed, in the house&mdash;he watched. His
+      head lay motionless along his paws, but the steady gray eyes never
+      flinched or drooped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Time tramped on on leaden foot, and still he waited; and ever the pain of
+      hovering anxiety was stamped deeper in the gray eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length it grew past bearing; the hollow stillness of the house overcame
+      him. He rose, pushed open the door, and softly pattered across the
+      passage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the foot of the stairs he halted, his forepaws on the first step, his
+      grave face and pleading eyes uplifted, as though he were praying. The dim
+      light fell on the raised head; and the white escutcheon on his breast
+      shone out like the snow on Salmon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length, with a sound like a sob, he dropped to the ground, and stood
+      listening, his tail dropping and head raised. Then he turned and began
+      softly pacing up and down, like some velvet-footed sentinel at the gate of
+      death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Up and down, up and down, softly as the falling snow, for a weary, weary
+      while.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again he stopped and stood, listening intently, at the foot of the stairs;
+      and his gray coat quivered as though there were a draught.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of a sudden, the deathly stillness of the house was broken. Upstairs, feet
+      were running hurriedly. There was a cry, and again silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A life was coming in; a life was going out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The minutes passed; hours passed; and, at the sunless dawn, a life passed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And all through that night of age-long agony the gray figure stood, still
+      as a statue, at the foot of the stairs. Only, when, with the first chill
+      breath of the morning, a dry, quick-quenched sob of a strong man sorrowing
+      for the helpmeet of a score of years, and a tiny cry of a new-born child
+      wailing because its mother was not, came down to his ears, the Gray
+      Watchman dropped his head upon his bosom, and, with a little whimpering
+      note, crept back to his blanket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A little later the door above opened, and James Moore tramped down the
+      stairs. He looked taller and gaunter than his wont, but there was no trace
+      of emotion on his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the foot of the stairs Owd Bob stole out to meet him. He came crouching
+      up, head and tail down, in a manner no man ever saw before or since. At
+      his master's feet he stopped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, for one short moment, James Moore's whole face quivered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, lad,&rdquo; he said, quite low, and his voice broke; &ldquo;she's awa'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That was all; for they were an undemonstrative couple.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then they turned and went out together into the bleak morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter VIII. M'ADAM AND HIS COAT
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      To David M'Adam the loss of gentle Elizabeth Moore was as real a grief as
+      to her children. Yet he manfully smothered his own aching heart and
+      devoted himself to comforting the mourners at Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the days succeeding Mrs. Moore's death the boy recklessly neglected his
+      duties at the Grange. But little M'Adam forbore to rebuke him. At times,
+      indeed, he essayed to be passively kind. David, however, was too deeply
+      sunk in his great sorrow to note the change.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The day of the funeral came. The earth was throwing off its ice-fetters;
+      and the Dale was lost in a mourning mist.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the afternoon M'Adam was standing at the window of the kitchen,
+      contemplating the infinite weariness of the scene, when the door of the
+      house opened and shut noiselessly. Red Wull raised himself on to the sill
+      and growled, and David hurried past the window making for Kenmuir. M'Adam
+      watched the passing figure indifferently; then with an angry oath sprang
+      to the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bring me back that coat, ye thief!&rdquo; he cried, tapping fiercely on the
+      pane. &ldquo;Tak' it aff at onst, ye muckle gowk, or I'll come and tear it aff
+      ye. D'ye see him, Wullie? the great coof has ma coat&mdash;me black coat,
+      new last Michaelmas, and it rainin' 'nough to melt it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He threw the window up with a bang and leaned out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bring it back, I tell ye, ondootiful, or I'll summons ye. Though ye've no
+      respect for me, ye might have for ma claithes. Ye're too big for yer ain
+      boots, let alane ma coat. D'ye think I had it cut for a elephant? It's
+      burst-in', I tell ye. Tak' it aff! Fetch it here, or I'll e'en send Wullie
+      to bring it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David paid no heed except to begin running heavily down the hill. The coat
+      was stretched in wrinkled agony across his back; his big, red wrists
+      protruded like shank-bones from the sleeves; and the little tails flapped
+      wearily in vain attempts to reach the wearer's legs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam, bubbling over with indignation, scrambled half through the open
+      window. Then, tickled at the amazing impudence of the thing, he paused,
+      smiled, dropped to the ground again, and watched the uncouth, retreating
+      figure with chuckling amusement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did ye ever see the like o' that, Wullie?&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;Ma puir coat&mdash;puir
+      wee coatie! it gars me greet to see her in her pain. A man's coat, Wullie,
+      is aften unco sma' for his son's back; and David there is strainin' and
+      stretchin' her nigh to brakin', for a' the world as he does ma
+      forbearance. And what's he care aboot the one or t'ither?&mdash;not a
+      finger-flip.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As he stood watching the disappearing figure there began the slow tolling
+      of the minute-bell in the little Dale church. Now near, now far, now loud,
+      now low, its dull chant rang out through the mist like the slow-dropping
+      tears of a mourning world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam listened, almost reverently, as the bell tolled on, the only sound
+      in the quiet Dale. Outside, a drizzling rain was falling; the snow
+      dribbled down the hill in muddy tricklets; and trees and roofs and windows
+      dripped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And still the bell tolled on, calling up relentlessly sad memories of the
+      long ago.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was on just such another dreary day, in just such another December, and
+      not so many years gone by, that the light had gone forever out of his
+      life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The whole picture rose as instant to his eyes as if it had been but
+      yesterday. That insistent bell brought the scene surging back to him: the
+      dismal day; the drizzle; the few mourners; little David decked out in
+      black, his fair hair contrasting with his gloomy clothes, his face swollen
+      with weeping; the Dale hushed, it seemed in death, save for the tolling of
+      the bell; and his love had left him and gone to the happy land the
+      hymn-books talk of.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Red Wull, who had been watching him uneasily, now came up and shoved his
+      muzzle into his master's hand. The cold touch brought the little man back
+      to earth. He shook himself, turned wearily away from the window, and went
+      to the door of the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood there looking out; and all round him was the eternal drip, drip
+      of the thaw. The wind lulled, and again the minute-bell tolled out clear
+      and inexorable, resolute to recall what was and what had been.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a choking gasp the little man turned into the house, and ran up the
+      stairs and into his room. He dropped on his knees beside the great chest
+      in the corner, and unlocked the bottom drawer, the key turning noisily in
+      its socket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the drawer he searched with feverish fingers, and produced at length a
+      little paper packet wrapped about with a stained yellow ribbon. It was the
+      ribbon she had used to weave on Sundays into her soft hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Inside the packet was a cheap, heart-shaped frame, and in it a photograph.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Up there it was too dark to see. The little man ran down the stairs, Red
+      Wull jostling him as he went, and hurried to the window in the kitchen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a sweet, laughing face that looked up at him from the frame, demure
+      yet arch, shy yet roguish&mdash;a face to look at and a face to love.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he looked a wintry smile, wholly tender, half tearful, stole over the
+      little man's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lassie,&rdquo; he whispered, and his voice was infinitely soft, &ldquo;it's lang sin'
+      I've daured look at ye. But it's no that ye're forgotten, dearie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he covered his eyes with his hand as though he were blinded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dinna look at me sae, lass!&rdquo; he cried, and fell on his knees, kissing the
+      picture, hugging it to him and sobbing passionately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Red Wull came up and pushed his face compassionately into his master's;
+      but the little man shoved him roughly away, and the dog retreated into a
+      corner, abashed and reproachful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Memories swarmed back on the little man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was more than a decade ago now, and yet he dared barely think of that
+      last evening when she had lain so white and still in the little room
+      above.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pit the bairn on the bed, Adam man,&rdquo; she had said in low tones. &ldquo;I'll be
+      gaein' in a wee while noo. It's the lang good-by to you&mdash;and him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had done her bidding and lifted David up. The tiny boy lay still a
+      moment, looking at this white-faced mother whom he hardly recognized.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Minnie!&rdquo; he called piteously. Then, thrusting a small, dirty hand into
+      his pocket, he pulled out a grubby sweet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Minnie, ha' a sweetie&mdash;ain o' Davie's sweeties!&rdquo; and he held it out
+      anxiously in his warm plump palm, thinking it a certain cure for any ill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eat it for mither,&rdquo; she said, smiling tenderly; and then: &ldquo;Davie, ma
+      heart, I'm leavin' ye.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy ceased sucking the sweet, and looked at her, the corners of his
+      mouth drooping pitifully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye're no gaein' awa', mither?&rdquo; he asked, his face all working. &ldquo;Ye'll no
+      leave yen wee laddie?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, laddie, awa'&mdash;reet awa'. HE's callin' me.&rdquo; She tried to smile;
+      but her mother's heart was near to bursting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye'll tak' yen wee Davie wi' ye mither!&rdquo; the child pleaded, crawling up
+      toward her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The great tears rolled, unrestrained, down her wan cheeks, and M'Adam, at
+      the head of the bed, was sobbing openly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, ma bairn, ma bairn, I'm sair to leave ye!&rdquo; she cried brokenly. &ldquo;Lift
+      him for me, Adam.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He placed the child in her arms; but she was too weak to hold him. So he
+      laid him upon his mother's pillows; and the boy wreathed his soft arms
+      about her neck and sobbed tempestuously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And the two lay thus together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just before she died, Flora turned her head and whispered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Adam, ma man, ye'll ha' to be mither and father baith to the lad noo&rdquo;;
+      and she looked at him with tender confidence in her dying eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wull! afore God as I stan' here I wull!&rdquo; he declared passionately. Then
+      she died, and there was a look of ineffable peace upon her face.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mither and father baith!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man rose to his feet and flung the photograph from him. Red
+      Wull pounced upon it; but M'Adam leapt at him as he mouthed it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Git awa', ye devil!&rdquo; he screamed; and, picking it up, stroked it lovingly
+      with trembling fingers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maither and father baith!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      How had he fulfilled his love's last wish? How!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh God! &ldquo;&mdash;and he fell upon his knees at the table-side, hugging the
+      picture, sobbing and praying.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Red Wull cowered in the far corner of the room, and then crept whining up
+      to where his master knelt. But M'Adam heeded him not, and the great dog
+      slunk away again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There the little man knelt in the gloom of the winter's afternoon, a
+      miserable penitent. His gray-flecked head was bowed upon his arms; his
+      hands clutched the picture; and he prayed aloud in gasping, halting tones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gie me grace, O God! 'Father and mither baith,' ye said, Flora&mdash;and
+      I ha'na done it. But 'tis no too late&mdash;say it's no, lass. Tell me
+      there's time yet, and say ye forgie me. I've tried to bear wi' him mony
+      and mony a time. But he's vexed me, and set himself agin me, and stiffened
+      my back, and ye ken hoo I was aye quick to tak' offence. But I'll mak' it
+      up to him&mdash;mak' it up to him, and mair. I'll humble masel' afore him,
+      and that'll be bitter enough. And I'll be father and mither baith to him.
+      But there's bin none to help me; and it's bin sair wi'oot ye. And&mdash;.
+      but, eh, lassie, I'm wearyin' for ye!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      It was a dreary little procession that wound in the drizzle from Kenmuir
+      to the little Dale Church. At the head stalked James Moore, and close
+      behind David in his meagre coat. While last of all, as if to guide the
+      stragglers in the weary road, come Owd Bob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a full congregation in the tiny church now. In the squire's pew
+      were Cyril Gilbraith, Muriel Sylvester, and, most conspicuous, Lady
+      Eleanour. Her slender figure was simply draped in gray, with gray fur
+      about the neck and gray fur edging sleeves and jacket; her veil was
+      lifted, and you could see the soft hair about her temples, like waves
+      breaking on white cliffs, and her eyes big with tender sympathy as she
+      glanced toward the pew upon her right.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For there were the mourners from Kenmuir: the Master, tall, grim, and
+      gaunt; and beside him Maggie, striving to be calm, and little Andrew, the
+      miniature of his father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alone, in the pew behind, David M'Adam in his father's coat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The back of the church was packed with farmers from the whole March Mere
+      Estate; friends from Silverdale and Grammoch-town; and nearly every soul
+      in Wastrel-dale, come to show their sympathy for the living and reverence
+      for the dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last the end came in the wet dreariness of the little churchyard, and
+      slowly the mourners departed, until at length were left only the parson,
+      the Master, and Owd Bob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The parson was speaking in rough, short accents, digging nervously at the
+      wet ground. The other, tall and gaunt, his face drawn and half-averted,
+      stood listening. By his side was Owd Bob, scanning his master's
+      countenance, a wistful compassion deep in the sad gray eyes; while close
+      by, one of the parson's terriers was nosing inquisitively in the wet
+      grass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of a sudden, James Moore, his face still turned away, stretched out a
+      hand. The parson, broke off abruptly and grasped it. Then the two men
+      strode away in opposite directions, the terrier hopping on three legs and
+      shaking the rain off his hard coat.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      David's steps sounded outside. M'Adam rose from his knees. The door of the
+      house opened, and the boy's feet shuffled in the passage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;David!&rdquo; the little man called in a tremulous voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood in the half-light, one hand on the table, the other clasping the
+      picture. His eyes were bleared, his thin hair all tossed, and he was
+      shaking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;David,&rdquo; he called again; &ldquo;I've somethin' I wush to say to ye!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy burst into the room. His face was stained with tears and rain; and
+      the new black coat was wet and slimy all down the front, and on the elbows
+      were green-brown, muddy blots. For, on his way home, he had flung himself
+      down in the Stony Bottom just as he was, heedless of the wet earth and his
+      father's coat, and, lying on his face thinking of that second mother lost
+      to him, had wept his heart out in a storm of passionate grief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now he stood defiantly, his hand upon the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What d'yo' want?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man looked from him to the picture in his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Help me, Flora&mdash;he'll no,&rdquo; he prayed. Then raising his eyes, he
+      began: &ldquo;I'd like to say&mdash;I've bin thinkin'&mdash;I think I should
+      tell ye&mdash;it's no an easy thing for a man to say&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He broke off short. The self-imposed task was almost more than he could
+      accomplish.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked appealingly at David. But there was no glimmer of understanding
+      in that white, set countenance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O God, it's maist mair than I can do!&rdquo; the little man muttered; and the
+      perspiration stood upon his forehead. Again he began: &ldquo;David, after I saw
+      ye this afternoon steppin' doon the hill&mdash;&rdquo; Again he paused. His
+      glance rested unconsciously upon the coat. David mistook the look; mistook
+      the dimness in his father's eyes; mistook the tremor in his voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here 'tis! tak' yo' coat!&rdquo; he cried passionately; and, tearing it off,
+      flung it down at his father's feet. &ldquo;Tak' it&mdash;and&mdash;-and&mdash;curse
+      yo'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He banged out of the room and ran upstairs; and, locking himself in, threw
+      himself on to his bed and sobbed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Red Wull made a movement to fly at the retreating figure; then turned to
+      his master, his stump-tail vibrating with pleasure. But little M'Adam was
+      looking at the wet coat now lying in a wet bundle at his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Curse ye,&rdquo; he repeated softly. &ldquo;Curse ye&mdash;ye heard him. Wullie?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A bitter smile crept across his face. He looked again at the picture now
+      lying crushed in his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye canna say I didna try; ye canna ask me to agin,&rdquo; he muttered, and
+      slipped it into his pocket. &ldquo;Niver agin, Wullie; not if the Queen were to
+      ask it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he went out into the gloom and drizzle, still smiling the same bitter
+      smile.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      That night, when it came to closing-time at the Sylvester Arms, Jem Burton
+      found a little gray-haired figure lying on the floor in the tap-room. At
+      the little man's head lay a great dog.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' beast!&rdquo; said the righteous publican, regarding the figure of his best
+      customer with fine scorn. Then catching sight of a photograph in the
+      little man's hand:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yo're that sort, are yo', foxy?&rdquo; he leered. &ldquo;Gie us a look at 'er,&rdquo;
+       and he tried to disengage the picture from the other's grasp. But at the
+      attempt the great dog rose, bared his teeth, and assumed such a diabolical
+      expression that the big landlord retreated hurriedly behind the bar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Two on ye!&rdquo; he shouted viciously, rattling his heels; &ldquo;beasts baith!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_PART3" id="link2H_PART3">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      PART III THE SHEPHERDS' TROPHY
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter IX. RIVALS
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      M'ADAM never forgave his son. After the scene on the evening of the
+      funeral there could be no alternative but war for all time. The little man
+      had attempted to humble himself, and been rejected; and the bitterness of
+      defeat, when he had deserved victory, rankled like a poisoned barb in his
+      bosom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet the heat of his indignation was directed not against David, but
+      against the Master of Kenmuir. To the influence and agency of James Moore
+      he attributed his discomfiture, and bore himself accordingly. In public or
+      in private, in tap-room or market, he never wearied of abusing his enemy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Feel the loss o' his wife, d'ye say?&rdquo; he would cry. &ldquo;Ay, as muckle as I
+      feel the loss o' my hair. James Moore can feel naethin', I tell ye,
+      except, aiblins, a mischance to his meeserable dog.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When the two met, as they often must, it was always M'Adam's endeavor to
+      betray his enemy into an unworthy expression of feeling. But James Moore,
+      sorely tried as he often was, never gave way. He met the little man's
+      sneers with a quelling silence, looking down on his asp-tongued antagonist
+      with such a contempt flashing from his blue-gray eyes as hurt his
+      adversary more than words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only once was he spurred into reply. It was in the tap-room of the
+      Dalesman's Daughter on the occasion of the big spring fair in
+      Grammoch-town, when there was a goodly gathering of farmers and their dogs
+      in the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam was standing at the fireplace with Red Wull at his side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a noble pairt ye play, James Moore,&rdquo; he cried loudly across the
+      room, &ldquo;settin' son against father, and dividin' hoose against hoose. It's
+      worthy o' ye we' yer churchgoin', and yer psalm-singin', and yer
+      godliness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master looked up from the far end of the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Happen yo're not aware, M'Adam,&rdquo; he said sternly, &ldquo;that, an' it had not
+      bin for me, David'd ha' left you years agone&mdash;and 'twould nob'but ha'
+      served yo' right, I'm thinkin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man was beaten on his own ground, so he changed front.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dinna shout so, man&mdash;I have ears to hear, Forbye ye irritate
+      Wullie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Tailless Tyke, indeed, had advanced from the fireplace, and now stood,
+      huge and hideous, in the very centre of the room. There was distant
+      thunder in his throat, a threat upon his face, a challenge in every
+      wrinkle. And the Gray Dog stole gladly out from behind his master to take
+      up the gage of battle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Straightway there was silence; tongues ceased to wag, tankards to clink.
+      Every man and every dog was quietly gathering about those two central
+      figures. Not one of them all but had his score to wipe off against the
+      Tailless Tyke; not one of them but was burning to join in, the battle once
+      begun. And the two gladiators stood looking past one another, muzzle to
+      muzzle, each with a tiny flash of teeth glinting between his lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the fight was not to be; for the twentieth time the Master intervened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bob, lad, coom in!&rdquo; he called, and, bending, grasped his favorite by the
+      neck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam laughed softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie, Wullie, to me!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;The look o' you's enough for that
+      gentleman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If they get fightin' it'll no be Bob here I'll hit, I warn yo', M'Adam,&rdquo;
+       said the Master grimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gin ye sae muckle as touched Wullie d'ye ken what I'd do, James Moore?&rdquo;
+       asked the little man very smoothly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;sweer,&rdquo; the other replied, and strode out of the room amid a
+      roar of derisive laughter at M'Adam's expense.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Owd Bob had now attained wellnigh the perfection of his art. Parson Leggy
+      declared roundly that his like had not been seen since the days of Rex son
+      of Rally. Among the Dalesmen he was a heroic favorite, his prowess and
+      gentle ways winning him friends on every hand. But the point that told
+      most heavily for him was that in all things he was the very antithesis of
+      Red Wull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Barely a man in the country-side but owed that ferocious savage a grudge;
+      not a man of them all who dared pay it. Once Long Kirby, full of beer and
+      valor, tried to settle his account. Coming on M'Adam and Red Wull as he
+      was driving into Grammoch-town, he leant over and with his thong dealt the
+      dog a terrible sword-like slash that raised an angry ridge of red from hip
+      to shoulder; and was twenty yards down the road before the little man's
+      shrill curse reached his ear, drowned in a hideous bellow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood up and lashed the colt, who, quick on his legs for a young un,
+      soon settled to his gallop. But, glancing over his shoulder, he saw a
+      hounding form behind, catching him as though he were walking. His face
+      turned sickly white; he screamed; he flogged; he looked back. Right
+      beneath the tail-board was the red devil in the dust; while racing a
+      furlong behind on the turnpike road was the mad figure of M'Adam.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The smith struck back and flogged forward. It was of no avail. With a
+      tiger-like bound the murderous brute leapt on the flying trap. At the
+      shock of the great body the colt was thrown violently on his side; Kirby
+      was tossed over the hedge; and Red Wull pinned beneath the debris.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam had time to rush up and save a tragedy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've a mind to knife ye, Kirby,&rdquo; he panted, as he bandaged the smith's
+      broken head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After that you may be sure the Dalesmen preferred to swallow insults
+      rather than to risk their lives; and their impotence only served to fan
+      their hatred to white heat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The working methods of the antagonists were as contrasted as their
+      appearances. In a word, the one compelled where the other coaxed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His enemies said the Tailless Tyke was rough; not even Tammas denied he
+      was ready. His brain was as big as his body, and he used them both to some
+      purpose. &ldquo;As quick as a cat, with the heart of a lion and the temper of
+      Nick's self,&rdquo; was Parson Leggy's description.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What determination could effect, that could Red Wall; but achievement by
+      inaction&mdash;supremest of all strategies&mdash;was not for him. In
+      matters of the subtlest handling, where to act anything except
+      indifference was to lose, with sheep restless, fearful forebodings hymned
+      to them by the wind, panic hovering unseen above them, when an
+      ill-considered movement spelt catastrophe&mdash;then was Owd Bob o'
+      Kenmuir incomparable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Men still tell how, when the squire's new thrashing-machine ran amuck in
+      Grammoch-town, and for some minutes the market square was a turbulent sea
+      of blaspheming men, yelping dogs, and stampeding sheep, only one flock
+      stood calm as a mill-pond by the bull-ring, watching the riot with almost
+      indifference. And in front, sitting between them and the storm, was a
+      quiet gray dog, his mouth stretched in a capacious yawn: to yawn was to
+      win, and he won.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the worst of the uproar was over, many a glance of triumph was shot
+      first at that one still pack, and then at M'Adam, as he waded through the
+      disorder of huddling sheep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And wheer's your Wullie noo?&rdquo; asked Tapper scornfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Weel,&rdquo; the little man answered with a quiet smile, &ldquo;at this minute he's
+      killin' your Rasper doon by the pump.&rdquo; Which was indeed the case; for big
+      blue Rasper had interfered with the great dog in the performance of his
+      duty, and suffered accordingly.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Spring passed into summer; and the excitement as to the event of the
+      approaching Trials, when at length the rivals would be pitted against one
+      another, reached such a height as old Jonas Maddox, the octogenarian,
+      could hardly recall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Down in the Sylvester Arms there was almost nightly a conflict between
+      M'Adam and Tammas Thornton, spokesman of the Dales men. Many a long-drawn
+      bout of words had the two anent the respective merits and Cup chances of
+      red and gray. In these duels Tammas was usually worsted. His temper would
+      get the better of his discretion; and the cynical debater would be lost in
+      the hot-tongued partisan.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      During these encounters the others would, as a rule, maintain a rigid
+      silence. Only when their champion was being beaten, and it was time for
+      strength of voice to vanquish strength of argument, they joined in right
+      lustily and roared the little man down, for all the world like the
+      gentlemen who rule the Empire at Westminster.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Tammas was an easy subject for M'Adam to draw, but David was an easier.
+      Insults directed at himself the boy bore with a stolidity born of long
+      use. But a poisonous dart shot against his friends at Kenmuir never failed
+      to achieve its object. And the little man evinced an amazing talent for
+      the concoction of deft lies respecting James Moore.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm hearin',&rdquo; said he, one evening, sitting in the kitchen, sucking his
+      twig; &ldquo;I'm hearin' James Moore is gaein' to git married agin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo're hearin' lies&mdash;or mair-like tellin' 'em,&rdquo; David answered
+      shortly. For he treated his father now with contemptuous indifference.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Seven months sin' his wife died,&rdquo; the little man continued meditatively.
+      &ldquo;Weel, I'm on'y 'stonished he's waited sae lang. Ain buried, anither come
+      on&mdash;that's James Moore.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David burst angrily out of the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gaein' to ask him if it's true?&rdquo; called his father after him. &ldquo;Gude luck
+      to ye&mdash;and him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David had now a new interest at Kenmuir. In Maggie he found an endless
+      source of study. On the death of her mother the girl had taken up the
+      reins of government at Kenmuir; and gallantly she played her part, whether
+      in tenderly mothering the baby, wee Anne, or in the sterner matters of
+      household work. She did her duty, young though she was, with a surprising,
+      old-fashioned womanliness that won many a smile of approval from her
+      father, and caused David's eyes to open with astonishment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And he soon discovered that Maggie, mistress of Kenmuir, was another
+      person from his erstwhile playfellow and servant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The happy days when might ruled right were gone, never to be recalled.
+      David often regretted them, especially when in a conflict of tongues,
+      Maggie, with her quick answers and teasing eyes, was driving him sulky and
+      vanquished from the field. The two were perpetually squabbling now. In the
+      good old days, he remembered bitterly, squabbles between them were
+      unknown. He had never permitted them; any attempt at independent thought
+      or action was as sternly quelled as in the Middle Ages. She must follow
+      where he led on&mdash;&ldquo;Ma word!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now she was mistress where he had been master; hers was to command, his to
+      obey. In consequence they were perpetually at war. And yet he would sit
+      for hours in the kitchen and watch her, as she went about her business,
+      with solemn, interested eyes, half of admiration, half of amusement. In
+      the end Maggie always turned on him with a little laugh touched with
+      irritation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Han't yo' got nothin' better'n that to do, nor lookin' at me?&rdquo; she asked
+      one Saturday about a month before Cup Day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I han't,&rdquo; the pert fellow rejoined.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I wish yo' had. It mak's me fair jumpety yo' watchin' me so like ony
+      cat a mouse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Niver yo' fash yo'sel' account o' me, ma wench,&rdquo; he answered calmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' wench, indeed!&rdquo; she cried, tossing her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, or will be,&rdquo; he muttered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's that?&rdquo; she cried, springing round, a flush of color on her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nowt, my dear. Yo'll know so soon as I want yo' to, yo' may be sure, and
+      no sooner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl resumed her baking, half angry, half suspicious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I dunno' what yo' mean, Mr. M'Adam,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't yo', Mrs. M'A&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The rest was lost in the crash of a falling plate; whereat David laughed
+      quietly, and asked if he should help pick up the bits.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      On the same evening at the Sylvester Arms an announcement was made that
+      knocked the breath out of its hearers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the debate that night on the fast-approaching Dale Trials and the
+      relative abilities of red and gray, M'Adam on the one side, and Tammas,
+      backed by Long Kirby and the rest, on the other, had cudgelled each other
+      with more than usual vigor. The controversy rose to fever-heat; abuse
+      succeeded argument; and the little man again and again was hooted into
+      silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's easy laffin',&rdquo; he cried at last, &ldquo;but ye'll laff t'ither side o' yer
+      ugly faces on Cup Day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will us, indeed? Us'll see,&rdquo; came the derisive chorus.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll whip ye till ye're deaf, dumb, and blind, Wullie and I.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      ''Yo'll not!''
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We will!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The voices were rising like the east wind in March.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo'll not, and for a very good reason too,&rdquo; asseverated Tammas loudly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gie us yer reason, ye muckle liar,&rdquo; cried the little man, turning on him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Becos&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; began Jim Mason and stopped to rub his nose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' 'old yo' noise, Jim,&rdquo; recommended Rob Saunderson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Becos&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; it was Tammas this time who paused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Git on wi' it, ye stammerin' stirk!&rdquo; cried M'Adam. &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Becos&mdash;Owd Bob'll not rin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Tammas sat back in his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What!&rdquo; screamed the little man, thrusting forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's that!&rdquo; yelled Long Kirby, leaping to his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mon, say it agin!&rdquo; shouted Rob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's owd addled eggs tellin'?&rdquo; cried Liz Burton.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dang his 'ead for him!&rdquo; shouts Tupper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fill his eye!&rdquo; says Ned Hoppin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They jostled round the old man's chair: M'Adam in front; Jem Burton and
+      Long Kirby leaning over his shoulder; Liz behind her father; Saunderson
+      and Tupper tackling him on either side; while the rest peered and elbowed
+      in the rear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The announcement had fallen like a thunderbolt among them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Tammas looked slowly up at the little mob of eager faces above him. Pride
+      at the sensation caused by his news struggled in his countenance with
+      genuine sorrow for the matter of it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, yo' may well 'earken all on yo'. Tis enough to mak' the deadies
+      listen. I says agin: We's'll no rin oor Bob fot' Cup. And yo' may guess
+      why. Bain't every mon, Mr. M'Adam, as'd pit aside his chanst o' the Cup,
+      and that 'maist a gift for him&rdquo;&mdash;M'Adam's tongue was in his cheek&mdash;&ldquo;and
+      it a certainty,&rdquo; the old man continued warmly, &ldquo;oot o' respect for his
+      wife's memory.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The news was received in utter silence. The shock of the surprise, coupled
+      with the bitterness of the disappointment, froze the slow tongues of his
+      listeners.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only one small voice broke the stillness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, the feelin' man! He should git a reduction o' rent for sic a display
+      o' proper speerit. I'll mind Mr. Hornbut to let auld Sylvester ken o't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Which he did, and would have got a thrashing for his pains had not Cyril
+      Gilbraith thrown him out of the parsonage before the angry cleric could
+      lay hands upon him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter X. RED WULL WINS
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      TAMMAS had but told the melancholy truth. Owd Bob was not to run for the
+      cup. And this self-denying ordinance speaks more for James Moore's love of
+      his lost wife than many a lordly cenotaph.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To the people of the Daleland, from the Black Water to the market-cross in
+      Grammoch-town, the news came with the shock of a sudden blow. They had set
+      their hearts on the Gray Dog's success; and had felt serenely confident of
+      his victory. But the sting of the matter lay in this: that now the
+      Tailless Tyke might well win.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam, on the other hand, was plunged into a fervor of delight at the
+      news. For to win the Shepherds' Trophy was the goal of his ambition. David
+      was now less than nothing to the lonely little man, Red Wull everything to
+      him. And to have that name handed down to posterity, gallantly holding its
+      place among those of the most famous sheep-dogs of all time, was his
+      heart's desire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As Cup Day drew near, the little man, his fine-drawn temperament strung to
+      the highest pitch of nervousness, was tossed on a sea of apprehension. His
+      hopes and fears ebbed and flowed on the tide of the moment. His moods were
+      as uncertain as the winds in March; and there was no dependence on his
+      humor for a unit of time. At one minute he paced up and down the kitchen,
+      his face already flushed with the glow of victory, chanting:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the next he was down at the table, his head buried in his hands, his
+      whole figure shaking, as he cried in choking voice: &ldquo;Eh, Wullie, Wullie,
+      they're all agin us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David found that life with his father now was life with an unamiable
+      hornet. Careless as he affected to be of his father's vagaries, he was
+      tried almost to madness, and fled away at every moment to Kenmuir; for, as
+      he told Maggie, &ldquo;I'd sooner put up wi' your h'airs and h'imperences, miss,
+      than wi' him, the wemon that he be!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      At length the great day came. Fears, hopes, doubts, dismays, all dispersed
+      in the presence of the reality.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cup Day is always a general holiday in the Daleland, and every soul crowds
+      over to Silverdale. Shops were shut; special trains ran in to
+      Grammoch-town; and the road from the little town was dazed with
+      char-a-bancs, brakes, wagonettes, carriages, carts, foot-passengers,
+      wending toward the Dalesman's Daughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And soon the paddock below that little inn was humming with the crowd of
+      sportsmen and spectators come to see the battle for the Shepherd's Trophy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There, very noticeable with its red body and yellow wheels, was the great
+      Kenmuir wagon. Many an eye was directed on the handsome young pair who
+      stood in it, conspicuous and unconscious, above the crowd: Maggie, looking
+      in her simple print frock as sweet and fresh as any mountain flower; while
+      David's fair face was all gloomy and his brows knit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In front of the wagon was a black cluster of Dalesmen, discussing M'Adam's
+      chances. In the centre was Tammas holding forth. Had you passed close to
+      the group you might have heard: &ldquo;A man, d'yo say, Mr. Maddox? A h'ape, I
+      call him&rdquo;; or: &ldquo;A dog? more like an 'og, I tell yo'.&rdquo; Round the old orator
+      were Jonas, 'Enry, and oor Job, Jem Burton, Rob Saunderson, Tupper, Jim
+      Mason, Hoppin, and others; while on the outskirts stood Sam'l Todd
+      prophesying rain and M'Adam's victory. Close at hand Bessie Bolstock, who
+      was reputed to have designs on David, was giggling spitefully at the pair
+      in the Kenmuir wagon, and singing:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let a lad aloan, lass, Let a lad a-be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      While her father, Teddy, dodged in and out among the crowd with tray and
+      glasses: for Cup Day was the great day of the year for him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Past the group of Dalesmen and on all sides was a mass of bobbing heads&mdash;Scots,
+      Northerners, Yorkshiremen, Taffies. To right and left a long array of
+      carriages and carts, ranging from the squire's quiet landau and Viscount
+      Birdsaye's gorgeous barouche to Liz Burton's three-legged moke-cart with
+      little Mrs. Burton, the twins, young Jake (who should have walked), and
+      Monkey (ditto) packed away inside. Beyond the Silver Lea the gaunt Scaur
+      raised its craggy peak, and the Pass, trending along its side, shone white
+      in the sunshine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the back of the carriages were booths, cocoanut-shies, Aunt Sallies,
+      shows, bookmakers' stools, and all the panoply of such a meeting. Here
+      Master Launcelot Bilks and Jacky Sylvester were fighting; Cyril Gilbraith
+      was offering to take on the boxing man; Long Kirby was snapping up the
+      odds against Red Wull; and Liz Burton and young Ned Hoppin were being
+      photographed together, while Melia Ross in the background was pretending
+      she didn't care.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the far bank of the stream was a little bevy of men and dogs, observed
+      of all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Juvenile Stakes had been run and won; Londesley's Lassie had carried
+      off the Locals; and the fight for the Shepherds' Trophy was about to
+      begin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo're not lookin' at me noo,&rdquo; whispered Maggie to the silent boy by her
+      side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay; nor niver don't wush to agin.&rdquo; David answered roughly. His gaze was
+      directed over the array of heads in front to where, beyond the Silver Lea,
+      a group of shepherds and their dogs was clustered. While standing apart
+      from the rest, in characteristic isolation, was the bent figure of his
+      father, and beside him the Tailless Tyke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Doest'o not want yo' feyther to win?&rdquo; asked Maggie softly, following his
+      gaze.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm prayin' he'll be beat,&rdquo; the boy answered moodily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, Davie, hoo can ye?&rdquo; cried the girl, shocked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's easy to say, 'Eh, David,'&rdquo; he snapped. &ldquo;But if yo' lived along o'
+      them two &ldquo;&mdash;he nodded toward the stream&mdash;&ldquo;'appen yo'd understand
+      a bit.... 'Eh, David,' indeed! I never did!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know it, lad,&rdquo; she said tenderly; and he was appeased.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He'd give his right hand for his bless'd Wullie to win; I'd give me right
+      arm to see him beat.... And oor Bob there all the while,&rdquo;&mdash;he nodded
+      to the far left of the line, where stood James Moore and Owd Bob, with
+      Parson Leggy and the Squire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When at length Red Wull came out to run his course, he worked with the
+      savage dash that always characterized him. His method was his own; but the
+      work was admirably done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Keeps right on the back of his sheep,&rdquo; said the parson, watching
+      intently. &ldquo;Strange thing they don't break!&rdquo; But they didn't. There was no
+      waiting, no coaxing; it was drive and devilry all through. He brought his
+      sheep along at a terrific rate, never missing a turn, never faltering,
+      never running out. And the crowd applauded, for the crowd loves a dashing
+      display. While little M'Adam, hopping agilely about, his face ablaze with
+      excitement, handled dog and sheep with a masterly precision that compelled
+      the admiration even of his enemies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;M'Adam wins!&rdquo; roared a bookmaker. &ldquo;Twelve to one agin the field!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He wins, dang him!&rdquo; said David, low.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wull wins!&rdquo; said the parson, shutting his lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And deserves too!&rdquo; said James Moore.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wull wins!&rdquo; softly cried the crowd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We don't!&rdquo; said Sam'l gloomily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And in the end Red Wull did Win; and there were none save Tammas, the
+      bigot, and Long Kirby, who had lost a good deal of his wife's money and a
+      little of his own, to challenge the justice of the verdict.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The win had but a chilling reception. At first there was faint cheering;
+      but it sounded like the echo of an echo, and soon died of inanition. To
+      get up an ovation, there must be money at the back, or a few roaring
+      fanatics to lead the dance. Here there was neither; ugly stories,
+      disparaging remarks, on every hand. And the hundreds who did not know took
+      their tone, as always, from those who said they did.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam could but remark the absence of enthusiasm as he pushed up through
+      the throng toward the committee tent. No single voice hailed him victor;
+      no friendly hand smote its congratulations. Broad backs were turned;
+      contemptuous glances levelled; spiteful remarks shot. Only the foreign
+      element looked curiously at the little bent figure with the glowing face,
+      and shrank back at the size and savage aspect of the great dog at his
+      heels.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But what cared he? His Wullie was acknowledged champion, the best
+      sheep-dog of the year; and the little man was happy. They could turn their
+      backs on him; but they could not alter that; and he could afford to be
+      indifferent. &ldquo;They dinna like it, lad&mdash;he! he! But they'll e'en ha'
+      to thole it. Ye've won it, Wullie&mdash;won it fair.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He elbowed through the press, making for the rope-guarded inclosure in
+      front of the committee tent, round which the people were now packing. In
+      the door of the tent stood the secretary, various stewards, and members of
+      the committee. In front, alone in the roped-off space, was Lady Eleanour,
+      fragile, dainty, graceful, waiting with a smile upon her face to receive
+      the winner. And on a table beside her, naked and dignified, the Shepherd's
+      Trophy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There it stood, kingly and impressive; its fair white sides inscribed with
+      many names; cradled in three shepherds' crooks; and on the top, as if to
+      guard the Cup's contents, an exquisitely carved collie's head. The
+      Shepherds' Trophy, the goal of his life's race, and many another man's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He climbed over the rope, followed by Red Wull, and took off his hat with
+      almost courtly deference to the fair lady before him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he walked up to the table on which the Cup stood, a shrill voice,
+      easily recognizable, broke the silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'd like it better if 'twas full and yo' could swim in it, you and yer
+      Wullie,&rdquo; it called. Whereat the crowd giggled, and Lady Eleanour looked
+      indignant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man turned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll mind drink yer health, Mr. Thornton, never fear, though I ken ye'd
+      prefaire to drink yer ain,&rdquo; he said. At which the crowd giggled afresh;
+      and a gray head at the back, which had hoped itself unrecognized,
+      disappeared suddenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man stood there in the stillness, sourly smiling, his face
+      still wet from his exertions; while the Tailless Tyke at his side fronted
+      defiantly the serried ring of onlookers, a white fence of teeth faintly
+      visible between his lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lady Eleanour looked uneasy. Usually the lucky winner was unable to hear
+      her little speech, as she gave the Cup away, so deafening was the
+      applause. Now there was utter silence. She glanced up at the crowd, but
+      there was no response to her unspoken appeal in that forest of hostile
+      faces. And her gentle heart bled for the forlorn little man before her. To
+      make it up she smiled on him so sweetly as to more than compensate him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm sure you deserve your success, Mr. M'Adam,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You and Red
+      Wull there worked splendidly&mdash;everybody says so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've heard naethin' o't,&rdquo; the little man answered dryly. At which some
+      one in the crowd sniggered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And we all know what a grand dog he is; though&rdquo;&mdash;with a reproving
+      smile as she glanced at Red Wull's square, truncated stern&mdash;&ldquo;he's not
+      very polite.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;His heart is good, your Leddyship, if his manners are not,&rdquo; M'Adam
+      answered, smiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Liar!&rdquo; came a loud voice in the silence. Lady Eleanour looked up, hot
+      with indignation, and half rose from her seat. But M'Adam merely smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie, turn and mak' yer bow to the leddy,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;They'll no hurt us
+      noo we're up; it's when we're doon they'll flock like corbies to the
+      carrion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At that Red Wull walked up to Lady Eleanour, faintly wagging his tail; and
+      she put her hand on his huge bull head and said, &ldquo;Dear old Ugly!&rdquo; at which
+      the crowd cheered in earnest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After that, for some moments, the only sound was the gentle ripple of the
+      good lady's voice and the little man's caustic replies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, last winter the country was full of Red Wull's doings and yours. It
+      was always M'Adam and his Red Wull have done this and that and the other.
+      I declare I got quite tired of you both, I heard such a lot about you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man, cap in hand, smiled, blushed and looked genuinely pleased.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And when it wasn't you it was Mr. Moore and Owd Bob.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Owd Bob, bless him!&rdquo; called a stentorian voice. &ldquo;There cheers for oor
+      Bob!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Ip! 'ip! 'ooray!&rdquo; It was taken up gallantly, and cast from mouth to
+      mouth; and strangers, though they did not understand, caught the contagion
+      and cheered too; and the uproar continued for some minutes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When it was ended Lady Eleanour was standing up, a faint flush on her
+      cheeks and her eyes flashing dangerously, like a queen at bay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she cried, and her clear voice thrilled through the air like a
+      trumpet. &ldquo;Yes; and now three cheers for Mr. M'Adam and his Red Wull! Hip!
+      hip&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hooray!&rdquo; A little knowt of stalwarts at the back&mdash;James Moore,
+      Parson Leggy, Jim Mason, and you may be sure in heart, at least, Owd Bob&mdash;responded
+      to the call right lustily. The crowd joined in; and, once off, cheered and
+      cheered again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Three cheers more for Mr. M'Adam!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But the little man waved to them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dinna be bigger heepocrites than ye can help,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Ye've done
+      enough for one day, and thank ye for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Lady Eleanour handed him the Cup.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. M'Adam, I present you with the Champion Challenge Dale Cup, open to
+      all comers. Keep it, guard it, love it as your own, and win it again if
+      you can. Twice more and it's yours, you know, and it will stop forever
+      beneath the shadow of the Pike. And the right place for it, say I&mdash;the
+      Dale Cup for Dalesmen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man took the Cup tenderly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It shall no leave the Estate or ma hoose, yer Leddyship, gin Wullie and I
+      can help it,&rdquo; he said emphatically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lady Eleanour retreated into the tent, and the crowd swarmed over the
+      ropes and round the little man, who held the Cup beneath his arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Long Kirby laid irreverent hands upon it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dinna finger it!&rdquo; ordered M'Adam.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall!''
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shan't! Wullie, keep him aff.&rdquo; Which the great dog proceeded to do amid
+      the laughter of the onlookers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Among the last, James Moore was borne past the little man. At sight of
+      him, M'Adam's face assumed an expression of intense concern.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Man, Moore!&rdquo; he cried, peering forward as though in alarm; &ldquo;man, Moore,
+      ye're green&mdash;positeevely verdant. Are ye in pain?&rdquo; Then, catching
+      sight of Owd Bob, he started back in affected horror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And, ma certes! so's yer dog! Yer dog as was gray is green. Oh, guid
+      life! &ldquo;&mdash;and he made as though about to fall fainting to the ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, in bantering tones: &ldquo;Ah, but ye shouldna covet &mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He'll ha' no need to covet it long, I can tell yo',&rdquo; interposed Tammas's
+      shrill accents.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And why for no?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Becos next year he'll win it fra yo'. Oor Bob'll win it, little mon. Why?
+      thot's why.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The retort was greeted with a yell of applause from the sprinkling of
+      Dalesmen in the crowd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But M'Adam swaggered away into the tent, his head up, the Cup beneath his
+      arm, and Red Wull guarding his rear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;First of a' ye'll ha' to beat Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull!&rdquo; he cried
+      back proudly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XI. OOR BOB
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      M'ADAM'S pride in the great Cup that now graced his kitchen was supreme.
+      It stood alone in the very centre of the mantelpiece, just below the old
+      bell-mouthed blunderbuss that hung upon the wall. The only ornament in the
+      bare room, it shone out in its silvery chastity like the moon in a gloomy
+      sky.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For once the little man was content. Since his mother's death David had
+      never known such peace. It was not that his father became actively kind;
+      rather that he forgot to be actively unkind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not as I care a brazen button one way or t'ither,&rdquo; the boy informed
+      Maggie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then yo' should,&rdquo; that proper little person replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam was, indeed, a changed being. He forgot to curse James Moore; he
+      forgot to sneer at Owd Bob; he rarely visited the Sylvester Arms, to the
+      detriment of Jem Burton's pocket and temper; and he was never drunk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Soaks 'isseif at home, instead,&rdquo; suggested Tammas, the prejudiced. But
+      the accusation was untrue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Too drunk to git so far,&rdquo; said Long Kirby, kindly man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reck'n the Cup is kind o' company to him,&rdquo; said Jim Mason. &ldquo;Happen it's
+      lonesomeness as drives him here so much.&rdquo; And happen you were right,
+      charitable Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Best mak' maist on it while he has it, 'cos he'll not have it for long,&rdquo;
+       Tammas remarked amid applause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even Parson Leggy allowed&mdash;rather reluctantly, indeed, for he was but
+      human&mdash;that the little man was changed wonderfully for the better.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I am afraid it may not last,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;We shall see what happens
+      when Owd Bob beats him for the Cup, as he certainly will. That'll be the
+      critical moment.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As things were, the little man spent all his spare moments with the Cup
+      between his knees, burnishing it and crooning to Wullie:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;I never saw a fairer,
+     I never lo'ed a dearer,
+     And neist my heart I'll wear her,
+     For fear my jewel tine.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, Wullie! look at her! is she no bonnie? She shines like a twinkle&mdash;twinkle
+      in the sky.&rdquo; And he would hold it out at arm's length, his head cocked
+      sideways the better to scan its bright beauties.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man was very jealous for his treasure. David might not touch
+      it; might not smoke in the kitchen lest the fumes should tarnish its
+      glory; while if he approached too closely he was ordered abruptly away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if I wanted to touch his nasty Cup!&rdquo; he complained to Maggie. &ldquo;I'd
+      sooner ony day&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hands aff, Mr. David, immediate!&rdquo; she cried indignantly. &ldquo;'Pertinence,
+      indeed!&rdquo; as she tossed her head clear of the big fingers that were
+      fondling her pretty hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So it was that M'Adam, on coming quietly into the kitchen one day, was
+      consumed with angry resentment to find David actually handling the object
+      of his reverence; and the manner of his doing it added a thousandfold to
+      the offence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy was lolling indolently against the mantelpiece, his fair head
+      shoved right into the Cup, his breath dimming its lustre, and his two
+      hands, big and dirty, slowly revolving it before his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bursting with indignation, the little man crept up behind the boy. David
+      was reading through the long list of winners.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Theer's the first on 'em,&rdquo; he muttered, shooting out his tongue to
+      indicate the locality: &ldquo;'Andrew Moore's Rough, 178&mdash;.' And theer agin&mdash;'
+      James Moore's Pinch, 179&mdash;.' And agin&mdash;'Beck, 182&mdash;.' Ah,
+      and theer's 'im Tammas tells on! 'Rex, 183&mdash;,' and Rex, 183&mdash;.'
+      Ay, but he was a rare un by all tell-in's! If he'd nob'but won but onst
+      agin! Ah, and theer's none like the Gray Dogs&mdash;they all says that,
+      and I say so masel'; none like the Gray Dogs o' Kenmuir, bless 'em! And
+      we'll win agin too&mdash;&rdquo; he broke off short; his eye had travelled down
+      to the last name on the list.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'M'Adam's Wull'!&rdquo; he read with unspeakable contempt, and put his great
+      thumb across the name as though to wipe it out. &ldquo;'M'Adam's Wull'! Goo'
+      gracious sakes! P-hg-h-r-r! &ldquo;&mdash;and he made a motion as though to spit
+      upon the ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But a little shoulder was into his side, two small fists were beating at
+      his chest, and a shrill voice was yelling: &ldquo;Devil! devil! stan' awa'!&rdquo;&mdash;and
+      he was tumbled precipitately away from the mantelpiece, and brought up
+      abruptly against the side-wall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The precious Cup swayed on its ebony stand, the boy's hands, rudely
+      withdrawn, almost overthrowing it. But the little man's first impulse,
+      cursing and screaming though he was, was to steady it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'M'Adam's Wull'! I wish he was here to teach ye, ye snod-faced, ox-limbed
+      profleegit!&rdquo; he cried, standing in front of the Cup, his eyes blazing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, 'M'Adam's Wull'! And why not 'M'Adam's Wull'? Ha' ye ony objections
+      to the name?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't know yo' was theer,&rdquo; said David, a thought sheepishly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Na; or ye'd not ha' said it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd ha' thought it, though,&rdquo; muttered the boy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Luckily, however, his father did not hear. He stretched his hands up
+      tenderly for the Cup, lifted it down, and began reverently to polish the
+      dimmed sides with his handkerchief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye're thinkin', nae doot,&rdquo; he cried, casting up a vicious glance at
+      David, &ldquo;that Wullie's no gude enough to ha' his name alangside o' they
+      cursed Gray Dogs. Are ye no? Let's ha' the truth for aince&mdash;for a
+      diversion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reck'n he's good enough if there's none better,&rdquo; David replied
+      dispassionately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And wha should there be better? Tell me that, ye muckle gowk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, but that'd be long tellin', he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what wad ye mean by that?&rdquo; his father cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay; I was but thinkin' that Mr. Moore's Bob'll look gradely writ under
+      yon.&rdquo; He pointed to the vacant space below Red Wull's name.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man put the Cup back on its pedestal with hurried hands. The
+      handkerchief dropped unconsidered to the floor; he turned and sprang
+      furiously at the boy, who stood against the wall, still smiling; and,
+      seizing him by the collar of his coat, shook him to and fro with fiery
+      energy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So ye're hopin', prayin', nae doot, that James Moore&mdash;curse him!&mdash;will
+      win ma Cup awa' from me, yer ain dad. I wonder ye're no 'shamed to crass
+      ma door! Ye live on me; ye suck ma blood, ye foul-mouthed leech. Wullie
+      and me brak' oorsel's to keep ye in hoose and hame&mdash;and what's yer
+      gratitude? Ye plot to rob us of oor rights.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He dropped the boy's coat and stood back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No rights about it,&rdquo; said David, still keeping his temper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I win is it no ma right as muckle as ony Englishman's?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Red Wull, who had heard the rising voices, came trotting in, scowled at
+      David, and took his stand beside his master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, <i>if</i> yo' win it,&rdquo; said David, with significant emphasis on the
+      conjunction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And wha's to beat us?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David looked at his father in well-affected surprise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell yo' Owd Bob's rinin',&rdquo; he answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what if he is?&rdquo; the other cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, even yo' should know so much,&rdquo; the boy sneered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man could not fail to understand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So that's it!&rdquo; he said. Then, in a scream, with one finger pointing to
+      the great dog: &ldquo;And what o' him? What'll ma Wullie be doin' the while?
+      Tell me that, and ha' a care! Mind ye, he stan's here hearkenin'!&rdquo; And,
+      indeed, the Tailless Tyke was bristling for battle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David did not like the look of things; and edged away toward the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What'll Wullie be doin', ye chicken-hearted brock?&rdquo; his father cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Im?&rdquo; said the boy, now close on the door. &ldquo;Im!&rdquo; he said, with a slow
+      contempt that made the red bristles quiver on the dog's neck. &ldquo;Lookin' on,
+      I should think&mdash;lookin' on. What else is he fit for? I tell yo' oor
+      Bob&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&mdash;'Oor Bob'!&rdquo; screamed the little man darting forward. &ldquo;'Oor Bob'!
+      Hark to him. I'll 'oor&mdash;' At him, Wullie! at him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But the Tailless Tyke needed no encouragement. With a harsh roar he sprang
+      through the air, only to crash against the closing door!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The outer door banged, and in another second a mocking finger tapped on
+      the windowpane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Better luck to the two on yo' next time!&rdquo; laughed a scornful voice; and
+      David ran down the hill toward Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XII. HOW RED WULL HELD THE BRIDGE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      FROM that hour the fire of M'Adam's jealousy blazed into a mighty flame.
+      The winning of the Dale Cup had become a mania with him. He had won it
+      once, and would again despite all the Moores, all the Gray Dogs, all the
+      undutiful sons in existence; on that point he was resolved. The fact of
+      his having tasted the joys of victory served to whet his desire. And now
+      he felt he could never be happy till the Cup was his own&mdash;won
+      outright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At home David might barely enter the room There the trophy stood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll not ha' ye touch ma Cup, ye dirty-fingered, ill-begotten wastrel.
+      Wullie and me won it&mdash;you'd naught to do wi' it. Go you to James
+      Moore and James Moore's dog.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, and shall I tak' Cup wi' me? or will ye bide till it's took from ye?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So the two went on; and every day the tension approached nearer
+      breaking-point.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the Dale the little man met with no sympathy. The hearts of the
+      Dalesmen were to a man with Owd Bob and his master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Whereas once at the Sylvester Arms his shrill, ill tongue had been rarely
+      still, now he maintained a sullen silence; Jem Burton, at least, had no
+      cause of complaint. Crouched away in a corner, with Red Wull beside him,
+      the little man would sit watching and listening as the Dalesmen talked of
+      Owd Bob's doings, his staunchness, sagacity, and coming victory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sometimes he could restrain himself no longer. Then he would spring to his
+      feet, and stand, a little swaying figure, and denounce them passionately
+      in almost pathetic eloquence. These orations always concluded in set
+      fashion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye're all agin us!&rdquo; the little man would cry in quivering voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We are that,&rdquo; Tammas would answer complacently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fair means or foul, ye're content sae lang as Wullie and me are beat. I
+      wonder ye dinna poison him&mdash;a little arsenic, and the way's clear for
+      your Bob.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'The way is clear enough wi'oot that,&rdquo; from Tammas caustically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then a lengthy silence, only broken by that exceeding bitter cry: &ldquo;Eh,
+      Wullie, Wullie, they're all agin us!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      And always the rivals&mdash;red and gray&mdash;went about seeking their
+      opportunity. But the Master, with his commanding presence and stern eyes,
+      was ever ready for them. Toward the end, M'Adam, silent and sneering,
+      would secretly urge on Red Wull to the attack; until, one day in
+      Grammoch-town, James Moore turned on him, his blue eyes glittering. &ldquo;D'yo'
+      think, yo' little fule,&rdquo; he cried in that hard voice of his, &ldquo;that onst
+      they got set we should iver git either of them off alive?&rdquo; It seemed to
+      strike the little man as a novel idea; for, from that moment, he was ever
+      the first in his feverish endeavors to oppose his small form, buffer-like,
+      between the would-be combatants.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Curse as M'Adam might, threaten as he might, when the time came Owd Bob
+      won.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The styles of the rivals were well contrasted: the patience, the
+      insinuating eloquence, combined with the splendid dash, of the one; and
+      the fierce, driving fury of the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The issue was never in doubt. It may have been that the temper of the
+      Tailless Tyke gave in the time of trial; it may have been that his sheep
+      were wild, as M'Adam declared; certainly not, as the little man alleged in
+      choking voice, that they had been chosen and purposely set aside to ruin
+      his chance. Certain it is that his tactics scared them hopelessly: and he
+      never had them in hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Act for Owd Bob, his dropping, his driving, his penning, aroused the
+      loud-tongued admiration of crowd and competitors alike. He was patient yet
+      persistent, quiet yet firm, and seemed to coax his charges in the right
+      way in that inimitable manner of his own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When, at length, the verdict was given, and it was known that, after an
+      interval of half a century, the Shepherds' Trophy was won again by a Gray
+      Dog of Kenmuir, there was such a scene as has been rarely witnessed on the
+      slope behind the Dalesman's Daughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Great fists were slapped on mighty backs; great feet were stamped on the
+      sun-dried banks of the Silver Lea; stalwart lungs were strained to their
+      uttermost capacity; and roars of &ldquo;Moore!&rdquo; &ldquo;Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!&rdquo; &ldquo;The Gray
+      Dogs!&rdquo; thundered up the hillside, and were flung, thundering, back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even James Moore was visibly moved as he worked his way through the
+      cheering mob; and Owd Bob, trotting alongside him in quiet dignity, seemed
+      to wave his silvery brush in acknowledgment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Master Jacky Sylvester alternately turned cart-wheels and felled the Hon.
+      Launcelot Bilks to the ground. Lady Eleanour, her cheeks flushed with
+      pleasure, waved her parasol, and attempted to restrain her son's
+      exuberance. Parson Leggy danced an unclerical jig, and shook hands with
+      the squire till both those fine old gentlemen were purple in the face.
+      Long Kirby selected a small man in the crowd, and bashed his hat down over
+      his eyes. While Tammas, Rob Saunderson, Tupper, Hoppin, Londesley, and the
+      rest joined hands and went raving round like so many giddy girls.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of them all, however, none was so uproarious in the mad heat of his
+      enthusiasm as David M'Adam. He stood in the Kenmuir wagon beside Maggie, a
+      conspicuous figure above the crowd, as he roared in hoarse ecstasy:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Weel done, oor Bob! Weel done, Mr. Moore! Yo've knocked him! Knock him
+      agin! Owd Bob o' Kenmuir! Moore! Moore o' Kenmuir! Hip! Hip!&rdquo; until the
+      noisy young giant attracted such attention in his boisterous delight that
+      Maggie had to lay a hand upon his arm to restrain his violence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alone, on the far bank of the stream, stood the vanquished pair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man was trembling slightly; his face was still hot from his
+      exertions; and as he listened to the ovation accorded to his conqueror,
+      there was a piteous set grin upon his face. In front stood the defeated
+      dog, his lips wrinkling and hackles rising, as he, too, saw and heard and
+      understood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a gran' thing to ha' a dutiful son. Wullie,&rdquo; the little man
+      whispered, watching David's waving figure. &ldquo;He's happy&mdash;and so are
+      they a'&mdash;not sae much that James Moore has won, as that you and I are
+      beat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, breaking down for a moment:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, Wullie, Wullie! They're all agin us. It's you and I alane, lad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again, seeing the squire followed by Parson Leggy, Viscount Birdsaye, and
+      others of the gentry, forcing their way through the press to shake hands
+      with the victor, he continued:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's good to be in wi' the quality, Wullie. Niver mak' a friend of a man
+      beneath ye in rank, nor an enemy of a man aboon ye: that's a soond
+      principle, Wullie, if ye'd get on in honest England.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood there, alone with his dog, watching the crowd on the far slope as
+      it surged upward in the direction of the committee tent. Only when the
+      black mass had packed itself in solid phalanges about that ring, inside
+      which, just a year ago, he had stood in very different circumstances, and
+      was at length still, a wintry smile played for a moment about his lips. He
+      laughed a mirthless laugh.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;Bide a wee, Wullie&mdash;he! he! Bide a wee.
+     'The best-laid schemes o' mice and men
+     Gang aft agley.'&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      As he spoke, there came down to him, above the tumult, a faint cry of
+      mingled surprise and anger. The cheering ceased abruptly. There was
+      silence; then there burst on the stillness a hurricane of indignation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The crowd surged forward, then turned. Every eye was directed across the
+      stream. A hundred damning fingers pointed at the solitary figure there.
+      There were hoarse yells of: &ldquo;There he be Yon's him! What's he done wi' it?
+      Thief! Throttle him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The mob came lumbering down the slope like one man, thundering their
+      imprecations on a thousand throats. They looked dangerous, and their wrath
+      was stimulated by the knot of angry Dalesmen who led the van. There was
+      more than one white face among the women at the top of the slope as they
+      watched the crowd blundering blindly down the hill. There were more men
+      than Parson Leggy, the squire, James Moore, and the local constables in
+      the thick of it all, striving frantically with voice and gesture, ay, and
+      stick too, to stem the advance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was useless; on the dark wave rolled, irresistible.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the far bank stood the little man, motionless, awaiting them with a
+      grin upon his face. And a little farther in front was the Tailless Tyke,
+      his back and neck like a new-shorn wheat-field, as he rumbled a vast
+      challenge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come on, gentlemen!&rdquo; the little man cried. &ldquo;Come on! I'll bide for ye,
+      never fear. Ye're a thousand to one and a dog. It's the odds ye like,
+      Englishmen a'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And the mob, with murder in its throat, accepted the invitation and came
+      on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the moment, however, from the slope above, clear above the tramp of the
+      multitude, a great voice bellowed: &ldquo;Way! Way! Way for Mr. Trotter!&rdquo; The
+      advancing host checked and opened out; and the secretary of the meeting
+      bundled through.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was a small, fat man, fussy at any time, and perpetually perspiring.
+      Now his face was crimson with rage and running; he gesticulated wildly;
+      vague words bubbled forth, as his short legs twinkled down the slope.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The crowd paused to admire. Some one shouted a witticism, and the crowd
+      laughed. For the moment the situation was saved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The fat secretary hurried on down the slope, unheeding of any insult but
+      the one. He bounced over the plank-bridge: and as he came closer, M'Adam
+      saw that in each hand brandished a brick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hoots, man! dinna throw!&rdquo; he cried, making a feint as though to turn in
+      sudden terror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's this? What's this?&rdquo; gasped the secretary, waving his arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bricks, 'twad seem,&rdquo; the other answered, staying his flight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The secretary puffed up like a pudding in a hurry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where's the Cup? Champion, Challenge, etc.,&rdquo; he jerked out. &ldquo;Mind, sir,
+      you're responsible! wholly responsible! Dents, damages, delays! What's it
+      all mean, sir? These&mdash;these monstrous creations &ldquo;&mdash;he brandished
+      the bricks, and M'Adam started back&mdash;&ldquo;wrapped, as I live, in straw,
+      sir, in the Cup case, sir! the Cup case! No Cup! Infamous! Disgraceful!
+      Insult me&mdash;meeting&mdash;committee&mdash;every one! What's it mean,
+      sir?&rdquo; He paused to pant, his body filling and emptying like a bladder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam approached him with one eye on the crowd, which was heaving forward
+      again, threatening still, but sullen and silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I pit 'em there,&rdquo; he whispered; and drew back to watch the effect of his
+      disclosure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The secretary gasped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&mdash;you not only do this&mdash;amazing thing&mdash;these
+      monstrosities&rdquo;&mdash;he hurled the bricks furiously on the unoffending
+      ground&mdash;&ldquo;but you dare to tell me so!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Do wrang and conceal it, do right and confess it,' that's Englishmen's
+      motto, and mine, as a rule; but this time I had ma reasons.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reasons, sir! No reasons can justify such an extraordinary breach of all
+      the&mdash;the decencies. Reasons? the reasons of a maniac. Not to say
+      more, sir. Fraudulent detention&mdash;fraudulent, I say, sir! What were
+      your precious reasons?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The mob with Tammas and Long Kirby at their head had now well nigh reached
+      the plank-bridge. They still looked dangerous, and there were isolated
+      cries of:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duck him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Chuck him in!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An' the dog!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wi' one o' they bricks about their necks!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There are my reasons!&rdquo; said M'Adam, pointing to the forest of menacing
+      faces. &ldquo;Ye see I'm no beloved amang yonder gentlemen, and&rdquo;&mdash;in a
+      stage whisper in the other's ear&mdash;&ldquo;I thocht maybe I'd be 'tacked on
+      the road.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Tammas foremost of the crowd, had now his foot upon the first plank.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye robber! ye thief! Wait till we set hands on ye, you and yer gorilla!&rdquo;
+       he called.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam half turned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie,&rdquo; he said quietly, &ldquo;keep the bridge.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the order the Tailless Tyke shot gladly forward, and the leaders on the
+      bridge as hastily back. The dog galloped on to the rattling plank, took
+      his post fair and square in the centre of the narrow way, and stood facing
+      the hostile crew like Cerberus guarding the gates of hell: his bull-head
+      was thrust forward, hackles up, teeth glinting, and a distant rumbling in
+      his throat, as though daring them to come on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' first, ole lad!&rdquo; said Tammas, hopping agilely behind Long Kirby.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay; the old uns lead!&rdquo; cried the big smith, his face gray-white. He
+      wrenched round, pinned the old man by the arms, and held him forcibly
+      before him as a covering shield. There ensued an unseemly struggle betwixt
+      the two valiants, Tammas bellowing and kicking in the throes of mortal
+      fear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jim Mason'll show us,&rdquo; he suggested at last.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; said honest Jim; &ldquo;I'm fear'd.&rdquo; He could say it with impunity; for
+      the pluck of Postie Jim was a matter long past dispute.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Jem Burton'd go first?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nay; Jem had a lovin' wife and dear little kids at 'ome.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Big Bell?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Big Bell'd see 'isseif further first.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A tall figure came forcing through the crowd, his face a little paler than
+      its wont, and a formidable knob-kerry in his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm goin'!&rdquo; said David.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But yo're not,&rdquo; answered burly Sam'l, gripping the boy from behind with
+      arms like the roots of an oak. &ldquo;Your time'll coom soon enough by the look
+      on yo' wi' niver no hurry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And the sense of the Dalesmen was with the big man; for, as old Rob
+      Saunderson said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reck'n he'd liefer claw on to your throat, lad, nor ony o' oors.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As there was no one forthcoming to claim the honor of the lead, Tammas
+      came forward with cunning counsel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell yo' what, lads, we'd best let 'em as don't know nowt at all aboot
+      him go first. And onst they're on, mind, we winna let 'em off; but keep
+      a-shovin' and a-bovin 'on 'em forra'd. <i>Then</i> us'll foller.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      By this time there was a little naked space of green round the
+      bridge-head, like a fairy circle, into which the uninitiated might not
+      penetrate. Round this the mob hedged: the Dalesmen in front, striving
+      knavishly back and bawling to those behind to leggo that shovin'; and
+      these latter urging valorously forward, yelling jeers and contumely at the
+      front rank. &ldquo;Come on! 'O's afraid? Lerrus through to 'em, then, ye Royal
+      Stan'-backs!&rdquo;&mdash;for well they knew the impossibility of their demand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And as they wedged and jostled thus, there stole out from their midst as
+      gallant a champion as ever trod the grass. He trotted out into the ring,
+      the observed of all, and paused to gaze at the gaunt figure on the bridge.
+      The sun lit the sprinkling of snow on the dome of his head; one forepaw
+      was off the ground; and he stood there, royally alert, scanning his
+      antagonist.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Th' Owd Un!&rdquo; went up in a roar fit to split the air as the hero of the
+      day was recognized. And the Dalesmen gave a pace forward spontaneously as
+      the gray knight-errant stole across the green.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oor Bob'll fetch him!&rdquo; they roared, their blood leaping to fever heat,
+      and gripped their sticks, determined in stern reality to follow now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The gray champion trotted up on to the bridge, and paused again, the long
+      hair about his neck rising like a ruff, and a strange glint in his eyes;
+      and the holder of the bridge never moved. Red and Gray stood thus, face to
+      face: the one gay yet resolute, the other motionless, his great head
+      slowly sinking between his forelegs, seemingly petrified.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no shouting now: it was time for deeds, not words. Only, above
+      the stillness, came a sound from the bridge like the snore of a giant in
+      his sleep, and blending, with it, a low, deep, purring thunder like some
+      monster cat well pleased.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie,&rdquo; came a solitary voice from the far side, &ldquo;keep the bridge!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      One ear went back, one ear was still forward; the great head was low and
+      lower between his forelegs and the glowing eyes rolled upward so that the
+      watchers could see the murderous white.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Forward the gray dog stepped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, for the second time that afternoon, a voice, stern and hard, came
+      ringing down from the slope above over the heads of the many.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bob, lad, coom back!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He! he! I thocht that was comin',&rdquo; sneered the small voice over the
+      stream.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The gray dog heard, and checked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bob, lad, coom in, I say!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At that he swung round and marched slowly back, gallant as he had come,
+      dignified still in his mortification.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Red Wull threw back his head and bellowed a paean of victory&mdash;challenge,
+      triumph, scorn, all blended in that bull-like, blood-chilling blare.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      In the mean time, M'Adam and the secretary had concluded their business.
+      It had been settled that the Cup was to be delivered over to James Moore
+      not later than the following Saturday.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Saturday, see! at the latest!&rdquo; the secretary cried as he turned and
+      trotted off.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Trotter,&rdquo; M'Adam called after him. &ldquo;I'm sorry, but ye maun bide this
+      side the Lea till I've reached the foot o' the Pass. Gin they gentlemen&rdquo;&mdash;nodding
+      toward the crowd&mdash;&ldquo;should set hands on me, why&mdash;&rdquo; and he
+      shrugged his shoulders significantly. &ldquo;Forbye, Wullie's keepin' the
+      bridge.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With that the little man strolled off leisurely; now dallying to pick a
+      flower, now to wave a mocking hand at the furious mob, and so slowly on to
+      the foot of the Muirk Muir Pass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There he turned and whistled that shrill peculiar note.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie, Wullie, to me!&rdquo; he called.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At that, with one last threat thrown at the' thousand souls he had held at
+      bay for thirty minutes, the Tailless Tyke swung about and galloped after
+      his lord.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XIII. THE FACE IN THE FRAME
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      ALL Friday M'Adam never left the kitchen. He sat opposite the Cup, in a
+      coma, as it were; and Red Wull lay motionless at his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Saturday came, and still the two never budged. Toward the evening the
+      little man rose, all in a tremble, and took the Cup down from the
+      mantelpiece; then he sat down again with it in his arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, Wullie, Wullie, is it a dream? Ha' they took her fra us? Eh, but it's
+      you and I alane, lad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He hugged it to him, crying silently, and rocking to and fro like a mother
+      with a dying child. And Red Wull sat up on his haunches, and weaved from
+      side to side in sympathy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As the dark was falling, David looked in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the sound of the opening door the little man swung round noiselessly,
+      the Cup nursed in his arms, and glared, sullen and suspicious, at the boy;
+      yet seemed not to recognize him. In the half-light David could see the
+      tears coursing down the little wizened face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Pon ma life, he's gaein' daft!&rdquo; was his comment as he turned away to
+      Kenmuir. And again the mourners were left alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A few hours noo, Wullie,&rdquo; the little man wailed, &ldquo;and she'll be gane. We
+      won her, Wullie, you and I, won her fair: she's lit the hoose for us;
+      she's softened a' for us&mdash;and God kens we needed it; she was the ae
+      thing we had to look to and love. And noo they're takin' her awa', and
+      'twill be night agin. We've cherished her, we've garnished her, we've
+      loved her like oor ain; and noo she maun gang to strangers who know her
+      not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose to his feet, and the great dog rose with him. His voice heightened
+      to a scream, and he swayed with the Cup in his arms till it seemed he must
+      fall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did they win her fair, Wullie? Na; they plotted, they conspired, they
+      worked ilka ain o' them agin us, and they beat us. Ay, and noo they're
+      robbin' us&mdash;robbin' us! But they shallna ha' her. Oor's or naebody's,
+      Wullie! We'll finish her sooner nor that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He banged the Cup down on the table and rushed madly out of the room, Red
+      Wull at his heels. In a moment he came running back, brandishing a great
+      axe about his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come on, Wullie!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;'Scots wha hae'! Noo's the day and noo's the
+      hour! Come on!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On the table before him, serene and beautiful, stood the target of his
+      madness. The little man ran at it, swinging his murderous weapon like a
+      flail.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oor's or naebody's Wullie! Come on! 'Lay the proud usurpers low'!&rdquo; He
+      aimed a mighty buffet; and the Shepherds' Trophy&mdash;the Shepherds'
+      Trophy which had won through the hardships of a hundred years&mdash;was
+      almost gone. It seemed to quiver as the blow fell. But the cruel steel
+      missed, and the axe-head sank into the wood, clean and deep, like a spade
+      in snow.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+Red Wull had leapt on to the table, and in his cavernous voice was
+grumbling a chorus to his master's yells. The little man danced up and
+down, tugging and straining at the axe-handle.
+
+     &ldquo;You and I, Wullie!
+     'Tyrants fall in every foe!
+     Liberty's in every blow!'&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      The axe-head was as immoveable as the Muir Pike.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;'Let us do or die!'&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      The shaft snapped, and the little man tottered back. Red Wull jumped down
+      from the table, and, in doing so, brushed against the Cup. It toppled*
+      over on to the floor, and rolled tinkling away in the dust. And the little
+      man fled madly out of the house, still screaming his war-song.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     *N.B.&mdash;You may see the dent in the Cup's white sides to this
+     day.
+
+</pre>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      When, late that night, M'Adam returned home, the Cup was gone. Down on his
+      hands and knees he traced out its path, plain to see, where it had rolled
+      along the dusty floor. Beyond that there was no sign.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At first he was too much overcome to speak. Then he raved round the room
+      like a derelict ship, Red Wull following uneasily behind. He cursed; he
+      blasphemed; he screamed and beat the walls with feverish hands. A
+      stranger, passing, might well have thought this was a private Bedlam. At
+      last, exhausted, he sat down and cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's David, Wullie, ye may depend; David that's robbed his father's
+      hoose. Oh, it's a grand thing to ha' a dutiful son!&rdquo;&mdash;and he bowed
+      his gray head in his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David, indeed, it was. He had come back to the Grange during his father's
+      absence, and, taking the Cup from its grimy bed, had marched it away to
+      its rightful home. For that evening at Kenmuir, James Moore had said to
+      him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;David, your father's not sent the Cup. I shall come and fetch it
+      to-morrow.&rdquo; And David knew he meant it. Therefore, in order to save a
+      collision between his father and his friend&mdash;a collision the issue of
+      which he dared hardly contemplate, knowing, as he did, the unalterable
+      determination of the one and the lunatic passion of the other&mdash;the
+      boy had resolved to fetch the Cup himself, then and there, in the teeth,
+      if needs be, of his father and the Tailless Tyke. And he had done it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he reached home that night he marched, contrary to his wont, straight
+      into the kitchen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There sat his father facing the door, awaiting him, his hands upon his
+      knees. For once the little man was alone; and David, brave though he was,
+      thanked heaven devoutly that Red Wull was elsewhere.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a while father and son kept silence, watching one another like two
+      fencers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Twas you as took ma Cup?&rdquo; asked the little man at last, leaning forward
+      in his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Twas me as took Mr. Moore's Cup,&rdquo; the boy replied. &ldquo;I thowt yo' mun ha'
+      done wi' it&mdash;I found it all bashed upon the floor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You took it&mdash;pit up to it, nae doot, by James Moore.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David made a gesture of dissent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, by James Moore,&rdquo; his father continued. &ldquo;He dursena come hissel' for
+      his ill-gotten spoils, so he sent the son to rob the father. The coward!&rdquo;&mdash;his
+      whole frame shook with passion. &ldquo;I'd ha' thocht James Moore'd ha' bin man
+      enough to come himself for what he wanted. I see noo I did him a wrang&mdash;I
+      misjudged him. I kent him a heepocrite; ain o' yer unco gudes; a man as
+      looks one thing, says anither, and does a third; and noo I ken he's a
+      coward. He's fear'd o' me, sic as I am, five foot twa in ma stockin's.&rdquo; He
+      rose from his chair and drew himself up to his full height.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Moore had nowt to do wi' it,&rdquo; David persisted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye're lyin'. James Moore pit ye to it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell yo' he did not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye'd ha' bin willin' enough wi'oot him, if ye'd thocht o't, I grant ye.
+      But ye've no the wits. All there is o' ye has gane to mak' yer muckle
+      body. Hooiver, that's no matter. I'll settle wi' James Moore anither time.
+      I'll settle wi' you noo, David M'Adam.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He paused, and looked the boy over from bead to foot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So, ye're not only an idler! a wastrel! a liar!&rdquo;&mdash;he spat the words
+      out. &ldquo;Ye're&mdash;God help ye&mdash;a thief!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm no thief!&rdquo; the boy returned hotly. &ldquo;I did but give to a mon what ma
+      feyther&mdash;shame on him!&mdash;wrongfully kept from him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wrangfully?&rdquo; cried the little man, advancing with burning face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Twas honorably done, keepin' what wasna your'n to keep! Holdin' back his
+      rights from a man! Ay, if ony one's the thief, it's not me: it's you, I
+      say, you!&rdquo;&mdash;and he looked his father in the face with flashing eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm the thief, am I?&rdquo; cried the other, incoherent with passion. &ldquo;Though
+      ye're three times ma size, I'll teach ma son to speak so to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old strap, now long disused, hung in the chimney corner. As he spoke
+      the little man sprang back, ripped it from the wall, and, almost before
+      David realized what he was at, had brought it down with a savage slash
+      across his son's shoulders; and as he smote he whistled a shrill,
+      imperative note:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie, Wullie, to me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David felt the blow through his coat like a bar of hot iron laid across
+      his back. His passion seethed within him; every vein throbbed; every nerve
+      quivered. In a minute he would wipe out, once and for all, the score of
+      years; for the moment, however, there was urgent business on hand. For
+      outside he could hear the quick patter of feet hard-galloping, and the
+      scurry of a huge creature racing madly to a call.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a bound he sprang at the open door; and again the strap came lashing
+      down, and a wild voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quick, Wullie! For God's sake, quick!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David slammed the door to. It shut with a rasping snap; and at the same
+      moment a great body from without thundered against it with terrific
+      violence, and a deep voice roared like the sea when thwarted of its prey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Too late, agin!&rdquo; said David, breathing hard; and shot the bolt home with
+      a clang. Then he turned on his father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Noo,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;man to man!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; cried the other, &ldquo;father to son!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man half turned and leapt at the old musketoon hanging on the
+      wall. He missed it, turned again, and struck with the strap full at the
+      other's face. David caught the falling arm at the wrist, hitting it aside
+      with such tremendous force that the bone all but snapped. Then he smote
+      his father a terrible blow on the chest, and the little man staggered
+      back, gasping, into the corner; while the strap dropped from his numbed
+      fingers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Outside Red Wull whined and scratched; but the two men paid no heed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David strode forward; there was murder in his face. The little man saw it:
+      his time was come; but his bitterest foe never impugned Adam M'Adam's
+      courage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood huddled in the corner, all dishevelled, nursing one arm with the
+      other, entirely unafraid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mind, David,&rdquo; he said, quite calm, &ldquo;murder 'twill be, not manslaughter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Murder 'twill be,&rdquo; the boy answered, in thick, low voice, and was across
+      the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Outside Red Wull banged and clawed high up on the door with impotent pats.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man suddenly slipped his hand in his pocket, pulled out
+      something, and flung it. The missile pattered on his son's face like a
+      rain-drop on a charging bull, and David smiled as he came on. It dropped
+      softly on the table at his side; he looked down and&mdash;it was the face
+      of his mother which gazed up at him!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mither!&rdquo; he sobbed, stopping short. &ldquo;Mither! Ma God, ye saved him&mdash;and
+      me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood there, utterly unhinged, shaking and whimpering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was some minutes before he pulled himself together; then he walked to
+      the wall, took down a pair of shears, and seated himself at the table,
+      still trembling. Near him lay the miniature, all torn and crumpled, and
+      beside it the deep-buried axe-head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He picked up the strap and began cutting it into little pieces.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There! and there! and there!&rdquo; he said with each snip. &ldquo;An' ye hit me agin
+      there may be no mither to save ye.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam stood huddling in the corner. He shook like an aspen leaf; his eyes
+      blazed in his white face; and he still nursed one arm with the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Honor yer father,&rdquo; he quoted in small, low voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_PART4" id="link2H_PART4">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      PART IV THE BLACK KILLER
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XIV. A MAD MAN
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      TAMMAS is on his feet in the tap-room of the Arms, brandishing a pewter
+      mug.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gen'lemen!&rdquo; he cries, his old face flushed; &ldquo;I gie you a toast. Stan'
+      oop!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The knot of Dalesmen round the fire rises like one. The old man waves his
+      mug before him, reckless of the good ale that drips on to the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The best sheep-dog i' th' North&mdash;Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!&rdquo; he cries. In
+      an instant there is uproar: the merry applause of clinking pewters; the
+      stamping of feet; the rattle of sticks. Rob Saunderson and old Jonas are
+      cheering with the best; Tupper and Ned Hoppin are bellowing in one
+      another's ears; Long Kirby and Jem Burton are thumping each other on the
+      back; even Sam'l Todd and Sexton Ross are roused from their habitual
+      melancholy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here's to Th' Owd Un! Here's to oor Bob!&rdquo; yell stentorian voices; while
+      Rob Saunderson has jumped on to a chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wi' the best sheep-dog i' th' North I gie yo' the Shepherd's Trophy!&mdash;won
+      outreet as will be!&rdquo; he cries. Instantly the clamor redoubles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Dale Cup and Th' Owd Un! The Trophy and oor Bob! 'Ip, 'ip, for the
+      gray dogs! 'Ip, 'ip, for the best sheep-dog as ever was or will be!
+      'Ooray, 'ooray!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It is some minutes before the noise subsides; and slowly the enthusiasts
+      resume their seats with hoarse throats and red faces.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gentlemen a'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A little unconsidered man is standing up at the back of the room. His face
+      is aflame, and his hands twitch spasmodically; and, in front, with hackles
+      up and eyes gleaming, is a huge, bull-like dog.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Noo,&rdquo; cries the little man, &ldquo;I daur ye to repeat that lie!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lie!&rdquo; screams Tammas; &ldquo;lie! I'll gie 'im lie! Lemme at im', I say!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man in his fury is half over the surrounding ring of chairs before
+      Jim Mason on the one hand and Jonas Maddox on the other can pull him back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Coom, Mr. Thornton,&rdquo; soothes the octogenarian, &ldquo;let un be. Yo' surely
+      bain't angered by the likes o' 'im!&rdquo;&mdash;and he jerks contemptuously
+      toward the solitary figure at his back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Tammas resumes his seat unwillingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man in the far corner of the room remains silent, waiting for
+      his challenge to be taken up. It is in vain. And as he looks at the range
+      of broad, impassive backs turned on him, he smiles bitterly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They dursen't Wullie, not a man of them a'!&rdquo; he cries. &ldquo;They're one&mdash;two&mdash;three&mdash;four&mdash;eleven
+      to one, Wullie, and yet they dursen't. Eleven of them, and every man a
+      coward! Long Kirby&mdash;Thornton&mdash;Tupper&mdash;Todd&mdash;Hoppin&mdash;Ross&mdash;Burton&mdash;and
+      the rest, and not one but's a bigger man nor me, and yet&mdash;Weel, we
+      might ha' kent it. We should ha' kent Englishmen by noo. They're aye the
+      same and aye have bin. They tell lies, black lies&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Tammas is again half out his chair and, only forcibly restrained by the
+      men on either hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&mdash;and then they ha' na the courage to stan' by 'em. Ye're English,
+      ivery man o' ye, to yer marrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man's voice rises as he speaks. He seizes the tankard from the
+      table at his side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Englishmen!&rdquo; he cries, waving it before him. &ldquo;Here's a health! The best
+      sheep-dog as iver penned a flock&mdash;Adam M'Adam's Red Wull!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He pauses, the pewter at his lips, and looks at his audience with flashing
+      eyes. There is no response from them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie, here's to you!&rdquo; he cries. &ldquo;Luck and life to ye, ma trusty fier!
+      Death and defeat to yer enemies!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;'The warld's warld's wrack we share o't,
+     The warstle and the care o't;&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      He raises the tankard and drains it to its uttermost dreg.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then drawing himself up, he addresses his audience once more:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An' noo I'll warn ye aince and for a', and ye may tell James Moore I said
+      it: He may plot agin us, Wullie and me; he may threaten us; he may win the
+      Cup outright for his muckle favorite; but there was niver a man or dog yet
+      as did Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull a hurt but in the end he wush't his
+      mither hadna borne him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A little later, and he walks out of the inn, the Tailless Tyke at his
+      heels.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After he is gone it is Rob Saunderson who says: &ldquo;The little mon's mad;
+      he'll stop at nothin&rdquo;; and Tammas who answers:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay; not even murder.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      The little man had aged much of late. His hair was quite white, his eyes
+      unnaturally bright, and his hands were never still, as though he were in
+      everlasting pain. He looked the picture of disease.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After Owd Bob's second victory he had become morose and untalkative. At
+      home he often sat silent for hours together, drinking and glaring at the
+      place where the Cup had been. Sometimes he talked in low, eerie voice to
+      Red Wull; and on two occasions, David, turning, suddenly, had caught his
+      father glowering stealthily at him with such an expression on his face as
+      chilled the boy's blood. The two never spoke now; and David held this
+      silent, deadly enmity far worse than the old-time perpetual warfare.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the same at the Sylvester Arms. The little man sat alone with Red
+      Wull, exchanging words with no man, drinking steadily, brooding over his
+      wrongs, only now and again galvanized into sudden action.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Other people than Tammas Thornton came to the conclusion that M'Adam would
+      stop at nothing in the undoing of James Moore or the gray dog. They said
+      drink and disappointment had turned his head; that he was mad and
+      dangerous. And on New Year's day matters seemed coming to a crisis; for it
+      was reported that in the gloom of a snowy evening he had drawn a knife on
+      the Master in the High Street, but slipped before he could accomplish his
+      fell purpose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Most of them all, David was haunted with an ever-present anxiety as to the
+      little man's intentions. The boy even went so far as to warn his friend
+      against his father. But the Master only smiled grimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank ye, lad,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;But I reck'n we can 'fend for oorsel's, Bob and
+      I. Eh, Owd Un?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Anxious as David might be, he was not so anxious as to be above taking a
+      mean advantage of this state of strained apprehension to work on Maggie's
+      fears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One evening he was escorting her home from church, when, just before they
+      reached the larch copse: &ldquo;Goo' sakes! What's that?&rdquo; he ejaculated in
+      horror-laden accents, starting back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, Davie?&rdquo; cried the girl, shrinking up to him all in a tremble.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Couldna say for sure. It mought be owt, or agin it mought be nowt. But
+      yo' grip my arm, I'll grip yo' waist.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie demurred.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Canst see onythin'?&rdquo; she asked, still in a flutter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be'ind the 'edge.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wheer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Theer! &ldquo;&mdash;pointing vaguely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I canna see nowt.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, theer, lass. Can yo' not see? Then yo' pit your head along o' mine&mdash;so&mdash;closer&mdash;closer.&rdquo;
+       Then, in aggrieved tones: &ldquo;Whativer is the matter wi' yo', wench? I might
+      be a leprosy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But the girl was walking away with her head high as the snow-capped Pike.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So long as I live, David M'Adam,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;I'll niver go to church wi'
+      you agin!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Iss, but you will though&mdash;onst,&rdquo; he answered low.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie whisked round in a flash, superbly indignant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What d'yo' mean, sir-r-r?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' know what I mean, lass,&rdquo; he replied sheepish and shuffling before her
+      queenly anger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked him up and down, and down and up again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll niver speak to you agin, Mr. M'Adam,&rdquo; she cried; &ldquo;not if it was ever
+      so&mdash;Nay, I'll walk home by myself, thank you. I'll ha' nowt to do wi'
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So the two must return to Kenmuir, one behind the other, like a lady and
+      her footman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David's audacity had more than once already all but caused a rupture
+      between the pair. And the occurrence behind the hedge set the cap on his
+      impertinences. That was past enduring and Maggie by her bearing let him
+      know it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David tolerated the girl's new attitude for exactly twelve minutes by the
+      kitchen clock. Then: &ldquo;Sulk wi' me, indeed! I'll teach her!&rdquo; and he marched
+      out of the door, &ldquo;Niver to cross it agin, ma word!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Afterward, however, he relented so far as to continue his visits as
+      before; but he made it clear that he only came to see the Master and hear
+      of Owd Bob's doings. On these occasions he loved best to sit on the
+      window-sill outside the kitchen, and talk and chaff with Tammas and the
+      men in the yard, feigning an uneasy bashfulness when reference made to
+      Bessie Bolstock. And after sitting thus for some time, he would half turn,
+      look over his shoulder, and remark in indifferent tones to the girl
+      within: &ldquo;Oh, good-evenin'! I forgot yo', &ldquo;&mdash;and then resume his
+      conversation. While the girl within, her face a little pinker, her lips a
+      little tighter, and her chin a little higher, would go about her business,
+      pretending neither to hear nor care.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The suspicions that M'Adam nourished dark designs against James Moore were
+      somewhat confirmed in that, on several occasions in the bitter dusks of
+      January afternoons, a little insidious figure was reported to have been
+      seen lurking among the farm-buildings of Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once Sam'l Todd caught the little man fairly, skulking away in the
+      woodshed. Sam'l took him up bodily and carried him down the slope to the
+      Wastrel, shaking him gently as he went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Across the stream he put him on his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I catches yo' cadgerin' aroun' the farm agin, little mon,&rdquo; he
+      admonished, holding up a warning finger; &ldquo;I'll tak' yo' and drap yo' in t'
+      Sheep-wash, I warn yo' fair. I'd ha' done it noo an' yo'd bin a bigger and
+      a younger mon. But theer! yo'm sic a scrappety bit. Noo, rin whoam.&rdquo; And
+      the little man slunk silently away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a time he appeared there no more. Then, one evening when it was almost
+      dark, James Moore, going the round of the outbuildings, felt Owd Bob
+      stiffen against his side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's oop, lad&rdquo; he whispered, halting; and, dropping his hand on the old
+      dog's neck felt a ruff of rising hair beneath it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Steady, lad, steady,&rdquo; he whispered; &ldquo;what is 't?&rdquo; He peered forward into
+      the gloom; and at length discerned a little familiar figure huddled away
+      in the crevice between two stacks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's yo, is it, M'Adam?&rdquo; he said, and, bending, seized a wisp of Owd
+      Bob's coat in a grip like a vice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, in a great voice, moved to rare anger:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oot o' this afore I do ye a hurt, ye meeserable spyin' creetur&rdquo; he
+      roared. &ldquo;Yo' mun wait till dark cooms to hide yo', yo' coward, afore yo
+      daur coom crawlin' aboot ma hoose, frightenin' the women-folk and up to
+      yer devilments. If yo've owt to say to me, coom like a mon in the open
+      day. Noo git aff wi' yo', afore I lay hands to yo'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood there in the dusk, tall and mighty, a terrible figure, one hand
+      pointing to the gate, the other still grasping the gray dog.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man scuttled away in the half-light, and out of the yard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the plank-bridge he turned and shook his fist at the darkening house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Curse ye, James Moore!&rdquo; he sobbed, &ldquo;I'll be even wi' ye yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XV. DEATH ON THE MARCHES
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      ON the top of this there followed an attempt to poison Th' Owd Un. At
+      least there was no other accounting for the affair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the dead of a long-remembered night James Moore was waked by a low
+      moaning beneath his room. He leapt out of bed and ran to the window to see
+      his favorite dragging about the moonlit yard, the dark head down, the
+      proud tail for once lowered, the lithe limbs wooden, heavy, unnatural&mdash;altogether
+      pitiful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a moment he was downstairs and out to his friend's assistance.
+      &ldquo;Whativer is't, Owd Un?&rdquo; he cried in anguish.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the sound of that dear voice the old dog tried to struggle to him,
+      could not, and fell, whimpering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a second the Master was with him, examining him tenderly, and crying
+      for Sam'l, who slept above the stables.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was every symptom of foul play: the tongue was swollen and almost
+      black; the breathing labored; the body twitched horribly; and the soft
+      gray eyes all bloodshot and straining in agony.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With the aid of Sam'l and Maggie, drenching first and stimulants after,
+      the Master pulled him around for the moment. And soon Jim Mason and Parson
+      Leggy, hurriedly summoned, came running hot-foot to the rescue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Prompt and stringent measures saved the victim&mdash;but only just. For a
+      time the best sheep-dog in the North was pawing at the Gate of Death. In
+      the end, as the gray dawn broke, the danger passed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The attempt to get at him, if attempt it was, aroused passionate
+      indignation in the countryside. It seemed the culminating-point of the
+      excitement long bubbling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There were no traces of the culprit; not a vestige to lead to
+      incrimination, so cunningly had the criminal accomplished his foul task.
+      But as to the perpetrator, if there where no proofs there were yet fewer
+      doubts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the Sylvester Arms, Long Kirby asked M'Adam point-blank for his
+      explanation of the matter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hoo do I 'count for it?&rdquo; the little man cried. &ldquo;I dinna 'count for it
+      ava.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then hoo did it happen?&rdquo; asked Tammas with asperity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I dinna believe it did happen,&rdquo; the little man replied. &ldquo;It's a lee o'
+      James Moore's&mdash;a characteristic lee.&rdquo; Whereon they chucked him out
+      incontinently; for the Terror for once was elsewhere.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now that afternoon is to be remembered for threefold causes. Firstly,
+      because, as has been said, M'Adam was alone. Secondly, because, a few
+      minutes after his ejectment, the window of the tap-room was thrown open
+      from without, and the little man looked in. He spoke no word, but those
+      dim, smouldering eyes of his wandered from face to face, resting for a
+      second on each, as if to burn them on his memory. &ldquo;I'll remember ye,
+      gentlemen,&rdquo; he said at length quietly, shut the window, and was gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thirdly, for a reason now to be told.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Though ten days had elapsed since the attempt on him, the gray dog had
+      never been his old self since. He had attacks of shivering; his vitality
+      seemed sapped; he tired easily, and, great heart, would never own it. At
+      length on this day, James Moore, leaving the old dog behind him, had gone
+      over to Grammoch-town to consult Dingley, the vet. On his way home he met
+      Jim Mason with Gyp, the faithful Betsy's unworthy successor, at the
+      Dalesman's Daughter. Together they started for the long tramp home over
+      the Marches. And that journey is marked with a red stone in this story.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All day long the hills had been bathed in impenetrable fog. Throughout
+      there had been an accompanying drizzle; and in the distance the wind had
+      moaned a storm-menace. To the darkness of the day was added the sombreness
+      of falling night as the three began the ascent of the Murk Muir Pass. By
+      the time they emerged into the Devil's Bowl it was altogether black and
+      blind. But the threat of wind had passed, leaving utter stillness; and
+      they could hear the splash of an otter on the far side of the Lone Tarn as
+      they skirted that gloomy water's edge. When at length the last steep rise
+      on to the Marches had been topped, a breath of soft air smote them
+      lightly, and the curtain of fog began drifting away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two men swung steadily through the heather with that reaching stride
+      the birthright of moor-men and highlanders. They talked but little, for
+      such was their nature: a word or two on sheep and the approaching
+      lambing-time; thence on to the coming Trials; the Shepherds' Trophy; Owd
+      Bob and the attempt on him; and from that to M'Adam and the Tailless Tyke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;D'yo' reck'n M'Adam had a hand in't?&rdquo; the postman was asking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay; there's no proof.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ceptin' he's mad to get shut o' Th' Owd Un afore Cup Day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Im or me&mdash;it mak's no differ. For a dog is disqualified from
+      competing for the Trophy who has changed hands during the six months prior
+      to the meeting. And this holds good though the change be only from father
+      to son on the decease of the former.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim looked up inquiringly at his companion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;D'yo' think it'll coom to that?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why&mdash;murder.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not if I can help it,&rdquo; the other answered grimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The fog had cleared away by now, and the moon was up. To their right, on
+      the crest of a rise some two hundred yards away, a low wood stood out
+      black against the sky. As they passed it, a blackbird rose up screaming,
+      and a brace of wood-pigeons winged noisily away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hullo! hark to the yammerin'!&rdquo; muttered Jim, stopping; &ldquo;and at this time
+      o' night too!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Some rabbits, playing in the moonlight on the outskirts of the wood, sat
+      up, listened, and hopped back into security. At the same moment a big
+      hill-fox slunk out of the covert. He stole a pace forward and halted,
+      listening with one ear back and one pad raised; then cantered silently
+      away in the gloom, passing close to the two men and yet not observing
+      them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's up, I wonder?&rdquo; mused the postman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The fox set 'em clackerin', I reck'n,&rdquo; said the Master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not he; he was scared 'maist oot o' his skin,&rdquo; the other answered. Then
+      in tones of suppressed excitement, with his hands on James Moore's arm:
+      &ldquo;And, look'ee, theer's ma Gyp a-beckonin' on us!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There, indeed, on the crest of the rise beside the wood, was the little
+      lurcher, now looking back at his master, now creeping stealthily forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ma word! theer's summat wrong yonder!&rdquo; cried Jim, and jerked the
+      post-bags off his shoulder. &ldquo;Coom on, Master! &ldquo;&mdash;and he set off
+      running toward the dog; while James Moore, himself excited now, followed
+      with an agility that belied his years.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some score yards from the lower edge of the spinney, upon the farther side
+      of the ridge, a tiny beck babbled through its bed of peat. The two men, as
+      they topped the rise, noticed a flock of black-faced mountain-sheep
+      clustered in the dip 'twixt wood and stream. They stood martialled in
+      close array, facing half toward the wood, half toward the newcomers, heads
+      up, eyes glaring, handsome as sheep only look when scared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the crest of the ridge the two men halted beside Gyp. The postman stood
+      with his head a little forward, listening intently. Then he dropped in the
+      heather like a dead man, pulling the other with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Doon, mon!&rdquo; he whispered, clutching at Gyp with his spare hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is't, Jim?&rdquo; asked the Master, now thoroughly roused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Summat movin' i' th' wood,&rdquo; the other whispered, listening weasel-eared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So they lay motionless for a while; but there came no sound from the
+      copse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Appen 'twas nowt,&rdquo; the postman at length allowed, peering cautiously
+      about. &ldquo;And yet I thowt&mdash;I dunno reetly what I thowt.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, starting to his knees with a hoarse cry of terror: &ldquo;Save us! what's
+      yon theer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then for the first time the Master raised his head and noticed, lying in
+      the gloom between them and the array of sheep, a still, white heap.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore was a man of deeds, not words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's past waitin'!&rdquo; he said, and sprang forward, his heart in his mouth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sheep stamped and shuffled as he came, and yet did not break.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, thanks be!&rdquo; he cried, dropping beside the motionless body; &ldquo;it's
+      nob'but a sheep.&rdquo; As he spoke his hands wandered deftly over the carcase.
+      &ldquo;But what's this?&rdquo; he called. &ldquo;Stout* she was as me. Look at her fleece&mdash;crisp,
+      close, strong; feel the flesh&mdash;firm as a rock. And ne'er a bone
+      broke, ne're a scrat on her body a pin could mak'. As healthy as a mon&mdash;and
+      yet dead as mutton!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     *N.B. Stout&mdash;Hearty.
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      Jim, still trembling from the horror of his fear, came up, and knelt
+      beside his friend. &ldquo;Ah, but there's bin devilry in this!&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I
+      reck'ned they sheep had bin badly skeared, and not so long agone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sheep-murder, sure enough!&rdquo; the other answered. &ldquo;No fox's doin'&mdash;a
+      girt-grown two-shear as could 'maist knock a h'ox.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim's hands travelled from the body to the dead creature's throat. He
+      screamed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By gob, Master! look 'ee theer!&rdquo; He held his hand up in the moonlight,
+      and it dripped red. &ldquo;And warm yet! warm!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tear some bracken, Jim!&rdquo; ordered the other, &ldquo;and set alight. We mun see
+      to this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The postman did as bid. For a moment the fern smouldered and smoked, then
+      the flame ran crackling along and shot up in the darkness, weirdly
+      lighting the scene: to the right the low wood, a block of solid blackness
+      against the sky; in front the wall of sheep, staring out of the gloom with
+      bright eyes; and as centre-piece that still, white body, with the kneeling
+      men and lurcher sniffing tentatively round.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The victim was subjected to a critical examination. The throat, and that
+      only, had been hideously mauled; from the raw wounds the flesh hung in
+      horrid shreds; on the ground all about were little pitiful dabs of wool,
+      wrenched off apparently in a struggle; and, crawling among the fern-roots,
+      a snake-like track of red led down to the stream.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A dog's doin', and no mistakin' thot,&rdquo; said Jim at length, after a minute
+      inspection.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; declared the Master with slow emphasis, &ldquo;and a sheep-dog's too, and
+      an old un's, or I'm no shepherd.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The postman looked up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why thot?&rdquo; he asked, puzzled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Becos,&rdquo; the Master answered, &ldquo;'im as did this killed for blood&mdash;and
+      for blood only. If had bin ony other dog&mdash;greyhound, bull, tarrier,
+      or even a young sheep-dog&mdash;d'yo' think he'd ha' stopped wi' the one?
+      Not he; he'd ha' gone through 'em, and be runnin' 'em as like as not yet,
+      nippin' 'em, pullin' 'em down, till he'd maybe killed the half. But 'im as
+      did this killed for blood, I say. He got it&mdash;killed just the one, and
+      nary touched the others, d'yo 'see, Jim?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The postman whistled, long and low.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's just what owd Wrottesley'd tell on,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I never nob'but half
+      believed him then&mdash;I do now though. D'yo' mind what th' owd lad'd
+      tell, Master?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore nodded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thot's it. I've never seen the like afore myself, but I've heard ma
+      grandad speak o't mony's the time. An owd dog'll git the cravin' for
+      sheep's blood on him, just the same as a mon does for the drink; he creeps
+      oot o' nights, gallops afar, hunts his sheep, downs 'er, and satisfies the
+      cravin'. And he nary kills but the one, they say, for he knows the value
+      o' sheep same as you and me. He has his gallop, quenches the thirst, and
+      then he's for home, maybe a score mile away, and no one the wiser i' th'
+      mornin'. And so on, till he cooms to a bloody death, the murderin'
+      traitor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If he does!&rdquo; said Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And he does, they say, nigh always. For he gets bolder and bolder wi' not
+      bein' caught, until one fine night a bullet lets light into him. And some
+      mon gets knocked nigh endways when they bring his best tyke home i' th'
+      mornin', dead, wi' the sheep's wool yet stickin' in his mouth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The postman whistled again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's what owd Wrottesley'd tell on to a tick. And he'd say, if ye mind,
+      Master, as hoo the dog'd niver kill his master's sheep&mdash;kind o'
+      conscience-like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, I've heard that,&rdquo; said the Master. &ldquo;Queer too, and 'im bein' such a
+      bad un!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim Mason rose slowly from his knees.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ma word,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I wish Th' Owd Un was here. He'd 'appen show us
+      summat!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I nob'but wish he was, pore owd lad!&rdquo; said the Master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he spoke there was a crash in the wood above them; a sound as of some
+      big body bursting furiously through brushwood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two men rushed to the top of the rise. In the darkness they could see
+      nothing; only, standing still and holding their breaths, they could hear
+      the faint sound, ever growing fainter, of some creature splashing in a
+      hasty gallop over the wet moors.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yon's him! Yon's no fox, I'll tak' oath. And a main big un, too, hark to
+      him!&rdquo; cried Jim. Then to Gyp, who had rushed off in hot pursuit: &ldquo;Coom
+      back, chunk-'ead. What's use o' you agin a gallopin' potamus?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Gradually the sounds died away and away, and were no more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thot's 'im, the devil!&rdquo; said the Master at length.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay; the devil has a tail, they do say,&rdquo; replied Jim thoughtfully. For
+      already the light of suspicion was focusing its red glare.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Noo I reck'n we're in for bloody times amang the sheep for a while,&rdquo; said
+      the Master, as Jim picked up his bags.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Better a sheep nor a mon,&rdquo; answered the postman, still harping on the old
+      theme.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XVI. THE BLACK KILLER
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      THAT, as James Moore had predicted, was the first only of a long
+      succession of such solitary crimes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Those who have not lived in a desolate country like that about the Muir
+      Pike, where sheep are paramount and every other man engaged in the
+      profession pastoral, can barely imagine the sensation aroused. In market
+      place, tavern, or cottage, the subject of conversation was always the
+      latest sheep-murder and the yet-undetected criminal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sometimes there would be a lull, and the shepherds would begin to breathe
+      more freely. Then there would come a stormy night, when the heavens were
+      veiled in the cloak of crime, and the wind moaned fitfully over meres and
+      marches, and another victim would be added to the lengthening list.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was always such black nights, nights of wind and weather, when no man
+      would be abroad, that the murderer chose for his bloody work; and that was
+      how he became known from the Red Screes to the Muir Pike as the Black
+      Killer. In the Daleland they still call a wild, wet night &ldquo;A Black
+      Killer's night:&rdquo; for they say: &ldquo;His ghaist'll be oot the night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was hardly a farm in the countryside but was marked with the seal of
+      blood. Kenmuir escaped, and the Grange; Rob Saunderson at the Holt, and
+      Tupper at Swinsthwaite; and they were about the only lucky ones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As for Kenmuir, Tammas declared with a certain grim pride: &ldquo;He knows
+      better'n to coom wheer Th' Owd Un be.&rdquo; Whereat M'Adam was taken with a fit
+      of internal spasms, rubbing his knees and cackling insanely for a
+      half-hour afterward. And as for the luck of the Grange&mdash;well, there
+      was a reason for that too, so the Dalesmen said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Though the area of crime stretched from the Black Water to Grammoch-town,
+      twenty-odd miles, there was never a sign of the perpetrator. The Killer
+      did his bloody work with a thoroughness and a devilish cunning that defied
+      detection.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was plain that each murder might be set down to the same agency. Each
+      was stamped with the same unmistakable sign-manual: one sheep killed, its
+      throat torn into red ribands, and the others untouched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was at the instigation of Parson Leggy that the squire imported a
+      bloodhound to track the Killer to his doom. Set on at a fresh killed
+      carcase at the One Tree Knowe, he carried the line a distance in the
+      direction of the Muir Pike; then was thrown out by a little bustling beck,
+      and never acknowledged the scent again. Afterward he became unmanageable,
+      and could be no further utilized. Then there was talk of inducing Tommy
+      Dobson and his pack to come over from Eskdale, but that came to nothing.
+      The Master of the Border Hunt lent a couple of foxhounds, who effected
+      nothing; and there were a hundred other attempts and as many failures. Jim
+      Mason set a cunning trap or two and caught his own bob-tailed
+      tortoise-shell and a terrible wigging from his missus; Ned Hoppin sat up
+      with a gun two nights over a new slain victim and Londesley of the Home
+      Farm poisoned a carcase. But the Killer never returned to the kill, and
+      went about in the midst of the all, carrying on his infamous traffic and
+      laughing up his sleeve.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the meanwhile the Dalesmen raged and swore vengeance; their impotence,
+      their unsuccess, and their losses heating their wrath to madness. And the
+      bitterest sting of it all lay in this; that though they could not detect
+      him, they were nigh to positive as to the culprit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Many a time was the Black Killer named in low-voiced conclave; many a time
+      did Long Kirby, as he stood in the Border Ram and watched M'Adam and the
+      Terror walking down the High, nudge Jim Mason and whisper:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Theer's the Killer&mdash;oneasy be his grave!&rdquo; To which practical Jim
+      always made the same retort:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, theer's the Killer; but wheer's the proof?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And therein lay the crux. There was scarcely a man in the countryside who
+      doubted the guilt of the Tailless Tyke; but, as Jim said, where was the
+      proof? They could but point to his well-won nickname; his evil notoriety;
+      say that, magnificent sheep-dog as he was, he was known even in his work
+      as a rough handler of stock; and lastly remark significantly that the
+      grange was one of the few farms that had so far escaped unscathed. For
+      with the belief that the Black Killer was a sheep-dog they held it as an
+      article of faith that he would in honour spare his master's flock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There may, indeed, have been prejudice in their judgement. For each has
+      his private grudge against the Terror; and nigh every man bore on his own
+      person, or his clothes, or on the body of his dog, the mark of that huge
+      savage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Proof?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, he near killed ma Lassie!&rdquo; cries Londesley.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And he did kill the Wexer!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And Wan Tromp!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And see pore old Wenus!&rdquo; says John Swan, and pulls out that fair Amazon,
+      battered almost past recognition, but a warrioress still.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's Red Wull&mdash;bloody be his end!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And he laid ma Rasper by for nigh three weeks!&rdquo; continues Tupper,
+      pointing to the yet-unhealed scars on the neck of the big bobtail. &ldquo;See
+      thisey&mdash;his work.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And look here!&rdquo; cries Saunderson, exposing a ragged wound in Shep's
+      throat; &ldquo;thot's the Terror&mdash;black be his fa'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; says Long Kirby with an oath; &ldquo;the tykes love him nigh as much as we
+      do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; says Tammas. &ldquo;Yo' jest watch!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man slips out of the tap-room; and in another moment from the road
+      without comes a heavy, regular pat-pat-pat, as of some big creature
+      approaching, and, blending with the sound, little shuffling footsteps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In an instant every dog in the room has risen to his feet and stands
+      staring at the door with sullen, glowing eyes; lips wrinkling, bristles
+      rising, throats rumbling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An unsteady hand fumbles at the door; a reedy voice calls, &ldquo;Wullie, come
+      here!&rdquo; and the dogs move away, surly to either side of the fireplace,
+      tails down, ears back, grumbling still; the picture of cowed passion. Then
+      the door opens; Tammas enters, grinning; and each, after a moment's
+      scrutiny, resumes his former position before the fire.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile over M'Adam, seemingly all unsuspicious of these suspicions, a
+      change had come. Whether it was that for the time he heard less of the
+      best sheep-dog in the North, or for some more occult reason, certain it is
+      that he became his old self. His tongue wagged as gayly and bitterly as
+      ever, and hardly a night passed but he infuriated Tammas almost to blows
+      with his innuendoes and insidious sarcasms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Jonas Maddox, one evening at the Sylvester Arms, inquired of him what
+      his notion was as to the identity of the Killer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hae ma suspicions, Mr. Maddox; I hae ma suspicions,&rdquo; the little man
+      replied, cunningly wagging his head and giggling. But more than that they
+      could not elicit from him. A week later, however, to the question:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what are yo' thinkin' o' this black Killer, Mr. M'adam?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why <i>black?</i>&rdquo; the little man asked earnestly; &ldquo;why <i>black</i> mair
+      than white&mdash;or <i>gray</i> we'll say?&rdquo; Luckily for him, however, the
+      Dalesmen are slow of wit as of speech.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David, too, marked the difference in his father, who nagged at him now and
+      then with all the old spirit. At first he rejoiced in then change,
+      preferring his outward and open warfare to that aforetime stealthy enmity.
+      But soon he almost wished the other back; for the older he grew the more
+      difficult did he find it to endure calmly these everlasting bickerings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For one reason he was truly glad of the altered condition of affairs; he
+      believed that, for the nonce, at least his father had abandoned any ill
+      designs he might have cherished against James Moore; those sneaking visits
+      to Kenmuir were, he hoped, discontinued.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet Maggie Moore, had she been on speaking terms with him, could have
+      undeceived him. For, one night, when alone in the kitchen, on suddenly
+      looking up, she had seen to her horror a dim, moonlike face glued against
+      the windowpane. In the first mad panic of the moment she almost screamed,
+      and dropped her work; then&mdash;a true Moore&mdash;controlled herself and
+      sat feigning to work, yet watching all the while.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was M'Adam, she recognized that: the face pale in its framework of
+      black; the hair lying dank and dark on his forehead; and the white eyelids
+      blinking, slow, regular, horrible. She thought of the stories she had
+      heard of his sworn vengeance on her father, and her heart stood still,
+      though she never moved. At length with a gasp of relief she discerned that
+      the eyes were not directed on her. Stealthily following their gaze, she
+      saw they rested on the Shepherds' Trophy; and on the Cup they remained
+      fixed, immovable, while she sat motionless and watched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An hour, it seemed to her, elapsed before they shifted their direction,
+      and wandered round the room. For a second they dwelt upon her; then the
+      face withdrew into the night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie told no one what she had seen. Knowing well how terrible her father
+      was in his anger, she deemed it wiser to keep silence. While as for David
+      M'Adam, she would never speak to him again!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And not for a moment did that young man surmise whence his father came
+      when, on the night in question, M'Adam returned to the Grange, chuckling
+      to himself. David was growing of late accustomed to these fits of silent,
+      unprovoked merriment; and when his father began giggling and muttering to
+      Red Wull, at first he paid no heed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He! he! Wullie. Aiblins we'll beat him yet. There's many a slip twixt Cup
+      and lip&mdash;eh, Wullie, he! he!&rdquo; And he made allusion to the flourishing
+      of the wicked and their fall; ending always with the same refrain: &ldquo;He!
+      he! Wullie. Aiblins we'll beat him yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In this strain he continued until David, his patience exhausted, asked
+      roughly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is't yo' mumblin' aboot? Wha is it yo'll beat, you and yer Wullie?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The lad's tone was as contemptuous as his words. Long ago he had cast
+      aside any semblance of respect for his father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam only rubbed his knees and giggled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hark to the dear lad, Wullie! Listen hoo pleasantly he addresses his auld
+      dad!&rdquo; Then turning on his son, and leering at him: &ldquo;What is it, ye ask?
+      Wha should it be but the Black Killer? Wha else is there I'd be wushin' to
+      hurt?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Black Killer!&rdquo; echoed the boy, and looked at his father in amazement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now David was almost the only man in Wastrel-dale who denied Red Wull's
+      identity with the Killer. &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; he said once; &ldquo;he'd kill me, given half a
+      chance, but a sheep&mdash;no.&rdquo; Yet, though himself of this opinion, he
+      knew well what the talk was, and was astonished accordingly at his
+      father's remark.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Black Killer, is it? What d'you know o' the Killer?&rdquo; he inquired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why <i>black</i>, I wad ken? Why <i>black?</i>&rdquo; the little man asked,
+      leaning forward in his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now David, though repudiating in the village Red Wull's complicity with
+      the crimes, at home was never so happy as when casting cunning innuendoes
+      to that effect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What would you have him then?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;Red, yaller, muck-dirt colour?&rdquo;&mdash;and
+      he stared significantly at the Tailless Tyke, who was lying at his
+      master's feet. The little man ceased rubbing his knees and eyed the boy.
+      David shifted uneasily beneath that dim, persistent stare.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; he said at length gruffly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man giggled, and his two thin hands took up their task again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aiblins his puir auld doited fool of a dad kens mair than the dear lad
+      thinks for, ay, or wushes&mdash;eh, Wullie, he! he!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then what is it you do know, or think yo' know?&rdquo; David asked irritably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man nodded and chuckled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Naethin' ava, laddie, naethin' worth the mention. Only aiblins the
+      Killer'll be caught afore sae lang.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David smiled incredulously, wagging his head in offensive scepticism.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo'll catch him yo'self, I s'pose, you and yer Wullie? Tak' a chair on to
+      the Marches, whistle a while, and when the Killer comes, why! pit a pinch
+      o' salt upon his tail&mdash;if he had one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the last words, heavily punctuated by the speaker, the little man
+      stopped his rubbing as though shot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What wad ye mean by that?&rdquo; he asked softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What wad I?&rdquo; the boy replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I dinna ken for sure,&rdquo; the little man answered; &ldquo;and it's aiblins just as
+      well for you, dear lad&rdquo;&mdash;in fawning accents&mdash;&ldquo;that I dinna.&rdquo; He
+      began rubbing and giggling afresh. &ldquo;It's a gran' thing, Wullie, to ha' a
+      dutiful son; a shairp lad wha has no silly sens o' shame aboot sharpenin'
+      his wits at his auld dad's expense. And yet, despite oor facetious lad
+      there, aiblins we will ha' a hand in the Killer's catchin', you and I,
+      Wullie&mdash;he! he!&rdquo; And the great dog at his feet wagged his stump tail
+      in reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David rose from his chair and walked across the room to where his father
+      sat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If yo' know sic a mighty heap,&rdquo; he shouted, &ldquo;happen you'll just tell me
+      what yo' do know!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam stopped stroking Red Wull's massive head, and looked up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell ye? Ay, wha should I tell if not ma dear David? Tell? Ay, I'll tell
+      ye this&rdquo;&mdash;with a sudden snarl of bitterness&mdash;&ldquo;That you'd be the
+      vairy last person I wad tell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XVII. A MAD DOG
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      DAVID and Maggie, meanwhile, were drifting further and further apart. He
+      now thought the girl took too much upon herself; that this assumption of
+      the woman and the mother was overdone. Once, on a Sunday, he caught her
+      hearing Andrew his catechism. He watched the performance through a crack
+      in the door, and listened, giggling, to her simple teaching. At length his
+      merriment grew so boisterous that she looked up, saw him, and, straightway
+      rising to her feet, crossed the room and shut the door; tendering her
+      unspoken rebuke with such a sweet dignity that he slunk away for once
+      decently ashamed. And the incident served to add point to his hostility.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Consequently he was seldom at Kenmuir, and more often at home, quarrelling
+      with his father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Since that day, two years before, when the boy had been an instrument in
+      the taking of the Cup from him, father and son had been like two vessels
+      charged with electricity, contact between which might result at any moment
+      in a shock and a flash. This was the outcome not of a moment, but of
+      years.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of late the contest had raged markedly fierce; for M'Adam noticed his
+      son's more frequent presence at home, and commented on the fact in his
+      usual spirit of playful raillery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's come to ye, David?&rdquo; he asked one day. &ldquo;Yer auld dad's head is nigh
+      turned wi' yer condescension. Is James Moore feared ye'll steal the Cup
+      fra him, as ye stole it from me, that he'll not ha' ye at Kenmuir? or what
+      is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought I could maybe keep an eye on the Killer gin I stayed here,&rdquo;
+       David answered, leering at Red Wull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye'd do better at Kenmuir&mdash;eh, Wullie!&rdquo; the little man replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; the other answered, &ldquo;he'll not go to Kenmuir. There's Th' Owd Un to
+      see to him there o' nights.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man whipped round.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are ye so sure he is there o' nights, ma lad?&rdquo; he asked with slow
+      significance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He was there when some one&mdash;I dinna say who, though I have ma
+      thoughts&mdash;tried to poison him,&rdquo; sneered the boy, mimicking his
+      father's manner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If he was poisoned, and noo I think aiblins he was, he didna pick it up
+      at Kenmuir, I tell ye that,&rdquo; he said, and marched out of the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the mean time the Black Killer pursued his bloody trade unchecked. The
+      public, always greedy of a new sensation, took up the matter. In several
+      of the great dailies, articles on the &ldquo;Agrarian Outrages&rdquo; appeared,
+      followed by lengthy correspondence. Controversy raged high; each
+      correspondent had his own theory and his own solution of the problem; and
+      each waxed indignant as his were discarded for another's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Terror had reigned already two months when, with the advent of the
+      lambing-time, matters took a yet more serious aspect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was bad enough to lose one sheep, often the finest in the pack; but the
+      hunting of a flock at a critical moment, which was incidental to the
+      slaughter of the one, the scaring of these woolly mothers-about-to-be
+      almost out of their fleeces, spelt for the small farmers something akin to
+      ruin, for the bigger ones a loss hardly bearable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Such a woful season had never been known; loud were the curses, deep the
+      vows of revenge. Many a shepherd at that time patrolled all night through
+      with his dogs, only to find in the morning that the Killer had slipped him
+      and havocked in some secluded portion of his beat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was heartrending work; and all the more so in that, though his
+      incrimination seemed as far off as ever, there was still the same
+      positiveness as to the culprit's identity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Long Kirby, indeed, greatly daring, went so far on one occasion as to say
+      to the little man: &ldquo;And d'yo' reck'n the Killer is a sheep-dog, M'Adam?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do,&rdquo; the little man replied with conviction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And that he'll spare his own sheep?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Niver a doubt of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then,&rdquo; said the smith with a nervous cackle, &ldquo;it must lie between you and
+      Tupper and Saunderson.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man leant forward and tapped the other on the arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or Kenmuir, ma friend,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Ye've forgot Kenmuir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So I have,&rdquo; laughed the smith, &ldquo;so I have.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I'd not anither time,&rdquo; the other continued, still tapping. &ldquo;I'd mind
+      Kenmuir, d'ye see, Kirby?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      It was about the middle of the lambing-time, when the Killer was working
+      his worst, that the Dalesmen had a lurid glimpse of Adam M'Adam as he
+      might be were he wounded through his Wullie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus it came about: It was market-day in Grammoch-town, and in the Border
+      Ram old Rob Saunderson was the centre of interest. For on the previous
+      night Rob, who till then had escaped unscathed, had lost a sheep to the
+      Killer: and&mdash;far worse&mdash;his flock of Herdwicks, heavy in lamb,
+      had been galloped with disastrous consequences.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man, with tears in his eyes, was telling how on four nights that
+      week he had been up with Shep to guard against mishap; and on the fifth,
+      worn out with his double labor, had fallen asleep at his post. But a very
+      little while he slumbered; yet when, in the dawn, he woke and hurried on
+      his rounds, he quickly came upon a mangled sheep and the pitiful relic of
+      his flock. A relic, indeed! For all about were cold wee lambkins and their
+      mothers, dead and dying of exhaustion and their unripe travail&mdash;a
+      slaughter of the innocents.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Dalesmen were clustered round the old shepherd, listening with
+      lowering countenances, when a dark gray head peered in at the door and two
+      wistful eyes dwelt for a moment on the speaker.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Talk o' the devil!&rdquo; muttered M'Adam, but no man heard him. For Red Wull,
+      too, had seen that sad face, and, rising from his master's feet, had leapt
+      with a roar at his enemy, toppling Jim Mason like a ninepin in the fury of
+      his charge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a second every dog in the room, from the battered Venus to Tupper's big
+      Rasper, was on his feet, bristling to have at the tyrant and wipe out past
+      injuries, if the gray dog would but lead the dance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not to be, however. For Long Kirby was standing at the door with a
+      cup of hot coffee in his hand. Barely had he greeted the gray dog with&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ullo, Owd Un!&rdquo; when hoarse yells of &ldquo;'Ware, lad! The Terror!&rdquo; mingled
+      with Red Wull's roar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Half turning, he saw the great dog bounding to the attack. Straightway he
+      flung the boiling contents of his cup full in that rage-wracked
+      countenance. The burning liquid swished against the huge bull-head.
+      Blinding, bubbling, scalding, it did its fell work well; nothing escaped
+      that merciless torrent. With a cry of agony, half bellow, half howl, Red
+      Wull checked in his charge. From without the door was banged to; and again
+      the duel was postponed. While within the tap-room a huddle of men and dogs
+      were left alone with a mad man and a madder brute.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Blind, demented, agonized, the Tailless Tyke thundered about the little
+      room gnashing, snapping, oversetting; men, tables, chairs swirled off
+      their legs as though they had been dolls. He spun round like a monstrous
+      teetotum; he banged his tortured head against the wall; he burrowed into
+      the unyielding floor. And all the while M'Adam pattered after him, laying
+      hands upon him only to be flung aside as a terrier flings a rat. Now up,
+      now down again, now tossed into a corner, now dragged upon the floor, yet
+      always following on and crying in supplicating tones, &ldquo;Wullie, Wullie, let
+      me to ye! let yer man ease ye!&rdquo; and then, with a scream and a murderous
+      glance, &ldquo;By &mdash;&mdash;, Kirby, I'll deal wi' you later!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The uproar was like hell let loose. You could hear the noise of oaths and
+      blows, as the men fought for the door, a half-mile away. And above it the
+      horrid bellowing and the screaming of that shrill voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Long Kirby was the first man out of that murder-hole; and after him the
+      others toppled one by one&mdash;men and dogs jostling one another in the
+      frenzy of their fear. Big Bell, Londesley, Tupper, Hoppin, Teddy Bolstock,
+      white-faced and trembling; and old Saunderson they pulled out by his
+      heels. Then the door was shut with a clang, and the little man and mad dog
+      were left alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the street was already a big-eyed crowd, attracted by the uproar; while
+      at the door was James Moore, seeking entrance. &ldquo;Happen I could lend the
+      little mon a hand,&rdquo; said he; but they withheld him forcibly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Inside was pandemonium: bangings like the doors of hell; the bellowing of
+      that great voice; the patter of little feet; the slithering of a body on
+      the floor; and always that shrill, beseeching prayer, &ldquo;Wullie, Wullie, let
+      me to ye!&rdquo; and, in a scream, &ldquo;By &mdash;&mdash;, Kirby, I'll be wi' ye
+      soon!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim Mason it was who turned, at length, to the smith and whispered,
+      &ldquo;Kirby, lad, yo'd best skip it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The big man obeyed and ran. The stamp-stamp of his feet on the hard road
+      rang above the turmoil. As the long legs vanished round the corner and the
+      sound of the fugitive died away, a panic seized the listening crowd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A woman shrieked; a girl fainted; and in two minutes the street was as
+      naked of men as the steppes of Russia in winter: here a white face at a
+      window; there a door ajar; and peering round a far corner a frightened
+      boy. One man only scorned to run. Alone, James Moore stalked down the
+      centre of the road, slow and calm, Owd Bob trotting at his heels.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a long half-hour before the door of the inn burst open, and M'Adam
+      came out with a run, flinging the door behind him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rushed into the middle of the road; his sleeves were rolled at the
+      wrist like a surgeon's; and in his right hand was a black-handled
+      jack-knife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Noo, by &mdash;&mdash;!&rdquo; he cried in a terrible voice, &ldquo;where is he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked up and down the road, darting his fiery glances everywhere; and
+      his face was whiter than his hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he turned and hunted madly down the whole length of the High, nosing
+      like a weasel in every cranny, stabbing at the air as he went, and
+      screaming, &ldquo;By &mdash;&mdash;, Kirby, wait till I get ye!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XVIII. HOW THE KILLER WAS SINGED
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      No further harm came of the incident; but it served as a healthy
+      object-lesson for the Dalesmen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A coincidence it may have been, but, as a fact, for the fortnight
+      succeeding Kirby's exploit there was a lull in the crimes. There followed,
+      as though to make amends, the seven days still remembered in the Daleland
+      as the Bloody Week.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the Sunday the Squire lost a Cheviot ewe, killed not a hundred yards
+      from the Manor wall. On the Monday a farm on the Black Water was marked
+      with the red cross. On Tuesday&mdash;a black night&mdash;Tupper at
+      Swinsthwaite came upon the murderer at his work; he fired into the
+      darkness without effect; and the Killer escaped with a scaring. On the
+      following night Viscount Birdsaye lost a shearling ram, for which he was
+      reported to have paid a fabulous sum. Thursday was the one blank night of
+      the week. On Friday Tupper was again visited and punished heavily, as
+      though in revenge for that shot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the Saturday afternoon a big meeting was held at the Manor to discuss
+      measures. The Squire presided; gentlemen and magistrates were there in
+      numbers, and every farmer in the country-side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To start the proceedings the Special Commissioner read a futile letter
+      from the Board of Agriculture. After him Viscount Birdsaye rose and
+      proposed that a reward more suitable to the seriousness of the case than
+      the paltry 5 pounds of the Police should be offered, and backed his
+      proposal with a 25 pound cheque. Several others spoke, and, last of all,
+      Parson Leggy rose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He briefly summarized the history of the crimes; reiterated his belief
+      that a sheep-dog was the criminal; declared that nothing had occurred to
+      shake his conviction; and concluded by offering a remedy for their
+      consideration. Simple it was, so he said, to laughableness; yet, if their
+      surmise was correct, it would serve as an effectual preventive if not
+      cure, and would at least give them time to turn round. He paused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My suggestion is: That every man-jack of you who owns a sheep-dog ties
+      him up at night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The farmers were given half an hour to consider the proposal, and
+      clustered in knots talking it over. Many an eye was directed on M'Adam;
+      but that little man appeared all unconscious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Weel, Mr. Saunderson,&rdquo; he was saying in, shrill accents, &ldquo;and shall ye
+      tie Shep?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What d'yo' think?&rdquo; asked Rob, eying the man at whom the measure was
+      aimed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, it's this way, I'm thinkin',&rdquo; the little man replied. &ldquo;Gin ye haud
+      Shep's the guilty one I <i>wad</i>, by all manner o' means&mdash;or
+      shootin'd be aiblins better. If not, why&rdquo;&mdash;he shrugged his shoulders
+      significantly; and having shown his hand and driven the nail well home,
+      the little man left the meeting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore stayed to see the Parson's resolution negatived, by a large
+      majority, and then he too quitted the hall. He had foreseen the result,
+      and, previous to the meeting, had warned the Parson how it would be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tie up!&rdquo; he cried almost indignantly, as Owd Bob came galloping up to his
+      whistle; &ldquo;I think I see myself chainin' yo', owd lad, like any murderer.
+      Why, it's yo' has kept the Killer off Kenmuir so far, I'll lay.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the lodge-gate was M'Adam, for once without his familiar spirit,
+      playing with the lodge-keeper's child; for the little man loved all
+      children but his own, and was beloved of them. As the Master approached he
+      looked up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Weel, Moore,&rdquo; he called, &ldquo;and are you gaein' to tie yer dog?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will if you will yours,&rdquo; the Master answered grimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Na,&rdquo; the little man replied, &ldquo;it's Wullie as frichts the Killer aff the
+      Grange. That's why I've left him there noo.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's the same wi' me,&rdquo; the Master said. &ldquo;He's not come to Kenmuir yet,
+      nor he'll not so long as Th' Owd Un's loose, I reck'n.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Loose or tied, for the matter o' that,&rdquo; the little man rejoined,
+      &ldquo;Kenmuir'll escape.&rdquo; He made the statement dogmatically, snapping his
+      lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master frowned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why that?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ha' ye no heard what they're sayin'?&rdquo; the little man inquired with raised
+      eyebrows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay; what?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, that the mere repitation o' th' best sheep-dog in the North' should
+      keep him aff. An' I guess they're reet,&rdquo; and he laughed shrilly as he
+      spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master passed on, puzzled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which road are ye gaein' hame?&rdquo; M'Adam called after him. &ldquo;Because,&rdquo; with
+      a polite smile, &ldquo;I'll tak' t'ither.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm off by the Windy Brae,&rdquo; the Master answered, striding on. &ldquo;Squire
+      asked me to leave a note wi' his shepherd t'other side o' the Chair.&rdquo; So
+      he headed away to the left, making for home by the route along the Silver
+      Mere.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is a long sweep of almost unbroken moorland, the well-called Windy
+      Brae; sloping gently down in mile on mile of heather from the Mere Marches
+      on the top to the fringe of the Silver Mere below. In all that waste of
+      moor the only break is the quaint-shaped Giant's Chair, puzzle of
+      geologists, looking as though plumped down by accident in the heathery
+      wild. The ground rises suddenly from the uniform grade of the Brae; up it
+      goes, ever growing steeper, until at length it runs abruptly into a sheer
+      curtain of rock&mdash;the Fall&mdash;which rises perpendicular some forty
+      feet, on the top of which rests that tiny grassy bowl&mdash;not twenty
+      yards across&mdash;they call the Scoop.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Scoop forms the seat of the Chair and reposes on its collar of rock,
+      cool and green and out of the world, like wine in a metal cup; in front is
+      the forty-foot Fall; behind, rising sheer again, the wall of rock which
+      makes the back of the Chair. Inaccessible from above, the only means of
+      entrance to that little dell are two narrow sheep-tracks, which crawl
+      dangerously up between the sheer wall on the one hand and the sheer Fall
+      on the other, entering it at opposite sides.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It stands out clear-cut from the gradual incline, that peculiar eminence;
+      yet as the Master and Owd Bob debouched on to the Brae it was already
+      invisible in the darkening night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Through the heather the two swung, the Master thinking now with a smile of
+      David and Maggie; wondering what M'Adam had meant; musing with a frown on
+      the Killer; pondering on his identity&mdash;for he was half of David's
+      opinion as to Red Wull's innocence; and thanking his stars that so far
+      Kenmuir had escaped, a piece of luck he attributed entirely to the
+      vigilance of Th' Owd Un, who, sleeping in the porch, slipped out at all
+      hours and went his rounds, warding off danger. And at the thought he
+      looked down for the dark head which should be travelling at his knee; yet
+      could not see it, so thick hung the pall of night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So he brushed his way along, and ever the night grew blacker; until, from
+      the swell of the ground beneath his feet, he knew himself skirting the
+      Giant's Chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now as he sped along the foot of the rise, of a sudden there burst on his
+      ear the myriad patter of galloping feet. He turned, and at the second a
+      swirl of sheep almost bore him down. It was velvet-black, and they fled
+      furiously by, yet he dimly discovered, driving at their trails, a vague
+      hound-like form.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Killer, by thunder!&rdquo; he ejaculated, and, startled though he was,
+      struck down at that last pursuing shape, to miss and almost fall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bob, lad!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;follow on!&rdquo; and swung round; but in the darkness
+      could not see if the gray dog had obeyed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The chase swept on into the night, and, far above him on the hill-side, he
+      could now hear the rattle of the flying feet. He started hotly in pursuit,
+      and then, recognizing the futility of following where he could not see his
+      hand, desisted. So he stood motionless, listening and peering into the
+      blackness, hoping Th' Owd Un was on the villain's heels.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He prayed for the moon; and, as though in answer, the lantern of the night
+      shone out and lit the dour face of the Chair above him. He shot a glance
+      at his feet; and thanked heaven on finding the gray dog was not beside
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he looked up. The sheep had broken, and were scattered over the steep
+      hill-side, still galloping madly. In the rout one pair of darting figures
+      caught and held his gaze: the foremost dodging, twisting, speeding upward,
+      the hinder hard on the leader's heels, swift, remorseless, never changing.
+      He looked for a third pursuing form; but none could he discern.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He mun ha' missed him in the dark,&rdquo; the Master muttered, the sweat
+      standing on his brow, as he strained his eyes upward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Higher and higher sped those two dark specks, far out-topping the
+      scattered remnant of the flock. Up and up, until of a sudden the sheer
+      Fall dropped its relentless barrier in the path of the fugitive. Away,
+      scudding along the foot of the rock-wall struck the familiar track leading
+      to the Scoop, and up it, bleating pitifully, nigh spent, the Killer hard
+      on her now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He'll doon her in the Scoop!&rdquo; cried the Master hoarsely, following with
+      fascinated eyes. &ldquo;Owd Un! Owd Un! wheer iver are yo' gotten to?&rdquo; he called
+      in agony; but no Owd Un made reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As they reached the summit, just as he had prophesied, the two black dots
+      were one; and down they rolled together into the hollow of the Scoop, out
+      of the Master's ken. At the same instant the moon, as though loth to watch
+      the last act of the bloody play, veiled her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was his chance. &ldquo;Noo!&rdquo;&mdash;and up the hillside he sped like a young
+      man, girding his loins for the struggle. The slope grew steep and steeper;
+      but on and on he held in the darkness, gasping painfully, yet running
+      still, until the face of the Fall blocked his way too.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There he paused a moment, and whistled a low call. Could he but dispatch
+      the old dog up the one path to the Scoop, while he took the other, the
+      murderer's one road to safety would be blocked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He waited, all expectant; but no cold muzzle was shoved into his hand.
+      Again he whistled. A pebble from above almost dropped on him, as if the
+      criminal up there had moved to the brink of the Fall to listen; and he
+      dared no more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He waited till all was still again, then crept, cat-like, along the
+      rock-foot, and hit, at length, the track up which a while before had fled
+      Killer and victim. Up that ragged way he crawled on hands and knees. The
+      perspiration rolled off his face; one elbow brushed the rock perpetually;
+      one hand plunged ever and anon into that naked emptiness on the other
+      side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He prayed that the moon might keep in but a little longer; that his feet
+      might be saved from falling, where a slip might well mean death, certain
+      destruction to any chance of success. He cursed his luck that Th' Owd Un
+      had somehow missed him in the dark; for now he must trust to chance, his
+      own great strength, and his good oak stick. And as he climbed, he laid his
+      plan: to rush in on the Killer as he still gorged and grapple with him. If
+      in the darkness he missed&mdash;and in that narrow arena the contingency
+      was improbable&mdash;the murderer might still, in the panic of the moment,
+      forget the one path to safety and leap over the Fall to his destruction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length he reached the summit and paused to draw breath. The black void
+      before him was the Scoop, and in its bosom&mdash;not ten yards away&mdash;must
+      be lying the Killer and the killed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He crouched against the wet rock-face and listened. In that dark silence,
+      poised 'twixt heaven and earth, he seemed a million miles apart from
+      living soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No sound, and yet the murderer must be there. Ay, there was the tinkle of
+      a dislodged stone; and again, the tread of stealthy feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Killer was moving; alarmed; was off.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Quick!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose to his full height; gathered himself, and leapt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Something collided with him as he sprang; something wrestled madly with
+      him; something wrenched from beneath him; and in a clap he heard the thud
+      of a body striking ground far below, and the slithering and splattering of
+      some creature speeding furiously down the hill-side and away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who the blazes?&rdquo; roared he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What the devil?&rdquo; screamed a little voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The moon shone out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Moore!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;M'Adam!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And there they were still struggling over the body of a dead sheep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a second they had disengaged and rushed to the edge of the Fall. In the
+      quiet they could still hear the scrambling hurry of the fugitive far below
+      them. Nothing was to be seen, however, save an array of startled sheep on
+      the hill-side, mute witnesses of the murderer's escape.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two men turned and eyed each other; the one grim, the other sardonic:
+      both dishevelled and suspicious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?''
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Weel?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A pause and, careful scrutiny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's blood on your coat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And on yours.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Together they walked hack into the little moonlit hollow. There lay the
+      murdered sheep in a pool of blood. Plain it was to see whence the marks on
+      their coats came. M'Adam touched the victim's head with his foot. The
+      movement exposed its throat. With a shudder he replaced it as it was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two men stood back and eyed one another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are yo' doin' here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;After the Killer. What are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;After the Killer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hoo did you come?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Up this path,&rdquo; pointing to the one behind him. &ldquo;Hoo did you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Up this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Silence; then again:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd ha' had him but for yo'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did have him, but ye tore me aff,&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A pause again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where's yer gray dog?&rdquo; This time the challenge was unmistakable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I sent him after the Killer. Wheer's your Red Wull?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At hame, as I tell't ye before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' mean yo' left him there?&rdquo; M'Adam's fingers twitched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's where I left him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore shrugged his shoulders. And the other began:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When did yer dog leave ye?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When the Killer came past.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye wad say ye missed him then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I say what I mean.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye say he went after the Killer. Noo the Killer was here,&rdquo; pointing to
+      the dead sheep. &ldquo;Was your dog here, too?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If he had been he'd been here still.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Onless he went over the Fall!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That was the Killer, yo' fule.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or your dog.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There was only <i>one</i> beneath me. I felt him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just so,&rdquo; said M'Adam, and laughed. The other's brow contracted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An' that was a big un,&rdquo; he said slowly. The little man stopped his
+      cackling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There ye lie,&rdquo; he said, smoothly. &ldquo;He was small.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They looked one another full in the eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's a matter of opinion,&rdquo; said the Master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a matter of fact,&rdquo; said the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two stared at one another, silent and stern, each trying to fathom the
+      other's soul; then they turned again to the brink of the Fall. Beneath
+      them, plain to see, was the splash and furrow in the shingle marking the
+      Killer's line of retreat. They looked at one another again, and then each
+      departed the way he had come to give his version of the story.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'If Th' Owd Un had kept wi' me, I should ha' had him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell ye I did have him, but James Moore pulled me aff. Strange, too,
+      his dog not bein' wi' him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XIX. LAD AND LASS
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      AN immense sensation this affair of the Scoop created in the Daleland. It
+      spurred the Dalesmen into fresh endeavors. James Moore and M'Adam were
+      examined and re-examined as to the minutest details of the matter. The
+      whole country-side was placarded with huge bills, offering 100 pounds
+      reward for the capture of the criminal dead or alive. While the vigilance
+      of the watchers was such that in a single week they bagged a donkey, an
+      old woman, and two amateur detectives.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In Wastrel-dale the near escape of the Killer, the collision between James
+      Moore and Adam, and Owd Bob's unsuccess, who was not wont to fail, aroused
+      intense excitement, with which was mingled a certain anxiety as to their
+      favorite.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For when the Master had reached home that night, he had found the old dog
+      already there; and he must have wrenched his foot in the pursuit or run a
+      thorn into it, for he was very lame. Whereat, when it was reported at the
+      Sylvester Arms, M'Adam winked at Red Wull and muttered, &ldquo;Ah, forty foot is
+      an ugly tumble.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A week later the little man called at Kenmuir. As he entered the yard,
+      David was standing outside the kitchen window, looking very glum and
+      miserable. On seeing his father, however, the boy started forward, all
+      alert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What d'yo' want here?&rdquo; he cried roughly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Same as you, dear lad,&rdquo; the little man giggled, advancing. &ldquo;I come on a
+      visit.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your visits to Kenmuir are usually paid by night, so I've heard,&rdquo; David
+      sneered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man affected not to hear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So they dinna allow ye indoors wi' the Cup,&rdquo; he laughed. &ldquo;They know yer
+      little ways then, David.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, I'm not wanted in there,&rdquo; David answered bitterly, but not so loud
+      that his father could hear. Maggie within the kitchen heard, however, but
+      paid no heed; for her heart was hard against the boy, who of late, though
+      he never addressed her, had made himself as unpleasant in a thousand
+      little ways as only David M'Adam could.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At that moment the Master came stalking into the yard, Owd Bob preceding
+      him; and as the old dog recognized his visitor he bristled involuntarily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the sight of the Master M'Adam hurried forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did but come to ask after the tyke,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;Is he gettin' over his
+      lameness?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore looked surprised; then his stern face relaxed into a cordial
+      smile. Such generous anxiety as to the welfare of Red Wull's rival was a
+      wholly new characteristic in the little man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tak' it kind in yo', M'Adam,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;to come and inquire.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is the thorn oot?&rdquo; asked the little man with eager interest, shooting his
+      head forward to stare closely at the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It came oot last night wi' the poulticin',&rdquo; the Master answered,
+      returning the other's gaze, calm and steady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm glad o' that,&rdquo; said the little man, still staring. But his yellow,
+      grinning face said as plain words, &ldquo;What a liar ye are, James Moore.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      The days passed on. His father's taunts and gibes, always becoming more
+      bitter, drove David almost to distraction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He longed to make it up with Maggie; he longed for that tender sympathy
+      which the girl had always extended to him when his troubles with his
+      father were heavy on him. The quarrel had lasted for months now, and he
+      was well weary of it, and utterly ashamed. For, at least, he had the good
+      grace to acknowledge that no one was to blame but himself; and that it had
+      been fostered solely by his ugly pride.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length he could endure it no longer, and determined to go to the girl
+      and ask forgiveness. It would be a bitter ordeal to him; always unwilling
+      to acknowledge a fault, even to himself, how much harder would it be to
+      confess it to this strip of a girl. For a time he thought it was almost
+      more than he could do. Yet, like his father, once set upon a course,
+      nothing could divert him. So, after a week of doubts and determinations,
+      of cowardice and courage, he pulled himself together and off he set.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An hour it took him from the Grange to the bridge over the Wastrel&mdash;an
+      hour which had wont to be a quarter. Now, as he walked on up the slope
+      from the stream, very slowly, heartening himself for his penance, he was
+      aware of a strange disturbance in the yard above him: the noisy cackling
+      of hens, the snorting of pigs disturbed, and above the rest the cry of a
+      little child ringing out in shrill distress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He set to running, and sped up the slope as fast as his long legs would
+      carry him. As he took the gate in his stride, he saw the white-clad figure
+      of Wee Anne fleeing with unsteady, toddling steps, her fair hair streaming
+      out behind, and one bare arm striking wildly back at a great pursuing sow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David shouted as he cleared the gate, but the brute paid no heed, and was
+      almost touching the fugitive when Owd Bob came galloping round the corner,
+      and in a second had flashed between pursuer and pursued. So close were the
+      two that as he swung round on the startled sow, his tail brushed the baby
+      to the ground; and there she lay kicking fat legs to heaven and calling on
+      all her gods.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David, leaving the old dog to secure the warrior pig, ran round to her;
+      but he was anticipated. The whole matter had barely occupied a minute's
+      time; and Maggie, rushing from the kitchen, now had the child in her arms
+      and was hurrying back with her to the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, ma pet, are yo' hurted, dearie?&rdquo; David could hear her asking
+      tearfully, as he crossed the yard and established himself in the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said he, in bantering tones, &ldquo;yo'm a nice wench to ha' charge o'
+      oor Annie!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a sore subject with the girl, and well he knew it. Wee Anne, that
+      golden-haired imp of mischief, was forever evading her sister-mother's eye
+      and attempting to immolate herself. More than once she had only been saved
+      from serious hurt by the watchful devotion of Owd Bob, who always found
+      time, despite his many labors, to keep a guardian eye on his well-loved
+      lassie. In the previous winter she had been lost on a bitter night on the
+      Muir Pike; once she had climbed into a field with the Highland bull, and
+      barely escaped with her life, while the gray dog held the brute in check;
+      but a little while before she had been rescued from drowning by the
+      Tailless Tyke; there had been numerous other mischances; and now the
+      present mishap. But the girl paid no heed to her tormentor in her joy at
+      finding the child all unhurt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Theer! yo' bain't so much as scratted, ma precious, is yo'?&rdquo; she cried.
+      &ldquo;Rin oot agin, then,&rdquo; and the baby toddled joyfully away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie rose to her feet and stood with face averted. David's eyes dwelt
+      lovingly upon her, admiring the pose of the neat head with its thatch of
+      pretty brown hair; the slim figure, and slender ankles, peeping modestly
+      from beneath her print frock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ma word! if yo' dad should hear tell o' hoo his Anne&mdash;&rdquo; he broke off
+      into a long-drawn whistle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie kept silence; but her lips quivered, and the flush deepened on her
+      cheek.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm fear'd I'll ha' to tell him,&rdquo; the boy continued, &ldquo;'Tis but ma duty.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' may tell wham yo' like what yo' like,&rdquo; the girl replied coldly; yet
+      there was a tremor in her voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;First yo' throws her in the stream,&rdquo; David went on remorselessly; &ldquo;then
+      yo' chucks her to the pig, and if it had not bin for me&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo', indeed!&rdquo; she broke in contemptuously. &ldquo;Yo'! 'twas Owd Bob reskied
+      her. Yo'd nowt' to do wi' it, 'cept lookin' on&mdash;'bout what yo're fit
+      for.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell yo',&rdquo; David pursued stubbornly, &ldquo;an it had not bin for me yo'
+      wouldn't have no sister by noo. She'd be lyin', she would, pore little
+      lass, cold as ice, pore mite, wi' no breath in her. An' when yo' dad coom
+      home there'd be no Wee Anne to rin to him, and climb on his knee, and
+      yammer to him, and beat his face. An he'd say, 'What's gotten to oor
+      Annie, as I left wi' yo'?' And then yo'd have to tell him, 'I never took
+      no manner o' fash after her, dad; d'reckly yo' back was turned, I&mdash;'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl sat down, buried her face in her apron, and indulged in the rare
+      luxury of tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo're the cruellest mon as iver was, David M'Adam,&rdquo; she sobbed, rocking
+      to and fro.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was at her side in a moment, tenderly bending over her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, Maggie, but I am sorry, lass&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She wrenched away from beneath his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hate yo',&rdquo; she cried passionately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He gently removed her hands from before her tear-stained face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was nob'but laffin', Maggie,&rdquo; he pleaded; &ldquo;say yo' forgie me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't,&rdquo; she cried, struggling. &ldquo;I think yo're the hatefullest lad as
+      iver lived.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The moment was critical; it was a time for heroic measures.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, yo' don't, lass,&rdquo; he remonstrated; and, releasing her wrists, lifted
+      the little drooping face, wet as it was, like the earth after a spring
+      shower, and, holding it between his two big hands, kissed it twice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' coward!&rdquo; she cried, a flood of warm red crimsoning her cheeks; and
+      she struggled vainly to be free.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' used to let me,&rdquo; he reminded her in aggrieved tones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I niver did!&rdquo; she cried, more indignant than truthful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yo' did, when we was little uns; that is, yo' was allus for kissin'
+      and I was allus agin it. And noo,&rdquo; with whole-souled bitterness, &ldquo;I mayn't
+      so much as keek at yo' over a stone wall.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      However that might be, he was keeking at her from closer range now; and in
+      that position&mdash;for he held her firmly still&mdash;she could not help
+      but keek back. He looked so handsome&mdash;humble for once; penitent yet
+      reproachful; his own eyes a little moist; and, withal, his old audacious
+      self&mdash;that, despite herself, her anger grew less hot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say yo' forgie me and I'll let yo' go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't, nor niver shall,&rdquo; she answered firmly; but there was less
+      conviction in her heart than voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Iss yo' do, lass,&rdquo; he coaxed, and kissed her again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She struggled faintly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hoo daur yo'?&rdquo; she cried through her tears. But he was not to be moved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will yo' noo?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She remained dumb, and he kissed her again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Impidence!&rdquo; she cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; said he, closing her mouth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder at ye, Davie!&rdquo; she said, surrendering.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      After that Maggie must needs give in; and it was well understood, though
+      nothing definite had been said, that the boy and girl were courting. And
+      in the Dale the unanimous opinion was that the young couple would make &ldquo;a
+      gradely pair, surely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam was the last person to hear the news, long after it had been common
+      knowledge in the village. It was in the Sylvester Arms he first heard it,
+      and straightway fell into one of those foaming frenzies characteristic of
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The dochter o' Moore o' Kenmuir, d'ye say? sic a dochter o' sic a man!
+      The dochter o' th' one man in the warld that's harmed me aboon the rest!
+      I'd no ha' believed it gin ye'd no tell't me. Oh, David, David! I'd no ha'
+      thocht it even o' you, ill son as ye've aye bin to me. I think he might
+      ha' waited till his auld dad was gone, and he'd no had to wait lang the
+      noo.&rdquo; Then the little man sat down and burst into tears. Gradually,
+      however, he resigned himself, and the more readily when he realized that
+      David by his act had exposed a fresh wound into which he might plunge his
+      barbed shafts. And he availed himself to the full of his new
+      opportunities. Often and often David was sore pressed to restrain himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is't true what they're sayin' that Maggie Moore's nae better than she
+      should be?&rdquo; the little man asked one evening with anxious interest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They're not sayin' so, and if they were 'twad be a lie,&rdquo; the boy answered
+      angrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam leant back in his chair and nodded his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, they tell't me that gin ony man knew 'twad be David M'Adam.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David strode across the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no mair o' that,&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;Y'ought to be 'shamed, an owd mon like
+      you, to speak so o' a lass.&rdquo; The little man edged close up to his son, and
+      looked up into the fair flushed face towering above him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;David,&rdquo; he said in smooth soft tones, &ldquo;I'm 'stonished ye dinna strike yen
+      auld dad.&rdquo; He stood with his hands clasped behind his back as if daring
+      the young giant to raise a finger against him. &ldquo;Ye maist might noo,&rdquo; he
+      continued suavely. &ldquo;Ye maun be sax inches taller, and a good four stane
+      heavier. Hooiver, aiblins ye're wise to wait. Anither year twa I'll be an
+      auld man, as ye say, and feebler, and Wullie here'll be gettin' on, while
+      you'll be in the prime o' yer strength. Then I think ye might hit me wi'
+      safety to your person, and honor to yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He took a pace back, smiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Feyther,&rdquo; said David, huskily, &ldquo;one day yo'll drive me too far.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XX. THE SNAPPING OF THE STRING
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      THE spring was passing, marked throughout with the bloody trail of the
+      Killer. The adventure in the Scoop scared him for a while into
+      innocuousness; then he resumed his game again with redoubled zest. It
+      seemed likely he would harry the district till some lucky accident carried
+      him off, for all chance there was of arresting him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      You could still hear nightly in the Sylvester Arms and elsewhere the
+      assertion, delivered with the same dogmatic certainty as of old, &ldquo;It's the
+      Terror, I tell yo'!&rdquo; and that irritating, inevitable reply: &ldquo;Ay; but
+      wheer's the proof?&rdquo; While often, at the same moment, in a house not far
+      away, a little lonely man was sitting before a low-burnt fire, rocking to
+      and fro, biting his nails, and muttering to the great dog whose head lay
+      between his knees: &ldquo;If we had but the proof, Wullie! if we had but the
+      proof! I'd give ma right hand aff my arm gin we had the proof to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Long Kirby, who was always for war when some one else was to do the
+      fighting, suggested that David should be requested, in the name of the
+      Dalesmen, to tell M'Adam that he must make an end to Red Wull. But Jim
+      Mason quashed the proposal, remarking truly enough that there was too much
+      bad blood as it was between father and son; while Tammas proposed with a
+      sneer that the smith should be his own agent in the matter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Whether it was this remark of Tammas's which stung the big man into
+      action, or whether it was that the intensity of his hate gave him unusual
+      courage, anyhow, a few days later, M'Adam caught him lurking in the
+      granary of the Grange.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man may not have guessed his murderous intent; yet the
+      blacksmith's white-faced terror, as he crouched away in the darkest
+      corner, could hardly have escaped remark; though&mdash;and Kirby may thank
+      his stars for it&mdash;the treacherous gleam of a gun-barrel,
+      ill-concealed behind him, did.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hullo, Kirby!&rdquo; said M'Adam cordially, &ldquo;ye'll stay the night wi' me?&rdquo; And
+      the next thing the big man heard was a giggle on the far side the door,
+      lost in the clank of padlock and rattle of chain. Then&mdash;through a
+      crack&mdash;&ldquo;Good-night to ye. Hope ye'll be comfie.&rdquo; And there he stayed
+      that night, the following day and next night&mdash;thirty-six hours in
+      all, with swedes for his hunger and the dew off the thatch for his thirst.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile the struggle between David and his father seemed coming to a
+      head. The little man's tongue wagged more bitterly than ever; now it was
+      never at rest&mdash;searching out sores, stinging, piercing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Worst of all, he was continually dropping innuendoes, seemingly innocent
+      enough, yet with a world of subtile meaning at their back, respecting
+      Maggie. The leer and wink with which, when David came home from Kenmuir at
+      nights, he would ask the simple question, &ldquo;And was she kind, David&mdash;eh,
+      eh?&rdquo; made the boy's blood boil within him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And the more effective the little man saw his shots to be, the more
+      persistently he plied them. And David retaliated in kind. It was a war of
+      reprisals. There was no peace; there were no truces in which to bury the
+      dead before the opponents set to slaying others. And every day brought the
+      combatants nearer to that final struggle, the issue of which neither cared
+      to contemplate.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      There came a Saturday, toward the end of the spring, long to be remembered
+      by more than David in the Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For that young man the day started sensationally. Rising before cock-crow,
+      and going to the window, the first thing he saw in the misty dawn was the
+      gaunt, gigantic figure of Red Wull, hounding up the hill from the Stony
+      Bottom; and in an instant his faith was shaken to its foundation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The dog was travelling up at a long, slouching trot; and as he rapidly
+      approached the house, David saw that his flanks were all splashed with red
+      mud, his tongue out, and the foam dripping from his jaws, as though he had
+      come far and fast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He slunk up to the house, leapt on to the sill of the unused back-kitchen,
+      some five feet from the ground, pushed with his paw at the cranky old
+      hatchment, which was its only covering; and, in a second, the boy,
+      straining out of the window the better to see, heard the rattle of the
+      boards as the dog dropped within the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the moment, excited as he was, David held his peace. Even the Black
+      Killer took only second place in his thoughts that morning. For this was
+      to be a momentous day for him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That afternoon James Moore and Andrew would, he knew, be over at
+      Grammoch-town, and, his work finished for the day, he was resolved to
+      tackle Maggie and decide his fate. If she would have him&mdash;well, he
+      would go next morning and thank God for it, kneeling beside her in the
+      tiny village church; if not, he would leave the Grange and all its
+      unhappiness behind, and straightway plunge out into the world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All through a week of stern work he had looked forward to this hard-won
+      half-holiday. Therefore, when, as he was breaking off at noon, his father
+      turned to him and said abruptly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;David, ye're to tak' the Cheviot lot o'er to Grammoch-town at once,&rdquo; he
+      answered shortly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' mun tak' 'em yo'sel', if yo' wish 'em to go to-day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Na,&rdquo; the little man answered; &ldquo;Wullie and me, we're busy. Ye're to tak'
+      'em, I tell ye.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll not,&rdquo; David replied. &ldquo;If they wait for me, they wait till Monday,&rdquo;
+       and with that he left the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see what 'tis,&rdquo; his father called after him; &ldquo;she's give ye a tryst at
+      Kenmuir. Oh, ye randy David!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' tend yo' business; I'll tend mine,&rdquo; the boy answered hotly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now it happened that on the previous day Maggie had given him a photograph
+      of herself, or, rather, David had taken it and Maggie had demurred. As he
+      left the room it dropped from his pocket. He failed to notice his loss,
+      but directly he was gone M'Adam pounced on it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He! he! Wullie, what's this?&rdquo; he giggled, holding the photograph into his
+      face. &ldquo;He! he! it's the jade hersel', I war'nt; it's Jezebel!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He peered into the picture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She kens what's what, I'll tak' oath, Wullie. See her eyes&mdash;sae saft
+      and languishin'; and her lips&mdash;such lips, Wullie!&rdquo; He held the
+      picture down for the great dog to see: then walked out of the room, still
+      sniggering, and chucking the face insanely beneath its cardboard chin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Outside the house he collided against David. The boy had missed his
+      treasure and was hurrying back for it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What yo' got theer?&rdquo; he asked suspiciously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only the pictur' o' some randy quean,&rdquo; his father answered, chucking away
+      at the inanimate chin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gie it me!&rdquo; David ordered fiercely. &ldquo;It's mine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Na, na,&rdquo; the little man replied. &ldquo;It's no for sic douce lads as dear
+      David to ha' ony touch wi' leddies sic as this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gie it me, I tell ye, or I'll tak' it!&rdquo; the boy shouted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Na, na; it's ma duty as yer dad to keep ye from sic limmers.&rdquo; He turned,
+      still smiling, to Red Wull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There ye are, Wullie!&rdquo; He threw the photograph to the dog. &ldquo;Tear her,
+      Wullie, the Jezebel!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Tailless Tyke sprang on the picture, placed one big paw in the very
+      centre of the face, forcing it into the muck, and tore a corner off; then
+      he chewed the scrap with unctious, slobbering gluttony, dropped it, and
+      tore a fresh piece.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David dashed forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Touch it, if ye daur, ye brute!&rdquo; he yelled; but his father seized him and
+      held him back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'And the dogs o' the street,'&rdquo; he quoted. David turned furiously on him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've half a mind to brak' ivery bone in yer body!&rdquo; he shouted, &ldquo;robbin'
+      me o' what's mine and throwin' it to yon black brute!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whist, David, whist!&rdquo; soothed the little man. &ldquo;Twas but for yer ain good
+      yer auld dad did it. 'Twas that he had at heart as he aye has. Rin aff wi'
+      ye noo to Kenmuir. She'll mak' it up to ye, I war'nt. She's leeberal wi'
+      her favors, I hear. Ye've but to whistle and she'll come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David seized his father by the shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An' yo' gie me much more o' your sauce,&rdquo; he roared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sauce, Wullie,&rdquo; the little man echoed in a gentle voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll twist yer neck for yo'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He'll twist my neck for me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll gang reet awa', I warn yo', and leave you and yer Wullie to yer
+      lone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man began to whimper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It'll brak' yer auld dad's heart, lad,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay; yo've got none. But 'twill ruin yo', please God. For yo' and yer
+      Wullie'll get ne'er a soul to work for yo'&mdash;yo' cheeseparin',
+      dirty-tongued Jew.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man burst into an agony of affected tears, rocking to and fro,
+      his face in his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Waesucks, Wullue! d'ye hear him? He is gaein' to leave us&mdash;the son
+      o' my bosom! my Benjamin! my little Davie! he's gaein' awa'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David turned away down the hill; and M'Adam lifted his stricken face and
+      waved a hand at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Adieu, dear amiable youth!'&rdquo; he cried in broken voice; and straightway
+      set to sobbing again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Half-way down to the Stony Bottom David turned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll gie yo' a word o' warnin',&rdquo; he shouted back. &ldquo;I'd advise yo' to keep
+      a closer eye to yer Wullie's goings on, 'specially o' nights, or happen
+      yo'll wake to a surprise one mornin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In an instant the little man ceased his fooling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And why that?&rdquo; he asked, following down the hill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll tell yo'. When I wak' this mornin' I walked to the window, and what
+      d'yo' think I see? Why, your Wullie gollopin' like a good un up from the
+      Bottom, all foamin', too, and red-splashed, as if he'd coom from the
+      Screes. What had he bin up to, I'd like to know?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What should he be doin',&rdquo; the little man replied, &ldquo;but havin' an eye to
+      the stock? and that when the Killer might be oot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David laughed harshly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, the Killer was oot, I'll go bail, and yo' may hear o't afore the
+      evenin', ma man,&rdquo; and with that he turned away again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he had foreseen, David found Maggie alone. But in the heat of his
+      indignation against his father he seemed to have forgotten his original
+      intent, and instead poured his latest troubles into the girl's sympathetic
+      ear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's but one mon in the world he wishes worse nor me,&rdquo; he was saying.
+      It was late in the afternoon, and he was still inveighing against his
+      father and his fate. Maggie sat in her father's chair by the fire,
+      knitting; while he lounged on the kitchen table, swinging his long legs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And who may that be?&rdquo; the girl asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Mr. Moore, to be sure, and Th' Owd Un, too. He'd do either o' them a
+      mischief if he could.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why, David?&rdquo; she asked anxiously. &ldquo;I'm sure dad niver hurt him, or
+      ony ither mon for the matter o' that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David nodded toward the Dale Cup which rested on the mantelpiece in
+      silvery majesty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's yon done it,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;And if Th' Owd Un wins agin, as win he will,
+      bless him! why, look out for 'me and ma Wullie'; that's all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie shuddered, and thought of the face at the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Me and ma Wullie,'&rdquo; David continued; &ldquo;I've had about as much of them as
+      I can swaller. It's aye the same&mdash;'Me and ma Wullie,' and 'Wullie and
+      me,' as if I never put ma hand to a stroke! Ugh!&rdquo;&mdash;he made a gesture
+      of passionate disgust&mdash;&ldquo;the two on 'em fair madden me. I could strike
+      the one and throttle t'other,&rdquo; and he rattled his heels angrily together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hush, David,&rdquo; interposed the girl; &ldquo;yo' munna speak so o' your dad; it's
+      agin the commandments.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tain't agin human nature,&rdquo; he snapped in answer. &ldquo;Why, 'twas nob'but
+      yester' morn' he says in his nasty way, 'David, ma gran' fellow, hoo ye
+      work! ye 'stonish me!' And on ma word, Maggie&rdquo;&mdash;there were tears in
+      the great boy's eyes&mdash;&ldquo;ma back was nigh broke wi' toilin'. And the
+      Terror, he stands by and shows his teeth, and looks at me as much as to
+      say, 'Some day, by the grace o' goodness, I'll ha' my teeth in your
+      throat, young mon.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie's knitting dropped into her lap and she looked up, her soft eyes
+      for once flashing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's cruel, David; so 'tis!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I wonder yo' bide wi' him. If he
+      treated me so, I'd no stay anither minute. If it meant the House for me
+      I'd go,&rdquo; and she looked as if she meant it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David jumped off the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Han' yo' niver guessed why I stop, lass, and me so happy at home?&rdquo; he
+      asked eagerly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie's eyes dropped again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hoo should I know?&rdquo; she asked innocently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor care, neither, I s'pose,&rdquo; he said in reproachful accents. &ldquo;Yo' want
+      me me to go and leave yo', and go reet awa'; I see hoo 'tis. Yo' wouldna
+      mind, not yo', if yo' was niver to see pore David agin. I niver thowt yo'
+      welly like me, Maggie; and noo I know it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' silly lad,&rdquo; the girl murmured, knitting steadfastly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then yo' do,&rdquo; he cried, triumphant, &ldquo;I knew yo' did.&rdquo; He approached close
+      to her chair, his face clouded with eager anxiety.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But d'yo' like me more'n just <i>likin''</i>, Maggie? d'yo',&rdquo; he bent and
+      whispered in the little ear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl cuddled over her work so that he could not see her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If yo' won't tell me yo' can show me,&rdquo; he coaxed. &ldquo;There's other things
+      besides words.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood before her, one hand on the chair-back on either side. She sat
+      thus, caged between his arms, with drooping eyes and heightened color.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not so close, David, please,&rdquo; she begged, fidgeting uneasily; but the
+      request was unheeded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do'ee move away a wee,&rdquo; she implored.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not till yo've showed me,&rdquo; he said, relentless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I canna, Davie,&rdquo; she cried with laughing, petulance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yo' can, lass.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tak' your hands away, then.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay; not till yo've showed me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do'ee, Davie,&rdquo; she supplicated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do'ee,&rdquo; he pleaded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She tilted her face provokingly, but her eyes were still down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's no manner o' use, Davie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Iss, 'tis,&rdquo; he coaxed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Niver.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A lengthy pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then&mdash;&rdquo; She looked up, at last, shy, trustful, happy; and the
+      sweet lips were tilted further to meet his.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+And thus they were situated, lover-like, when a low, rapt voice broke in
+on them,&mdash;
+
+ 'A dear-lov'd lad, convenience snug,
+A treacherous inclination.'
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Wullie, I wush you were here!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was little M'Adam. He was leaning in at the open window, leering at the
+      young couple, his eyes puckered, an evil expression on his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The creetical moment! and I interfere! David, ye'll never forgie me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy jumped round with an oath; and Maggie, her face flaming, started
+      to her feet. The tone, the words, the look of the little man at the window
+      were alike insufferable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By thunder! I'll teach yo' to come spyin' on me!&rdquo; roared David. Above him
+      on the mantelpiece blazed the Shepherds' Trophy. Searching any missile in
+      his fury, he reached up a hand for it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, gie it me back, Ye robbed me o't,&rdquo; the little man cried, holding out
+      his arms as if to receive it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dinna, David,&rdquo; pleaded Maggie, with restraining hand on her lover's arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the Lord! I'll give him something!&rdquo; yelled the boy. Close by there
+      stood a pail of soapy water. He seized it, swung it, and slashed its
+      contents at the leering face in the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man started back, but the dirty torrent caught him and soused
+      him through. The bucket followed, struck him full on the chest, and rolled
+      him over in the mud. After it with a rush came David.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll let yo' know, spyin' on me!&rdquo; he yelled. &ldquo;I'll&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie, whose face was as white now as it had been crimson, clung to him,
+      hampering him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dinna, David, dinna!&rdquo; she implored. &ldquo;He's yer ain dad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll dad him! I'll learn him!&rdquo; roared David half through the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the moment Sam'l Todd came floundering furiously round the corner,
+      closely followed by 'Enry and oor Job.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is he dead?&rdquo; shouted Sam'l seeing the prostrate form.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ho! ho!&rdquo; went the other two.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They picked up the draggled little man and hustled him out of the yard
+      like a thief, a man on either side and a man behind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As they forced him through the gate, he struggled round.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By Him that made ye! ye shall pay for this, David M'Adam, you and yer&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Sam'l's big hand descended on his mouth, and he was borne away before
+      that last ill word had flitted into being.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXI. HORROR OF DARKNESS
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      IT was long past dark that night when M'Adam staggered home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All that evening at the Sylvester Arms his imprecations against David had
+      made even the hardest shudder. James Moore, Owd Bob, and the Dale Cup were
+      for once forgotten as, in his passion, he cursed his son.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Dalesmen gathered fearfully away from the little dripping madman. For
+      once these men, whom, as a rule, no such geyser outbursts could quell,
+      were dumb before him; only now and then shooting furtive glances in his
+      direction, as though on the brink of some daring enterprise of which he
+      was the objective. But M'Adam noticed nothing, suspected nothing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When, at length, he lurched into the kitchen of the Grange, there was no
+      light and the fire burnt low. So dark was the room that a white riband of
+      paper pinned on to the table escaped his remark.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man sat down heavily, his clothes still sodden, and resumed his
+      tireless anathema.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've tholed mair fra him, Wullie, than Adam M'Adam ever thocht to thole
+      from ony man. And noo it's gane past bearin'. He struck me, Wullie! struck
+      his ain father. Ye see it yersel', Wullie. Na, ye werena there. Oh, gin ye
+      had but bin, Wullie! Him and his madam! But I'll gar him ken Adam M'Adam.
+      I'll stan' nae mair!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He sprang to his feet and, reaching up with trembling hands, pulled down
+      the old bell-mouthed blunderbuss that hung above the mantelpiece.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll mak' an end to't, Wullie, so we will, aince and for a'!&rdquo; And he
+      banged the weapon down upon the table. It lay right athwart that slip of
+      still condemning paper, yet the little man saw it not.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Resuming his seat, he prepared to wait. His hand sought the pocket of his
+      coat, and fingered tenderly a small stone bottle, the fond companion of
+      his widowhood. He pulled it out, uncorked it, and took a long pull; then
+      placed it on the table by his side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Gradually the gray head lolled; the shrivelled hand dropped and hung
+      limply down, the finger-tips brushing the floor; and he dozed off into a
+      heavy sleep, while Red Wull watched at his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not till an hour later that David returned home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he approached the lightless house, standing in the darkness like a body
+      with the spirit fled, he could but contrast this dreary home of his with
+      the bright kitchen and cheery faces he had left.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Entering the house, he groped to the kitchen door and opened it; then
+      struck a match and stood in the doorway peering in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not home, bain't he?&rdquo; he muttered, the tiny light above his head. &ldquo;Wet
+      inside as well as oot by noo, I'll lay. By gum! but 'twas a lucky thing
+      for him I didna get ma hand on him this evenin'. I could ha' killed him.&rdquo;
+       He held the match above his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Two yellow eyes, glowing in the darkness like cairngorms, and a small dim
+      figure bunched up in a chair, told him his surmise was wrong. Many a time
+      had he seen his father in such case before, and now he muttered
+      contemptuously:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Drunk; the leetle swab! Sleepin' it off, I reck'n.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he saw his mistake. The hand that hung above the floor twitched and
+      was still again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a clammy silence. A mouse, emboldened by the quiet, scuttled
+      across the hearth. One mighty paw lightly moved; a lightning tap, and the
+      tiny beast lay dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again that hollow stillness: no sound, no movement; only those two
+      unwinking eyes fixed on him immovable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length a small voice from the fireside broke the quiet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Drunk&mdash;the&mdash;leetle&mdash;swab!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again a clammy silence, and a life-long pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thowt yo' was sleepin',&rdquo; said David, at length, lamely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, so ye said. 'Sleepin' it aff'; I heard ye.&rdquo; Then, still in the same
+      small voice, now quivering imperceptibly, &ldquo;Wad ye obleege me, sir, by
+      leetin' the lamp? Or, d'ye think, Wullie, 'twad be soilin' his dainty
+      fingers? They're mair used, I'm told, to danderin' with the bonnie brown
+      hair o' his&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll not ha' ye talk o' ma Maggie so,&rdquo; interposed the boy passionately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>His</i> Maggie, mark ye, Wullie&mdash;<i>his</i>! I thocht 'twad soon
+      get that far.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tak' care, dad! I'll stan' but little more,&rdquo; the boy warned him in
+      choking voice; and began to trim the lamp with trembling fingers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam forthwith addressed himself to Red Wull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose no man iver had sic a son as him, Wullie. Ye ken what I've done
+      for him, an' ye ken hoo he's repaid it. He's set himsel' agin me; he's
+      misca'd me; he's robbed me o' ma Cup; last of all, he struck me&mdash;struck
+      me afore them a'. We've toiled for him, you and I, Wullie; we've slaved to
+      keep him in hoose an' hame, an' he's passed his time, the while, in
+      riotous leevin', carousin' at Kenmuir, amusin' himself' wi' his&mdash;&rdquo; He
+      broke off short. The lamp was lit, and the strip of paper, pinned on to
+      the table, naked and glaring, caught his eye.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's this?&rdquo; he muttered; and unloosed the nail that clamped it down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This is what he read:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Adam Mackadam yer warned to mak' an end to yer Red Wull will be best for
+      him and the Sheep. This is the first yo'll have two more the third will be
+      the last&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was written in pencil, and the only signature was a dagger, rudely
+      lined in red.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam read the paper once, twice, thrice. As he slowly assimilated its
+      meaning, the blood faded from his face. He stared at it and still stared,
+      with whitening face and pursed lips. Then he stole a glance at David's
+      broad back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What d'ye ken o' this, David?&rdquo; he asked, at length, in a dry thin voice,
+      reaching forward in his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O' what?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O' this,&rdquo; holding up the slip. &ldquo;And ye'el obleege me by the truth for
+      once.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David turned, took up the paper, read it, and laughed harshly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's coom to this, has it?&rdquo; he said, still laughing, and yet with
+      blanching face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye ken what it means. I daresay ye pit it there; aiblins writ it. Ye'll
+      explain it.&rdquo; The little man spoke in the same small, even voice, and his
+      eyes never moved off his son's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've heard naethin'.... I'd like the truth, David, if ye can tell it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy smiled a forced, unnatural smile, looking from his father to the
+      paper in his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' shall have it, but yo'll not like it. It's this: Tupper lost a sheep
+      to the Killer last night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what if he did?&rdquo; The little man rose smoothly to his feet. Each
+      noticed the others' face&mdash;dead-white.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, he&mdash;lost&mdash;it&mdash;on&mdash;Wheer d'yo' think?&rdquo; He drawled
+      the words out, dwelling almost lovingly on each.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On&mdash;the&mdash;Red&mdash;Screes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The crash was coming&mdash;inevitable now. David knew it, knew that
+      nothing could avert it, and braced himself to meet it. The smile had fled
+      from his face, and his breath fluttered in his throat like the wind before
+      a thunderstorm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What of it?&rdquo; The little man's voice was calm as a summer sea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, your Wullie&mdash;as I told yo'&mdash;was on the Screes last night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go on, David.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And this,&rdquo; holding up the paper, &ldquo;tells you that they ken as I ken noo,
+      as maist o' them ha' kent this mony a day, that your Wullie, Red Wull&mdash;the
+      Terror&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Black Killer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was spoken.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The frayed string was snapped at last. The little man's hand flashed to
+      the bottle that stood before him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye&mdash;liar!&rdquo; he shrieked, and threw it with all his strength at the
+      boy's head. David dodged and ducked, and the bottle hurtled over his
+      shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Crash! it whizzed into the lamp behind, and broke on the wall beyond, its
+      contents trickling down the wall to the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment, darkness. Then the spirits met the lamp's smouldering wick
+      and blazed into flame.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By the sudden light David saw his father on the far side the table,
+      pointing with crooked forefinger. By his side Red Wull was standing alert,
+      hackles up, yellow fangs bared, eyes lurid; and, at his feet, the wee
+      brown mouse lay still and lifeless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oot o' ma hoose! Back to Kenmuir! Back to yer &mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; The
+      unpardonable word, unmistakable, hovered for a second on his lips like
+      some foul bubble, and never burst.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No mither this time!&rdquo; panted David, racing round the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Terror leapt to the attack; but David overturned the table as he ran,
+      the blunderbuss crashing to the floor; it fell, opposing a momentary
+      barrier in the dog's path.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stan' off, ye&mdash;!&rdquo; screeched the little man, seizing a chair in both
+      hands; &ldquo;stan' off, or I'll brain ye!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But David was on him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie, Wullie, to me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again the Terror came with a roar like the sea. But David, with a mighty
+      kick catching him full on the jaw, repelled the attack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he gripped his father round the waist and lifted him from the ground.
+      The little man, struggling in those iron arms, screamed, cursed, and
+      battered at the face above him, kicking and biting in his frenzy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Killer! wad ye ken wha's the Killer? Go and ask 'em at Kenmuir! Ask
+      yer &mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David swayed slightly, crushing the body in his arms till it seemed every
+      rib must break; then hurled it from him with all the might of passion. The
+      little man fell with a crash and a groan.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The blaze in the corner flared, flickered, and died. There was hell-black
+      darkness, and silence of the dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David stood against the wall, panting, every nerve tightstrung as the
+      hawser of a straining ship.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the corner lay the body of his father, limp and still; and in the room
+      one other living thing was moving.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He clung close to the wall, pressing it with wet hands. The horror of it
+      all, the darkness, the man in the corner, that moving something, petrified
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Feyther!&rdquo; he whispered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no reply. A chair creaked at an invisible touch. Something was
+      creeping, stealing, crawling closer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David was afraid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Feyther!&rdquo; he whispered in hoarse agony, &ldquo;are yo' hurt?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The words were stifled in his throat. A chair overturned with a crash; a
+      great body struck him on the chest; a hot, pestilent breath volleyed in
+      his face, and wolfish teeth were reaching for his throat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come on, Killer!&rdquo; he screamed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The horror of suspense was past. It had come, and with it he was himself
+      again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Back, back, back, along the wall he was borne. His hands entwined
+      themselves around a hairy throat; he forced the great head with its horrid
+      lightsome eyes from him; he braced himself for the effort, lifted the huge
+      body at his breast, and heaved it from him. It struck the wall and fell
+      with a soft thud.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he recoiled a hand clutched his ankle and sought to trip him. David
+      kicked back and down with all his strength. There was one awful groan, and
+      he staggered against the door and out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There he paused, leaning against the wall to' breathe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He struck a match and lifted his foot to see where the hand had clutched
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      God! there was blood on his heel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then a great fear laid hold on him. A cry was suffocated in his breast by
+      the panting of his heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He crept back to the kitchen door and listened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not a sound.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Fearfully he opened it a crack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Silence of the tomb.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He banged it to. It opened behind him, and the fact lent wings to his
+      feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned and plunged out into the night, and ran through the blackness
+      for his life. And a great owl swooped softly by and hooted mockingly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For your life! for your life! for your life!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_PART5" id="link2H_PART5">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      PART V OWD BOB O' KENMUIR
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXII A MAN AND A MAID
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      IN the village even the Black Killer and the murder on the Screes were
+      forgotten in this new sensation. The mystery in which the affair was
+      wrapped, and the ignorance as to all its details, served to whet the
+      general interest. There had been a fight; M'Adam and the Terror had been
+      mauled; and David had disappeared&mdash;those were the facts. But what was
+      the origin of the affray no one could say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One or two of the Dalesmen had, indeed, a shrewd suspicion. Tupper looked
+      guilty; Jem Burton muttered, &ldquo;I knoo hoo 'twould be&rdquo;; while as for Long
+      Kirby, he vanished entirely, not to reappear till three months had sped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Injured as he had been, M'Adam was yet sufficiently recovered to appear in
+      the Sylvester Arms on the Saturday following the battle. He entered the
+      tap-room silently with never a word to a soul; one arm was in a sling and
+      his head bandaged. He eyed every man present critically; and all, except
+      Tammas, who was brazen, and Jim Mason, who was innocent, fidgeted beneath
+      the stare. Maybe it was well for Long Kirby he was not there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Onythin' the matter?&rdquo; asked Jem, at length, rather lamely, in view of the
+      plain evidences of battle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Na, na; naethin' oot o' the ordinar',&rdquo; the little man replied, giggling.
+      &ldquo;Only David set on me, and me sleepin'. And,&rdquo; with a shrug, &ldquo;here I am
+      noo.&rdquo; He sat down, wagging his bandaged head and grinning. &ldquo;Ye see he's
+      sae playfu', is Davie. He wangs ye o'er the head wi' a chair, kicks ye in
+      the jaw, stamps on yer wame, and all as merry as May.&rdquo; And nothing further
+      could they get from him, except that if David reappeared it was his firm
+      resolve to hand him over to the police for attempted parricide.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Brutal assault on an auld man by his son!' 'Twill look well in the
+      Argus; he! he! They couldna let him aff under two years, I'm thinkin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam's version of the affair was received with quiet incredulity. The
+      general verdict was that he had brought his punishment entirely on his own
+      head. Tammas, indeed, who was always rude when he was not witty, and, in
+      fact, the difference between the two things is only one of degree, told
+      him straight: &ldquo;It served yo' well reet. An' I nob'but wish he'd made an
+      end to yo'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He did his best, puir lad,&rdquo; M'Adam reminded him gently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We've had enough o' yo',&rdquo; continued the uncompromising old man. &ldquo;I'm fair
+      grieved he didna slice yer throat while he was at it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At that M'Adam raised his eyebrows, stared, and then broke into a low
+      whistle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's it, is it?&rdquo; he muttered, as though a new light was dawning on him.
+      &ldquo;Ah, noo I see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      The days passed on. There was still no news of the missing one, and
+      Maggie's face became pitifully white and haggard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of course she did not believe that David had attempted to murder his
+      father, desperately tried as she knew he had been. Still, it was a
+      terrible thought to her that he might at any moment be arrested; and her
+      girlish imagination was perpetually conjuring up horrid pictures of a
+      trial, conviction, and the things that followed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Sam'l started a wild theory that the little man had murdered his son,
+      and thrown the mangled body down the dry well at the Grange. The story
+      was, of course, preposterous, and, coming from such a source, might well
+      have been discarded with the ridicule it deserved. Yet it served to set
+      the cap on the girl's fears; and she resolved, at whatever cost, to visit
+      the Grange, beard M'Adam, and discover whether he could not or would not
+      allay her gnawing apprehension.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her intent she concealed from her father, knowing well that were she to
+      reveal it to him, he would gently but firmly forbid the attempt; and on an
+      afternoon some fortnight after David's disappearance, choosing her
+      opportunity, she picked up a shawl, threw it over her head, and fled with
+      palpitating heart out of the farm and down the slope to the Wastrel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little plank-bridge rattled as she tripped across it; and she fled
+      faster lest any one should have heard and come to look. And, indeed, at
+      the moment it rattled again behind her, and she started guiltily round. It
+      proved, however, to be only Owd Bob, sweeping after, and she was glad.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Comin' wi' me, lad?&rdquo; she asked as the old dog cantered up, thankful to
+      have that gray protector with her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Round Langholm now fled the two conspirators; over the summer-clad lower
+      slopes of the Pike, until, at length, they reached the Stony Bottom. Down
+      the bramble-covered bank of the ravine the girl slid; picked her way from
+      stone to stone across the streamlet tinkling in that rocky bed; and
+      scrambled up the opposite bank.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the top she halted and looked back. The smoke from Kenmuir was winding
+      slowly up against the sky; to her right the low gray cottages of the
+      village cuddled in the bosom of the Dale; far away over the Marches
+      towered the gaunt Scaur; before her rolled the swelling slopes of the Muir
+      Pike; while behind&mdash;she glanced timidly over her shoulder&mdash;was
+      the hill, at the top of which squatted the Grange, lifeless, cold,
+      scowling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her heart failed her. In her whole life she had never spoken to M'Adam.
+      Yet she knew him well enough from all David's accounts&mdash;ay, and hated
+      him for David's sake. She hated him and feared him, too; feared him
+      mortally&mdash;this terrible little man. And, with a shudder, she recalled
+      the dim face at the window, and thought of his notorious hatred of her
+      father. But even M'Adam could hardly harm a girl coming, broken-hearted,
+      to seek her lover. Besides, was not Owd Bob with her?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And, turning, she saw the old dog standing a little way up the hill,
+      looking back at her as though he wondered why she waited. &ldquo;Am I not
+      enough?&rdquo; the faithful gray eyes seemed to say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lad, I'm fear'd,&rdquo; was her answer to the unspoken question.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet that look determined her. She clenched her little teeth, drew the
+      shawl about her, and set off running up the hill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Soon the run dwindled to a walk, the walk to a crawl, and the crawl to a
+      halt. Her breath was coming painfully, and her heart pattered against her
+      side like the beatings of an imprisoned bird. Again her gray guardian
+      looked up, encouraging her forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Keep close, lad,&rdquo; she whispered, starting forward afresh. And the old dog
+      ranged up beside her, shoving into her skirt, as though to let her feel
+      his presence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So they reached the top of the hill; and the house stood before them,
+      grim, unfriendly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl's face was now quite white, yet set; the resemblance to her
+      father was plain to see. With lips compressed and breath quick-coming, she
+      crossed the threshold, treading softly as though in a house of the dead.
+      There she paused and lifted a warning finger at her companion, bidding him
+      halt without; then she turned to the door on the left of the entrance and
+      tapped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She listened, her head buried in the shawl, close to the wood panelling.
+      There was no answer; she could only hear the drumming of her heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She knocked again. From within came the scraping of a chair cautiously
+      shoved back, followed by a deep-mouthed cavernous growl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her heart stood still, but she turned the handle and entered, leaving a
+      crack open behind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the far side the room a little man was sitting. His head was swathed in
+      dirty bandages, and a bottle was on the table beside him. He was leaning
+      forward; his face was gray, and there was a stare of naked horror in his
+      eyes. One hand grasped the great dog who stood at his side, with yellow
+      teeth glinting, and muzzle hideously wrinkled; with the other he pointed a
+      palsied finger at her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ma God! wha are ye?&rdquo; he cried hoarsely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl stood hard against the door, her fingers still on the handle;
+      trembling like an aspen at the sight of that uncannie pair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That look in the little man's eyes petrified her: the swollen pupils;
+      lashless lids, yawning wide; the broken range of teeth in that gaping
+      mouth, froze her very soul. Rumors of the man's insanity tided back on her
+      memory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm&mdash;I&mdash;&rdquo; the words came in trembling gasps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the first utterance, however, the little man's hand dropped; he leant
+      back in his chair and gave a soul-bursting sigh of relief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No woman had crossed that threshold since his wife died; and, for a
+      moment, when first the girl had entered silent-footed, aroused from
+      dreaming of the long ago, he had thought this shawl-clad figure with the
+      pale face and peeping hair no earthly visitor; the spirit, rather, of one
+      he had loved long since and lost, come to reproach him with a broken
+      troth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Speak up, I canna hear,&rdquo; he said, in tones mild compared with those last
+      wild words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I'm Maggie Moore,&rdquo; the girl quavered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Moore! Maggie Moore, d'ye say?&rdquo; he cried, half rising from his chair, a
+      flush of color sweeping across his face, &ldquo;the dochter o' James Moore?&rdquo; He
+      paused for an answer, glowering at her; and she shrank, trembling, against
+      the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man leant back in his chair. Gradually a grim smile crept
+      across his countenance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Weel, Maggie Moore,&rdquo; he said, halfamused, &ldquo;ony gate ye're a good plucked
+      un.&rdquo; And his wizened countenance looked at her almost kindly from beneath
+      its dirty crown of bandages.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At that the girl's courage returned with a rush. After all this little man
+      was not so very terrible. Perhaps he would be kind. And in the relief of
+      the moment, the blood swept back into her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was not to be peace yet, however. The blush was still hot upon her
+      cheeks, when she caught the patter of soft steps in the passage without. A
+      dark muzzle flecked with gray pushed in at the crack of the door; two
+      anxious gray eyes followed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before she could wave him back, Red Wull had marked the intruder. With a
+      roar he tore himself from his master's restraining hand, and dashed across
+      the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Back, Bob!&rdquo; screamed Maggie, and the dark head withdrew. The door slammed
+      with a crash as the great dog flung himself against it, and Maggie was
+      hurled, breathless and white-faced, into a corner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam was on his feet, pointing with a shrivelled finger, his face
+      diabolical.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you bring him? did you bring <i>that</i> to ma door?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie huddled in the corner in a palsy of trepidation. Her eyes gleamed
+      big and black in the white face peering from the shawl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Red Wull was now beside her snarling horribly. With nose to the bottom of
+      the door and busy paws he was trying to get out; while, on the other side,
+      Owd Bob, snuffling also at the crack, scratched and pleaded to get in.
+      Only two miserable wooden inches separated the pair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I brought him to protect me. I&mdash;I was afraid.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam sat down and laughed abruptly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Afraid! I wonder ye were na afraid to bring him here. It's the first time
+      iver he's set foot on ma land, and 't had best be the last&rdquo; He turned to
+      the great dog. &ldquo;Wullie, Wullie, wad ye?&rdquo; he called. &ldquo;Come here. Lay ye
+      doon&mdash;so&mdash;under ma chair&mdash;good lad. Noo's no the time to
+      settle wi' him&rdquo;&mdash;nodding toward the door. &ldquo;We can wait for that,
+      Wullie; we can wait.&rdquo; Then, turning to Maggie, &ldquo;Gin ye want him to mak' a
+      show at the Trials two months hence, he'd best not come here agin. Gin he
+      does, he'll no leave ma land alive; Wullie'll see to that. Noo, what is 't
+      ye want o'me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl in the corner, scared almost out of her senses by this last
+      occurrence, remained dumb.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam marked her hesitation, and grinned sardonically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see hoo 'tis,&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;yer dad's sent ye. Aince before he wanted
+      somethin' o' me, and did he come to fetch it himself like a man? Not he.
+      He sent the son to rob the father.&rdquo; Then, leaning forward in his chair and
+      glaring at the girl, &ldquo;Ay, and mair than that! The night the lad set on me
+      he cam'&rdquo;&mdash;with hissing emphasis&mdash;&ldquo;straight from Kenmuir!&rdquo; He
+      paused and stared at her intently, and she was still dumb before him. &ldquo;Gin
+      I'd ben killed, Wullie'd ha' bin disqualified from competin' for the Cup.
+      With Adam M'Adam's Red Wull oot o' the way&mdash;noo d'ye see? Noo d'ye
+      onderstan'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not, and he saw it and was satisfied. What he had been saying she
+      neither knew nor cared. She only remembered the object of her mission; she
+      only saw before her the father of the man she loved; and a wave of emotion
+      surged up in her breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She advanced timidly toward him, holding out her hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, Mr. M'Adam,&rdquo; she pleaded, &ldquo;I come to ask ye after David.&rdquo; The shawl
+      had slipped from her head, and lay loose upon her shoulders; and she stood
+      before him with her sad face, her pretty hair all tossed, and her eyes big
+      with unshed tears&mdash;a touching suppliant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will ye no tell me wheer he is? I'd not ask it, I'd not trouble yo', but
+      I've bin waitin' a waefu' while, it seems, and I'm wearyin' for news o'
+      him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man looked at her curiously. &ldquo;Ah, noo I mind me,&rdquo;&mdash;this to
+      himself. &ldquo;You' the lass as is thinkin' o' marryin' him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We're promised,&rdquo; the girl answered simply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Weel,&rdquo; the other remarked, &ldquo;as I said afore, ye're a good plucked un.&rdquo;
+       Then, in a tone in which, despite the cynicism, a certain indefinable
+      sadness was blended, &ldquo;Gin he mak's you as good husband as he mad' son to
+      me, ye'll ha' made a maist remairkable match, my dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie fired in a moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A good feyther makes a good son,&rdquo; she answered almost pertly; and then,
+      with infinite tenderness, &ldquo;and I'm prayin' a good wife'll make a good
+      husband.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He smiled scoffingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm feared that'll no help ye much,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the girl never heeded this last sneer, so set was she on her purpose.
+      She had heard of the one tender place in the heart of this little man with
+      the tired face and mocking tongue, and she resolved to attain her end by
+      appealing to it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' loved a lass yo'sel' aince, Mr. M'Adam,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Hoo would yo' ha'
+      felt had she gone away and left yo'? Yo'd ha' bin mad; yo' know yo' would.
+      And, Mr. M'Adam, I love the lad yer wife loved.&rdquo; She was kneeling at his
+      feet now with both hands on his knees, looking up at him. Her sad face and
+      quivering lips pleaded for her more eloquently than any words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man was visibly touched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, ay, lass, that's enough,&rdquo; he said, trying to avoid those big
+      beseeching eyes which would not be avoided.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will ye no tell me?&rdquo; she pleaded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I canna tell ye, lass, for why, I dinna ken,&rdquo; he answered querulously. In
+      truth, he was moved to the heart by her misery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl's last hopes were dashed. She had played her last card and
+      failed. She had clung with the fervor of despair to this last resource,
+      and now it was torn from her. She had hoped, and now there was no hope. In
+      the anguish of her disappointment she remembered that this was the man
+      who, by his persistent cruelty, had driven her love into exile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She rose to her feet and stood back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor ken, nor care!&rdquo; she cried bitterly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the words all the softness fled from the little man's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye do me a wrang, lass; ye do indeed,&rdquo; he said, looking up at her with an
+      assumed ingenuousness which, had she known him better, would have warned
+      her to beware. &ldquo;Gin I kent where the lad was I'd be the vairy first to let
+      you, and the p'lice, ken it too; eh, Wullie! he! he!&rdquo; He chuckled at his
+      wit and rubbed his knees, regardless of the contempt blazing in the girl's
+      face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I canna tell ye where he is now, but ye'd aiblins care to hear o' when I
+      saw him last.&rdquo; He turned his chair the better to address her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Twas like so: I was sittin' in this vairy chair it was, asleep, when he
+      crep' up behind an' lep' on ma back. I knew naethin' o't till I found
+      masel' on the floor an' him kneelin' on me. I saw by the look on him he
+      was set on finishin' me, so I said&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl waved her hand at him, superbly disdainful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' ken yo're lyin', ivery word o't,&rdquo; she cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man hitched his trousers, crossed his legs, and yawned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An honest lee for an honest purpose is a matter ony man may be proud of,
+      as you'll ken by the time you're my years, ma lass.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl slowly crossed the room. At the door she turned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then ye'll no tell me wheer he is?&rdquo; she asked with a heart-breaking trill
+      in her voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On ma word, lass, I dinna ken,&rdquo; he cried, half passionately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On your word, Mr. M'Adam&rdquo; she said with a quiet scorn in her voice that
+      might have stung Iscariot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man spun round in his chair, an angry red dyeing his cheeks. In
+      another moment he was suave and smiling again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I canna tell ye where he is noo,&rdquo; he said, unctuously; &ldquo;but aiblins, I
+      could let ye know where he's gaein' to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can yo'? will yo'?&rdquo; cried the simple girl all unsuspecting. In a moment
+      she was across the room and at his knees.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Closer, and I'll whisper.&rdquo; The little ear, peeping from its nest of
+      brown, was tremblingly approached to his lips. The little man lent forward
+      and whispered one short, sharp word, then sat back, grinning, to watch the
+      effect of his disclosure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had his revenge, an unworthy revenge on such a victim. And, watching
+      the girl's face, the cruel disappointment merging in the heat of her
+      indignation, he had yet enough nobility to regret his triumph.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She sprang from him as though he were unclean.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An' yo' his father!&rdquo; she cried, in burning tones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She crossed the room, and at the door paused. Her face was white again and
+      she was quite composed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If David did strike you, you drove him to it,&rdquo; she said, speaking in
+      calm, gentle accents. &ldquo;Yo' know, none so well, whether yo've bin a good
+      feyther to him, and him no mither, poor laddie! Whether yo've bin to him
+      what she'd ha' had yo' be. Ask yer conscience, Mr. M'Adam. An' if he was a
+      wee aggravatin' at times, had he no reason? He'd a heavy cross to bear,
+      had David, and yo' know best if yo' helped to ease it for him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man pointed to the door; but the girl paid no heed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;D'yo' think when yo' were cruel to him, jeerin' and fleerin', he never
+      felt it, because he was too proud to show ye? He'd a big saft heart, had
+      David, beneath the varnish. Mony's the time when mither was alive, I've
+      seen him throw himsel' into her arms, sobbin', and cry, 'Eh, if I had but
+      mither! 'Twas different when mither was alive; he was kinder to me then.
+      An' noo I've no one; I'm alone.' An' he'd sob and sob in mither's arms,
+      and she, weepin' hersel', would comfort him, while he, wee laddie, would
+      no be comforted, cryin' broken-like, 'There's none to care for me noo; I'm
+      alone. Mither's left me and eh! I'm prayin' to be wi' her!'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The clear, girlish voice shook. M'Adam, sitting with face averted, waved
+      to her, mutely ordering her to be gone. But she held on, gentle,
+      sorrowful, relentless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An' what'll yo' say to his mither when yo meet her, as yo' must soon noo,
+      and she asks yo', 'An what o' David? What o' th' lad I left wi' yo', Adam,
+      to guard and keep for me, faithful and true, till this Day?' And then
+      yo'll ha' to speak the truth, God's truth; and yo'll ha' to answer, 'Sin'
+      the day yo' left me I niver said a kind word to the lad. I niver bore wi'
+      him, and niver tried to. And in the end I drove him by persecution to try
+      and murder me.' Then maybe she'll look at yo'&mdash;yo' best ken hoo&mdash;and
+      she'll say, 'Adam, Adam! is this what I deserved fra yo'?'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The gentle, implacable voice ceased. The girl turned and slipped softly
+      out of the room; and M'Adam was left alone to his thoughts and his dead
+      wife's memory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mither and father, baith! Mither and father, baith!&rdquo; rang remorselessly
+      in his ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXIII TH' OWD UN
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      THE Black Killer still cursed the land. Sometimes there would be a
+      cessation in the crimes; then a shepherd, going his rounds, would notice
+      his sheep herding together, packing in unaccustomed squares; a raven,
+      gorged to the crop, would rise before him and flap wearily away, and he
+      would come upon the murderer's latest victim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Dalesmen were in despair, so utterly futile had their efforts been.
+      There was no proof; no hope, no apparent probability that the end was
+      near. As for the Tailless Tyke, the only piece of evidence against him had
+      flown with David, who, as it chanced, had divulged what he had seen to no
+      man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The 100 pound reward offered had brought no issue. The police had done
+      nothing. The Special Commissioner had been equally successful. After the
+      affair in the Scoop the Killer never ran a risk, yet never missed a
+      chance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, as a last resource, Jim Mason made his attempt. He took a holiday
+      from his duties and disappeared into the wilderness. Three days and three
+      nights no man saw him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the morning of the fourth he reappeared, haggard, unkempt, a furtive
+      look haunting his eyes, sullen for once, irritable, who had never been
+      irritable before&mdash;to confess his failure. Cross-examined further, he
+      answered with unaccustomed fierceness: &ldquo;I seed nowt, I tell ye. Who's the
+      liar as said I did?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But that night his missus heard him in his sleep conning over something to
+      himself in slow, fearful whisper, &ldquo;Two on 'em; one ahint t'other. The
+      first big&mdash;bull-like; t'ither&mdash;&rdquo; At which point Mrs. Mason smote
+      him a smashing blow in the ribs, and he woke in a sweat, crying terribly,
+      &ldquo;Who said I seed&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      The days were slipping away; the summer was hot upon the land, and with it
+      the Black Killer was forgotten; David was forgotten; everything sank into
+      oblivion before the all-absorbing interest of the coming Dale trials.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The long-anticipated battle for the Shepherds' Trophy was looming close;
+      soon everything that hung upon the issue of that struggle would be decided
+      finally. For ever the justice of Th' Owd Un' claim to his proud title
+      would be settled. If he won, he won outright&mdash;a thing unprecedented
+      in the annals of the Cup; if he won, the place of Owd Bob o' Kenmuir as
+      first in his profession was assured for all time. Above all, it was the
+      last event in the six years' struggle 'twixt Red and Gray It was the last
+      time those two great rivals would meet in battle. The supremacy of one
+      would be decided once and for all. For win or lose, it was the last public
+      appearance of the Gray Dog of Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And as every hour brought the great day nearer, nothing else was talked of
+      in the country-side. The heat of the Dalesmen's enthusiasm was only
+      intensified by the fever of their apprehension. Many a man would lose more
+      than he cared to contemplate were Th' Owd Un beat. But he'd not be! Nay;
+      owd, indeed, he was&mdash;two years older than his great rival; there were
+      a hundred risks, a hundred chances; still: &ldquo;What's the odds agin Owd Bob
+      o' Kenmuir? I'm takin' 'em. Who'll lay agin Th' Owd Un?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And with the air saturated with this perpetual talk of the old dog, these
+      everlasting references to his certain victory; his ears drumming with the
+      often boast that the gray dog was the best in the North, M'Adam became the
+      silent, ill-designing man of six months since&mdash;morose, brooding,
+      suspicious, muttering of conspiracy, plotting revenge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The scenes at the Sylvester Arms were replicas of those of previous years.
+      Usually the little man sat isolated in a far corner, silent and glowering,
+      with Red Wull at his feet. Now and then he burst into a paroxysm of insane
+      giggling, slapping his thigh, and muttering, &ldquo;Ay, it's likely they'll beat
+      us, Wullie. Yet aiblins there's a wee somethin'&mdash;a somethin' we ken
+      and they dinna, Wullie,&mdash;eh! Wullie, he! he!&rdquo; And sometimes he would
+      leap to his feet and address his pot-house audience, appealing to them
+      passionately, satirically, tearfully, as the mood might be on him; and his
+      theme was always the same: James Moore, Owd Bob, the Cup, and the plots
+      agin him and his Wullie; and always he concluded with that hint of the
+      surprise to come.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meantime, there was no news of David; he had gone as utterly as a ship
+      foundered in mid-Atlantic. Some said he'd 'listed; some, that he'd gone to
+      sea. And &ldquo;So he 'as,&rdquo; corroborated Sam'l, &ldquo;floatin', 'eels uppards.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With no gleam of consolation, Maggie's misery was such as to rouse
+      compassion in all hearts. She went no longer blithely singing about her
+      work; and all the springiness had fled from her gait. The people of
+      Kenmuir vied with one another in their attempts to console their young
+      mistress.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Maggie was not the only one in whose life David's absence had created a
+      void. Last as he would have been to own it, M'Adam felt acutely the boy's
+      loss. It may have been he missed the ever-present butt; it may have been a
+      nobler feeling. Alone with Red Wull, too late he felt his loneliness.
+      Sometimes, sitting in the kitchen by himself, thinking of the past, he
+      experienced sharp pangs of remorse; and this was all the more the case
+      after Maggie's visit. Subsequent to that day the little man, to do him
+      justice, was never known to hint by word or look an ill thing of his
+      enemy's daughter. Once, indeed, when Melia Ross was drawing on a dirty
+      imagination with Maggie for subject, M'Adam shut her up with: &ldquo;Ye're a
+      maist amazin' big liar, Melia Ross.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet, though for the daughter he had now no evil thought, his hatred for
+      the father had never been so uncompromising.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He grew reckless in his assertions. His life was one long threat against
+      James Moore's. Now he openly stated his conviction that, on the eventful
+      night of the fight, James Moore, with object easily discernible, had egged
+      David on to murder him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then why don't yo' go and tell him so, yo' muckle liar?&rdquo; roared Tammas at
+      last, enraged to madness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will!&rdquo; said M'Adam. And he did.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      It was on the day preceding the great summer sheep fair at Grammoch-town
+      that he fulfilled his vow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That is always a big field-day at Kenmuir; and on this occasion James
+      Moore and Owd Bob had been up and working on the Pike from the rising of
+      the sun. Throughout the straggling lands of Kenmuir the Master went with
+      his untiring adjutant, rounding up, cutting out, drafting. It was already
+      noon when the flock started from the yard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the gate by the stile, as the party came up, sat M'Adam.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've a word to say to you, James Moore,&rdquo; he announced, as the Master
+      approached.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say it then, and quick. I've no time to stand gossipin' here, if yo'
+      have,&rdquo; said the Master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam strained forward till he nearly toppled off the gate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Queer thing, James Moore, you should be the only one to escape this
+      Killer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' forget yoursel', M'Adam.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, there's me,&rdquo; acquiesced the little man. &ldquo;But you&mdash;hoo d'yo'
+      'count for <i>your</i> luck?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore swung round and pointed proudly at the gray dog, now
+      patrolling round the flock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's my luck!&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam laughed unpleasantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So I thought,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;so I thought! And I s'pose ye're thinkin' that
+      yer luck,&rdquo; nodding at the gray dog, &ldquo;will win you the Cup for certain a
+      month hence.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope so!&rdquo; said the Master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Strange if he should not after all,&rdquo; mused the little man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore eyed him suspiciously. &ldquo;What d'yo' mean?&rdquo; he asked sternly.
+      M'Adam shrugged his shoulders. &ldquo;There's mony a slip 'twixt Cup and lip,
+      that's a'. I was thinkin' some mischance might come to him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master's eyes flashed dangerously. He recalled the many rumors he had
+      heard, and the attempt on the old dog early in the year.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I canna think ony one would be coward enough to murder him,&rdquo; he said,
+      drawing himself up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam leant forward. There was a nasty glitter in his eye, and his face
+      was all a-tremble.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye'd no think ony one 'd be cooard enough to set the son to murder the
+      father. Yet some one did&mdash;set the lad on to 'sassinate me. He failed
+      at me, and next, I suppose, he'll try at Wullie!&rdquo; There was a flush on the
+      sallow face, and a vindictive ring in the thin voice. &ldquo;One way or t'ither,
+      fair or foul, Wullie or me, ain or baith, has got to go afore Cup Day, eh,
+      James Moore! eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master put his hand on the latch of the gate, &ldquo;That'll do, M'Adam,&rdquo; he
+      said. &ldquo;I'll stop to hear no more, else I might get angry wi' yo'. Noo git
+      off this gate, yo're trespassin' as 'tis.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook the gate. M'Adam tumbled off, and went sprawling into the sheep
+      clustered below. Picking himself up, he dashed on through the flock,
+      waving his arms, kicking fantastically, and scattering confusion
+      everywhere.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just wait till I'm thro' wi' 'em, will yo'?&rdquo; shouted the Master, seeing
+      the danger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a request which, according to the etiquette of shepherding, one man
+      was bound to grant another. But M'Adam rushed on regardless, dancing and
+      gesticulating. Save for the lightning vigilance of Owd Bob, the flock must
+      have broken.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think yo' might ha' waited!&rdquo; remonstrated the Master, as the little man
+      burst his way through.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Noo, I've forgot somethin'!&rdquo; the other cried, and back he started as he
+      had gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was more than human nature could tolerate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bob, keep him off!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A flash of teeth; a blaze of gray eyes; and the old dog had leapt forward
+      to oppose the little man's advance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shift oot o' ma light!&rdquo; cried he, striving to dash past.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold him, lad!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And hold him the old dog did, while his master opened the gate and put the
+      flock through, the opponents dodging in front of one another like opposing
+      three-quarter-backs at the Rugby game.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oot o' ma path, or I'll strike!&rdquo; shouted the little man in a fury, as the
+      last sheep passed through the gate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd not,&rdquo; warned the Master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I will!&rdquo; yelled M'Adam; and, darting forward as the gate swung to,
+      struck furiously at his opponent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He missed, and the gray dog charged at him like a mail-train.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hi! James Moore&mdash;&rdquo; but over he went like a toppled wheelbarrow,
+      while the old dog turned again, raced at the gate, took it magnificently
+      in his stride, and galloped up the lane after his master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At M'Adam's yell, James Moore had turned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Served yo' properly!&rdquo; he called back. &ldquo;He'll larn ye yet it's not wise to
+      tamper wi' a gray dog or his sheep. Not the first time he's downed ye, I'm
+      thinkin'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man raised himself painfully to his elbow and crawled toward
+      the gate. The Master, up the lane, could hear him cursing as he dragged
+      himself. Another moment, and a head was poked through the bars of the
+      gate, and a devilish little face looked after him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Downed me, by&mdash;, he did!&rdquo; the little man cried passionately. &ldquo;I owed
+      ye baith somethin' before this, and noo, by &mdash;&mdash;, I owe ye
+      somethin' more. An' mind ye, Adam M'Adam pays his debts!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've heard the contrary,&rdquo; the Master replied drily, and turned away up
+      the lane toward the Marches.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXIV A SHOT IN THE NIGHT
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      IT was only three short weeks before Cup Day that one afternoon Jim Mason
+      brought a letter to Kenmuir. James Moore opened it as the postman still
+      stood in the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was from Long Kirby&mdash;still in retirement&mdash;begging him for
+      mercy's sake to keep Owd Bob safe within doors at nights; at all events
+      till after the great event was over. For Kirby knew, as did every
+      Dalesman, that the old dog slept in the porch, between the two doors of
+      the house, of which the outer was only loosely closed by a chain, so that
+      the ever-watchful guardian might slip in and out and go his rounds at any
+      moment of the night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This was how the smith concluded his ill-spelt note: &ldquo;Look out for M'Adam
+      i tell you i <i>know</i> hel tri at thowd un afore cup day&mdash;failin im
+      you if the ole dog's bete i'm a ruined man i say so for the luv o' God
+      keep yer eyes wide.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master read the letter, and handed it to the postman, who perused it
+      carefully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell yo' what,&rdquo; said Jim at length, speaking with an earnestness that
+      made the other stare, &ldquo;I wish yo'd do what he asks yo': keep Th' Owd Un in
+      o' nights, I mean, just for the present.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master shook his head and laughed, tearing the letter to pieces.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;M'Adam or no M'Adam, Cup or no Cup, Th' Owd Un has the
+      run o' ma land same as he's had since a puppy. Why, Jim, the first night I
+      shut him up that night the Killer comes, I'll lay.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The postman turned wearily away, and the Master stood looking after him,
+      wondering what had come of late to his former cheery friend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Those two were not the only warnings James Moore received. During the
+      weeks immediately preceding the Trials, the danger signal was perpetually
+      flaunted beneath his nose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Twice did Watch, the black cross-bred chained in the straw-yard, hurl a
+      brazen challenge on the night air. Twice did the Master, with lantern,
+      Sam'l and Owd Bob, sally forth and search every hole and corner on the
+      premises&mdash;to find nothing. One of the dairy-maids gave notice,
+      avowing that the farm was haunted; that, on several occasions in the early
+      morning, she had seen a bogie flitting down the slope to the Wastrel&mdash;a
+      sure portent, Sam'l declared, of an approaching death in the house. While
+      once a shearer, coming up from the village, reported having seen, in the
+      twilight of dawn, a little ghostly figure, haggard and startled, stealing
+      silently from tree to tree in the larch-copse by the lane. The Master,
+      however, irritated by these constant alarms, dismissed the story
+      summarily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One thing I'm sartin o',&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;There's not a critter moves on
+      Kenmuir at nights but Th' Owd Un knows it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet, even as he said it, a little man, draggled, weary-eyed, smeared with
+      dew and dust, was limping in at the door of a house barely a mile away.
+      &ldquo;Nae luck, Wullie, curse it!&rdquo; he cried, throwing himself into a chair, and
+      addressing some one who was not there&mdash;&ldquo;nae luck. An' yet I'm sure
+      o't as I am that there's a God in heaven.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      M'Adam had become an old man of late. But little more than fifty, yet he
+      looked to have reached man's allotted years. His sparse hair was quite
+      white; his body shrunk and bowed; and his thin hand shook like an aspen as
+      it groped to the familiar bottle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In another matter, too, he was altogether changed. Formerly, whatever his
+      faults, there had been no harder-working man in the country-side. At all
+      hours, in all weathers, you might have seen him with his gigantic
+      attendant going his rounds. Now all that was different: he never put his
+      hand to the plough, and with none to help him the land was left wholly
+      untended; so that men said that, of a surety, there would be a farm to let
+      on the March Mere Estate come Michaelmas.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Instead of working, the little man sat all day in the kitchen at home,
+      brooding over his wrongs, and brewing vengeance. Even the Sylvester Arms
+      knew him no more; for he stayed where he was with his dog and his bottle.
+      Only, when the shroud of night had come down to cover him, he slipped out
+      and away on some errand on which not even Red Wull accompanied him.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      So the time glided on, till the Sunday before the Trials came round.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All that day M'Adam sat in his kitchen, drinking, muttering, hatching
+      revenge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Curse it, Wullie! curse it! The time's slippin'&mdash;slippin'&mdash;slippin'!
+      Thursday next&mdash;but three days mair! and I haena the proof&mdash;I
+      haena the proof!&rdquo;&mdash;and he rocked to and fro, biting his nails in the
+      agony of his impotence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All day long he never moved. Long after sunset he sat on; long after dark
+      had eliminated the features of the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They're all agin us, Wullie. It's you and I alane, lad. M'Adam's to be
+      beat somehow, onyhow; and Moore's to win. So they've settled it, and so
+      'twill be&mdash;onless, Wullie, onless&mdash;but curse it! I've no the
+      proof!&rdquo;&mdash;and he hammered the table before him and stamped on the
+      floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At midnight he arose, a mad, desperate plan looming through his fuddled
+      brain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I swore I'd pay him, Wullie, and I will. If I hang for it I'll be even
+      wi' him. I haena the proof, but I <i>know</i>&mdash;I <i>know</i>!&rdquo; He
+      groped his way to the mantel piece with blind eyes and swirling brain.
+      Reaching up with fumbling hands, he took down the old blunderbuss from
+      above the fireplace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie,&rdquo; he whispered, chuckling hideously, &ldquo;Wullie, come on! You and I&mdash;he!
+      he!&rdquo; But the Tailless Tyke was not there. At nightfall he had slouched
+      silently out of the house on business he best wot of. So his master crept
+      out of the room alone&mdash;on tiptoe, still chuckling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The cool night air refreshed him, and he stepped stealthily along, his
+      quaint weapon over his shoulder: down the hill; across the Bottom;
+      skirting the Pike; till he reached the plank-bridge over the Wastrel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He crossed it safely, that Providence whose care is drunkards placing his
+      footsteps. Then he stole up the slope like a hunter stalking his prey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arrived at the gate, he raised himself cautiously, and peered over into
+      the moonlit yard. There was no sign or sound of living creature. The
+      little gray house slept peacefully in the shadow of the Pike, all unaware
+      of the man with murder in his heart laboriously climbing the yard-gate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The door of the porch was wide, the chain hanging limply down, unused; and
+      the little man could see within, the moon shining on the iron studs of the
+      inner door, and the blanket of him who should have slept there, and did
+      not.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's no there, Wullie! He's no there!&rdquo; He jumped down from the gate.
+      Throwing all caution to the winds, he reeled recklessly across the yard.
+      The drunken delirium of battle was on him. The fever of anticipated
+      victory flushed his veins. At length he would take toll for the injuries
+      of years.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Another moment, and he was in front of the good oak door, battering at it
+      madly with clubbed weapon, yelling, dancing, screaming vengeance.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+&ldquo;Where is he? What's he at? Come and tell me that, James Moore! Come
+doon, I say, ye coward! Come and meet me like a man!
+
+     Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
+     Scots wham Bruce has aften led&mdash;
+     Welcome to your gory bed
+     Or to victorie!'&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      The soft moonlight streamed down on the white-haired madman thundering at
+      the door, screaming his war-song.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The quiet farmyard, startled from its sleep, awoke in an uproar. Cattle
+      shifted in their stalls; horses whinnied; fowls chattered, aroused by the
+      din and dull thudding of the blows: and above the rest, loud and piercing,
+      the shrill cry of a terrified child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie, wakened from a vivid dream of David chasing the police, hurried a
+      shawl around her, and in a minute had the baby in her arms and was
+      comforting her&mdash;vaguely fearing the while that the police were after
+      David.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore flung open a window, and, leaning out, looked down on the
+      dishevelled figure below him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam heard the noise, glanced up, and saw his enemy. Straightway he
+      ceased his attack on the door, and, running beneath the window, shook his
+      weapon up at his foe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There ye are, are ye? Curse ye for a coward! curse ye for a liar! Come
+      doon, I say, James Moore! come doon&mdash;I daur ye to it! Aince and for
+      a' let's settle oor account.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master, looking down from above, thought that at length the little
+      man's brain had gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is't yo' want?&rdquo; he asked, as calmly as he could, hoping to gain
+      time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is't I want?&rdquo; screamed the madman. &ldquo;Hark to him! He crosses me in
+      ilka thing; he plots agin me; he robs me o' ma Cup; he sets ma son agin me
+      and pits him on to murder me! And in the end he&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Coom, then, coom! I'll&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gie me back the Cup ye stole, James Moore! Gie me back ma son ye've took
+      from me! And there's anither thing. What's yer gray dog doin'? Where's yer&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master interposed again:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll coom doon and talk things over wi' yo'.&rdquo; he said soothingly. But
+      before he could withdraw, M'Adam had jerked his weapon to his shoulder and
+      aimed it full at his enemy's head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The threatened man looked down the gun's great quivering mouth, wholly
+      unmoved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' mon hold it steadier, little mon, if yo'd hit!&rdquo; he said grimly.
+      &ldquo;There, I'll coom help yo'!&rdquo; He withdrew slowly; and all the time was
+      wondering where the gray dog was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In another moment he was downstairs, undoing the bolts and bars of the
+      door. On the other side stood M'Adam, his blunderbuss at his shoulder, his
+      finger trembling on the trigger, waiting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hi, Master! Stop, or yo're dead!&rdquo; roared a voice from the loft on the
+      other side the yard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Feyther! feyther! git yo' back!&rdquo; screamed Maggie, who saw it all from the
+      window above the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Their cries were too late! The blunderbuss went off with a roar, belching
+      out a storm of sparks and smoke. The shot peppered the door like hail, and
+      the whole yard seemed for a moment wrapped in flame.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw! oh! ma gummy! A'm waounded A'm a goner! A'm shot! 'Elp! Murder! Eh!
+      Oh!&rdquo; bellowed a lusty voice&mdash;and it was not James Moore's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man, the cause of the uproar, lay quite still upon the ground,
+      with another figure standing over him. As he had stood, finger on trigger,
+      waiting for that last bolt to be drawn, a gray form, shooting whence no
+      one knew, had suddenly and silently attacked him from behind, and jerked
+      him backward to the ground. With the shock of the fall the blunderbuss had
+      gone off.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The last bolt was thrown back with a clatter, and the Master emerged. In a
+      glance he took in the whole scene: the fallen man; the gray dog; the
+      still-smoking weapon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo', was't Bob lad?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I was wonderin' wheer yo' were. Yo' came
+      just at the reet moment, as yo' aye do!&rdquo; Then, in a loud voice, addressing
+      the darkness: &ldquo;Yo're not hurt, Sam'l Todd&mdash;I can tell that by yer
+      noise; it was nob'but the shot off the door warmed yo'. Coom away doon and
+      gie me a hand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He walked up to M'Adam, who still lay gasping on the ground. The shock of
+      the fall and recoil of the weapon had knocked the breath out of the little
+      man's body; beyond that he was barely hurt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master stood over his fallen enemy and looked sternly down at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've put up wi' more from you, M'Adam, than I would from ony other man,&rdquo;
+       he said. &ldquo;But this is too much&mdash;comin' here at night wi' loaded arms,
+      scarin' the wimmen and childer oot o' their lives, and I can but think
+      meanin' worse. If yo' were half a man I'd gie yo' the finest thrashin'
+      iver yo' had in yer life. But, as yo' know well, I could no more hit yo'
+      than I could a woman. Why yo've got this down on me yo' ken best. I niver
+      did yo' or ony ither mon a harm. As to the Cup, I've got it and I'm goin'
+      to do ma best to keep it&mdash;it's for yo' to win it from me if yo' can
+      o' Thursday. As for what yo' say o' David, yo' know it's a lie. And as for
+      what yo're drivin' at wi' yer hints and mysteries, I've no more idee than
+      a babe unborn. Noo I'm goin' to lock yo' up, yo're not safe abroad. I'm
+      thinkin' I'll ha' to hand ye o'er to the p'lice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With the help of Sam'l he half dragged, half supported the stunned little
+      man across the yard; and shoved him into a tiny semi-subterraneous room,
+      used for the storage of coal, at the end of the farm-buildings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' think it over that side, ma lad,&rdquo; called the Master grimly, as he
+      turned the key, &ldquo;and I will this.&rdquo; And with that he retired to bed.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Early in the morning he went to release his prisoner. But he was a minute
+      too late. For scuttling down the slope and away was a little
+      black-begrimed, tottering figure with white hair blowing in the wind. The
+      little man had broken away a wooden hatchment which covered a manhole in
+      the wall of his prison-house, squeezed his small body through, and so
+      escaped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Happen it's as well,&rdquo; thought the Master, watching the flying figure.
+      Then, &ldquo;Hi, Bob, lad!&rdquo; he called; for the gray dog, ears back, tail
+      streaming, was hurling down the slope after the fugitive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the bridge M'Adam turned, and, seeing his pursuer hot upon him,
+      screamed, missed his footing, and fell with a loud splash into the stream&mdash;almost
+      in that identical spot into which, years before, he had plunged
+      voluntarily to save Red Wull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the bridge Owd Bob halted and looked down at the man struggling in the
+      water below. He made a half move as though to leap in to the rescue of his
+      enemy; then, seeing it was unnecessary, turned and trotted back to his
+      master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' nob'but served him right, I'm thinkin',&rdquo; said the Master. &ldquo;Like as
+      not he came here wi' the intent to mak' an end to yo.' Well, after
+      Thursday, I pray God we'll ha' peace. It's gettin' above a joke.&rdquo; The two
+      turned back into the yard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But down below them, along the edge of the stream, for the second time in
+      this story, a little dripping figure was tottering homeward. The little
+      man was crying&mdash;the hot tears mingling on his cheeks with the undried
+      waters of the Wastrel&mdash;crying with rage, mortification, weariness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXV THE SHEPHERDS' TROPHY
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      Cup Day.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      It broke calm and beautiful, no cloud on the horizon, no threat of storm
+      in the air; a fitting day on which the Shepherds' Trophy must be won
+      outright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And well it was so. For never since the founding of the Dale Trials had
+      such a concourse been gathered together on the North bank of the Silver
+      Lea. From the Highlands they came; from the far Campbell country; from the
+      Peak; from the county of many acres; from all along the silver fringes of
+      the Solway; assembling in that quiet corner of the earth to see the famous
+      Gray Dog of Kenmuir fight his last great battle for the Shepherds' Trophy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By noon the gaunt Scaur looked down on such a gathering as it had never
+      seen. The paddock at the back of the Dalesman's Daughter was packed with a
+      clammering, chattering multitude: animated groups of farmers; bevies of
+      solid rustics; sharp-faced townsmen; loud-voiced bookmakers; giggling
+      girls; amorous boys,&mdash;thrown together like toys in a sawdust bath;
+      whilst here and there, on the outskirts of the crowd, a lonely man and
+      wise-faced dog, come from afar to wrest his proud title from the best
+      sheep-dog in the North.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the back of the enclosure was drawn up a formidable array of carts and
+      carriages, varying as much in quality and character as did their owners.
+      There was the squire's landau rubbing axle-boxes with Jem Burton's modest
+      moke-cart; and there Viscount Birdsaye's flaring barouche side by side
+      with the red-wheeled wagon of Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the latter, Maggie, sad and sweet in her simple summer garb, leant over
+      to talk to Lady Eleanour; while golden-haired wee Anne, delighted with the
+      surging crowd around, trotted about the wagon, waving to her friends, and
+      shouting from very joyousness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thick as flies clustered that motley assembly on the north bank of the
+      Silver Lea. While on the other side the stream was a little group of
+      judges, inspecting the course.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The line laid out ran thus: the sheep must first be found in the big
+      enclosure to the right of the starting flag; then up the slope and away
+      from the spectators; around a flag and obliquely down the hill again;
+      through a gap in the wall; along the hillside, parrallel to the Silver
+      Lea; abruptly to the left through a pair of flags&mdash;the trickiest turn
+      of them all; then down the slope to the pen, which was set up close to the
+      bridge over the stream.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The proceedings began with the Local Stakes, won by Rob Saunderson's
+      veteran, Shep. There followed the Open Juveniles, carried off by Ned
+      Hoppin's young dog. It was late in the afternoon when, at length, the
+      great event of the meeting was reached.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the enclosure behind the Dalesman's Daughter the clamor of the crowd
+      increased tenfold, and the yells of the bookmakers were redoubled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Walk up, gen'lemen, walk up! the ole firm! Rasper? Yessir&mdash;twenty to
+      one bar two! Twenty to one bar two! Bob? What price, Bob? Even money, sir&mdash;no,
+      not a penny longer, couldn't do it! Red Wull? 'oo says Red Wull?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On the far side the stream is clustered about the starting flag the finest
+      array of sheep-dogs ever seen together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've never seen such a field, and I've seen fifty,&rdquo; is Parson Leggy's
+      verdict.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There, beside the tall form of his master, stands Owd Bob o' Kenmuir, the
+      observed of all. His silvery brush fans the air, and he holds his dark
+      head high as he scans his challengers, proudly conscious that to-day will
+      make or mar his fame. Below him, the mean-looking, smooth-coated black dog
+      is the unbeaten Pip, winner of the renowned Cambrian Stakes at Llangollen&mdash;as
+      many think the best of all the good dogs that have come from sheep-dotted
+      Wales. Beside him that handsome sable collie, with the tremendous coat and
+      slash of white on throat and face, is the famous MacCallum More, fresh
+      from his victory at the Highland meeting. The cobby, brown dog, seeming of
+      many breeds, is from the land o' the Tykes&mdash;Merry, on whom the
+      Yorkshiremen are laying as though they loved him. And Jess, the wiry
+      black-and-tan, is the favorite of the men of of the Derwent and Dove.
+      Tupper's big blue Rasper is there; Londesley's Lassie; and many more&mdash;too
+      many to mention: big and small, grand and mean, smooth and rough&mdash;and
+      not a bad dog there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And alone, his back to the others, stands a little bowed, conspicuous
+      figure&mdash;Adam M'Adam; while the great dog beside him, a hideous
+      incarnation of scowling defiance, is Red Wull, the Terror o' the Border.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Tailless Tyke had already run up his fighting colors. For MacCallum
+      More, going up to examine this forlorn great adversary, had conceived for
+      him a violent antipathy, and, straightway, had spun at him with all the
+      fury of the Highland cateran, who attacks first and explains afterward.
+      Red Wull, forthwith, had turned on him with savage, silent gluttony;
+      bob-tailed Rasper was racing up to join in the attack; and in another
+      second the three would have been locked inseparably&mdash;but just in time
+      M'Adam intervened. One of the judges came hurrying up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. M'Adam,&rdquo; he cried angrily, &ldquo;if that brute of yours gets fighting
+      again, hang me if I don't disqualify him! Only last year at the Trials he
+      killed the young Cossack dog.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A dull flash of passion swept across M'Adam's face. &ldquo;Come here, Wullie!&rdquo;
+       he called. &ldquo;Gin yon Hielant tyke attacks ye agin, ye're to be
+      disqualified.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was unheeded. The battle for the Cup had begun&mdash;little Pip leading
+      the dance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the opposite slope the babel had subsided now. Hucksters left their
+      wares, and bookmakers their stools, to watch the struggle. Every eye was
+      intent on the moving figures of man and dog and three sheep over the
+      stream.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One after one the competitors ran their course and penned their sheep&mdash;there
+      was no single failure. And all received their just meed of applause, save
+      only Adam M'Adam's Red Wull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Last of all, when Owd Bob trotted out to uphold his title, there went up
+      such a shout as made Maggie's wan cheeks to blush with pleasure, and wee
+      Anne to scream right lustily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His was an incomparable exhibition. Sheep should be humored rather than
+      hurried; coaxed, rather than coerced. And that sheep-dog has attained the
+      summit of his art who subdues his own personality and leads his sheep in
+      pretending to be led. Well might the bosoms of the Dalesmen swell with
+      pride as they watched their favorite at his work; well might Tammas pull
+      out that hackneyed phrase, &ldquo;The brains of a mon and the way of a woman&rdquo;;
+      well might the crowd bawl their enthusiasm, and Long Kirby puff his cheeks
+      and rattle the money in his trouser pockets.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But of this part it is enough to say that Pip, Owd Bob, and Red Wull were
+      selected to fight out the struggle afresh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The course was altered and stiffened. On the far side the stream it
+      remained as before; up the slope; round a flag; down the hill again;
+      through the gap in the wall; along the hillside; down through the two
+      flags; turn; and to the stream again. But the pen was removed from its
+      former position, carried over the bridge, up the near slope, and the
+      hurdles put together at the very foot of the spectators.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sheep had to be driven over the plank bridge, and the penning done
+      beneath the very nose of the crowd. A stiff course, if ever there was one;
+      and the time allowed, ten short minutes.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      The spectators hustled and elbowed in their endeavors to obtain a good
+      position. And well they might; for about to begin was the finest
+      exhibition of sheep-handling any man there was ever to behold.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Evan Jones and Little Pip led off.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Those two, who had won on many a hard-fought field, worked together as
+      they had never worked before. Smooth and swift, like a yacht in
+      Southampton Water; round the flag, through the gap, they brought their
+      sheep. Down between the two flags&mdash;accomplishing right well that
+      awkward turn; and back to the bridge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There they stopped: the sheep would not face that narrow way. Once, twice,
+      and again, they broke; and each time the gallant little Pip, his tongue
+      out and tail quivering, brought them back to the bridge-head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length one faced it; then another, and&mdash;it was too late. Time was
+      up. The judges signalled; and the Welshman called off his dog and
+      withdrew.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Out of sight of mortal eye, in a dip of the ground, Evan Jones sat down
+      and took the small dark head between his knees&mdash;and you may be sure
+      the dog's heart was heavy as the man's. &ldquo;We did our pest, Pip,&rdquo; he cried
+      brokenly, &ldquo;but we're peat&mdash;the first time ever we've been!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      No time to dally.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore and Owd Bob were off on their last run.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No applause this time; not a voice was raised; anxious faces; twitching
+      fingers; the whole crowd tense as a stretched wire. A false turn, a wilful
+      sheep, a cantankerous judge, and the gray dog would be beat. And not a man
+      there but knew it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet over the stream master and dog went about their business never so
+      quiet, never so collected; for all the world as though they were rounding
+      up a flock on the Muir Pike.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old dog found his sheep in a twinkling and a wild, scared trio they
+      proved. Rounding the first flag, one bright-eyed wether made a dash for
+      the open. He was quick; but the gray dog was quicker: a splendid recover,
+      and a sound like a sob from the watchers on the hill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Down the slope they came for the gap in the wall. A little below the
+      opening, James Moore took his stand to stop and turn them; while a
+      distance behind his sheep loitered Owd Bob, seeming to follow rather than
+      drive, yet watchful of every movement and anticipating it. On he came, one
+      eye on his master, the other on his sheep; never hurrying them, never
+      flurrying them, yet bringing them rapidly along.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No word was spoken; barely a gesture made; yet they worked, master and
+      dog, like one divided.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Through the gap, along the hill parallel to the spectators, playing into
+      one another's hands like men at polo.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A wide sweep for the turn at the flags, and the sheep wheeled as though at
+      the word of command, dropped through them, and travelled rapidly for the
+      bridge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Steady!&rdquo; whispered the crowd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Steady, man!&rdquo; muttered Parson Leggy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold 'em, for God's sake!&rdquo; croaked Kirby huskily. &ldquo;D&mdash;n! I knew it!
+      I saw it coming!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The pace down the hill had grown quicker&mdash;too quick. Close on the
+      bridge the three sheep made an effort to break. A dash&mdash;and two were
+      checked; but the third went away like the wind, and after him Owd Bob, a
+      gray streak against the green.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Tammas was cursing silently; Kirby was white to the lips; and in the
+      stillness you could plainly hear the Dalesmen's sobbing breath, as it
+      fluttered in their throats.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gallop! they say he's old and slow!&rdquo; muttered the Parson. &ldquo;Dash! Look at
+      that!&rdquo; For the gray dog, racing like the Nor'easter over the sea, had
+      already retrieved the fugitive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Man and dog were coaxing the three a step at a time toward the bridge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One ventured&mdash;the others followed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the middle the leader stopped and tried to turn&mdash;and time was
+      flying, flying, and the penning alone must take minutes. Many a man's hand
+      was at his watch, but no one could take his eyes off the group below him
+      to look.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We're beat! I've won bet, Tammas!&rdquo; groaned Sam'l. (The two had a
+      long-standing wager on the matter.) &ldquo;I allus knoo hoo 'twould be. I allus
+      told yo' th' owd tyke&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then breaking into a bellow, his honest face crimson with enthusiasm:
+      &ldquo;Coom on, Master! Good for yo', Owd Un! Yon's the style!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For the gray dog had leapt on the back of the hindmost sheep; it had
+      surged forward against the next, and they were over, and making up the
+      slope amidst a thunder of applause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the pen it was a sight to see shepherd and dog working together. The
+      Master, his face stern and a little whiter than its wont, casting forward
+      with both hands, herding the sheep in; the gray dog, his eyes big and
+      bright, dropping to hand; crawling and creeping, closer and closer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They're in!&mdash;Nay&mdash;Ay&mdash;dang me! Stop 'er! Good, Owd Un!
+      Ah-h-h, they're in!&rdquo; And the last sheep reluctantly passed through&mdash;on
+      the stroke of time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A roar went up from the crowd; Maggie's white face turned pink; and the
+      Dalesmen mopped their wet brows. The mob surged forward, but the stewards
+      held them back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Back, please! Don't encroach! M'Adam's to come!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      From the far bank the little man watched the scene. His coat and cap were
+      off, and his hair gleamed white in the sun; his sleeves were rolled up;
+      and his face was twitching but set as he stood&mdash;ready.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The hubbub over the stream at length subsided. One of the judges nodded to
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Noo, Wullie&mdash;noo or niver!&mdash;'Scots wha hae'! &ldquo;&mdash;and they
+      were off.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Back, gentlemen! back! He's off&mdash;he's coming! M'Adam's coming!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They might well shout and push; for the great dog was on to his sheep
+      before they knew it; and they went away with a rush, with him right on
+      their backs. Up the slope they swept and round the first flag, already
+      galloping. Down the hill for the gap, and M'Adam was flying ahead to turn
+      them. But they passed him like a hurricane, and Red Wull was in front with
+      a rush and turned them alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;M'Adam wins! Five to four M'Adam! I lay agin Owd Bob!&rdquo; rang out a clear
+      voice in the silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Through the gap they rattled, ears back, feet twinkling like the wings of
+      driven grouse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's lost 'em! They'll break! They're away!&rdquo; was the cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sam'l was half up the wheel of the Kenmuir wagon; every man was on his
+      toes; ladies were standing in their carriages; even Jim Mason's face
+      flushed with momentary excitement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sheep were tearing along the hillside, all together, like a white
+      scud. After them, galloping like a Waterloo winner, raced Red Wull. And
+      last of all, leaping over the ground like a demoniac, making not for the
+      two flags, but the plank-bridge, the white-haired figure of M'Adam.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's beat! The Killer's beat!&rdquo; roared a strident voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;M'Adam wins! Five to four M'Adam! I lay agin Owd Bob!&rdquo; rang out the clear
+      reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Red Wull was now racing parallel to the fugitives and above them. All four
+      were travelling at a terrific rate; while the two flags were barely twenty
+      yards in front, below the line of flight and almost parallel to it. To
+      effect the turn a change of direction must be made almost through a right
+      angle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's beat! he's beat! M'Adam's beat! Can't make it nohow!&rdquo; was the roar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From over the stream a yell&mdash;&ldquo;Turn 'em, Wullie!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the word the great dog swerved down on the flying three. They turned,
+      still at the gallop, like a troop of cavalry, and dropped, clean and neat,
+      between the flags; and down to the stream they rattled, passing M'Adam on
+      the way as though he was standing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Weel done, Wullie!&rdquo; came the scream from the far bank; and from the crowd
+      went up an involuntary burst of applause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ma word!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did yo' see that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By gob!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a turn, indeed, of which the smartest team in the galloping
+      horse-gunners might well have been proud. A shade later, and they must
+      have overshot the mark; a shade sooner, and a miss.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's not been two minutes so far. We're beaten&mdash;don't you think so,
+      Uncle Leggy?&rdquo; asked Muriel Sylvester, looking up piteously into the
+      parson's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's not what I think, my dear; it's what the judges think,&rdquo; the parson
+      replied; and what he thought their verdict would be was plainly writ on
+      his face for all to read.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Right on to the centre of the bridge the leading sheep galloped and&mdash;stopped
+      abruptly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Up above in the crowd there was utter silence; staring eyes; rigid
+      fingers. The sweat was dripping off Long Kirby's face; and, at the back, a
+      green-coated bookmaker slipped his note-book in his pocket, and glanced
+      behind him. James Moore, standing in front of them all, was the calmest
+      there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Red Wull was not to be denied. Like his forerunner he leapt on the back of
+      the hindmost sheep. But the red dog was heavy where the gray was light.
+      The sheep staggered, slipped, and fell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Almost before it had touched the water, M'Adam, his face afire and eyes
+      flaming, was in the stream. In a second he had hold of the struggling
+      creature, and, with an almost superhuman effort, had half thrown, half
+      shoved it on to the bank.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again a tribute of admiration, led by James Moore.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man scrambled, panting, on to the bank and raced after sheep
+      and dog. His face was white beneath the perspiration; his breath came in
+      quavering gasps; his trousers were wet and clinging to his legs; he was
+      trembling in every limb, and yet indomitable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They were up to the pen, and the last wrestle began. The crowd, silent and
+      motionless, craned forward to watch the uncanny, white-haired little man
+      and the huge dog, working so close below them. M'Adam's face was white;
+      his eyes staring, unnaturally bright; his bent body projected forward; and
+      he tapped with his stick on the ground like a blind man, coaxing the sheep
+      in. And the Tailless Tyke, his tongue out and flanks heaving, crept and
+      crawled and worked up to the opening, patient as he had never been before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They were in at last.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a lukewarm, half-hearted cheer; then silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Exhausted and trembling, the little man leant against the pen, one hand on
+      it; while Red Wull, his flanks still heaving, gently licked the other.
+      Quite close stood James Moore and the gray dog; above was the black wall
+      of people, utterly still; below, the judges comparing notes. In the
+      silence you could almost hear the panting of the crowd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then one of the judges went up to James Moore and shook him by the hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The gray dog had won. Owd Bob o' Kenmuir had won the Shepherds' Trophy
+      outright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A second's palpitating silence; a woman's hysterical laugh&mdash;and a
+      deep-mouthed bellow rent the expectant air: shouts, screams, hat-tossings,
+      back-clappings blending in a din that made the many-winding waters of the
+      Silver Lea quiver and quiver again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Owd Bob o' Kenmuir had won the Shepherds' Trophy outright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie's face flushed a scarlet hue. Wee Anne flung fat arms toward her
+      triumphant Bob, and screamed with the best. Squire and parson, each
+      red-cheeked, were boisterously shaking hands. Long Kirby, who had not
+      prayed for thirty years, ejaculated with heartfelt earnestness, &ldquo;Thank
+      God!&rdquo; Sam'l Todd bellowed in Tammas's ear, and almost slew him with his
+      mighty buffets. Among the Dalesmen some laughed like drunken men; some
+      cried like children; all joined in that roaring song of victory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To little M 'Adam, standing with his back to the crowd, that storm of
+      cheering came as the first announcement of defeat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A wintry smile, like the sun over a March sea, crept across his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We might a kent it, Wullie,&rdquo; he muttered, soft and low. The tension
+      loosed, the battle lost, the little man almost broke down. There were red
+      dabs of color in his face; his eyes were big; his lips pitifully
+      quivering; he was near to sobbing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An old man&mdash;utterly alone he had staked his all on a throw&mdash;and
+      lost.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lady Eleanour marked the forlorn little figure, standing solitary on the
+      fringe of the uproarious mob. She noticed the expression on his face; and
+      her tender heart went out to the lone man in his defeat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She went up to him and laid a hand upon his arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. M'Adam,&rdquo; she said timidly, &ldquo;won't you come and sit down in the tent?
+      You look <i>so</i> tired! I can find you a corner where no one shall
+      disturb you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man wrenched roughly away. The unexpected kindness, coming at
+      that moment, was almost too much for him. A few paces off he turned again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's reel kind o' yer ladyship,&rdquo; he said huskily; and tottered away to be
+      alone with Red Wull.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile the victors stood like rocks in the tideway. About them surged a
+      continually changing throng, shaking the man's hand, patting the dog.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie had carried wee Anne to tender her congratulations; Long Kirby had
+      come; Tammas, Saunderson, Hoppin, Tupper, Londesley&mdash;all but Jim
+      Mason; and now, elbowing through the press, came squire and parson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well done, James! well done, indeed! Knew you'd win! told you so eh, eh!&rdquo;
+       Then facetiously to Owd Bob: &ldquo;Knew you would, Robert, old man! Ought to
+      Robert the Dev&mdash;musn't be a naughty boy&mdash;eh, eh!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The first time ever the Dale Cup's been won outright!&rdquo; said the Parson,
+      &ldquo;and I daresay it never will again. And I think Kenmuir's the very fittest
+      place for its final home, and a Gray Dog of Kenmuir for its winner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, by the by!&rdquo; burst in the squire. &ldquo;I've fixed the Manor dinner for
+      to-day fortnight, James. Tell Saunderson and Tupper, will you? Want all
+      the tenants there.&rdquo; He disappeared into the crowd, but in a minute had
+      fought his way back. &ldquo;I'd forgotten something!&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;Tell your
+      Maggie perhaps you'll have news for her after it eh! eh!&rdquo; and he was gone
+      again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Last of all, James Moore was aware of a white, blotchy, grinning face at
+      his elbow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I maun congratulate ye, Mr. Moore. Ye've beat us&mdash;you and the
+      gentlemen&mdash;judges.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Twas a close thing, M'Adam,&rdquo; the other answered. &ldquo;An' yo' made a gran'
+      fight. In ma life I niver saw a finer turn than yours by the two flags
+      yonder. I hope yo' bear no malice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Malice! Me? Is it likely? Na, na. 'Do onto ivery man as he does onto you&mdash;and
+      somethin' over,' that's my motter. I owe ye mony a good turn, which I'll
+      pay ye yet. Na, na; there's nae good fechtin' agin fate&mdash;and the
+      judges. Weel, I wush you well o' yer victory. Aiblins' twill be oor turn
+      next.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then a rush, headed by Sam'l, roughly hustled the one away and bore the
+      other off on its shoulders in boisterous triumph.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      In giving the Cup away, Lady Eleanour made a prettier speech than ever.
+      Yet all the while she was haunted by a white, miserable face; and all the
+      while she was conscious of two black moving dots in the Murk Muir Pass
+      opposite her&mdash;solitary, desolate, a contrast to the huzzaing crowd
+      around.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      That is how the champion challenge Dale Cup, the world-known Shepherds'
+      Trophy, came to wander no more; won outright by the last of the Gray Dogs
+      of Kenmuir&mdash;Owd Bob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Why he was the last of the Gray Dogs is now to be told.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_PART6" id="link2H_PART6">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      PART VI THE BLACK KILLER
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXVI RED-HANDED
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      THE SUN was hiding behind the Pike. Over the lowlands the feathery breath
+      of night hovered still. And the hillside was shivering in the chillness of
+      dawn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Down on the silvery sward beside the Stony Bottom there lay the ruffled
+      body of a dead sheep. All about the victim the dewy ground was dark and
+      patchy like dishevelled velvet; bracken trampled down; stones displaced as
+      though by straggling feet; and the whole spotted with the all-pervading
+      red.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A score yards up the hill, in a writhing confusion of red and gray, two
+      dogs at death-grips. While yet higher, a pack of wild-eyed hill-sheep
+      watched, fascinated, the bloody drama.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The fight raged. Red and gray, blood-spattered, murderous-eyed; the
+      crimson froth dripping from their jaws; now rearing high with arching
+      crests and wrestling paws; now rolling over in tumbling, tossing, worrying
+      disorder&mdash;the two fought out their blood-feud.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Above, the close-packed flock huddled and stamped, ever edging nearer to
+      watch the issue. Just so must the women of Rome have craned round the
+      arenas to see two men striving in death-struggle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The first cold flicker of dawn stole across the green. The red eye of the
+      morning peered aghast over the shoulder of the Pike. And from the sleeping
+      dale there arose the yodling of a man driving his cattle home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Day was upon them.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      James Moore was waked by a little whimpering cry beneath his window. He
+      leapt out of bed and rushed to look; for well he knew 'twas not for
+      nothing that the old dog was calling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lord o' mercy! whativer's come to yo', Owd Un?&rdquo; he cried in anguish. And,
+      indeed, his favorite, war-daubed almost past recognition, presented a
+      pitiful spectacle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a moment the Master was downstairs and out, examining him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor old lad, yo' have caught it this time!&rdquo; he cried. There was a ragged
+      tear on the dog's cheek; a deep gash in his throat from which the blood
+      still welled, staining the white escutcheon on his chest; while head and
+      neck were clotted with the red.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hastily the Master summoned Maggie. After her, Andrew came hurrying down.
+      And a little later a tiny, night-clad, naked-footed figure appeared in the
+      door, wide-eyed, and then fled, screaming.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They doctored the old warrior on the table in the kitchen. Maggie tenderly
+      washed his wounds, and dressed them with gentle, pitying fingers; and he
+      stood all the while grateful yet fidgeting, looking up into his master's
+      face as if imploring to be gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He mun a had a rare tussle wi' some one&mdash;eh, dad?&rdquo; said the girl, as
+      she worked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay; and wi' whom? 'Twasn't for nowt he got fightin', I war'nt. Nay; he's
+      a tale to tell, has The Owd Un, and&mdash;A h-h-h! I thowt as much. Look
+      'ee!&rdquo; For bathing the bloody jaws, he had come upon a cluster of tawny red
+      hair, hiding in the corners of the lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The secret was out. Those few hairs told their own accusing tale. To but
+      one creature in the Daleland could they belong&mdash;&ldquo;Th' Tailless Tyke.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He mun a bin trespassin'!&rdquo; cried Andrew.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, and up to some o' his bloody work, I'll lay my life,&rdquo; the Master
+      answered. &ldquo;But Th' Owd Un shall show us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old dog's hurts proved less severe than had at first seemed possible.
+      His good gray coat, forest-thick about his throat, had never served him in
+      such good stead. And at length, the wounds washed and sewn up, he jumped
+      down all in a hurry from the table and made for the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Noo, owd lad, yo' may show us,&rdquo; said the Master, and, with Andrew,
+      hurried after him down the hill, along the stream, and over Langholm How.
+      And as they neared the Stony Bottom, the sheep, herding in groups, raised
+      frightened heads to stare.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of a sudden a cloud of poisonous flies rose, buzzing, up before them; and
+      there in a dimple of the ground lay a murdered sheep. Deserted by its
+      comrades, the glazed eyes staring helplessly upward, the throat horribly
+      worried, it slept its last sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The matter was plain to see. At last the Black Killer had visited Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guessed as much,&rdquo; said the Master, standing over the mangled body.
+      &ldquo;Well, it's the worst night's work ever the Killer done. I reck'n Th' Owd
+      Un come on him while he was at it; and then they fought. And, ma word! it
+      munn ha' bin a fight too.&rdquo; For all around were traces of that terrible
+      struggle: the earth torn up and tossed, bracken uprooted, and throughout
+      little dabs of wool and tufts of tawny hair, mingling with dark-stained
+      iron-gray wisps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore walked slowly over the battlefield, stooping down as though he
+      were gleaning. And gleaning he was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A long time he bent so, and at length raised himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Killer has killed his last,&rdquo; he muttered; &ldquo;Red Wull has run his
+      course.&rdquo; Then, turning to Andrew: &ldquo;Run yo' home, lad, and fetch the men to
+      carry yon away,&rdquo; pointing to the carcass, &ldquo;And Bob, lad, yo 'ye done your
+      work for to-day, and right well too; go yo' home wi' him. I'm off to see
+      to this!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned and crossed the Stony Bottom. His face was set like a rock. At
+      length the proof was in his hand. Once and for all the hill-country should
+      be rid of its scourge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he stalked up the hill, a dark head appeared at his knee. Two big grey
+      eyes; half doubting, half penitent, wholly wistful, looked up at him, and
+      a silvery brush signalled a mute request.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, Owd Un, but yo' should ha' gone wi' Andrew,&rdquo; the Master said.
+      &ldquo;Hooiver, as yo' are here, come along.&rdquo; And he strode away up the hill,
+      gaunt and menacing, with the gray dog at his heels.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As they approached the house, M'Adam was standing in the door, sucking his
+      eternal twig. James Moore eyed him closely as he came, but the sour face
+      framed in the door betrayed nothing. Sarcasm, surprise, challenge, were
+      all writ there, plain to read; but no guilty consciousness of the other's
+      errand, no storm of passion to hide a failing heart. If it was acting it
+      was splendidly done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As man and dog passed through the gap in the hedge, the expression on the
+      little man's face changed again. He started forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;James Moore, as I live!&rdquo; he cried, and advanced with both hands extended,
+      as though welcoming a long-lost brother. &ldquo;'Deed and it's a weary while
+      sin' ye've honored ma puir hoose.&rdquo; And, in fact, it was nigh twenty years.
+      &ldquo;I tak' it gey kind in ye to look in on a lonely auld man. Come ben and
+      let's ha' a crack. James Moore kens weel hoo welcome he aye is in ma bit
+      biggin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master ignored the greeting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One o' ma sheep been killed back o' t' Dyke,&rdquo; he announced shortly,
+      jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Killer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Killer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The cordiality beaming in every wrinkle of the little man's face was
+      absorbed in a wondering interest; and that again gave place to sorrowful
+      sympathy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear, dear! it's come to that, has it&mdash;at last?&rdquo; he said gently, and
+      his eyes wandered to the gray dog and dwelt mournfully upon him. &ldquo;Man, I'm
+      sorry&mdash;I canna tell ye I'm surprised. Masel', I kent it all alang.
+      But gin Adam M'Adam had tell't ye, no ha' believed him. Weel, weel, he's
+      lived his life, gin ony dog iver did; and noo he maun gang where he's sent
+      a many before him. Puir mon! puir tyke!&rdquo; He heaved a sigh, profoundly
+      melancholy, tenderly sympathetic. Then, brightening up a little: &ldquo;Ye'll
+      ha' come for the gun?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore listened to this harangue at first puzzled. Then he caught the
+      other's meaning, and his eyes flashed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye fool, M'Adam! did ye hear iver tell o' a sheep-dog worryin' his
+      master's sheep?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man was smiling and suave again now, rubbing his hands softly
+      together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye're right, I never did. But your dog is not as ither dogs&mdash;'There's
+      none like him&mdash;none,' I've heard ye say so yersel, mony a time. An'
+      I'm wi' ye. There's none like him&mdash;for devilment.&rdquo; His voice began to
+      quiver and his face to blaze. &ldquo;It's his cursed cunning that's deceived
+      ivery one but me&mdash;whelp o' Satan that he is!&rdquo; He shouldered up to his
+      tall adversary. &ldquo;If not him, wha else had done it?&rdquo; he asked, looking, up
+      into the other's face as if daring him to speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master's shaggy eyebrows lowered. He towered above the other like the
+      Muir Pike above its surrounding hills.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wha, ye ask?&rdquo; he replied coldly, &ldquo;and I answer you. Your Red Wull,
+      M'Adam, your Red Wull. It's your Wull's the Black Killer! It's your Wull's
+      bin the plague o' the land these months past! It's your Wull's killed ma
+      sheep back o'yon!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At that all the little man's affected good-humor fled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye lee, mon! ye lee!&rdquo; he cried in a dreadful scream, dancing up to his
+      antagonist. &ldquo;I knoo hoo 'twad be. I said so. I see what ye're at. Ye've
+      found at last&mdash;blind that ye've been!&mdash;that it's yer ain hell's
+      tyke that's the Killer; and noo ye think by yer leein' impitations to
+      throw the blame on ma Wullie. Ye rob me o' ma Cup, ye rob me o' ma son, ye
+      wrang me in ilka thing; there's but ae thing left me&mdash;Wullie. And noo
+      ye're set on takin' him awa'. But ye shall not&mdash;I'll kill ye first!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was all a-shake, bobbing up and down like a stopper in a soda-water
+      bottle, and almost sobbing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ha' ye no wranged me enough wi' oo that? Ye lang-leggit liar, wi' yer
+      skulkin murderin' tyke!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Ye say it's Wullie. Where's yer
+      proof?&rdquo;&mdash;and he snapped his fingers in the other's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master was now as calm as his foe was passionate. &ldquo;Where?&rdquo; he replied
+      sternly; &ldquo;why, there!&rdquo; holding out his right hand. &ldquo;Yon's proof enough to
+      hang a hunner'd.&rdquo; For lying in his broad palm was a little bundle of that
+      damning red hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let's see it!&rdquo; The little man bent to look closer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's for yer proof!&rdquo; he cried, and spat deliberately down into the
+      other's naked palm. Then he stood back, facing his enemy in a manner to
+      have done credit to a nobler deed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore strode forward. It looked as if he was about to make an end of
+      his miserable adversary, so strongly was he moved. His chest heaved, and
+      the blue eyes blazed. But just as one had thought to see him take his foe
+      in the hollow of his hand and crush him, who should come stalking round
+      the corner of the house but the Tailless Tyke?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A droll spectacle he made, laughable even at that moment. He limped
+      sorely, his head and neck were swathed in bandages, and beneath their
+      ragged fringe the little eyes gleamed out fiery and bloodshot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Round the corner he came, unaware of strangers; then straightway
+      recognizing his visitors, halted abruptly. His hackles ran up, each
+      individual hair stood on end till his whole body resembled a new-shorn
+      wheat-field; and a snarl, like a rusty brake shoved hard down escaped from
+      between his teeth. Then he trotted heavily forward, his head sinking low
+      and lower as he came.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Owd Bob, eager to take up the gage of battle, advanced, glad and
+      gallant, to meet him. Daintily he picked his way across the yard, head and
+      tail erect, perfectly self-contained. Only the long gray hair about his
+      neck stood up like the ruff of a lady of the court of Queen Elizabeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the war-worn warriors were not to be allowed their will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie, Wullie, wad ye!&rdquo; cried the little man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bob, lad, coom in!&rdquo; called the other. Then he turned and looked down at
+      the man beside him, contempt flaunting in every feature.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; he said shortly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam's hands were opening and shutting; his face was quite white beneath
+      the tan; but he spoke calmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll tell ye the whole story, and it's the truth,&rdquo; he said slowly. &ldquo;I was
+      up there the morn&rdquo;&mdash;pointing to the window above&mdash;&ldquo;and I see
+      Wullie crouchin' down alangside the Stony Bottom. (Ye ken he has the run
+      o' ma land o' neets, the same as your dog.) In a minnit I see anither dog
+      squatterin' alang on your side the Bottom. He creeps up to the sheep on
+      th' hillside, chases 'em, and doons one. The sun was risen by then, and I
+      see the dog clear as I see you noo. It was that dog there&mdash;I swear
+      it!&rdquo; His voice rose as he spoke, and he pointed an accusing finger at Owd
+      Bob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Noo, Wullie! thinks I. And afore ye could clap yer hands, Wullie was over
+      the Bottom and on to him as he gorged&mdash;the bloody-minded murderer!
+      They fought and fought&mdash;I could hear the roarin' a't where I stood. I
+      watched till I could watch nae langer, and, all in a sweat, I rin doon the
+      stairs and oot. When I got there, there was yer tyke makin' fu' split for
+      Kenmuir, and Wullie comin' up the hill to me. It's God's truth, I'm
+      tellin' ye. Tak' him hame, James Moore, and let his dinner be an ounce o'
+      lead. 'Twill be the best day's work iver ye done.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man must be lying&mdash;lying palpably. Yet he spoke with an
+      earnestness, a seeming belief in his own story, that might have convinced
+      one who knew him less well. But the Master only looked down on him with a
+      great scorn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's Monday to-day,&rdquo; he said coldly. &ldquo;I gie yo' till Saturday. If yo've
+      not done your duty by then&mdash;and well you know what 'tis&mdash;I shall
+      come do it for ye. Ony gate, I shall come and see. I'll remind ye agin o'
+      Thursday&mdash;yo'll be at the Manor dinner, I suppose. Noo I've warned
+      yo', and you know best whether I'm in earnest or no. Bob, lad!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned away, but turned again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm sorry for ye, but I've ma duty to do&mdash;so've you. Till Saturday I
+      shall breathe no word to ony soul o' this business, so that if you see
+      good to put him oot o' the way wi'oot bother, no one need iver know as hoo
+      Adam M'Adam's Red Wull was the Black Killer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned away for the second time. But the little man sprang after him,
+      and clutched him by the arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look ye here, James Moore!&rdquo; he cried in thick, shaky, horrible voice.
+      &ldquo;Ye're big, I'm sma'; ye're strang, I'm weak; ye've ivery one to your
+      back, I've niver a one; you tell your story, and they'll believe ye&mdash;for
+      you gae to church; I'll tell mine, and they'll think I lie&mdash;for I
+      dinna. But a word in your ear! If iver agin I catch ye on ma land, by&mdash;!&rdquo;&mdash;he
+      swore a great oath&mdash;&ldquo;I'll no spare ye. You ken best if I'm in earnest
+      or no.&rdquo; And his face was dreadful to see in its hideous determinedness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXVII FOR THE DEFENCE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      THAT night a vague story was whispered In the Sylvester Arms. But Tammas,
+      on being interrogated, pursed his lips and said: &ldquo;Nay, I'm sworn to say
+      nowt.&rdquo; Which was the old man's way of putting that he knew nowt.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      On Thursday morning, James Moore and Andrew came down arrayed in all their
+      best. It was the day of the squire's annual dinner to his tenants.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two, however, were not allowed to start upon their way until they had
+      undergone a critical inspection by Maggie; for the girl liked her mankind
+      to do honor to Kenmuir on these occasions. So she brushed up Andrew, tied
+      his scarf, saw his boots and hands were clean, and titivated him generally
+      till she had converted the ungainly hobbledehoy into a thoroughly &ldquo;likely
+      young mon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And all the while she was thinking of that other boy for whom on such gala
+      days she had been wont to perform like offices. And her father, marking
+      the tears in her eyes, and mindful of the squire's mysterious hint, said
+      gently:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cheer up, lass. Happen I'll ha' news for you the night!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl nodded, and smiled wanly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Happen so, dad,&rdquo; she said. But in her heart she doubted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nevertheless it was with a cheerful countenance that, a little later, she
+      stood in the door with wee Anne and Owd Bob and waved the travellers
+      Godspeed; while the golden-haired lassie, fiercely gripping the old dog's
+      tail with one hand and her sister with the other, screamed them a wordless
+      farewell.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      The sun had reached its highest when the two wayfarers passed through the
+      gray portals of the Manor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the stately entrance hall, imposing with all the evidences of a long
+      and honorable line, were gathered now the many tenants throughout the wide
+      March Mere Estate. Weather-beaten, rent-paying sons of the soil; most of
+      them native-born, many of them like James Moore, whose fathers had for
+      generations owned and farmed the land they now leased at the hands of the
+      Sylvesters&mdash;there in the old hall they were assembled, a mighty host.
+      And apart from the others, standing as though in irony beneath the frown
+      of one of those steel-clad warriors who held the door, was little M'Adam,
+      puny always, paltry now, mocking his manhood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The door at the far end of the hall opened, and the squire entered,
+      beaming on every one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here you are&mdash;eh, eh! How are you all? Glad to see ye! Good-day,
+      James! Good-day, Saunderson! Good-day to you all! Bringin' a friend with
+      me eh, eh!&rdquo; and he stood aside to let by his agent, Parson Leggy, and last
+      of all, shy and blushing, a fair-haired young giant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If it bain't David!&rdquo; was the cry. &ldquo;Eh, lad, we's fain to see yo'! And
+      yo'm lookin' stout, surely!&rdquo; And they thronged about the boy, shaking him
+      by the hand, and asking him his story.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      'Twas but a simple tale. After his flight on the eventful night he had
+      gone south, drovering. He had written to Maggie, and been surprised and
+      hurt to receive no reply. In vain he had waited, and too proud to write
+      again, had remained ignorant of his father's recovery, neither caring nor
+      daring to return. Then by mere chance, he had met the squire at the York
+      cattle-show; and that kind man, who knew his story, had eased his fears
+      and obtained from him a promise to return as soon as the term of his
+      engagement had expired. And there he was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Dalesmen gathered round the boy, listening to his tale, and in return
+      telling him the home news, and chaffing him about Maggie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of all the people present, only one seemed unmoved, and that was M'Adam.
+      When first David had entered he had started forward, a flush of color
+      warming his thin cheeks; but no one had noticed his emotion; and now, back
+      again beneath his armor, he watched the scene, a sour smile playing about
+      his lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think the lad might ha' the grace to come and say he's sorry for
+      'temptin' to murder me. Hooiver&rdquo;&mdash;with a characteristic shrug&mdash;&ldquo;I
+      suppose I'm onraisonable.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the gong rang out its summons, and the squire led the way into the
+      great dining-hall. At the one end of the long table, heavy with all the
+      solid delicacies of such a feast, he took his seat with the Master of
+      Kenmuir upon his right. At the other end was Parson Leggy. While down the
+      sides the stalwart Dalesmen were arrayed, with M'Adam a little lost figure
+      in the centre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At first they talked but little, awed like children: knives plied, glasses
+      tinkled, the carvers had all their work, only the tongues were at rest.
+      But the squire's ringing laugh and the parson's cheery tones soon put them
+      at their ease; and a babel of voices rose and waxed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of them all, only M'Adam sat silent. He talked to no man, and you may be
+      sure no one talked to him. His hand crept oftener to his glass than plate,
+      till the sallow face began to flush, and the dim eyes to grow unnaturally
+      bright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Toward the end of the meal there was loud tapping on the table, calls for
+      silence, and men pushed back their chairs. The squire was on his feet to
+      make his annual speech.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He started by telling them how glad he was to see them there. He made an
+      allusion to Owd Bob and the Shepherds' Trophy which was heartily
+      applauded. He touched on the Black Killer, and said he had a remedy to
+      propose: that Th' Owd Un should be set upon the criminal's track&mdash;a
+      suggestion which was received with enthusiasm, while M'Adam's cackling
+      laugh could be heard high above the rest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From that he dwelt upon the existing condition of agriculture, the
+      depression in which he attributed to the late Radical Government. He said
+      that now with the Conservatives in office, and a ministry composed of
+      &ldquo;honorable men and gentlemen,&rdquo; he felt convinced that things would
+      brighten. The Radicals' one ambition was to set class against class,
+      landlord against tenant. Well, during the last five hundred years, the
+      Sylvesters had rarely been&mdash;he was sorry to have to confess it&mdash;good
+      men (laughter and dissent); but he never yet heard of the Sylvester&mdash;though
+      he shouldn't say it&mdash;who was a bad landlord (loud applause).
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This was a free country, and any tenant of his who was not content (a
+      voice, &ldquo;'Oo says we bain't?&rdquo;)&mdash;&ldquo;thank you, thank you!&rdquo;&mdash;well,
+      there was room for him outside. (Cheers.) He thanked God from the bottom
+      of his heart that, during the forty years he had been responsible for the
+      March Mere Estate, there had never been any friction between him and his
+      people (cheers), and he didn't think there ever would be. (Loud cheers.)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, thank you!&rdquo; And his motto was, &ldquo;Shun a Radical as you do the
+      devil!&rdquo;&mdash;and he was very glad to see them all there&mdash;very glad;
+      and he wished to give them a toast, &ldquo;The Queen! God bless her!&rdquo; and&mdash;wait
+      a minute!&mdash;with her Majesty's name to couple&mdash;he was sure that
+      gracious lady would wish it&mdash;that of &ldquo;Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!&rdquo; Then he
+      sat down abruptly amid thundering applause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The toasts duly honoured, James Moore, by prescriptive right as Master of
+      Kenmuir, rose to answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He began by saying that he spoke &ldquo;as representing all the tenants,&rdquo;&mdash;but
+      he was interrupted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Na,&rdquo; came a shrill voice from half-way down the table. &ldquo;Yell except me,
+      James Moore. I'd as lief be represented by Judas!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There were cries of &ldquo;Hold ye gab, little mon!&rdquo; and the squire's voice,
+      &ldquo;That'll do, Mr. M'Adam!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man restrained his tongue, but his eyes gleamed like a
+      ferret's; and the Master continued his speech.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He spoke briefly and to the point, in short phrases. And all the while
+      M'Adam kept up a low-voiced, running commentary. At length he could
+      control himself no longer. Half rising from his chair, he leant forward
+      with hot face and burning eyes, and cried: &ldquo;Sit doon, James Moore! Hoo
+      daur ye stan' there like an honest man, ye whitewashed sepulchre? Sit
+      doon, I say, or&rdquo;&mdash;threateningly&mdash;&ldquo;wad ye hae me come to ye?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At that the Dalesmen laughed uproariously, and even the Master's grim face
+      relaxed. But the squire's voice rang out sharp and stern.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Keep silence and sit down, Mr. M'Adam! D'you hear me, sir? If I have to
+      speak to you again it will be to order you to leave the room.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man obeyed, sullen and vengeful, like a beaten cat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master concluded his speech by calling on all present to give three
+      cheers for the squire, her ladyship, and the young ladies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The call was responded to enthusiastically, every man standing. Just as
+      the noise was at its zenith, Lady Eleanour herself, with her two fair
+      daughters, glided into the gallery at the end of the hall; whereat the
+      cheering became deafening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Slowly the clamor subsided. One by one the tenants sat down. At length
+      there was left standing only one solitary figure&mdash;M 'Adam.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His face was set, and he gripped the chair in front of him with thin,
+      nervous hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Sylvester,&rdquo; he began in low yet clear voice, &ldquo;ye said this is a free
+      country and we're a' free men. And that bein' so, I'll tak' the liberty,
+      wi' yer permission, to say a word. It's maybe the last time I'll be wi'
+      ye, so I hope ye'll listen to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Dalesmen looked surprised, and the squire uneasy. Nevertheless he
+      nodded assent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man straightened himself. His face was tense as though strung
+      up to a high resolve. All the passion had fled from it, all the bitterness
+      was gone; and left behind was a strange, enobling earnestness. Standing
+      there in the silence of that great hall, with every eye upon him, he
+      looked like some prisoner at the bar about to plead for his life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; he began, &ldquo;I've bin amang ye noo a score years, and I can
+      truly say there's not a man in this room I can ca' 'Friend.'&rdquo; He looked
+      along the ranks of upturned faces. &ldquo;Ay, David, I see ye, and you, Mr.
+      Hornbut, and you, Mr. Sylvester&mdash;ilka one o' you, and not one as'd
+      back me like a comrade gin a trouble came upon me.&rdquo; There was no rebuke in
+      the grave little voice&mdash;it merely stated a hard fact.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's I doot no one amang ye but has some one&mdash;friend or blood&mdash;wham
+      he can turn to when things are sair wi' him. I've no one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'I bear alane my lade o' care'&mdash;alane wi' Wullie, who stands to me,
+      blaw or snaw, rain or shine. And whiles I'm feared he'll be took from me.&rdquo;
+       He spoke this last half to himself, a grieved, puzzled expression on his
+      face, as though lately he had dreamed some ill dream.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Forbye Wuilie, I've no friend on God's earth. And, mind ye, a bad man
+      aften mak's a good friend&mdash;but ye've never given me the chance. It's
+      a sair thing that, gentlemen, to ha' to fight the battle o' life alane: no
+      one to pat ye on th' back, no one to say 'Weel done.' It hardly gies a man
+      a chance. For gin he does try and yet fails, men never mind the tryin',
+      they only mark the failin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I dinna blame ye. There's somethin' bred in me, it seems, as sets ivery
+      one agin me. It's the same wi' Wullie and the tykes&mdash;they're doon on
+      him same as men are on me. I suppose we was made so. Sin' I was a lad it's
+      aye bin the same. From school days I've had ivery one agin me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In ma life I've had three fiends. Ma mither&mdash;and she went; then ma
+      wife&rdquo;&mdash;he gave a great swallow&mdash;&ldquo;and she's awa'; and I may say
+      they're the only two human bein's as ha' lived on God's earth in ma time
+      that iver tried to bear wi' me;&mdash;and Wullie. A man's mither&mdash;a
+      man's wife&mdash;a man's dog! it's aften a' he has in this warld; and the
+      more he prizes them the more like they are to be took from him.&rdquo; The
+      little earnest voice shook, and the dim eyes puckered and filled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sin' I've bin amang ye&mdash;twenty-odd years&mdash;can any man here mind
+      speakin' any word that wasna ill to me?&rdquo; He paused; there was no reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll tell ye. All the time I've lived here I've had one kindly word spoke
+      to me, and that a fortnight gone, and not by a man then&mdash;by her
+      ladyship, God bless her!&rdquo; He glanced up into the gallery. There was no one
+      visible there; but a curtain at one end shook as though it were sobbing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Weel, I'm thinkin' we'll be gaein' in a wee while noo, Wullie and me,
+      alane and thegither, as we've aye done. And it's time we went. Ye've had
+      enough o' us, and it's no for me to blame ye. And when I'm gone what'll ye
+      say o' me? 'He was a drunkard.' I am. 'He was a sinner.' I am. 'He was
+      ilka thing he shouldna be.' I am. 'We're glad he's gone.' That's what
+      ye'll say o' me. And it's but ma deserts.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The gentle, condemning voice ceased, and began again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's what I am. Gin things had been differ', aiblins I'd ha' bin
+      differ'. D'ye ken Robbie Burns? That's a man I've read, and read, and
+      read. D'ye ken why I love him as some o' you do yer Bibles? Because
+      there's a humanity about him. A weak man hissel', aye slippin', slippin',
+      slippin', and tryin' to haud up; sorrowin' ae minute, sinnin' the next;
+      doin' ill deeds and wishin' 'em undone&mdash;just a plain human man, a
+      sinner. And that's why I'm thinkin he's tender for us as is like him. <i>He
+      understood.</i> It's what he wrote&mdash;after ain o' his tumbles, I'm
+      thinkin'&mdash;that I was goin' to tell ye:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     'Then gently scan yer brother man,
+     Still gentler sister woman,
+     Though they may gang a kennin' wrang,
+     To step aside is human'&mdash;
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      the doctrine o' Charity. Gie him his chance, says Robbie, though he be a
+      sinner. Mony a mon'd be differ', mony bad'd be gude, gin they had but
+      their chance. Gie 'em their chance, says he; and I'm wi' him. As 'tis, ye
+      see me here&mdash;a bad man wi' still a streak o' good in him. Gin I'd had
+      ma chance, aiblins 'twad be&mdash;a good man wi' just a spice o' the devil
+      in him. A' the differ' betune what is and what might ha' bin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXVIII THE DEVIL'S BOWL
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      HE sat down. In the great hall there was silence, save for a tiny sound
+      from the gallery like a sob suppressed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The squire rose hurriedly and left the room. After him, one by one,
+      trailed the tenants. At length, two only remained&mdash;M'Adam, sitting
+      solitary with a long array of empty chairs on either hand; and, at the far
+      end of the table, Parson Leggy, stern, upright, motionless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the last man had left the room the parson rose, and with lips
+      tight-set strode across the silent hall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;M'Adam,&rdquo; he said rapidly and almost roughly, &ldquo;I've listened to what
+      you've said, as I think we all have, with a sore heart. You hit hard&mdash;but
+      I think you were right. And if I've not done my duty by you as I ought&mdash;and
+      I fear I've not&mdash;it's now my duty as God's minister to be the first
+      to say I'm sorry.&rdquo; And it was evident from his face what an effort the
+      words cost him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man tilted back his chair, and raised his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the old M'Adam who looked up. The thin lips were curled; a grin was
+      crawling across the mocking face; and he wagged his head gently, as he
+      looked at the speaker through the slits of his half-closed eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Hornbut, I believe ye thocht me in earnest, 'deed and I do!&rdquo; He
+      leaned back in his chair and laughed softly. &ldquo;Ye swallered it all down
+      like best butter. Dear, dear! to think o' that!&rdquo; Then, stretching forward:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Hornbut, I was playin' wi' ye.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The parson's face, as he listened, was ugly to watch. He shot out a hand
+      and grabbed the scoffer by his coat; then dropped it again and turned
+      abruptly away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he passed through the door a little sneering voice called after him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Hornbut, I ask ye hoo you, a minister o' the Church of England, can
+      reconcile it to yer conscience to think&mdash;though it be but for a
+      minute&mdash;that there can be ony good in a man and him no churchgoer?
+      Sir, ye're a heretic&mdash;not to say a heathen!&rdquo; He sniggered to himself,
+      and his hand crept to a half-emptied wine decanter.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      An hour later, James Moore, his business with the squire completed, passed
+      through the hall on his way out. Its only occupant was now M'Adam, and the
+      Master walked straight up to his enemy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;M'Adam,&rdquo; he said gruffly, holding out a sinewy hand, &ldquo;I'd like to say&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man knocked aside the token of friendship.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Na, na. No cant, if ye please, James Moore. That'll aiblins go doon wi'
+      the parsons, but not wi' me. I ken you and you ken me, and all the
+      whitewash i' th' warld'll no deceive us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master turned away, and his face was hard as the nether millstone. But
+      the little man pursued him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was nigh forgettin',&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I've a surprise for ye, James Moore.
+      But I hear it's yer birthday on Sunday, and I'll keep it till then&mdash;he!
+      he!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye'll see me before Sunday, M'Adam,&rdquo; the other answered. &ldquo;On Saturday, as
+      I told yo', I'm comin' to see if yo've done yer duty.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whether ye come, James Moore, is your business. Whether ye'll iver go,
+      once there, I'll mak' mine. I've warned ye twice noo&mdash;&rdquo; and the
+      little man laughed that harsh, cackling laugh of his.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the door of the hall the Master met David. &ldquo;Noo, lad, yo're comin'
+      along wi' Andrew and me,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;Maggie'll niver forgie us if we dinna
+      bring yo' home wi' us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you kindly, Mr. Moore,&rdquo; the boy replied. &ldquo;I've to see squire first;
+      and then yo' may be sure I'll be after you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master faltered a moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;David, ha'n yo' spoke to yer father yet?&rdquo; he asked in low voice. &ldquo;Yo'
+      should, lad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy made a gesture of dissent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I canna,&rdquo; he said petulantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I would, lad,&rdquo; the other advised. &ldquo;An' yo' don't yo' may be sorry after.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As he turned away he heard the boy's steps, dull and sodden, as he crossed
+      the hall; and then a thin, would-be cordial voice in the emptiness:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I declar' if 'tisna David! The return o' the Prodeegal&mdash;he! he! So
+      ye've seen yer auld dad at last, and the last; the proper place, say ye,
+      for yen father&mdash;he! he! Eh, lad, but I'm blithe to see ye. D'ye mind
+      when we was last thegither? Ye was kneelin' on ma chest: 'Your time's
+      come, dad,' says you, and wangs me o'er the face&mdash;he! he! I mind it
+      as if 'twas yesterday. Weel, weel, we'll say nae mair about it. Boys will
+      be boys. Sons will be sons. Accidents will happen. And if at first ye
+      don't succeed, why, try, try again&mdash;he! he!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Dusk was merging into darkness when the Master and Andrew reached the
+      Dalesman's Daughter. It had been long dark when they emerged from the cosy
+      parlor of the inn and plunged out into the night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As they crossed the Silver Lea and trudged over that familiar ground,
+      where a fortnight since had been fought out the battle of the Cup, the
+      wind fluttered past them in spasmodic gasps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There 's trouble in the wind,&rdquo; said the Master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; answered his laconic son.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All day there had been no breath of air, and the sky dangerously blue. But
+      now a world of black was surging up from the horizon, smothering the
+      star-lit night; and small dark clouds, like puffs of smoke, detaching
+      themselves from the main body, were driving tempestuously forward&mdash;the
+      vanguard of the storm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the distance was a low rumbling like heavy tumbrils on the floor of
+      heaven. All about, the wind sounded hollow like a mighty scythe on corn.
+      The air was oppressed with a leaden blackness&mdash;no glimmer of light on
+      any hand; and as they began the ascent of the Pass they reached out blind
+      hands to feel along the rock-face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A sea-fret, cool and wetting, fell. A few big rain-drops splashed heavily
+      down. The wind rose with a leap and roared past them up the rocky track.
+      And the water-gates of heaven were flung wide.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Wet and weary, they battled on; thinking sometimes of the cosy parlor
+      behind; sometimes of the home in front; wondering whether Maggie, in flat
+      contradiction of her father's orders, would be up to welcome them; or
+      whether only Owd Bob would come out to meet them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The wind volleyed past them like salvoes of artillery. The rain stormed at
+      them from above; spat at them from the rock-face; and leapt up at them
+      from their feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once they halted for a moment, finding a miserable shelter in a crevice of
+      the rock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a Black Killer's night,&rdquo; panted the Master. &ldquo;I reck'n he's oot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; the boy gasped, &ldquo;reck'n he is.&rdquo; Up and up they climbed through the
+      blackness, blind and buffeted. The eternal thunder of the rain was all
+      about them; the clamor of the gale above; and far beneath, the roar of
+      angry waters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once, in a lull in the storm, the Master turned and looked back into the
+      blackness along the path they had come.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did ye hear onythin'?&rdquo; he roared above the muffled soughing of the wind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay!&rdquo; Andrew shouted back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thowt I heard a step!&rdquo; the Master cried, peering down. But nothing
+      could he see.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the wind leaped to life again like a giant from his sleep, drowning
+      all sound with its hurricane voice; and they turned and bent to their task
+      again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nearing the summit, the Master turned once more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There it was again!&rdquo; he called; but his words were swept away on the
+      storm; and they buckled to the struggle afresh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ever and anon the moon gleamed down through the riot of tossing sky. Then
+      they could see the wet wall above them, with the water tumbling down its
+      sheer face; and far below, in the roaring gutter of the Pass a
+      brown-stained torrent. Hardly, however, had they time to glance around
+      when a mass of cloud would hurry jealously up, and all again was blackness
+      and noise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length, nigh spent, they topped the last and steepest pitch of the
+      Pass, and emerged into the Devil's Bowl. There, overcome with their
+      exertions, they flung themselves on to the soaking ground to draw breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Behind them, the wind rushed with a sullen roar up the funnel of the Pass.
+      It screamed above them as though ten million devils were a-horse; and
+      blurted out on to the wild Marches beyond.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As they lay there, still panting, the moon gleamed down in momentary
+      graciousness. In front, through the lashing rain, they could discern the
+      hillocks that squat, hag-like, round the Devil's Bowl; and lying in its
+      bosom, its white waters, usually so still, ploughed now into a thousand
+      furrows, the Lone Tarn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master raised his head and craned forward at the ghostly scene. Of a
+      sudden he reared himself on to his arms, and stayed motionless awhile.
+      Then he dropped as though dead, forcing down Andrew with an iron hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lad, did'st see?&rdquo; he whispered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay; what was't?&rdquo; the boy replied, roused by his father's tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But as the Master pointed forward, a blur of cloud intervened and all was
+      dark. Quickly it passed; and again the lantern of the night shone down.
+      And Andrew, looking with all his eyes, saw indeed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There, in front, by the fretting waters of the Tarn, packed in a solid
+      phalanx, with every head turned in the same direction, was a flock of
+      sheep. They were motionless, all-intent, staring with horror-bulging eyes.
+      A column of steam rose from their bodies into the rain-pierced air.
+      Panting and palpitating, yet they stood with their backs to the water, as
+      though determined to sell their lives dearly. Beyond them, not fifty yards
+      away, crouched a humpbacked boulder, casting a long, misshapen shadow in
+      the moonlight. And beneath it were two black objects, one still struggling
+      feebly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Killer!&rdquo; gasped the boy, and, all ablaze with excitement, began
+      forging forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Steady, lad, steady!&rdquo; urged his father, dropping a restraining hand on
+      the boy's shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Above them a huddle of clouds flung in furious rout across the night, and
+      the moon was veiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Follow, lad!&rdquo; ordered the Master, and began to crawl silently forward. As
+      stealthily Andrew pursued. And over the sodden ground they crept, one
+      behind the other, like two' night-hawks on some foul errand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On they crawled, lying prone during the blinks of moon, stealing forward
+      in the dark; till, at length, the swish of the rain on the waters of the
+      Tarn, and the sobbing of the flock in front, warned them they were near.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They skirted the trembling pack, passing so close as to brush against the
+      flanking sheep; and yet unnoticed, for the sheep were soul-absorbed in the
+      tragedy in front. Only, when the moon was in, Andrew could hear them
+      huddling and stamping in the darkness. And again, as it shone out,
+      fearfully they edged closer to watch the bloody play.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Along the Tarn edge the two crept. And still the gracious moon hid their
+      approach, and the drunken wind drowned with its revelry the sound of their
+      coming.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So they stole on, on hands and knees, with hearts aghast and fluttering
+      breath; until, of a sudden, in a lull of wind, they could hear, right
+      before them, the smack and slobber of bloody lips, chewing their bloody
+      meal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say thy prayers, Red Wull. Thy last minute's come!&rdquo; muttered the Master,
+      rising to his knees. Then, in Andrew's ear: &ldquo;When I rush, lad, follow!&rdquo;
+       For he thought, when the moon rose, to jump in on the great dog, and,
+      surprising him as he lay gorged and unsuspicious, to deal him one terrible
+      swashing blow, and end forever the lawless doings of the Tailless Tyke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The moon flung off its veil of cloud. White and cold, it stared down into
+      the Devil's Bowl; on murderer and murdered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Within a hand's cast of the avengers of blood humped the black boulder. On
+      the border of its shadow lay a dead sheep; and standing beside the body,
+      his coat all ruffled by the hand of the storm&mdash;Owd Bob&mdash;Owd Bob
+      o' Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the light went in, and darkness covered the land.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXIX THE DEVIL'S BOWL
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      IT was Owd Bob. There could be no mistaking. In the wide world there was
+      but one Owd Bob o' Kenmuir. The silver moon gleamed down on the dark head
+      and rough gray coat, and lit the white escutcheon on his chest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And in the darkness James Moore was lying with his face pressed downward
+      that he might not see.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once he raised himself on his arms; his eyes were shut and face uplifted,
+      like a blind man praying. He passed a weary hand across his brow; his head
+      dropped again; and he moaned and moaned like a man in everlasting pain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the darkness lifted a moment, and he stole a furtive glance, like a
+      murderer's at the gallows-tree, at the scene in front.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was no dream; clear and cruel in the moonlight the humpbacked boulder;
+      the dead sheep; and that gray figure, beautiful, motionless, damned for
+      all eternity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master turned his face and looked at Andrew, a dumb, pitiful entreaty
+      in his eyes; but in the boy's white, horror-stricken countenance was no
+      comfort. Then his head lolled down again, and the strong man was
+      whimpering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He! he! he! 'Scuse ma laffin', Mr. Moore&mdash;he! he! he!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A little man, all wet and shrunk, sat hunching on a mound above them,
+      rocking his shrivelled form to and fro in the agony of his merriment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye raskil&mdash;he! he! Ye rogue&mdash;he! he!&rdquo; and he shook his fist
+      waggishly at the unconscious gray dog. &ldquo;I owe ye anither grudge for this&mdash;ye've
+      anteecipated me&rdquo;&mdash;and he leant back and shook this way and that in
+      convulsive mirth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man below him rose heavily to his feet, and tumbled toward the mocker,
+      his great figure swaying from side to side as though in blind delirium,
+      moaning still as he went. And there was that on his face which no man can
+      mistake. Boy that he was, Andrew knew it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Feyther! feyther! do'ee not!&rdquo; he pleaded, running after his father and
+      laying impotent hands on him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the strong man shook him off like a fly, and rolled on, swaying and
+      groaning, with that awful expression plain to see in the moonlight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In front the little man squatted in the rain, bowed double still; and took
+      no thought to flee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come on, James Moore! Come on!&rdquo; he laughed, malignant joy in his voice;
+      and something gleamed bright in his right hand, and was hid again. &ldquo;I've
+      bin waitin' this a weary while noo. Come on!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then had there been done something worse than sheep-murder in the dreadful
+      lonesomeness of the Devil's Bowl upon that night; but of a sudden, there
+      sounded the splash of a man's foot, falling heavily behind; a hand like a
+      falling tree smote the Master on the shoulder; and a voice roared above
+      the noise of the storm:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Moore! Look, man! look!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master tried to shake off that detaining grasp; but it pinned him
+      where he was, immovable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look, I tell yo'!&rdquo; cried that great voice again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A hand pushed past him and pointed; and sullenly he turned, ignoring the
+      figure at his side, and looked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The wind had dropped suddenly as it had risen; the little man on the mound
+      had ceased to chuckle; Andrew's sobs were hushed; and in the background
+      the huddled flock edged closer. The world hung balanced on the pinpoint of
+      the moment. Every eye was in the one direction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With dull, uncomprehending gaze James Moore stared as bidden. There was
+      the gray dog naked in the moonlight, heedless still of any witnesses;
+      there the murdered sheep, lying within and without that distorted shade;
+      and there the humpbacked boulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stared into the shadow, and still stared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he started as though struck. The shadow of the boulder had moved!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Motionless, with head shot forward and bulging eyes, he gazed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ay, ay, ay; he was sure of it&mdash;a huge dim outline as of a lion <i>couchant</i>,
+      in the very thickest of the blackness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At that he was seized with such a palsy of trembling that he must have
+      fallen but for the strong arm about his waist.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Clearer every moment grew that crouching figure; till at length they
+      plainly could discern the line of arching loins, the crest, thick as a
+      stallion's, the massive, wagging head. No mistake this time. There he lay
+      in the deepest black, gigantic, revelling in his horrid debauch&mdash;the
+      Black Killer!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And they watched him at his feast. Now he burrowed into the spongy flesh;
+      now turned to lap the dark pool which glittered in the moonlight at his
+      side like claret in a silver cup. Now lifting his head, he snapped
+      irritably at the rain-drops, and the moon caught his wicked, rolling eye
+      and the red shreds of flesh dripping from his jaw. And again, raising his
+      great muzzle as if about to howl, he let the delicious nectar trickle down
+      his throat and ravish his palate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So he went on, all unsuspicious, wisely nodding in slow-mouthed gluttony.
+      And in the stillness, between the claps of wind, they could hear the
+      smacking of his lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While all the time the gray dog stood before him, motionless, as though
+      carved in stone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last, as the murderer rolled his great head from side to side, he saw
+      that still figure. At the sight he leaped back, dismayed. Then with a
+      deep-mouthed roar that shook the waters of the Tarn he was up and across
+      his victim with fangs bared, his coat standing erect in wet, rigid furrows
+      from topknot to tail.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So the two stood, face to face, with perhaps a yard of rain-pierced air
+      between them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The wind hushed its sighing to listen. The moon stared down, white and
+      dumb. Away at the back the sheep edged closer. While save for the
+      everlasting thunder of the rain, there was utter stillness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An age, it seemed, they waited so. Then a voice, clear yet low and far
+      away, like a bugle in a distant city, broke the silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, Wullie!&rdquo; it said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no anger in the tones, only an incomparable reproach; the sound
+      of the cracking of a man's heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the call the great dog leapt round, snarling in hideous passion. He saw
+      the small, familiar figure, clear-cut against the tumbling sky; and for
+      the only time in his life Red Wull was afraid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His blood-foe was forgotten; the dead sheep was forgotten; everything was
+      sunk in the agony of that moment. He cowered upon the ground, and a cry
+      like that of a lost soul was wrung from him; it rose on the still night
+      air and floated, wailing, away; and the white waters of the Tarn thrilled
+      in cold pity; out of the lonely hollow; over the desolate Marches; into
+      the night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the mound above stood his master. The little man's white hair was bared
+      to the night wind; the rain trickled down his face; and his hands were
+      folded behind his back. He stood there, looking down into the dell below
+      him, as a man may stand at the tomb of his lately buried wife. And there
+      was such an expression on his face as I cannot describe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie, Wullie, to me!&rdquo; he cried at length; and his voice sounded weak
+      and far, like a distant memory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At that, the huge brute came crawling toward him on his belly, whimpering
+      as he came, very pitiful in his distress. He knew his fate as every
+      sheep-dog knows it. That troubled him not. His pain, insufferable, was
+      that this, his friend and father, who had trusted him, should have found
+      him in his sin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So he crept up to his master's feet; and the little man never moved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie&mdash;ma Wullie!&rdquo; he said very gently. &ldquo;They've aye bin agin me&mdash;and
+      noo you! A man's mither&mdash;a man's wife&mdash;a man's dog! they're all
+      I've iver had; and noo ain o' they three has turned agin me! Indeed I am
+      alone!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At that the great dog raised himself, and placing his forepaws on his
+      master's chest tenderly, lest he should hurt him who was already hurt past
+      healing, stood towering above him; while the little man laid his two colds
+      hands on the dog's shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So they stood, looking at one another, like a man and his love.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      At M'Adam's word, Owd Bob looked up, and for the first time saw his
+      master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He seemed in nowise startled, but trotted over to him. There was nothing
+      fearful in his carriage, no haunting blood-guiltiness in the true gray
+      eyes which never told a lie, which never, dog-like, failed to look you in
+      the face. Yet his tail was low, and, as he stopped at his master's feet,
+      he was quivering. For he, too, knew, and was not unmoved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For weeks he had tracked the Killer; for weeks he had followed him as he
+      crossed Kenmuir, bound on his bloody errands; yet always had lost him on
+      the Marches. Now, at last, he had run him to ground. Yet his heart went
+      out to his enemy in his distress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thowt t'had been yo', lad,&rdquo; the Master whispered, his hand on the dark
+      head at his knee&mdash;&ldquo;I thowt t'had bin yo'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Rooted to the ground, the three watched the scene between M'Adam and his
+      Wull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the end the Master was whimpering; Andrew crying; and David turned his
+      back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length, silent, they moved away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Had I&mdash;should I go to him&rdquo; asked David hoarsely, nodding toward his
+      father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, nay, lad,&rdquo; the Master replied. &ldquo;Yon's not a matter for a mon's
+      friends.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they marched out of the Devil's Bowl, and left those two alone
+      together.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      A little later, as they trampled along, James Moore heard little
+      pattering, staggering footsteps behind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stopped, and the other two went on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Man,&rdquo; a voice whispered, and a face, white and pitiful, like a mother's
+      pleading for her child, looked into his&mdash;&ldquo;Man, ye'll no tell them a'
+      I'd no like 'em to ken 'twas ma Wullie. Think an 't had bin yer ain dog.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may trust me!&rdquo; the other answered thickly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man stretched out a palsied hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gie us yer hand on't. And G-God bless ye, James Moore!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So these two shook hands in the moonlight, with none to witness it but the
+      God who made them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And that is why the mystery of the Black Killer is yet unsolved in the
+      Daleland. Many have surmised; besides those three only one other knows&mdash;knows
+      now which of those two he saw upon a summer night was the guilty, which
+      the innocent. And Postie Jim tells no man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXX. THE TAILLESS TYKE AT BAY
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      ON the following morning there was a sheep-auction at the Dalesman's
+      Daughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Early as many of the farmers arrived, there was one earlier. Tupper, the
+      first man to enter the sand-floored parlor, found M'Adam before him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was sitting a little forward in his chair; his thin hands rested on his
+      knees; and on his face was a gentle, dreamy expression such as no man had
+      ever seen there before. All the harsh wrinkles seemed to have fled in the
+      night; and the sour face, stamped deep with the bitterness of life, was
+      softened now, as if at length at peace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When I coom doon this mornin',&rdquo; said Teddy Bolstock in a whisper, &ldquo;I
+      found 'im sittin' just so. And he's nor moved nor spoke since.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where's th' Terror, then?&rdquo; asked Tupper, awed somehow into like hushed
+      tones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In t' paddock at back,&rdquo; Teddy answered, &ldquo;marchin' hoop and doon, hoop and
+      doon, for a' the world like a sentry-soger. And so he was when I looked
+      oot o' window when I wake.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Londesley entered, and after him, Ned Hoppin, Rob Saunderson, Jim
+      Mason, and others, each with his dog. And each man, as he came in and saw
+      the little lone figure for once without its huge attendant genius, put the
+      same question; while the dogs sniffed about the little man, as though
+      suspecting treachery. And all the time M'Adam sat as though he neither
+      heard nor saw, lost in some sweet, sad dream; so quite, so silent, that
+      more than one thought he slept.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After the first glance, however, the farmers paid him little heed,
+      clustering round the publican at the farther end of the room to hear the
+      latest story of Owd Bob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It appeared that a week previously, James Moore with a pack of sheep had
+      met the new Grammoch-town butcher at the Dalesmen's Daughter. A bargain
+      concluded, the butcher started with the flock for home. As he had no dog,
+      the Master offered him Th' Owd Un. &ldquo;And he'll pick me i' th' town
+      to-morrow,&rdquo; said he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the butcher was a stranger in the land. Of course he had heard of Owd
+      Bob o' Kenmuir, yet it never struck him that this handsome gentleman with
+      the quiet, resolute manner, who handled sheep as he had never seen them
+      handled, was that hero&mdash;&ldquo;the best sheep-dog in the North.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Certain it is that by the time the flock was penned in the enclosure
+      behind the shop, he coveted the dog&mdash;ay, would even offer ten pounds
+      for him!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Forthwith the butcher locked him up in an outhouse&mdash;summit of
+      indignity; resolving to make his offer on the morrow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the morrow came he found no dog in the outhouse, and, worse, no sheep
+      in the enclosure. A sprung board showed the way of escape of the one, and
+      a displaced hurdle that of the other. And as he was making the discovery,
+      a gray dog and a flock of sheep, travelling along the road toward the
+      Dalesman's Daughter, met the Master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From the first, Owd Bob had mistrusted the man. The attempt to confine him
+      set the seal on his suspicions. His master's sheep were not for such a
+      rogue; and he worked his own way out and took the sheep along with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The story was told to a running chorus of&mdash;&ldquo;Ma word! Good, Owd Un!&mdash;Ho!
+      ho! did he thot?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Of them all, only M'Adam sat strangely silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Rob Saunderson, always glad to draw the little man, remarked it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what d'yo' think o' that, Mr. M'Adam, for a wunnerfu' story of a
+      wunnerfu' tyke?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a gude tale, a vera gude tale,&rdquo; the little man answered dreamily.
+      &ldquo;And James Moore didna invent it; he had it from the Christmas number o'
+      the <i>Flock-keeper</i> in saxty.&rdquo; (On the following Sunday, old Rob, from
+      sheer curiosity, reached down from his shelf the specified number of the
+      paper. To his amazement he found the little man was right. There was the
+      story almost identically. None the less is it also true of Owd Bob o'
+      Kenmuir.)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, ay,&rdquo; the little man continued, &ldquo;and in a day or two James Moore'll
+      ha' anither tale to tell ye&mdash;a better tale, ye'll think it&mdash;mair
+      laffable. And yet&mdash;ay&mdash;-no&mdash;-I'll no believe it! I niver
+      loved James Moore, but I think, as Mr. Hornbut aince said, he'd rather die
+      than lie. Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!&rdquo; he continued in a whisper. &ldquo;Up till the end
+      I canna shake him aff. Hafflins I think that where I'm gaein' to there'll
+      be gray dogs sneakin' around me in the twilight. And they're aye behind
+      and behind, and I canna, canna&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Teddy Bolstock interrupted, lifting his hand for silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;D'yo' hear thot?&mdash;Thunder!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They listened; and from without came a gurgling, jarring roar, horrible to
+      hear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's comin' nearer!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, it's goin' away!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No thunder thot!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;More like the Lea in flood. And yet&mdash;Eh, Mr. M'Adam, what is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man had moved at last. He was on his feet, staring about him,
+      wild-eyed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where's yer dogs?&rdquo; he almost screamed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here's ma&mdash;Nay, by thunder! but he's not!&rdquo; was the astonished cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the interest of the story no man had noticed that his dog had risen
+      from his side; no one had noticed a file of shaggy figures creeping out of
+      the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell ye it's the tykes! I tell ye it's the tykes! They're on ma Wullie&mdash;fifty
+      to one they're on him! My God! My God! And me not there! Wullie, Wullie! &ldquo;&mdash;in
+      a scream&mdash;&ldquo;I'm wi' ye!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the same moment Bessie Boistock rushed in, white-faced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hi! Feyther! Mr. Saunderson! all o' you! T'tykes fightin' mad! Hark!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no time for that. Each man seized his stick and rushed for the
+      door; and M'Adam led them all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A rare thing it was for M'Adam and Red Wull to be apart. So rare, that
+      others besides the men in that little tap-room noticed it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Saunderson's old Shep walked quietly to the back door of the house and
+      looked out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There on the slope below him he saw what he sought, stalking up and down,
+      gaunt and grim, like a lion at feeding-time. And as the old dog watched,
+      his tail was gently swaying as though he were well pleased.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He walked back into the tap-room just as Teddy began his tale. Twice he
+      made the round of the room, silent-footed. From dog to dog he went,
+      stopping at each as though urging him on to some great enterprise. Then he
+      made for the door again, looking back to see if any followed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One by one the others rose and trailed out after him: big blue Rasper,
+      Londesley's Lassie, Ned Hoppin's young dog; Grip and Grapple, the
+      publican's bull-terriers; Jim Mason's Gyp, foolish and flirting even now;
+      others there were; and last of all, waddling heavily in the rear, that
+      scarred Amazon, the Venus.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Out of the house they pattered, silent and unseen, with murder in their
+      hearts. At last they had found their enemy alone. And slowly, in a black
+      cloud, like the shadow of death, they dropped down the slope upon him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And he saw them coming, knew their errand&mdash;as who should better than
+      the Terror of the Border?&mdash;and was glad. Death it might be, and such
+      an one as he would wish to die&mdash;at least distraction from that
+      long-drawn, haunting pain. And he smiled grimly as he looked at the
+      approaching crowd, and saw there was not one there but he had humbled in
+      his time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He ceased his restless pacing, and awaited them. His great head was high
+      as he scanned them contemptuously, daring them to come on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And on they came, marching slow and silent like soldiers at a funeral:
+      young and old; bob-tailed and bull; terrier and collie; flocking like
+      vultures to the dead. And the Venus, heavy with years, rolled after them
+      on her bandy legs panting in her hurry lest she should be late. For had
+      she not the blood of her blood to avenge?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So they came about him, slow, certain, murderous, opening out to cut him
+      off on every side. There was no need. He never thought to move. Long odds
+      'twould be&mdash;crushingly heavy; yet he loved them for it, and was
+      trembling already with the glory of the coming fight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They were up to him now; the sheep-dogs walking round him on their toes,
+      stiff and short like cats on coals; their hacks a little humped; heads
+      averted; yet eying him askance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And he remained stock-still nor looked at them. His great chin was cocked,
+      and his muzzle wrinkled in a dreadful grin. As he stood there, shivering a
+      little, his eyes rolling back, his breath grating in his throat to set
+      every bristle on end, he looked a devil indeed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Venus ranged alongside him. No preliminary stage for her; she never
+      walked where she could stand, or stood where she could lie. But stand she
+      must now, breathing hard through her nose, never taking her eyes off that
+      pad she had marked for her own. Close beside her were crop-eared Grip and
+      Grapple, looking up at the line above them where hairy neck and shoulder
+      joined. Behind was big Rasper, and close to him Lassie. Of the others,
+      each had marked his place, each taken up his post.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Last of all, old Shep took his stand full in front of his enemy, their
+      shoulders almost rubbing, head past head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So the two stood a moment, as though they were whispering; each
+      diabolical, each rolling back his eyes to watch the other. While from the
+      little mob there rose a snarling, bubbling snore, like some giant wheezing
+      in his sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then like lightning each struck. Rearing high, they wrestled with striving
+      paws and the expression of fiends incarnate. Down they went, Shep
+      underneath, and the great dog with a dozen of these wolves of hell upon
+      him. Rasper, devilish, was riding on his back; the Venus&mdash;well for
+      him!&mdash;had struck and missed; but Grip and Grapple had their hold; and
+      the others, like leaping demoniacs, were plunging into the whirlpool
+      vortex of the fight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And there, where a fortnight before he had fought and lost the battle of
+      the Cup, Red Wull now battled for his life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Long odds! But what cared he? The long-drawn agony of the night was
+      drowned in that glorious delirium. The hate of years came bubbling forth.
+      In that supreme moment he would avenge his wrongs. And he went in to
+      fight, revelling like a giant in the red lust of killing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Long odds! Never before had he faced such a galaxy of foes. His one chance
+      lay in quickness: to prevent the swarming crew getting their hold till at
+      least he had diminished their numbers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then it was a sight to see the great brute, huge as a bull-calf, strong as
+      a bull, rolling over and over and up again, quick as a kitten; leaping
+      here, striking there; shaking himself free; swinging his quarters;
+      fighting with feet and body and teeth&mdash;every inch of him at war. More
+      than once he broke right through the mob; only to turn again and face it.
+      No flight for him; nor thought of it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Up and down the slope the dark mass tossed, like some hulk the sport of
+      the waves. Black and white, sable and gray, worrying at that great
+      centre-piece. Up and down, roaming wide, leaving everywhere a trail of
+      red.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Gyp he had pinned and hurled over his shoulder. Grip followed; he shook
+      her till she rattled, then flung her afar; and she fell with a horrid
+      thud, not to rise. While Grapple, the death to avenge, hung tighter. In a
+      scarlet, soaking patch of the ground lay Big Bell's lurcher, doubled up in
+      a dreadful ball. And Hoppin's young dog, who three hours before had been
+      the children's tender playmate, now fiendish to look on, dragged after the
+      huddle up the hill. Back the mob rolled on her. When it was passed, she
+      lay quite still, grinning; a handful of tawny hair and flesh in her dead
+      mouth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So they fought on. And ever and anon a great figure rose up from the
+      heaving inferno all around; rearing to his full height, his head ragged
+      and bleeding, the red foam dripping from his jaws. Thus he would appear
+      momentarily, like some dark rock amid a raging sea; and down he would go
+      again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Silent now they fought, dumb and determined. Only you might have heard the
+      rend and rip of tearing flesh; a hoarse gurgle as some dog went down; the
+      panting of dry throats; and now and then a sob from that central figure.
+      For he was fighting for his life. The Terror of the Border was at bay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All who meant it were on him now. The Venus, blinded with blood, had her
+      hold at last; and never but once in a long life of battles had she let go;
+      Rasper, his breath coming in rattles, had him horribly by the loins; while
+      a dozen other devils with red eyes and wrinkled nostrils clung still.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Long odds! And down he went, smothered beneath the weight of numbers, yet
+      struggled up again. His great head was torn and dripping; his eyes a gleam
+      of rolling red and white; the little tail stern and stiff like the gallant
+      stump of a flagstaff shot away. He was desperate, but indomitable; and he
+      sobbed as he fought doggedly on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Long odds! It could not last. And down he went at length, silent still&mdash;never
+      a cry should they wring from him in his agony; the Venus glued to that
+      mangled pad; Rasper beneath him now; three at his throat; two at his ears;
+      a crowd on flanks and body.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Terror of the Border was down at last!
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie, ma Wullie!&rdquo; screamed M'Adam, bounding down the slope a crook's
+      length in front of the rest. &ldquo;Wullie! Wullie! to me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the shrill cry the huddle below was convulsed. It heaved and swelled
+      and dragged to and fro, like the sea lashed into life by some dying
+      leviathan.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A gigantic figure, tawny and red, fought its way to the surface. A great
+      tossing head, bloody past recognition, flung out from the ruck. One quick
+      glance he shot from his ragged eyes at the little flying form in front;
+      then with a roar like a waterfall plunged toward it, shaking off the
+      bloody leeches as he went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie! Wullie! I'm wi' ye!&rdquo; cried that little voice, now so near.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Through&mdash;through&mdash;through!&mdash;an incomparable effort and his
+      last. They hung to his throat, they clung to his muzzle, they were round
+      and about him. And down he went again with a sob and a little suffocating
+      cry, shooting up at his master one quick, beseeching glance as the sea of
+      blood closed over him&mdash;worrying, smothering, tearing, like foxhounds
+      at the kill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They left the dead and pulled away the living. And it was no light task,
+      for the pack were mad for blood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the bottom of the wet mess of hair and red and flesh was old Shep,
+      stone-dead. And as Saunderson pulled the body out, his face was working;
+      for no man can lose in a crack the friend of a dozen years, and remain
+      unmoved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Venus lay there, her teeth clenched still in death; smiling that her
+      vengeance was achieved. Big Rasper, blue no longer, was gasping out his
+      life. Two more came crawling out to find a quiet spot where they might lay
+      them down to die. Before the night had fallen another had gone to his
+      account. While not a dog who fought upon that day but carried the scars of
+      it with him to his grave.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Terror o' th' Border, terrible in his life, like Samson, was yet more
+      terrible in his dying.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Down at the bottom lay that which once had been Adam M'Adam's Red Wull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the sight the little man neither raved nor swore: it was past that for
+      him. He sat down, heedless of the soaking ground, and took the mangled
+      head in his lap very tenderly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They've done ye at last, Wullie&mdash;they've done ye at last,&rdquo; he said
+      quietly; unalterably convinced that the attack had been organized while he
+      was detained in the tap-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On hearing the loved little voice, the dog gave one weary wag of his
+      stump-tail. And with that the Tailless Tyke, Adam M'Adam's Red Wull, the
+      Black Killer, went to his long home.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      One by one the Dalesmen took away their dead, and the little man was left
+      alone with the body of his last friend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dry-eyed he sat there, nursing the dead dog's head; hour after hour&mdash;alone&mdash;crooning
+      to himself:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;'Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought,
+     An' wi' the weary warl' fought!
+     An'  mony an anxious day I thought
+     We wad be beat.'
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      An' noo we are, Wullie&mdash;noo we are!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So he went on, repeating the lines over and over again, always with the
+      same sad termination.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A man's mither&mdash;a man's wife&mdash;a man's dog! They three are a'
+      little M'Adam iver had to back him! D'ye mind the auld mither, Wullie? And
+      her, 'Niver be down-hearted, Adam; ye've aye got yer mither,' And ae day I
+      had not. And Flora, Wullie (ye remember Flora, Wullie? Na, na; ye'd not)
+      wi' her laffin' daffin' manner, cryin' to one: 'Adam, ye say ye're alane.
+      But ye've me&mdash;is that no enough for ony man?' And God kens it was&mdash;while
+      it lasted!&rdquo; He broke down and sobbed a while. &ldquo;And you Wullie&mdash;and
+      you! the only man friend iver I had!&rdquo; He sought the dog's bloody paw with
+      his right hand.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;'An' here's a hand, my trusty fier,
+     An gie's a hand o' thine;
+     An'  we'll tak' a right guid willie-waught,
+     For auld lang syne.'&rdquo;
+
+</pre>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      He sat there, muttering, and stroking the poor head upon his lap, bending
+      over it, like a mother over a sick child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They've done ye at last, lad&mdash;done ye sair. And noo I'm thinkin'
+      they'll no rest content till I'm gone. And oh, Wullie!&rdquo;&mdash;he bent down
+      and whispered&mdash;&ldquo;I dreamed sic an awfu' thing&mdash;that ma Wullie&mdash;but
+      there! 'twas but a dream.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So he sat on, crooning to the dead dog; and no man approached him. Only
+      Bessie of the inn watched the little lone figure from afar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was long past noon when at length he rose, laying the dog's head
+      reverently down, and tottered away toward that bridge which once the dead
+      thing on the slope had held against a thousand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He crossed it and turned; there was a look upon his face, half hopeful,
+      half fearful, very piteous to see.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie, Wullie, to me!&rdquo; he cried; only the accents, formerly so fiery,
+      were now weak as a dying man's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A while he waited in vain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are ye no comin', Wullie?&rdquo; he asked at length in quavering tones. &ldquo;Ye've
+      not used to leave me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He walked away a pace, then turned again and whistled that shrill, sharp
+      call, only now it sounded like a broken echo of itself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come to me, Wullie!&rdquo; he implored, very pitifully. &ldquo;'Tis the first time
+      iver I kent ye not come and me whistlin'. What ails ye, lad?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He recrossed the bridge, walking blindly like a sobbing child; and yet
+      dry-eyed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Over the dead body he stooped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What ails ye, Wullie?&rdquo; he asked again. &ldquo;Will you, too, leave me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Bessie, watching fearfully, saw him bend, sling the great body on his
+      back, and stagger away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Limp and hideous, the carcase hung down from the little man's shoulders.
+      The huge head, with grim, wide eyes and lolling tongue, jolted and swagged
+      with the motion, seeming to grin a ghastly defiance at the world it had
+      left. And the last Bessie saw of them was that bloody, rolling head, with
+      the puny legs staggering beneath their load, as the two passed out of the
+      world's ken.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      In the Devil's Bowl, next day, they found the pair: Adam M'Adam and his
+      Red Wull, face to face; dead, not divided; each, save for the other,
+      alone. The dog, his saturnine expression glazed and ghastly in the
+      fixedness of death, propped up against that humpbacked boulder beneath
+      which, a while before, the Black Killer had dreed his weird; and, close
+      by, his master lying on his back, his dim dead eyes staring up at the
+      heaven, one hand still clasping a crumpled photograph; the weary body at
+      rest at last, the mocking face&mdash;mocking no longer&mdash;alight with a
+      whole-souled, transfiguring happiness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      POSTSCRIPT
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull lie buried together: one just within, the
+      other just without, the consecrated pale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The only mourners at the funeral were David, James Moore, Maggie, and a
+      gray dog peering through the lych-gate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      During the service a carriage stopped at the churchyard, and a lady with a
+      stately figure and a gentle face stepped out and came across the grass to
+      pay a last tribute to the dead. And Lady Eleanour, as she joined the
+      little group about the grave, seemed to notice a more than usual solemnity
+      in the parson's voice as he intoned: &ldquo;Earth to earth&mdash;ashes to ashes&mdash;dust
+      to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      When you wander in the gray hill-country of the North, in the loneliest
+      corner of that lonely land you may chance upon a low farmhouse, lying in
+      the shadow of the Muir Pike.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Entering, a tall old man comes out to greet you&mdash;the Master of
+      Kenmuir. His shoulders are bent now; the hair that was so dark is frosted;
+      but the blue-gray eyes look you as proudly in the face as of yore.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And while the girl with the glory of yellow hair is preparing food for you&mdash;they
+      are hospitable to a fault, these Northerners&mdash;you will notice on the
+      mantelpiece, standing solitary, a massive silver cup, dented.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That is the world-known Shepherds' Trophy, won outright, as the old man
+      will tell you, by Owd Bob, last and best of the Gray Dogs of Kenmuir. The
+      last because he is the best; because once, for a long-drawn unit of time,
+      James Moore had thought him to be the worst.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When at length you take your leave, the old man accompanies you to the top
+      of the slope to point you your way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' cross the stream; over Langholm How, yonder; past the Bottom; and oop
+      th' hill on far side. Yo'll come on th' house o' top. And happen yo'll
+      meet Th' Owd Un on the road. Good-day to you, sir, good-day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So you go as he has bidden you; across the stream, skirting the How, over
+      the gulf and up the hill again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the way, as the Master has foretold, you come upon an old gray dog,
+      trotting soberly along. Th' Owd Un, indeed, seems to spend the evening of
+      his life going thus between Kenmuir and the Grange. The black muzzle is
+      almost white now; the gait, formerly so smooth and strong, is stiff and
+      slow; venerable, indeed, is he of whom men still talk as the best
+      sheep-dog in the North.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he passes, he pauses to scan you. The noble head is high, and one foot
+      raised; and you look into two big gray eyes such as you have never seen
+      before&mdash;soft, a little dim, and infinitely sad.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That is Owd Bob o' Kenmuir, of whom the tales are many as the flowers on
+      the May. With him dies the last of the immortal line of the Gray Dogs of
+      Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      You travel on up the bill, something pensive, and knock at the door of the
+      house on the top.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A woman, comely with the inevitable comeliness of motherhood, opens to
+      you. And nestling in her arms is a little boy with golden hair and happy
+      face, like one of Correggio's cherubs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      You ask the child his name. He kicks and crows, and looks up at his
+      mother; and in the end lisps roguishly, as if it was the merriest joke in
+      all this merry world, &ldquo;Adum Mataddum.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Bob, Son of Battle, by Alfred Ollivant
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+</pre>
+  </body>
+</html>
diff --git a/2795.txt b/2795.txt
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--- /dev/null
+++ b/2795.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,10069 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Bob, Son of Battle, by Alfred Ollivant
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Bob, Son of Battle
+
+Author: Alfred Ollivant
+
+Posting Date: December 8, 2008 [EBook #2795]
+Release Date: February, 2007
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BOB, SON OF BATTLE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer
+
+
+
+
+
+BOB, SON OF BATTLE
+
+By Alfred Ollivant
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+     PART I  THE COMING OF THE TAILLESS TYKE
+     Chapter I. The Gray Dog
+     Chapter II. A Son of Hagar
+     Chapter III. Red Wull
+     Chapter IV. First Blood
+
+
+     PART II THE LITTLE MAN
+     Chapter V. A Man's Son
+     Chapter VI. A Licking or a Lie
+     Chapter VII. The White Winter
+     Chapter VIII. M'Adam and His Coat
+
+
+     PART III THE SHEPHERDS' TROPHY
+     Chapter IX. Rivals,
+     Chapter X. Red Wull Wins
+     Chapter XI. Oor Bob,
+     Chapter XII. How Red Wull Held the Bridge
+     Chapter XIII. The Face in the Frame
+
+
+     PART IV THE BLACK KILLER
+     Chapter XIV. A Mad Man
+     Chapter XV. Death on the Marches,
+     Chapter XVI. The Black Killer
+     Chapter XVII. A Mad Dog
+     Chapter XVIII. How the Killer was Singed
+     Chapter XIX. Lad and Lass
+     Chapter XX. The Snapping of the String
+     Chapter XXI. Horror of Darkness
+
+
+     PART V OWD BOB O' KENMUIR
+     Chapter XXII. A Man and a Maid
+     Chapter XXIII. Th' Owd Un
+     Chapter XXIV. A Shot in the Night
+     Chapter XXV. The Shepherds' Trophy.
+
+
+     PART VI  THE BLACK KILLER
+     Chapter XXVI. Red-handed
+     Chapter XXVII. For the Defence
+     Chapter XXVIII. The Devil's Bowl
+     Chapter XXIX. The Devil's Bowl
+     Chapter XXX. The Tailless Tyke at Bay
+
+
+     Postscript
+
+
+
+
+PART I THE COMING OF THE TAILLESS TYKE
+
+
+
+Chapter I. THE GRAY DOG
+
+
+THE sun stared brazenly down on a gray farmhouse lying, long and low
+in the shadow of the Muir Pike; on the ruins of peel-tower and barmkyn,
+relics of the time of raids, it looked; on ranges of whitewashed
+outbuildings; on a goodly array of dark-thatched ricks.
+
+In the stack-yard, behind the lengthy range of stables, two men were
+thatching. One lay sprawling on the crest of the rick, the other stood
+perched on a ladder at a lower level.
+
+The latter, small, old, with shrewd nut-brown countenance, was Tammas
+Thornton, who had served the Moores of Kenmuir for more than half a
+century. The other, on top of the stack, wrapped apparently in gloomy
+meditation, was Sam'l Todd. A solid Dales--man, he, with huge hands and
+hairy arms; about his face an uncomely aureole of stiff, red hair; and
+on his features, deep-seated, an expression of resolute melancholy.
+
+"Ay, the Gray Dogs, bless 'em!" the old man was saying. "Yo' canna beat
+'em not nohow. Known 'em ony time this sixty year, I have, and niver
+knew a bad un yet. Not as I say, mind ye, as any on 'em cooms up to Rex
+son o' Rally. Ah, he was a one, was Rex! We's never won Cup since his
+day."
+
+"Nor niver shall agin, yo' may depend," said the other gloomily.
+
+Tammas clucked irritably.
+
+"G'long, Sam'! Todd!" he cried, "Yo' niver happy onless yo' making'
+yo'self miser'ble. I niver see sich a chap. Niver win agin? Why, oor
+young Bob he'll mak' a right un, I tell yo', and I should know. Not as
+what he'll touch Rex son o' Rally, mark ye! I'm niver saying' so, Sam'l
+Todd. Ah, he was a one, was Rex! I could tell yo' a tale or two o' Rex.
+I mind me hoo--"
+
+The big man interposed hurriedly.
+
+"I've heard it afore, Tammas, I welly 'ave," he said.
+
+Tammas paused and looked angrily up.
+
+"Yo've heard it afore, have yo', Sam'l Todd?" he asked sharply. "And
+what have yo' heard afore?"
+
+"Yo' stories, owd lad--yo' stories o' Rex son o' Rally."
+
+"Which on' em
+
+"All on 'em, Tammas, all on 'em--mony a time. I'm fair sick on 'em,
+Tammas, I welly am," he pleaded.
+
+The old man gasped. He brought down his mallet with a vicious smack.
+
+"I'll niver tell yo' a tale agin, Sam'l Todd, not if yo' was to go on
+yo' bended knees for't. Nay; it bain't no manner o' use talkin'. Niver
+agin, says I."
+
+"I niver askt yo'," declared honest Sam'l.
+
+"Nor it wouldna ha' bin no manner o' use if yo' had," said the other
+viciously. "I'll niver tell yo' a tale agin if I was to live to be a
+hunderd."
+
+"Yo'll not live to be a hunderd, Tammas Thornton, nor near it," said
+Sam'l brutally.
+
+"I'll live as long as some, I warrant," the old man replied with spirit.
+"I'll live to see Cup back i' Kenmuir, as I said afore."
+
+"If yo' do," the other declared with emphasis, "Sam'l Todd niver spake a
+true word. Nay, nay, lad; yo're owd, yo're wambly, your time's near run
+or I'm the more mistook."
+
+"For mussy's sake hold yo' tongue, Sam'l Todd! It's clack-clack all
+day--" The old man broke off suddenly, and buckled to his work with
+suspicious vigor. "Mak' a show yo' bin workin', lad," he whispered.
+"Here's Master and oor Bob."
+
+As he spoke, a tall gaitered man with weather-beaten face, strong, lean,
+austere, and the blue-gray eyes of the hill-country, came striding into
+the yard. And trotting soberly at his heels, with the gravest, saddest
+eyes ever you saw, a sheep-dog puppy.
+
+A rare dark gray he was, his long coat, dashed here and there with
+lighter touches, like a stormy sea moonlit. Upon his chest an escutcheon
+of purest white, and the dome of his head showered, as it were, with
+a sprinkling of snow. Perfectly compact, utterly lithe, inimitably
+graceful with his airy-fairy action; a gentleman every inch, you could
+not help but stare at him--Owd Bob o' Kenmuir.
+
+At the foot of the ladder the two stopped. And the young dog, placing
+his forepaws on a lower rung, looked up, slowly waving his silvery
+brush.
+
+"A proper Gray Dog!" mused Tammas, gazing down into the dark face
+beneath him. "Small, yet big; light to get about on backs o' his sheep,
+yet not too light. Wi' a coat hard a-top to keep oot Daleland weather,
+soft as sealskin beneath. And wi' them sorrerful eyes on him as niver
+goes but wi' a good un. Amaist he minds me o' Rex son o' Rally."
+
+"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" groaned Sam'l. But the old man heard him not.
+
+"Did 'Enry Farewether tell yo' hoo he acted this mornin', Master?" he
+inquired, addressing the man at the foot of the ladder.
+
+"Nay," said the other, his stern eyes lighting.
+
+"Why, 'twas this way, it seems," Tammas continued. "Young bull gets
+'isseif loose, somegate and marches oot into yard, o'erturns milkpail,
+and prods owd pigs i' ribs. And as he stands lookin' about un, thinking'
+what he shall be up to next, oor Bob sees un 'An' what yo' doin' here,
+Mr. Bull?' he seems to say, cockin' his ears and trottin' up gay-like.
+Wi' that bull bloats fit to bust 'isseif, lashes wi's tail, waggles his
+head, and gets agate o' chargin' 'im. But Bob leaps oot o' way, quick
+as lightnin' yet cool as butter, and when he's done his foolin drives un
+back agin."
+
+"Who seed all this?" interposed Sam'l, sceptically.
+
+"'Enry Farewether from the loft. So there, Fat'ead!" Tammas replied, and
+continued his tale. "So they goes on; bull chargin' and Bob drivin'
+un back and back, hoppin' in and oot agin, quiet as a cowcumber, yet
+determined. At last Mr. Bull sees it's no manner o' use that gate, so he
+turns, rares up, and tries to jump wall. Nary a bit. Young dog jumps
+in on un and nips him by tail. Wi' that, bull tumbles down in a hurry,
+turns wi' a kind o' groan, and marches back into stall, Bob after un.
+And then, dang me!"--the old man beat the ladder as he loosed off this
+last titbit,--"if he doesna sit' isseif i' door like a sentrynel till
+'Enry Farewether coom up. Hoo's that for a tyke not yet a year?"
+
+Even Sam'l Todd was moved by the tale.
+
+"Well done, oor Bob!" he cried.
+
+"Good, lad!" said the Master, laying a hand on the dark head at his
+knee.
+
+"Yo' may well say that," cried Tammas in a kind of ecstasy. "A proper
+Gray Dog, I tell yo'. Wi' the brains of a man and the way of a woman.
+Ah, yo' canna beat 'em nohow, the Gray Dogs o' Kenmuir!"
+
+The patter of cheery feet rang out on the plank-bridge over the stream
+below them. Tammas glanced round.
+
+"Here's David," he said. "Late this mornin' he be."
+
+A fair-haired boy came spurring up the slope, his face all aglow with
+the speed of his running. Straightway the young dog dashed off to
+meet him with a fiery speed his sober gait belied. The two raced back
+together into the yard.
+
+"Poor lad!" said Sam'l gloomily, regarding the newcomer.
+
+"Poor heart!" muttered Tammas. While the Master's face softened visibly.
+Yet there looked little to pity in this jolly, rocking lad with the
+tousle of light hair and fresh, rosy countenance.
+
+"G'mornin', Mister Moore! Morn'n, Tammas! Morn'n, Sam'l!" he panted as
+he passed; and ran on through the hay-carpeted yard, round the corner of
+the stable, and into the house.
+
+In the kitchen, a long room with red-tiled floor and latticed windows,
+a woman, white-aproned and frail-faced, was bustling about her morning
+business. To her skirts clung a sturdy, bare-legged boy; while at
+the oak table in the centre of the room a girl with brown eyes and
+straggling hair was seated before a basin of bread and milk.
+
+"So yo've coom at last, David!" the woman cried, as the boy entered;
+and, bending, greeted him with a tender, motherly salutation, which he
+returned as affectionately. "I welly thowt yo'd forgot us this mornin'.
+Noo sit you' doon beside oor Maggie." And soon he, too, was engaged in a
+task twin to the girl's.
+
+The two children munched away in silence, the little bare-legged boy
+watching them, the while, critically. Irritated by this prolonged stare,
+David at length turned on him.
+
+"Weel, little Andrew," he said, speaking in that paternal fashion in
+which one small boy loves to address another. "Weel, ma little lad,
+yo'm coomin' along gradely." He leant back in his chair the better to
+criticise his subject. But Andrew, like all the Moores, slow of speech,
+preserved a stolid silence, sucking a chubby thumb, and regarding his
+patron a thought cynically.
+
+David resented the expression on the boy's countenance, and half rose to
+his feet.
+
+"Yo' put another face on yo', Andrew Moore," he cried threateningly, "or
+I'll put it for yo'."
+
+Maggie, however, interposed opportunely.
+
+"Did yo' feyther beat yo' last night?" she inquired in a low voice; and
+there was a shade of anxiety in the soft brown eyes.
+
+"Nay," the boy answered; "he was a-goin' to, but he never did. Drunk,"
+he added in explanation.
+
+"What was he goin' to beat yo' for, David?" asked Mrs. Moore.
+
+"What for? Why, for the fun o't--to see me squiggle," the boy replied,
+and laughed bitterly.
+
+"Yo' shouldna speak so o' your dad, David," reproved the other as
+severely as was in her nature.
+
+"Dad! a fine dad! I'd dad him an I'd the chance," the boy muttered
+beneath his breath. Then, to turn the conversation:
+
+"Us should be startin', Maggie," he said, and going to the door. "Bob!
+Owd Bob, lad! Ar't coomin' along?" he called.
+
+The gray dog came springing up like an antelope, and the three started
+off for school together.
+
+Mrs. Moore stood in the doorway, holding Andrew by the hand, and watched
+the departing trio.
+
+"'Tis a pretty pair, Master, surely," she said softly to her husband,
+who came up at the moment.
+
+"Ay, he'll be a fine lad if his fether'll let him," the tall man
+answered.
+
+"Tis a shame Mr. M'Adam should lead him such a life," the woman
+continued indignantly. She laid a hand on her husband's arm, and looked
+up at him coaxingly.
+
+"Could yo' not say summat to un, Master, think 'ee? Happen he'd 'tend
+to you," she pleaded. For Mrs. Moore imagined that there could be no one
+but would gladly heed what James Moore, Master of Kenmuir, might say
+to him. "He's not a bad un at bottom, I do believe," she continued. "He
+never took on so till his missus died. Eh, but he was main fond o' her."
+
+Her husband shook his head "Nay, mother," he said "'Twould nob' but
+mak' it worse for t' lad. M'Adam'd listen to no one, let alone me." And,
+indeed, he was right; for the tenant of the Grange made no secret of his
+animosity for his straight-going, straight-speaking neighbor.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Owd Bob, in the mean time, had escorted the children to the larch-copse
+bordering on the lane which leads to the village. Now he crept
+stealthily back to the yard, and established himself behind the
+water-butt.
+
+How he played and how he laughed; how he teased old Whitecap till that
+gray gander all but expired of apoplexy and impotence; how he ran the
+roan bull-calf, and aroused the bitter wrath of a portly sow, mother of
+many, is of no account.
+
+At last, in the midst of his merry mischief-making, a stern voice
+arrested him.
+
+"Bob, lad, I see 'tis time we larned you yo' letters."
+
+So the business of life began for that dog of whom the simple
+farmer-folk of the Daleland still love to talk,--Bob, son of Battle,
+last of the Gray Dogs of Kenmuir.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter II. A SON OF HAGAR
+
+
+It is a lonely country, that about the Wastrel-dale.
+
+Parson Leggy Hornbut will tell you that his is the smallest church in
+the biggest parish north of the Derwent, and that his cure numbers more
+square miles than parishioners. Of fells and ghylls it consists, of
+becks and lakes; with here a scattered hamlet and there a solitary hill
+sheep-farm. It is a country in which sheep are paramount; and every
+other Dalesman is engaged in that profession which is as old as Abel.
+And the talk of the men of the land is of wethers and gimmers, of
+tup-hoggs, ewe tegs in wool, and other things which are but fearsome
+names to you and me; and always of the doings or misdoings, the
+intelligence or stupidity, of their adjutants, the sheep-dogs.
+
+Of all the Daleland, the country from the Black Water to Grammoch Pike
+is the wildest. Above the tiny stone-built village of Wastrel-dale the
+Muir Pike nods its massive head. Westward, the desolate Mere Marches,
+from which the Sylvesters' great estate derives its name, reach away in
+mile on mile of sheep infested, wind-swept moorland. On the far side of
+the Marches is that twin dale where flows the gentle Silver Lea. And it
+is there in the paddocks at the back of the Dalesman's Daughter, that,
+in the late summer months, the famous sheep-dog Trials of the North are
+held. There that the battle for the Dale Cup, the world-known Shepherds'
+Trophy, is fought out.
+
+Past the little inn leads the turnpike road to the market-centre of the
+district--Grammoch-town. At the bottom of the paddocks at the back of
+the inn winds the Silver Lea. Just there a plank bridge crosses the
+stream, and, beyond, the Murk Muir Pass crawls up the sheer side of the
+Scaur on to the Mere Marches.
+
+At the head of the Pass, before it debouches on to those lonely
+sheep-walks which divide the two dales, is that hollow, shuddering with
+gloomy possibilities, aptly called the Devil's Bowl. In its centre the
+Lone Tarn, weirdly suggestive pool, lifts its still face to the sky. It
+was beside that black, frozen water, across whose cold surface the storm
+was swirling in white snow-wraiths, that, many, many years ago (not in
+this century), old Andrew Moore came upon the mother of the Gray Dogs of
+Kenmuir.
+
+In the North, every one who has heard of the Muir Pike--and who has
+not?--has heard of the Gray Dogs of Kenmuir, every one who has heard
+of the Shepherd's Trophy--and who has not?--knows their fame. In that
+country of good dogs and jealous masters the pride of place has long
+been held unchallenged. Whatever line may claim to follow the Gray Dogs
+always lead the van. And there is a saying in the land: "Faithfu' as the
+Moores and their tykes."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On the top dresser to the right of the fireplace in the kitchen
+of Kenmuir lies the family Bible. At the end you will find a loose
+sheet--the pedigree of the Gray Dogs; at the beginning, pasted on the
+inside, an almost similar sheet, long since yellow with age--the family
+register of the Moores of Kenmuir.
+
+Running your eye down the loose leaf, once, twice, and again it will be
+caught by a small red cross beneath a name, and under the cross the one
+word "Cup." Lastly, opposite the name of Rex son of Rally, are two of
+those proud, tell-tale marks. The cup referred to is the renowned Dale
+Cup--Champion Challenge Dale Cup, open to the world. Had Rex won it but
+once again the Shepherds' Trophy, which many men have lived to win, and
+died still striving after, would have come to rest forever in the little
+gray house below the Pike.
+
+It was not to be, however. Comparing the two sheets, you read beneath
+the dog's name a date and a pathetic legend; and on the other sheet,
+written in his son's boyish hand, beneath the name of Andrew Moore the
+same date and the same legend.
+
+From that day James Moore, then but a boy, was master of Kenmuir.
+
+So past Grip and Rex and Rally, and a hundred others, until at the foot
+of the page you come to that last name--Bob, son of Battle.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+From the very first the young dog took to his work in a manner to
+amaze even James Moore. For a while he watched his mother, Meg, at her
+business, and with that seemed to have mastered the essentials of sheep
+tactics.
+
+Rarely had such fiery elan been seen on the sides of the Pike; and with
+it the young dog combined a strange sobriety, an admirable patience,
+that justified, indeed, the epithet. "Owd." Silent he worked, and
+resolute; and even in those days had that famous trick of coaxing the
+sheep to do his wishes;--blending, in short, as Tammas put it, the
+brains of a man with the way of a woman.
+
+Parson Leggy, who was reckoned the best judge of a sheep or sheep-dog
+'twixt Tyne and Tweed, summed him up in the one word "Genius." And James
+Moore himself, cautious man, was more than pleased.
+
+In the village, the Dalesmen, who took a personal pride in the Gray Dogs
+of Kenmuir, began to nod sage heads when "oor" Bob was mentioned. Jim
+Mason, the postman, whose word went as far with the villagers as Parson
+Leggy's with the gentry, reckoned he'd never seen a young un as so took
+his fancy.
+
+That winter it grew quite the recognized thing, when they had gathered
+of a night round the fire in the Sylvester Arms, with Tammas in the
+centre, old Jonas Maddox on his right, Rob Saunderson of the Holt on the
+left, and the others radiating away toward the sides, for some one to
+begin with:
+
+"Well, and what o' oor Bob, Mr. Thornton?"
+
+To which Tammas would always make reply:
+
+"Oh, yo' ask Sam'l there. He'll tell yo' better'n me, "--and would
+forthwith plunge, himself, into a yarn.
+
+And the way in which, as the story proceeded, Tupper of Swinsthwaite
+winked at Ned Hoppin of Fellsgarth, and Long Kirby, the smith, poked Jem
+Burton, the publican, in the ribs, and Sexton Ross said, "Ma word, lad!"
+spoke more eloquently than many words.
+
+One man only never joined in the chorus of admiration. Sitting always
+alone in the background, little M'Adam would listen with an incredulous
+grin on his sallow face.
+
+"Oh, ma certes! The devil's in the dog! It's no cannie ava!" he would
+continually exclaim, as Tammas told his tale.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the Daleland you rarely see a stranger's face. Wandering in the wild
+country about the twin dales at the time of this story, you might have
+met Parson Leggy, striding along with a couple of varmint terriers at
+his heels, and young Cyril Gilbraith, whom he was teaching to tie flies
+and fear God, beside him; or Jim Mason, postman by profession, poacher
+by predilection, honest man and sportsman by nature, hurrying along with
+the mail-bags on his shoulder, a rabbit in his pocket, and the faithful
+Betsy a yard behind. Besides these you might have hit upon a quiet
+shepherd and a wise-faced dog; Squire Sylvester, going his rounds upon
+a sturdy cob; or, had you been lucky, sweet Lady Eleanour bent upon some
+errand of mercy to one of the many tenants.
+
+It was while the Squire's lady was driving through the village on a
+visit* to Tammas's slobbering grandson--it was shortly after Billy
+Thornton's advent into the world--that little M'Adam, standing in the
+door of the Sylvester Arms, with a twig in his mouth and a sneer fading
+from his lips, made his ever-memorable remark:
+
+"Sall!" he said, speaking in low, earnest voice; "'tis a muckle wumman."
+
+     Note:* It was this visit which figured in the Grammoch-town
+     _Argus_ (local and radical) under the heading of "Alleged
+     Wholesale Corruption by Tory Agents." And that is why, on
+     the following market day, Herbert Trotter, journalist,
+     erstwhile gentleman, and Secretary of the Dale Trials, found
+     himself trying to swim in the public horse-trough.
+
+"What? What be sayin', mon?" cried old Jonas, startled out of his usual
+apathy.
+
+M'Adam turned sharply on the old man.
+
+"I said the wumman wears a muckle hat!" he snapped.
+
+Blotted out as it was, the observation still remains--a tribute of
+honest admiration. Doubtless the Recording Angel did not pass it by.
+That one statement anent the gentle lady of the manor is the only
+personal remark ever credited to little M'Adam not born of malice and
+all uncharitableness. And that is why it is ever memorable.
+
+The little Scotsman with the sardonic face had been the tenant of the
+Grange these many years; yet he had never grown acclimatized to the
+land of the Southron. With his shrivelled body and weakly legs he looked
+among the sturdy, straight-limbed sons of the hill-country like some
+brown, wrinkled leaf holding its place midst a galaxy of green. And as
+he differed from them physically, so he did morally.
+
+He neither understood them nor attempted to. The North-country character
+was an unsolved mystery to him, and that after ten years' study.
+"One-half o' what ye say they doot, and they let ye see it; t'ither half
+they disbelieve, and they tell ye so," he once said. And that explained
+his attitude toward them, and consequently theirs toward him.
+
+He stood entirely alone; a son of Hagar, mocking. His sharp, ill tongue
+was rarely still, and always bitter. There was hardly a man in the land,
+from Langholm How to the market-cross in Grammoch-town, but had at
+one time known its sting, endured it in silence--for they are slow of
+speech, these men of the fells and meres--and was nursing his resentment
+till a day should bring that chance which always comes. And when at
+the Sylvester Arms, on one of those rare occasions when M'Adam was not
+present, Tammas summed up the little man in that historic phrase of his,
+"When he's drunk he's wi'lent, and when he bain't he's wicious," there
+was an applause to gratify the blase heart of even Tammas Thornton.
+
+Yet it had not been till his wife's death that the little man had
+allowed loose rein to his ill-nature. With her firmly gentle hand no
+longer on the tiller of his life, it burst into fresh being. And alone
+in the world with David, the whole venom of his vicious temperament was
+ever directed against the boy's head. It was as though he saw in his
+fair-haired son the unconscious cause of his ever-living sorrow. All
+the more strange this, seeing that, during her life, the boy had been
+to poor Flora M'Adam as her heart's core. And the lad was growing up the
+very antithesis of his father. Big and hearty, with never an ache or ill
+in the whole of his sturdy young body; of frank, open countenance; while
+even his speech was slow and burring like any Dale-bred boy's. And
+the fact of it all, and that the lad was palpably more Englishman than
+Scot--ay, and gloried in it--exasperated the little man, a patriot
+before everything, to blows. While, on top of it, David evinced an
+amazing pertness fit to have tried a better man than Adam M'Adam.
+
+On the death of his wife, kindly Elizabeth Moore had, more than once,
+offered such help to the lonely little man as a woman only can give in
+a house that knows no mistress. On the last of these occasions, after
+crossing the Stony Bottom, which divides the two farms, and toiling up
+the hill to the Grange, she had met M'Adam in the door.
+
+"Yo' maun let me put yo' bit things straight for yo', mister," she had
+said shyly; for she feared the little man.
+
+"Thank ye, Mrs. Moore," he had answered with the sour smile the Dalesmen
+knew so well, "but ye maun think I'm a waefu' cripple." And there he had
+stood, grinning sardonically, opposing his small bulk in the very centre
+of the door.
+
+Mrs. Moore had turned down the hill, abashed and hurt at the reception
+of her offer; and her husband, proud to a fault, had forbidden her
+to repeat it. Nevertheless her motherly heart went out in a great
+tenderness for the little orphan David. She knew well the desolateness
+of his life; his father's aversion from him, and its inevitable
+consequences.
+
+It became an institution for the boy to call every morning at Kenmuir,
+and trot off to the village school with Maggie Moore. And soon the lad
+came to look on Kenmuir as his true home, and James and Elizabeth Moore
+as his real parents. His greatest happiness was to be away from the
+Grange. And the ferret-eyed little man there noted the fact, bitterly
+resented it, and vented his ill-humor accordingly.
+
+It was this, as he deemed it, uncalled-for trespassing on his authority
+which was the chief cause of his animosity against James Moore. The
+Master of Kenmuir it was at whom he was aiming when he remarked one
+day at the Arms: "Masel', I aye prefaire the good man who does no go to
+church, to the bad man who does. But then, as ye say, Mr. Burton, I'm
+peculiar."
+
+The little man's treatment of David, exaggerated as it was by eager
+credulity, became at length such a scandal to the Dale that Parson Leggy
+determined to bring him to task on the matter.
+
+Now M'Adam was the parson's pet antipathy. The bluff old minister, with
+his brusque manner and big heart, would have no truck with the man who
+never went to church, was perpetually in liquor, and never spoke good of
+his neighbors. Yet he entered upon the interview fully resolved not to
+be betrayed into an unworthy expression of feeling; rather to appeal to
+the little man's better nature.
+
+The conversation had not been in progress two minutes, however, before
+he knew that, where he had meant to be calmly persuasive, he was fast
+become hotly abusive.
+
+"You, Mr. Hornbut, wi' James Moore to help ye, look after the lad's
+soul, I'll see to his body," the little man was saying.
+
+The parson's thick gray eyebrows lowered threateningly over his eyes.
+
+"You ought to be ashamed of yourself to talk like that. Which d'you
+think the more important, soul or body? Oughtn't you, his father, to be
+the very first to care for the boy's soul? If not, who should? Answer
+me, sir."
+
+The little man stood smirking and sucking his eternal twig, entirely
+unmoved by the other's heat.
+
+"Ye're right, Mr. Hornbut, as ye aye are. But my argiment is this: that
+I get at his soul best through his leetle carcase."
+
+The honest parson brought down his stick with an angry thud.
+
+"M'Adam, you're a brute--a brute!" he shouted. At which outburst the
+little man was seized with a spasm of silent merriment.
+
+"A fond dad first, a brute afterward, aiblins--he! he! Ah, Mr. Hornbut!
+ye 'ford me vast diversion, ye do indeed, 'my loved, my honored,
+much-respected friend."
+
+"If you paid as much heed to your boy's welfare as you do to the bad
+poetry of that profligate ploughman--"
+
+An angry gleam shot into the other's eyes. "D'ye ken what blasphemy is,
+Mr. Hornbut?" he asked, shouldering a pace forward.
+
+For the first time in the dispute the parson thought he was about to
+score a point, and was calm accordingly.
+
+"I should do; I fancy I've a specimen of the breed before me now. And
+d'you know what impertinence is?"
+
+"I should do; I fancy I've--I awd say it's what gentlemen aften are
+unless their mammies whipped 'em as lads."
+
+For a moment the parson looked as if about to seize his opponent and
+shake him.
+
+"M'Adam," he roared, "I'll not stand your insolences!"
+
+The little man turned, scuttled indoors, and came running back with a
+chair.
+
+"Permit me!" he said blandly, holding it before him like a haircutter
+for a customer.
+
+The parson turned away. At the gap in the hedge he paused.
+
+"I'll only say one thing more," he called slowly. "When your wife, whom
+I think we all loved, lay dying in that room above you, she said to you
+in my presence--"
+
+It was M'Adam's turn to be angry. He made a step forward with burning
+face.
+
+"Aince and for a', Mr. Hornbut," he cried passionately, "onderstand I'll
+not ha' you and yer likes lay yer tongues on ma wife's memory whenever
+it suits ye. You can say what ye like aboot me--lies, sneers, snash--and
+I'll say naethin'. I dinna ask ye to respect me; I think ye might do sae
+muckle by her, puir lass. She never harmed ye. Gin ye canna let her bide
+in peace where she lies doon yonder"--he waved in the direction of the
+churchyard--"ye'll no come on ma land. Though she is dead she's mine."
+
+Standing in front of his house, with flushed face and big eyes, the
+little man looked almost noble in his indignation. And the parson,
+striding away down the hill, was uneasily conscious that with him was
+not the victory.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter III. RED WULL
+
+
+THE winter came and went; the lambing season was over, and spring
+already shyly kissing the land. And the back of the year's work broken,
+and her master well started on a fresh season, M'Adam's old collie,
+Cuttie Sark, lay down one evening and passed quietly away.
+
+The little black-and-tan lady, Parson Leggy used to say, had been
+the only thing on earth M'Adam cared for. Certainly the two had been
+wondrously devoted; and for many a market-day the Dalesmen missed the
+shrill, chuckling cry which heralded the pair's approach: "Weel done,
+Cuttie Sark!"
+
+The little man felt his loss acutely, and, according to his wont, vented
+his ill-feeling on David and the Dalesmen. In return, Tammas, whose
+forte lay in invective and alliteration, called him behind his back,
+"A wenomous one!" and "A wiralent wiper!" to the applause of tinkling
+pewters.
+
+A shepherd without his dog is like a ship without a rudder, and M'Adam
+felt his loss practically as well as otherwise. Especially did he
+experience this on a day when he had to take a batch of draft-ewes over
+to Grammoch-town. To help him Jem Burton had lent the services of his
+herring-gutted, herring-hearted, greyhound lurcher, Monkey. But before
+they had well topped Braithwaite Brow, which leads from the village
+on to the marches, M'Adam was standing in the track with a rock in his
+hand, a smile on his face, and the tenderest blandishments in his voice
+as he coaxed the dog to him. But Master Monkey knew too much for that.
+However, after gamboling a while longer in the middle of the flock, a
+boulder, better aimed than its predecessors, smote him on the hinder
+parts and sent him back to the Sylvester Arms, with a sore tail and a
+subdued heart.
+
+For the rest, M'Adam would never have won over the sheep-infested
+marches alone with his convoy had it not been for the help of old
+Saunderson and Shep, who caught him on the way and aided him.
+
+It was in a very wrathful mood that on his way home he turned into the
+Dalesman's Daughter in Silverdale.
+
+The only occupants of the tap-room, as he entered, were Teddy Bolstock,
+the publican, Jim Mason, with the faithful Betsy beneath his chair and
+the post-bags flung into the corner, and one long-limbed, drover-like
+man--a stranger.
+
+"And he coom up to Mr. Moore," Teddy was saying, "and says he, 'I'll gie
+ye twal' pun for yon gray dog o' yourn.' 'Ah,' says Moore, 'yo' may gie
+me twal' hunner'd and yet you'll not get ma Bob.'--Eh, Jim?"
+
+"And he did thot," corroborated Jim. "'Twal' hunner'd,' says he."
+
+"James Moore and his dog agin" snapped M'Adam. "There's ithers in the
+warld for bye them twa."
+
+"Ay, but none like 'em," quoth loyal Jim.
+
+"Na, thanks be. Gin there were there'd be no room for Adam M'Adam in
+this 'melancholy vale.'"
+
+There was silence a moment, and then--:
+
+"You're wantin' a tyke, bain't you, Mr. M'Adam?" Jim asked.
+
+The little man hopped round all in a hurry.
+
+"What!" he cried in well-affected eagerness, scanning the yellow mongrel
+beneath the chair. "Betsy for sale! Guid life! Where's ma check-book?"
+Whereat Jim, most easily snubbed of men, collapsed.
+
+M'Adam took off his dripping coat and crossed the room to hang it on a
+chair-back. The stranger drover followed the meagre, shirt-clad figure
+with shifty eyes; then he buried his face in his mug.
+
+M'Adam reached out a hand for the chair; and as he did so, a bomb in
+yellow leapt out from beneath it, and, growling horribly, attacked his
+ankles.
+
+"Curse ye!" cried M'Adam, starting back.
+
+"Ye devil, let me alone!" Then turning fiercely on the drover, "Yours,
+mister?" he asked. The man nodded. "Then call him aff, can't ye? D--n
+ye!" At which Teddy Bolstock withdrew, sniggering; and Jim Mason slung
+the post-bags on to his shoulder and plunged out into the rain, the
+faithful Betsy following, disconsolate.
+
+The cause of the squall, having beaten off the attacking force, had
+withdrawn again beneath its chair. M'Adam stooped down, still cursing,
+his wet coat on his arm, and beheld a tiny yellow puppy, crouching
+defiant in the dark, and glaring out with fiery light eyes. Seeing
+itself remarked, it bared its little teeth, raised its little bristles,
+and growled a hideous menace.
+
+A sense of humor is many a man's salvation, and was M'Adam's one
+redeeming feature. The laughableness of the thing--this ferocious atomy
+defying him--struck home to the little man. Delighted at such a display
+of vice in so tender a plant, he fell to chuckling.
+
+"Ye leetle devil!" he laughed. "He! he! ye leetle devil!" and flipped
+together finger and thumb in vain endeavor to coax the puppy to him.
+
+But it growled, and glared more terribly.
+
+"Stop it, ye little snake, or I'll flatten you!" cried the big drover,
+and shuffled his feet threateningly. Whereat the puppy, gurgling like
+hot water in a kettle, made a feint as though to advance and wipe them
+out, these two bad men.
+
+M'Adam laughed again, and smote his leg.
+
+"Keep a ceevil tongue and yer distance," says he, "or I'll e'en ha' to
+mak' ye. Though he is but as big as a man's thumb, a dog's a dog for
+a' that--he! he! the leetle devil." And he fell to flipping finger and
+thumb afresh.
+
+"Ye're maybe wantin' a dog?" inquired the stranger. "Yer friend said as
+much."
+
+"Ma friend lied; it's his way," M'Adam replied.
+
+"I'm willin' to part wi' him," the other pursued.
+
+The little man yawned. "Weel, I'll tak' him to oblige ye," he said
+indifferently.
+
+The drover rose to his feet.
+
+"It's givin' 'im ye, fair givin' im ye, mind! But I'll do it!"--he
+smacked a great fist into a hollow palm. "Ye may have the dog for a
+pun'--I'll only ask _you_ a pun'," and he walked away to the window.
+
+M'Adam drew back, the better to scan his would-be benefactor; his lower
+jaw dropped, and he eyed the stranger with a drolly sarcastic air.
+
+"A poun', man! A pouxi'--for yon noble dorg!" he pointed a crooked
+forefinger at the little creature, whose scowling mask peered from
+beneath the chair. "Man, I couldna do it. Na, na; ma conscience wadna
+permit me. 'Twad be fair robbin' ye. Ah, ye Englishmen!" he spoke half
+to himself, and sadly, as if deploring the unhappy accident of his
+nationality; "it's yer grand, open-hairted generosity that grips a
+puir Scotsman by the throat. A poun'! and for yon!" He wagged his head
+mournfully, cocking it sideways the better to scan his subject.
+
+"Take him or leave him," ordered the drover truculently, still gazing
+out of the window.
+
+"Wi' yer permission I'll leave him," M'Adam answered meekly.
+
+"I'm short o' the ready," the big man pursued, "or I wouldna part with
+him. Could I bide me time there's many'd be glad to give me a tenner
+for one o' that bree--" he caught himself up hastily--"for a dog sic as
+that."
+
+"And yet ye offer him me for a poun'! Noble indeed!"
+
+Nevertheless the little man had pricked his ears at the other's slip
+and quick correction. Again he approached the puppy, dangling his coat
+before him to protect his ankles; and again that wee wild beast sprang
+out, seized the coat in its small jaw, and worried it savagely.
+
+M'Adam stooped quickly and picked up his tiny assailant; and the
+puppy, suspended by its neck, gurgled and slobbered; then, wriggling
+desperately round, made its teeth meet in its adversary's shirt. At
+which M'Adam shook it gently and laughed. Then he set to examining it.
+
+Apparently some six weeks old; a tawny coat, fiery eyes, a square head
+with small, cropped ears, and a comparatively immense jaw; the whole
+giving promise of great strength, if little beauty. And this effect
+was enhanced by the manner of its docking. For the miserable relic of
+a tail, yet raw, looked little more than a red button adhering to its
+wearer's stern.
+
+M'Adam's inspection was as minute as it was apparently absorbing; he
+omitted nothing from the square muzzle to the lozenge-like scut. And
+every now and then he threw a quick glance at the man at the window, who
+was watching the careful scrutiny a thought uneasily.
+
+"Ye've cut him short," he said at length, swinging round on the drover.
+
+"Ay; strengthens their backs," the big man answered with averted gaze.
+
+M'Adam's chin went up in the air; his mouth partly opened and his
+eyelids partly closed as he eyed his informant.
+
+"Oh, ay," he said.
+
+"Gie him back to me," ordered the drover surlily. He took the puppy
+and set it on the floor; whereupon it immediately resumed its former
+fortified position. "Ye're no buyer; I knoo that all along by that face
+on ye," he said in insulting tones.
+
+"Ye wad ha' bought him yerseif', nae doot?" M'Adam inquired blandly.
+
+"In course; if you says so."
+
+"Or airblins ye bred him?"
+
+"'Appen I did."
+
+"Ye'll no be from these parts?"
+
+"Will I no?" answered the other.
+
+A smile of genuine pleasure stole over M'Adam's face. He laid his hand
+on the other's arm.
+
+"Man," he said gently, "ye mind me o' hame." Then almost in the same
+breath: "Ye said ye found him?"
+
+It was the stranger's turn to laugh.
+
+"Ha! ha! Ye teekle me, little mon. Found 'im? Nay; I was give 'im by a
+friend. But there's nowt amiss wi' his breedin', ye may believe me."
+
+The great fellow advanced to the chair under which the puppy lay. It
+leapt out like a lion, and fastened on his huge boot.
+
+"A rare bred un, look 'ee! a rare game un. Ma word, he's a big-hearted
+un! Look at the back on him; see the jaws to him; mark the pluck of
+him!" He shook his booted foot fiercely, tossing his leg to and fro like
+a tree in a wind. But the little creature, now raised ceilingward, now
+dashed to the ground, held on with incomparable doggedness, till its
+small jaw was all bloody and muzzle wrinkled with the effort.
+
+"Ay, ay, that'll do," M'Adam interposed, irritably.
+
+The drover ceased his efforts.
+
+"Now, I'll mak' ye a last offer." He thrust his head down to a level
+with the other's, shooting out his neck. "It's throwin' him at ye, mind.
+'Tain't buyin' him ye'll be--don't go for to deceive yourself. Ye may
+have him for fifteen shillin'. Why do I do it, ye ask? Why, 'cos I think
+ye'll be kind to him," as the puppy retreated to its chair, leaving a
+spotted track of red along its route.
+
+"Ay, ye wadna be happy gin ye thocht he'd no a comfortable hame,
+conseederate man?" M'Adam answered, eyeing the dark track on the floor.
+Then he put on his coat.
+
+"Na, na, he's no for me. Weel, I'll no detain ye. Good-nicht to ye,
+mister!" and he made for the door.
+
+"A gran' worker he'll be," called the drover after him.
+
+"Ay; muckle wark he'll mak' amang the sheep wi' sic a jaw and sic a
+temper. Weel, I maun be steppin'. Good-nicht to ye."
+
+"Ye'll niver have sich anither chanst."
+
+"Nor niver wush to. Na, na; he'll never mak' a sheep-dog"; and the
+little man turned up the collar of his coat.
+
+"Will he not?" cried the other scornfully. "There niver yet was one o'
+that line--" he stopped abruptly.
+
+The little man spun round.
+
+"Iss?" he said, as innocent as any child; "ye were sayin'?"
+
+The other turned to the window and watched the rain falling
+monotonously.
+
+"Ye'll be wantin' wet," he said adroitly.
+
+"Ay, we could do wi' a drappin'. And he'll never mak' a sheep-dog."
+He shoved his cap down on his head. "Weel, good-nicht to ye!" and he
+stepped out into the rain.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was long after dark when the bargain was finally struck.
+
+Adam M'Adam's Red Wull became that little man's property for the
+following realizable assets: ninepence in cash--three coppers and a
+doubtful sixpence; a plug of suspicious tobacco in a well-worn pouch;
+and an old watch.
+
+"It's clean givin' 'im ye," said the stranger bitterly, at the end of
+the deal.
+
+"It's mair the charity than aught else mak's me sae leeberal," the other
+answered gently. "I wad not like to see ye pinched."
+
+"Thank ye kindly," the big man replied with some acerbity, and plunged
+out into the darkness and rain. Nor was that long-limbed drover-man ever
+again seen in the countryside. And the puppy's previous history--whether
+he was honestly come by or no, whether he was, indeed, of the famous Red
+McCulloch* strain, ever remained a mystery in the Daleland.
+
+     *N. B.--You may know a Red McCulloch anywhere by the ring of
+     white upon his tail some two inches from the root.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter IV. FIRST BLOOD
+
+
+AFTER that first encounter in the Dalesman's Daughter, Red Wull, for
+so M'Adam called him, resigned himself complacently to his lot;
+recognizing, perhaps, his destiny.
+
+Thenceforward the sour little man and the vicious puppy grew, as it
+were, together. The two were never apart. Where M'Adam was, there was
+sure to be his tiny attendant, bristling defiance as he kept ludicrous
+guard over his master.
+
+The little man and his dog were inseparable. M'Adam never left him even
+at the Grange.
+
+"I couldna trust ma Wullie at hame alone wi' the dear lad," was his
+explanation. "I ken weel I'd come back to find a wee corpse on the
+floor, and David singin':
+
+     'My heart is sair, I daur na tell,
+     My heart is sair for somebody.'
+
+Ay, and he'd be sair elsewhere by the time I'd done wi' him--he! he!"
+
+The sneer at David's expense was as characteristic as it was unjust.
+For though the puppy and the boy were already sworn enemies, yet the
+lad would have scorned to harm so small a foe. And many a tale did David
+tell at Kenmuir of Red Wull's viciousness, of his hatred of him (David),
+and his devotion to his master; how, whether immersed in the pig-bucket
+or chasing the fleeting rabbit, he would desist at once, and bundle,
+panting, up at his master's call; how he routed the tomcat and drove him
+from the kitchen; and how he clambered on to David's bed and pinned him
+murderously by the nose.
+
+Of late the relations between M'Adam and James Moore had been unusually
+strained. Though they were neighbors, communications between the two
+were of the rarest; and it was for the first time for many a long
+day that, on an afternoon shortly after Red Wull had come into his
+possession, M'Adam entered the yard of Kenmuir, bent on girding at the
+master for an alleged trespass at the Stony Bottom.
+
+"Wi' yer permission, Mr. Moore," said the little man, "I'll wheestle ma
+dog," and, turning, he whistled a shrill, peculiar note like the cry of
+a disturbed peewit.
+
+Straightway there came scurrying desperately up, ears back, head down,
+tongue out, as if the world depended on his speed, a little tawny beetle
+of a thing, who placed his forepaws against his master's ankles
+and looked up into his face; then, catching sight of the strangers,
+hurriedly he took up his position between them and M'Adam, assuming his
+natural attitude of grisly defiance. Such a laughable spectacle he made,
+that martial mite, standing at bay with bristles up and teeth bared,
+that even James Moore smiled.
+
+"Ma word! Ha' yo' brought his muzzle, man?" cried old Tammas, the
+humorist; and, turning, climbed all in a heat on to an upturned bucket
+that stood by. Whereat the puppy, emboldened by his foe's retreat,
+advanced savagely to the attack, buzzing round the slippery pail like a
+wasp on a windowpane, in a vain attempt to reach the old man.
+
+Tammas stood on the top, hitching his trousers and looking down on his
+assailant, the picture of mortal fear.
+
+"'Elp! Oh, 'elp!" he bawled. "Send for the sogers! Fetch the p'lice!
+For lawk-amussy's sake call him off, man!" Even Sam'l Todd, watching
+the scene from the cart-shed, was tickled and burst into a loud guffaw,
+heartily backed by 'Enry and oor Job. While M'Adam remarked: "Ye're
+fitter for a stage than a stable-bucket, Mr. Thornton."
+
+"How didst come by him?" asked Tammas, nodding at the puppy.
+
+"Found him," the little man replied, sucking his twig. "Found him in
+ma stockin' on ma birthday. A present from ma leetle David for his auld
+dad, I doot."
+
+"So do I," said Tammas, and was seized with sudden spasm of seemingly
+causeless merriment. For looking up as M'Adam was speaking, he had
+caught a glimpse of a boy's fair head, peering cautiously round the
+cow-shed, and, behind, the flutter of short petticoats. They disappeared
+as silently as they had come; and two small figures, just returned from
+school, glided away and sought shelter in the friendly darkness of a
+coal-hole.
+
+"Coom awa', Maggie, coom awa'! 'Tis th' owd un, 'isself," whispered a
+disrespectful voice.
+
+M'Adam looked round suspiciously.
+
+"What's that?" he asked sharply.
+
+At the moment, however, Mrs. Moore put her head out of the kitchen
+window.
+
+"Coom thy ways in, Mister M'Adam, and tak' a soop o' tea," she called
+hospitably.
+
+"Thank ye kindly, Mrs. Moore, I will," he answered, politely for him.
+And this one good thing must be allowed of Adam M'Adam: that, if there
+was only one woman of whom he was ever known to speak well, there was
+also only one, in the whole course of his life, against whom he ever
+insinuated evil--and that was years afterward, when men said his brain
+was sapped. Flouts and jeers he had for every man, but a woman, good or
+bad, was sacred to him. For the sex that had given him his mother and
+his wife he had that sentiment of tender reverence which, if a man still
+preserve, he cannot be altogether bad. As he turned into the house he
+looked back at Red Wull.
+
+"Ay, we may leave him," he said. "That is, gin ye're no afraid, Mr.
+Thornton?"
+
+Of what happened while the men were within doors, it is enough to tell
+two things. First, that Owd Bob was no bully. Second, this: In the code
+of sheep-dog honor there is written a word in stark black letters; and
+opposite it another word, writ large in the color of blood. The first
+is "Sheep-murder"; the second, "Death." It is the one crime only to
+be wiped away in blood; and to accuse of the crime is to offer the one
+unpardonable insult. Every sheep-dog knows it, and every shepherd.
+
+That afternoon, as the men still talked, the quiet echoes of the
+farm rung with a furious animal cry, twice repeated: "Shot for
+sheep-murder"--"Shot for sheep-murder"; followed by a hollow stillness.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The two men finished their colloquy. The matter was concluded
+peacefully, mainly owing to the pacifying influence of Mrs. Moore.
+Together the three went out into the yard; Mrs. Moore seizing the
+opportunity to shyly speak on David's behalf.
+
+"He's such a good little lad, I do think," she was saying.
+
+"Ye should ken, Mrs. Moore," the little man answered, a thought
+bitterly; "ye see enough of him."
+
+"Yo' mun be main proud of un, mester," the woman continued, heedless of
+the sneer: "an' 'im growin' such a gradely lad."
+
+M'Adam shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"I barely ken the lad," he said. "By sight I know him, of course, but
+barely to speak to. He's but seldom at hame."
+
+"An' hoo proud his mother'd be if she could see him," the woman
+continued, well aware of his one tender place. "Eh, but she was fond o'
+him, so she was."
+
+An angry flush stole over the little man's face. Well he understood the
+implied rebuke; and it hurt him like a knife.
+
+"Ay, ay, Mrs. Moore," he began. Then breaking off, and looking about
+him--"Where's ma Wullie?" he cried excitedly. "James Moore!" whipping
+round on the Master, "ma Wullie's gone--gone, I say!"
+
+Elizabeth Moore turned away indignantly. "I do declar' he tak's more
+fash after yon little yaller beastie than iver he does after his own
+flesh," she muttered.
+
+"Wullie, ma we doggie! Wullie, where are ye? James Moore, he's gone--ma
+Wullie's gone!" cried the little man, running about the yard, searching
+everywhere.
+
+"Cannot 'a' gotten far," said the Master, reassuringly, looking about
+him.
+
+"Niver no tellin'," said Sam'l, appearing on the scene, pig-bucket
+in hand. "I misdoot yo'll iver see your dog agin, mister." He turned
+sorrowfully to M'Adam.
+
+That little man, all dishevelled, and with the perspiration standing on
+his face, came hurrying out of the cow-shed and danced up to the Master.
+
+"It's robbed I am--robbed, I tell ye!" he cried recklessly. "Ma wee
+Wull's bin stolen while I was ben your hoose, James Moore!"
+
+"Yo' munna say that, ma mon. No robbin' at Kenmuir," the Master answered
+sternly.
+
+"Then where is he? It's for you to say."
+
+"I've ma own idee, I 'aye," Sam'l announced opportunely, pig-bucket
+uplifted.
+
+M'Adam turned on him.
+
+"What, man? What is it?"
+
+"I misdoot yo'll iver see your dog agin, mister," Sam'l repeated, as if
+he was supplying the key to the mystery.
+
+"Noo, Sam'l, if yo' know owt tell it," ordered his master.
+
+Sam'l grunted sulkily.
+
+"Wheer's oor Bob, then?" he asked.
+
+At that M'Adam turned on the Master.
+
+"'Tis that, nae doot. It's yer gray dog, James Moore, yer ---- dog. I
+might ha' kent it,"--and he loosed off a volley of foul words.
+
+"Sweerin' will no find him," said the Master coldly. "Noo, Sam'l."
+
+The big man shifted his feet, and looked mournfully at M'Adam.
+
+"'Twas 'appen 'aif an hour agone, when I sees oor Bob goin' oot o'
+yard wi' little yaller tyke in his mouth. In a minnit I looks agin--and
+theer! little yaller 'un was gone, and oor Bob a-sittin' a-lickin'
+his chops. Gone foriver, I do reck'n. Ah, yo' may well take on, Tammas
+Thornton!" For the old man was rolling about the yard, bent double with
+merriment.
+
+M'Adam turned on the Master with the resignation of despair.
+
+"Man, Moore," he cried piteously, "it's yer gray dog has murdered ma wee
+Wull! Ye have it from yer ain man."
+
+"Nonsense," said the Master encouragingly. "'Tis but yon girt oof."
+
+Sam'l tossed his head and snorted.
+
+"Coom, then, and i'll show yo'," he said, and led the way out of the
+yard. And there below them on the slope to the stream, sitting like
+Justice at the Courts of Law, was Owd Bob.
+
+Straightway Sam'l whose humor was something of the calibre of old
+Ross's, the sexton, burst into horse-merriment. "Why's he sittin' so
+still, think 'ee? Ho! Ho! See un lickin' his chops--ha! ha!"--and he
+roared afresh. While from afar you could hear the distant rumbling of
+'Enry and oor Job.
+
+At the sight, M'Adam burst into a storm of passionate invective, and
+would have rushed on the dog had not James Moore forcibly restrained
+him.
+
+"Bob, lad," called the Master, "coom here!"
+
+But even as he spoke, the gray dog cocked his ears, listened a moment,
+and then shot down the slope. At the same moment Tammas hallooed: "Theer
+he be! yon's yaller un coomin' oot o' drain! La, Sam'l!" And there,
+indeed, on the slope below them, a little angry, smutty-faced figure was
+crawling out of a rabbit-burrow.
+
+"Ye murderin' devil, wad ye duar touch ma Wullie?" yelled M'Adam, and,
+breaking away, pursued hotly down the hill; for the gray dog had picked
+up the puppy, like a lancer a tent-peg, and was sweeping on, his captive
+in his mouth, toward the stream.
+
+Behind, hurried James Moore and Sam'l, wondering what the issue of the
+comedy would be. After them toddled old Tammas, chuckling. While over
+the yard-wall was now a little cluster of heads: 'Enry, oor Job, Maggie
+and David, and Vi'let Thornton, the dairy-maid.
+
+Straight on to the plank-bridge galloped Owd Bob. In the middle he
+halted, leant over, and dropped his prisoner; who fell with a cool plop
+into the running water beneath.
+
+Another moment and M'Adam had reached the bank of the stream. In he
+plunged, splashing and cursing, and seized the struggling puppy; then
+waded back, the waters surging about his waist, and Red Wull, limp as
+a wet rag, in his hand. The little man's hair was dripping, for his cap
+was gone; his clothes clung to him, exposing the miserableness of his
+figure; and his eyes blazed like hot ashes in his wet face.
+
+He sprang on to the bank, and, beside himself with passion, rushed at
+Owd Bob.
+
+"Curse ye for a ----"
+
+"Stan' back, or yo'll have him at your throat!" shouted the Master,
+thundering up. "Stan' back, I say, yo' fule!" And, as the little man
+still came madly on, he reached forth his hand and hurled him back; at
+the same moment, bending, he buried the other hand deep in Owd Bob's
+shaggy neck. It was but just in time; for if ever the fierce desire of
+battle gleamed in gray eyes, it did in the young dog's as M'Adam came
+down on him.
+
+The little man staggered, tottered, and fell heavily. At the shock, the
+blood gushed from his nose, and, mixing with the water on his face, ran
+down in vague red streams, dripping off his chin; while Red Wull, jerked
+from his grasp, was thrown afar, and lay motionless.
+
+"Curse ye!" M'Adam screamed, his face dead-white save for the running
+red about his jaw. "Curse ye for a cowardly Englishman!" and, struggling
+to his feet, he made at the Master.
+
+But Sam'l interposed his great bulk between the two.
+
+"Easy, little mon," he said leisurely, regarding the small fury before
+him with mournful interest. "Eh, but thee do be a little spit-cat,
+surely!"
+
+James Moore stood, breathing deep, his hand still buried in Owd Bob's
+coat.
+
+"If yo'd touched him," he explained, "I couldna ha' stopped him. He'd
+ha' mauled yo' afore iver I could ha' had him off. They're bad to hold,
+the Gray Dogs, when they're roosed."
+
+"Ay, ma word, that they are!" corroborated Tammas, speaking from the
+experience of sixty years. "Once on, yo' canna get 'em off."
+
+The little man turned away.
+
+"Ye're all agin me," he said, and his voice shook. A pitiful figure he
+made, standing there with the water dripping from him. A red stream was
+running slowly from his chin; his head was bare, and face working.
+
+James Moore stood eyeing him with some pity and some contempt. Behind
+was Tammas, enjoying the scene. While Sam'l regarded them all with an
+impassive melancholy.
+
+M'Adam turned and bent over Red Wull, who still lay like a dead thing.
+As his master handled him, the button-tail quivered feebly; he opened
+his eyes, looked about him, snarled faintly, and glared with devilish
+hate at the gray dog and the group with him.
+
+The little man picked him up, stroking him tenderly. Then he turned away
+and on to the bridge. Half-way across he stopped. It rattled feverishly
+beneath him, for he still trembled like a palsied man.
+
+"Man, Moore!" he called, striving to quell the agitation in his
+voice--"I wad shoot yon dog."
+
+Across the bridge he turned again. "Man, Moore!" he called and paused.
+"Ye'll not forget this day." And with that the blood flared up a dull
+crimson into his white face.
+
+
+
+
+PART II THE LITTLE MAN
+
+
+
+
+Chapter V. A MAN'S SON
+
+
+THE storm, long threatened, having once burst, M'Adam allowed loose rein
+to his bitter animosity against James Moore.
+
+The two often met. For the little man frequently returned home from the
+village by the footpath across Kenmuir. It was out of his way, but
+he preferred it in order to annoy his enemy and keep a watch upon his
+doings.
+
+He haunted Kenmuir like its evil genius. His sallow face was perpetually
+turning up at inopportune moments. When Kenmuir Queen, the prize
+short-horn heifer, calved unexpectedly and unattended in the dip by the
+lane, Tammas and the Master, summoned hurriedly by Owd Bob, came running
+up to find the little man leaning against the stile, and shaking with
+silent merriment. Again, poor old Staggy, daring still in his dotage,
+took a fall while scrambling on the steep banks of the Stony Bottom.
+There he lay for hours, unnoticed and kicking, until James Moore and
+Owd Bob came upon him at length, nearly exhausted. But M'Adam was before
+them. Standing on the far bank with Red Wull by his side, he called
+across the gulf with apparent concern: "He's bin so sin' yesternight."
+Often James Moore, with all his great strength of character, could
+barely control himself.
+
+There were two attempts to patch up the feud. Jim Mason, who went about
+the world seeking to do good, tried in his shy way to set things right.
+But M'Adam and his Red Wull between them soon shut him and Betsy up.
+
+"You mind yer letters and yer wires, Mr. Poacher-Postman. Ay, I saw 'em
+baith: th' ain doon by the Haughs, t'ither in the Bottom. And there's
+Wullie, the humorsome chiel, havin' a rare game wi' Betsy." There,
+indeed, lay the faithful Betsy, suppliant on her back, paws up, throat
+exposed, while Red Wull, now a great-grown puppy, stood over her, his
+habitually evil expression intensified into a fiendish grin, as with
+wrinkled muzzle and savage wheeze he waited for a movement as a pretext
+to pin: "Wullie, let the leddy be--ye've had yer dinner."
+
+Parson Leggy was the other would-be mediator; for he hated to see the
+two principal parishioners of his tiny cure at enmity. First he tackled
+James Moore on the subject; but that laconic person cut him short with,
+"I've nowt agin the little mon," and would say no more. And, indeed, the
+quarrel was none of his making.
+
+Of the parson's interview with M'Adam, it is enough to say here that,
+in the end, the angry old minister would of a surety have assaulted his
+mocking adversary had not Cyril Gilbraith forcibly withheld him.
+
+And after that the vendetta must take its course unchecked.
+
+David was now the only link between the two farms. Despite his father's
+angry commands, the boy clung to his intimacy with the Moores with a
+doggedness that no thrashing could overcome. Not a minute of the day
+when out of school, holidays and Sundays included, but was passed at
+Kenmuir. It was not till late at night that he would sneak back to the
+Grange, and creep quietly up to his tiny bare room in the roof--not
+supperless, indeed, motherly Mrs. Moore had seen to that. And there he
+would lie awake and listen with a fierce contempt as his father, hours
+later, lurched into the kitchen below, lilting liquorishly:
+
+     "We are na fou, we're nae that fou,
+     But just a drappie in our e'e;
+     The cock may craw, the day may daw',
+     And ay we'll taste the barley bree!"
+
+And in the morning the boy would slip quietly out of the house while his
+father still slept; only Red Wull would thrust out his savage head as
+the lad passed, and snarl hungrily.
+
+Sometimes father and son would go thus for weeks without sight of one
+another. And that was David's aim--to escape attention. It was only his
+cunning at this game of evasion that saved him a thrashing.
+
+The little man seemed devoid of all natural affection for his son. He
+lavished the whole fondness of which his small nature appeared capable
+on the Tailless Tyke, for so the Dalesmen called Red Wull. And the dog
+he treated with a careful tenderness that made David smile bitterly.
+
+The little man and his dog were as alike morally as physically they were
+contrasted. Each owed a grudge against the world and was determined to
+pay it. Each was an Ishmael among his kind.
+
+You saw them thus, standing apart, leper-like, in the turmoil of life;
+and it came quite as a revelation to happen upon them in some quiet spot
+of nights, playing together, each wrapped in the game, innocent, tender,
+forgetful of the hostile world.
+
+The two were never separated except only when M'Adam came home by the
+path across Kenmuir. After that first misadventure he never allowed his
+friend to accompany him on the journey through the enemy's country; for
+well he knew that sheep-dogs have long memories.
+
+To the stile in the lane, then, Red Wull would follow him. There he
+would stand, his great head poked through the bars, watching his master
+out of sight; and then would turn and trot, self-reliant and defiant,
+sturdy and surly, down the very centre of the road through the
+village--no playing, no enticing away, and woe to that man or dog who
+tried to stay him in his course! And so on, past Mother Ross's shop,
+past the Sylvester Arms, to the right by Kirby's smithy, over the
+Wastrel by the Haughs, to await his master at the edge of the Stony
+Bottom.
+
+The little man, when thus crossing Kenmuir, often met Owd Bob, who had
+the free run of the farm. On these occasions he passed discreetly by;
+for, though he was no coward, yet it is bad, single-handed, to attack
+a Gray Dog of Kenmuir; while the dog trotted soberly on his way, only
+a steely glint in the big gray eyes betraying his knowledge of the
+presence of his foe. As surely, however, as the little man, in his
+desire to spy out the nakedness of the land, strayed off the public
+path, so surely a gray figure, seeming to spring from out the blue,
+would come fiercely, silently driving down on him; and he would turn and
+run for his life, amid the uproarious jeers of any of the farm-hands who
+were witness to the encounter.
+
+On these occasions David vied with Tammas in facetiousness at his
+father's expense.
+
+"Good on yo', little un!" he roared from behind a wall, on one such
+occurrence.
+
+"Bain't he a runner, neither?" yelled Tammas, not to be outdone.
+
+"See un skip it--ho! ho! Look to his knees a-wamblin'! from the
+undutiful son in ecstasy. An' I'd knees like yon, I'd wear petticoats."
+As he spoke, a swinging box on the ear nearly knocked the young
+reprobate down.
+
+"D'yo' think God gave you a dad for you to jeer at? Y'ought to be
+ashamed o' yo'self. Serve yo' right if he does thrash yo' when yo' get
+home." And David, turning round, found James Moore close behind him, his
+heavy eyebrows lowering over his eyes.
+
+Luckily, M'Adam had not distinguished his son's voice among the others.
+But David feared he had; for on the following morning the little man
+said to him:
+
+"David, ye'll come hame immediately after school to-day."
+
+"Will I?" said David pertly.
+
+''Ye will.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because I tell ye to, ma lad"; and that was all the reason he would
+give. Had he told the simple fact that he wanted help to drench a
+"husking" ewe, things might have gone differently. As it was, David
+turned away defiantly down the hill.
+
+The afternoon wore on. Schooltime was long over; still there was no
+David.
+
+The little man waited at the door of the Grange, fuming, hopping from
+one leg to the other, talking to Red Wull, who lay at his feet, his head
+on his paws, like a tiger waiting for his prey.
+
+At length he could restrain himself no longer; and started running down
+the hill, his heart burning with indignation.
+
+"Wait till we lay hands on ye, ma lad," he muttered as he ran. "We'll
+warm ye, we'll teach ye."
+
+At the edge of the Stony Bottom he, as always, left Red Wull. Crossing
+it himself, and rounding Langholm How, he espied James Moore, David, and
+Owd Bob walking away from him and in the direction of Kenmuir. The gray
+dog and David were playing together, wrestling, racing, and rolling. The
+boy had never a thought for his father.
+
+The little man ran up behind them, unseen and unheard, his feet softly
+pattering on the grass. His hand had fallen on David's shoulder before
+the boy had guessed his approach.
+
+"Did I bid ye come hame after school, David?" he asked, concealing his
+heat beneath a suspicious suavity.
+
+"Maybe. Did I say I would come?"
+
+The pertness of tone and words, alike, fanned his father's resentment
+into a blaze. In a burst of passion he lunged forward at the boy with
+his stick. But as he smote, a gray whirlwind struck him fair on the
+chest, and he fell like a snapped stake, and lay, half stunned, with a
+dark muzzle an inch from his throat.
+
+"Git back, Bob!" shouted James Moore, hurrying up. "Git back, I tell
+yo'!" He bent over the prostrate figure, propping it up anxiously.
+
+"Are yo' hurt, M'Adam? Eh, but I am sorry. He thought yo' were going for
+to strike the lad."
+
+David had now run up, and he, too, bent over his father with a very
+scared face.
+
+"Are yo' hurt, feyther?" he asked, his voice trembling.
+
+The little man rose unsteadily to his feet and shook off his supporters.
+His face was twitching, and he stood, all dust-begrimed, looking at his
+son.
+
+"Ye're content, aiblins, noo ye've seen yer father's gray head bowed in
+the dust," he said.
+
+"'Twas an accident," pleaded James Moore. "But I _am_ sorry. He thought
+yo' were goin' to beat the lad."
+
+"So I was--so I will."
+
+"If ony's beat it should be ma Bob here tho' he nob'but thought he was
+doin' right. An' yo' were aff the path."
+
+The little man looked at his enemy, a sneer on his face.
+
+"Ye canna thrash him for doin' what ye bid him. Set yer dog on me, if ye
+will, but dinna beat him when he does yer biddin'!"
+
+"I did not set him on yo', as you know," the Master replied warmly.
+
+M'Adam shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"I'll no argie wi' ye, James Moore," he said. "I'll leave you and
+what ye call yer conscience to settle that. My business is not wi'
+you.--David!" turning to his son.
+
+A stranger might well have mistaken the identity of the boy's father.
+For he stood now, holding the Master's arm; while a few paces above
+them was the little man, pale but determined, the expression on his face
+betraying his consciousness of the irony of the situation.
+
+"Will ye come hame wi' me and have it noo, or stop wi' him and wait till
+ye get it?" he asked the boy.
+
+"M'Adam, I'd like yo' to--"
+
+"None o' that, James Moore.--David, what d'ye say?"
+
+David looked up into his protector's face.
+
+"Yo'd best go wi' your feyther, lad," said the Master at last, thickly.
+The boy hesitated, and clung tighter to the shielding arm; then he
+walked slowly over to his father.
+
+A bitter smile spread over the little man's face as he marked this new
+test of the boy's obedience to the other.
+
+"To obey his frien' he foregoes the pleasure o' disobeyin' his father,"
+he muttered. "Noble!" Then he turned homeward, and the boy followed in
+his footsteps.
+
+James Moore and the gray dog stood looking after them.
+
+"I know yo'll not pay off yer spite agin me on the lad's head, M'Adam,"
+he called, almost appealingly.
+
+"I'll do ma duty, thank ye, James Moore, wi'oot respect o' persons," the
+little man cried back, never turning.
+
+Father and son walked away, one behind the other, like a man and his
+dog, and there was no word said between them. Across the Stony Bottom,
+Red Wull, scowling with bared teeth at David, joined them. Together the
+three went up the bill to the Grange.
+
+In the kitchen M'Adam turned.
+
+"Noo, I'm gaein' to gie ye the gran'est thrashin' ye iver dreamed of.
+Tak' aff yer coat!"
+
+The boy obeyed, and stood up in his thin shirt, his face white and set
+as a statue's. Red Wull seated himself on his haunches close by, his
+ears pricked, licking his lips, all attention.
+
+The little man suppled the great ash-plant in his hands and raised it.
+But the expression on the boy's face arrested his arm.
+
+"Say ye're sorry and I'll let yer aff easy."
+
+"I'll not."
+
+"One mair chance--yer last! Say yer 'shamed o' yerself'!"
+
+"I'm not."
+
+The little man brandished his cruel, white weapon, and Red Wull shifted
+a little to obtain a better view.
+
+"Git on wi' it," ordered David angrily.
+
+The little man raised the stick again and--threw it into the farthest
+corner of the room.
+
+It fell with a rattle on the floor, and M'Adam turned away.
+
+"Ye're the pitifulest son iver a man had," he cried brokenly. "Gin
+a man's son dinna haud to him, wha can he expect to?--no one. Ye're
+ondootiful, ye're disrespectfu', ye're maist ilka thing ye shouldna be;
+there's but ae thing I thocht ye were not--a coward. And as to that,
+ye've no the pluck to say ye're sorry when, God knows, ye might be. I
+canna thrash ye this day. But ye shall gae nae mair to school. I send
+ye there to learn. Ye'll not learn--ye've learnt naethin' except
+disobedience to me--ye shall stop at hame and work."
+
+His father's rare emotion, his broken voice and working face, moved
+David as all the stripes and jeers had failed to do. His conscience
+smote him. For the first time in his life it dimly dawned on him that,
+perhaps, his father, too, had some ground for complaint; that, perhaps,
+he was not a good son.
+
+He half turned.
+
+"Feyther--"
+
+"Git oot o' ma sight!" M'Adam cried.
+
+And the boy turned and went.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter VI. A LICKING OR A LIE
+
+
+THENCEFORWARD David buckled down to work at home, and in one point only
+father and son resembled--industry. A drunkard M'Adam was, but a drone,
+no.
+
+The boy worked at the Grange with tireless, indomitable energy; yet he
+could never satisfy his father.
+
+The little man would stand, a sneer on his face and his thin lips
+contemptuously curled, and flout the lad's brave labors.
+
+"Is he no a gran' worker, Wullie? 'Tis a pleasure to watch him, his
+hands in his pockets, his eyes turned heavenward!" as the boy snatched
+a hard-earned moment's rest. "You and I, Wullie, we'll brak' oorsel's
+slavin' for him while he looks on and laffs."
+
+And so on, the whole day through, week in, week out; till he sickened
+with weariness of it all.
+
+In his darkest hours David thought sometimes to run away. He was
+miserably alone on the cold bosom of the world. The very fact that he
+was the son of his father isolated him in the Daleland. Naturally of a
+reserved disposition, he had no single friend outside Kenmuir. And it
+was only the thought of his friends there that withheld him. He could
+not bring himself to part from them; they were all he had in the world.
+
+So he worked on at the Grange, miserably, doggedly, taking blows and
+abuse alike in burning silence. But every evening, when work was ended,
+he stepped off to his other home beyond the Stony Bottom. And on Sundays
+and holidays--for of these latter he took, unasking, what he knew to be
+his due--all day long, from cock-crowing to the going down of the sun,
+he would pass at Kenmuir. In this one matter the boy was invincibly
+stubborn. Nothing his father could say or do sufficed to break him of
+the habit. He endured everything with white-lipped, silent doggedness,
+and still held on his way.
+
+Once past the Stony Bottom, he threw his troubles behind him with a
+courage that did him honor. Of all the people at Kenmuir two only ever
+dreamed the whole depth of his unhappiness, and that not through David.
+James Moore suspected something of it all, for he knew more of M'Adam
+than did the others. While Owd Bob knew it as did no one else. He could
+tell it from the touch of the boy's hand on his head; and the story was
+writ large upon his face for a dog to read. And he would follow the lad
+about with a compassion in his sad gray eyes greater than words.
+
+David might well compare his gray friend at Kenmuir with that other at
+the Grange.
+
+The Tailless Tyke had now grown into an immense dog, heavy of muscle and
+huge of bone. A great bull head; undershot jaw, square and lengthy and
+terrible; vicious, yellow-gleaming eyes; cropped ears; and an expression
+incomparably savage. His coat was a tawny, lion-like yellow, short,
+harsh, dense; and his back, running up from shoulder to loins, ended
+abruptly in the knob-like tail. He looked like the devil of a dogs'
+hell. And his reputation was as bad as his looks. He never attacked
+unprovoked; but a challenge was never ignored, and he was greedy of
+insults. Already he had nigh killed Rob Saunderson's collie, Shep; Jem
+Burton's Monkey fled incontinently at the sound of his approach; while
+he had even fought a round with that redoubtable trio, the Vexer, Venus,
+and Van Tromp.
+
+Nor, in the matter of war, did he confine himself to his own kind.
+His huge strength and indomitable courage made him the match of almost
+anything that moved. Long Kirby once threatened him with a broomstick;
+the smith never did it again. While in the Border Ram he attacked Big
+Bell, the Squire's underkeeper, with such murderous fury that it took
+all the men in the room to pull him off.
+
+More than once had he and Owd Bob essayed to wipe out mutual memories,
+Red Wull, in this case only, the aggressor. As yet, however, while they
+fenced a moment for that deadly throat-grip, the value of which each
+knew so well, James Moore had always seized the chance to intervene.
+
+"That's right, hide him ahint yer petticoats," sneered M'Adam on one of
+these occasions.
+
+"Hide? It'll not be him I'll hide, I warn you, M'Adam," the Master
+answered grimly, as he stood, twirling his good oak stick between the
+would-be duellists. Whereat there was a loud laugh at the little man's
+expense.
+
+It seemed as if there were to be other points of rivalry between the two
+than memories. For, in the matter of his own business--the handling of
+sheep--Red Wull bid fair to be second only throughout the Daleland to
+the Gray Dog of Kenmuir. And M'Adam was patient and painstaking in the
+training of his Wullie in a manner to astonish David. It would have been
+touching, had it not been so unnatural in view of his treatment of his
+own blood, to watch the tender carefulness with which the little man
+moulded the dog beneath his hands. After a promising display he would
+stand, rubbing his palms together, as near content as ever he was.
+
+"Weel done, Wullie! Weel done. Bide a wee and we'll show 'em a thing or
+two, you and I, Wullie.
+
+     "'The warld's wrack we share o't,
+     The warstle and the care o't.'
+
+For it's you and I alane, lad." And the dog would trot up to him, place
+his great forepaws on his shoulders, and stand thus with his great head
+overtopping his master's, his ears back, and stump tail vibrating.
+
+You saw them at their best when thus together, displaying each his one
+soft side to the other.
+
+From the very first David and Red Wull were open enemies: under the
+circumstances, indeed, nothing else was possible. Sometimes the great
+dog would follow on the lad's heels with surly, greedy eyes, never
+leaving him from sunrise to sundown, till David could hardly hold his
+hands.
+
+So matters went on for a never-ending year. Then there came a climax.
+
+One evening, on a day throughout which Red Wull had dogged him thus
+hungrily, David, his work finished, went to pick up his coat, which he
+had left hard by. On it lay Red Wull.
+
+"Git off ma coat!" the boy ordered angrily, marching up. But the great
+dog never stirred: he lifted a lip to show a fence of white, even teeth,
+and seemed to sink lower in the ground; his head on his paws, his eyes
+in his forehead.
+
+"Come and take it!" he seemed to say.
+
+Now what, between master and dog, David had endured almost more than he
+could bear that day.
+
+"Yo' won't, won't yo', girt brute!" he shouted, and bending, snatched
+a corner of the coat and attempted to jerk it away. At that, Red Wull
+rose, shivering, to his feet, and with a low gurgle sprang at the boy.
+
+David, quick as a flash, dodged, bent, and picked up an ugly stake,
+lying at his feet. Swinging round, all in a moment, he dealt his
+antagonist a mighty buffet on the side of the head. Dazed with the blow,
+the great dog fell; then, recovering himself, with a terrible, deep roar
+he sprang again. Then it must have gone hard with the boy, fine-grown,
+muscular young giant though he was. For Red Wull was now in the first
+bloom of that great strength which earned him afterward an undying
+notoriety in the land.
+
+As it chanced, however, M'Adam had watched the scene from the kitchen.
+And now he came hurrying out of the house, shrieking commands and curses
+at the combatants. As Red Wull sprang, he interposed between the two,
+head back and eyes flashing. His small person received the full shock
+of the charge. He staggered, but recovered, and in an imperative voice
+ordered the dog to heel.
+
+Then he turned on David, seized the stake from his hand, and began
+furiously belaboring the boy.
+
+"I'll teach ye to strike--a puir--dumb--harmless--creetur,
+ye--cruel--cruel---lad!" he cried. "Hoo daur ye strike--ma----Wullie?
+yer--father's----Wullie? Adam--M 'Adam's--Red Wull?" He was panting from
+his exertions, and his eyes were blazing. "I pit up as best I can wi'
+all manner o' disrespect to masel'; but when it comes to takin' ma puir
+Wullie, I canna thole it. Ha' ye no heart?" he asked, unconscious of the
+irony of the question.
+
+"As much as some, I reck'n," David muttered.
+
+"Eh, what's that? What d'ye say?"
+
+"Ye may thrash me till ye're blind; and it's nob'but yer duty; but if
+only one daurs so much as to look at yer Wullie ye're mad," the boy
+answered bitterly. And with that he turned away defiantly and openly in
+the direction of Kenmuir.
+
+M'Adam made a step forward, and then stopped.
+
+"I'll see ye agin, ma lad, this evenin'," he cried with cruel
+significance.
+
+"I doot but yo'll be too drunk to see owt--except, 'appen, your bottle,"
+the boy shouted back; and swaggered down the hill.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At Kenmuir that night the marked and particular kindness of Elizabeth
+Moore was too much for the overstrung lad. Overcome by the contrast of
+her sweet motherliness, he burst into a storm of invective against his
+father, his home, his life--everything.
+
+"Don't 'ee, Davie, don't 'ee, dearie!" cried Mrs. Moore, much
+distressed. And taking him to her she talked to the great, sobbing boy
+as though he were a child. At length he lifted his face and looked up;
+and, seeing the white, wan countenance of his dear comforter, was struck
+with tender remorse that he had given way and pained her, who looked so
+frail and thin herself.
+
+He mastered himself with an effort; and, for the rest of the evening,
+was his usual cheery self. He teased Maggie into tears; chaffed stolid
+little Andrew; and bantered Sam'l Todd until that generally impassive
+man threatened to bash his snout for him.
+
+Yet it was with a great swallowing at his throat that, later, he turned
+down the slope for home.
+
+James Moore and Parson Leggy accompanied him to the bridge over the
+Wastrel, and stood a while watching as he disappeared into the summer
+night.
+
+"Yon's a good lad," said the Master half to himself.
+
+"Yes," the parson replied; "I always thought there was good in the boy,
+if only his father'd give him a chance. And look at the way Owd Bob
+there follows him. There's not another soul outside Kenmuir he'd do that
+for."
+
+"Ay, sir," said the Master. "Bob knows a mon when he sees one."
+
+"He does," acquiesced the other. "And by the by, James, the talk in the
+village is that you've settled not to run him for the Cup. Is, that so?"
+
+The Master nodded.
+
+"It is, sir. They're all mad I should, but I mun cross 'em. They say
+he's reached his prime--and so he has o' his body, but not o' his brain.
+And a sheep-dog--unlike other dogs--is not at his best till his brain
+is at its best--and that takes a while developin', same as in a mon, I
+reck'n."
+
+"Well, well," said the parson, pulling out a favorite phrase, "waiting's
+winning--waiting's winning."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+David slipped up into his room and into bed unseen, he hoped. Alone with
+the darkness, he allowed himself the rare relief of tears; and at length
+fell asleep. He awoke to find his father standing at his bedside. The
+little man held a feeble dip-candle in his hand, which lit his sallow
+face in crude black and white. In the doorway, dimly outlined, was the
+great figure of Red Wull.
+
+"Whaur ha' ye been the day?" the little man asked. Then, looking down on
+the white stained face beneath him, he added hurriedly: "If ye like to
+lie, I'll believe ye."
+
+David was out of bed and standing up in his night-shirt. He looked at
+his father contemptuously.
+
+"I ha' bin at Kenmuir. I'll not lie for yo' or your likes," he said
+proudly.
+
+The little man shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"'Tell a lee and stick to it,' is my rule, and a good one, too, in
+honest England. I for one 'll no think ony the worse o' ye if yer memory
+plays yer false."
+
+"D'yo' think I care a kick what yo' think o' me?" the boy asked
+brutally. "Nay; there's 'nough liars in this fam'ly wi'oot me."
+
+The candle trembled and was still again.
+
+"A lickin' or a lie--tak' yer choice!"
+
+The boy looked scornfully down on his father. Standing on his naked
+feet, he already towered half a head above the other and was twice the
+man.
+
+"D'yo' think I'm fear'd o' a thrashin' fra yo'? Goo' gracious me!" he
+sneered. "Why, I'd as lief let owd Grammer Maddox lick me, for all I
+care."
+
+A reference to his physical insufficiencies fired the little man as
+surely as a lighted match powder.
+
+"Ye maun be cauld, standin' there so. Rin ye doon and fetch oor little
+frien'"--a reference to a certain strap hanging in the kitchen. "I'll
+see if I can warm ye."
+
+David turned and stumbled down the unlit, narrow stairs. The hard, cold
+boards struck like death against his naked feet. At his heels followed
+Red Wull, his hot breath fanning the boy's bare legs.
+
+So into the kitchen and back up the stairs, and Red Wull always
+following.
+
+"I'll no despair yet o' teachin' ye the fifth commandment, though I kill
+masel' in doin' it!" cried the little man, seizing the strap from the
+boy's numb grasp.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When it was over, M'Adam turned, breathless, away. At the threshold
+of the room he stopped and looked round: a little, dim-lit, devilish
+figure, framed in the door; while from the blackness behind, Red Wull's
+eyes gleamed yellow.
+
+Glancing back, the little man caught such an expression on David's
+face that for once he was fairly afraid. He banged the door and hobbled
+actively down the stairs.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter VII. THE WHITE WINTER
+
+
+M'ADAM--in his sober moments at least--never touched David again;
+instead, he devoted himself to the more congenial exercise of the
+whiplash of his tongue. And he was wise; for David, who was already
+nigh a head the taller of the two, and comely and strong in proportion,
+could, if he would, have taken his father in the hollow of his hand and
+crumpled him like a dry leaf. Moreover, with his tongue, at least, the
+little man enjoyed the noble pleasure of making the boy wince. And so
+the war was carried on none the less vindictively.
+
+Meanwhile another summer was passing away, and every day brought fresh
+proofs of the prowess of Owd Bob. Tammas, whose stock of yarns anent Rex
+son of Rally had after forty years' hard wear begun to pall on the
+loyal ears of even old Jonas, found no lack of new material now. In
+the Dalesman's Daughter in Silverdale and in the Border Ram at
+Grammoch-town, each succeeding market day brought some fresh tale. Men
+told how the gray dog had outdone Gypsy Jack, the sheep-sneak; how he
+had cut out a Kenmuir shearling from the very centre of Londesley's
+pack; and a thousand like stories.
+
+The Gray Dogs of Kenmuir have always been equally heroes and favorites
+in the Daleland. And the confidence of the Dalesmen in Owd Bob was now
+invincible. Sometimes on market days he would execute some unaccountable
+maneuvre, and... strange shepherd would ask: "What's the gray dog at?"
+To which the nearest Dalesman would reply: "Nay, I canno tell ye! But
+he's reet enough. Yon's Owd Bob o' Kenmuir."
+
+Whereon the stranger would prick his ears and watch with close
+attention.
+
+"Yon's Owd Bob o' Kenmuir, is he?" he would say; for already among the
+faculty the name was becoming known. And never in such a case did the
+young dog fail to justify the faith of his supporters.
+
+It came, therefore, as a keen disappointment to every Dalesman, from
+Herbert Trotter, Secretary of the Trials, to little Billy Thornton, when
+the Master persisted in his decision not to run the dog for the Cup in
+the approaching Dale Trials; and that though parson, squire, and even
+Lady Eleanour essayed to shake his purpose. It was nigh fifty years
+since Rex son o' Rally had won back the Trophy for the land that gave
+it birth; it was time, they thought, for a Daleland dog, a Gray Dog of
+Kenmuir--the terms are practically synonymous--to bring it home again.
+And Tammas, that polished phrase-maker, was only expressing the feelings
+of every Dalesman in the room when, one night at the Arms, he declared
+of Owd Bob that "to ha' run was to ha' won." At which M'Adam sniggered
+audibly and winked at Red Wull. "To ha' run was to ha' one--lickin'; to
+rin next year'll be to--"
+
+"Win next year." Tammas interposed dogmatically. "Onless"--with
+shivering sarcasm--"you and yer Wullie are thinkin' o' winnin'."
+
+The little man rose from his solitary seat at the back of the room and
+pattered across. "Wullie and I are thinkin' o' t," he whispered loudly
+in the old man's ear. "And mair: what Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull think
+o' doin', that, ye may remairk, Mr. Thornton, they do. Next year we rin,
+and next year--we win. Come, Wullie, we'll leave 'em to chew that"; and
+he marched out of the room amid the jeers of the assembled topers.
+
+When quiet was restored, it was Jim Mason who declared: "One thing
+certain, win or no, they'll not be far off."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Meanwhile the summer ended abruptly. Hard on the heels of a sweltering
+autumn the winter came down. In that year the Daleland assumed very
+early its white cloak. The Silver Mere was soon ice-veiled; the Wastrel
+rolled sullenly down below Kenmuir, its creeks and quiet places tented
+with jagged sheets of ice; while the Scaur and Muir Pike raised hoary
+heads against the frosty blue. It was the season still remembered in the
+North as the White Winter--the worst, they say, since the famous 1808.
+
+For days together Jim Mason was stuck with his bags in the Dalesman's
+Daughter, and there was no communication between the two Dales. On
+the Mere Marches the snow massed deep and impassable in thick, billowy
+drifts. In the Devil's Bowl men said it lay piled some score feet deep.
+And sheep, seeking shelter in the ghylls and protected spots, were
+buried and lost in their hundreds.
+
+That is the time to test the hearts of shepherds and sheep-dogs, when
+the wind runs ice-cold across the waste of white, and the low woods on
+the upland walks shiver black through a veil of snow, and sheep must be
+found and folded or lost: a trial of head as well as heart, of resource
+as well as resolution.
+
+In that winter more than one man and many a dog lost his life in the
+quiet performance of his duty, gliding to death over the slippery
+snow-shelves, or overwhelmed beneath an avalanche of the warm,
+suffocating white: "smoored," as they call it. Many a deed was done,
+many a death died, recorded only in that Book which holds the names of
+those--men or animals, souls or no souls--who tried.
+
+They found old Wrottesley, the squire's head shepherd, lying one morning
+at Gill's foot, like a statue in its white bed, the snow gently blowing
+about the venerable face, calm and beautiful in death. And stretched
+upon his bosom, her master's hands blue, and stiff, still clasped about
+her neck, his old dog Jess. She had huddled there, as a last hope, to
+keep the dear, dead master warm, her great heart riven, hoping where
+there was no hope.
+
+That night she followed him to herd sheep in a better land. Death from
+exposure, Dingley, the vet., gave it; but as little M'Adam, his eyes
+dimmer than their wont, declared huskily; "We ken better, Wullie."
+
+Cyril Gilbraith, a young man not overburdened with emotions, told with
+a sob in his voice how, at the terrible Rowan Rock, Jim Mason had stood,
+impotent, dumb, big-eyed, watching Betsy--Betsy, the friend and partner
+of the last ten years--slipping over the ice-cold surface, silently
+appealing to the hand that had never failed her before--sliding to
+Eternity.
+
+In the Daleland that winter the endurance of many a shepherd and his
+dog was strained past breaking-point. From the frozen Black Water to
+the white-peaked Grammoch Pike two men only, each always with his shaggy
+adjutant, never owned defeat; never turned back; never failed in a thing
+attempted.
+
+In the following spring, Mr. Tinkerton, the squire's agent, declared
+that James Moore and Adam M'Adam--Owd Bob, rather, and Red Wull--had
+lost between them fewer sheep than any single farmer on the whole March
+Mere Estate--a proud record.
+
+Of the two, many a tale was told that winter. They were invincible,
+incomparable; worthy antagonists.
+
+It was Owd Bob who, when he could not drive the band of Black Faces over
+the narrow Razorback which led to safety, induced them to _follow_ him
+across that ten-inch death-track, one by one, like children behind
+their mistress. It was Red Wull who was seen coming down the precipitous
+Saddler's How, shouldering up that grand old gentleman, King o' the
+Dale, whose leg was broken.
+
+The gray dog it was who found Cyril Gilbraith by the White Stones, with
+a cigarette and a sprained ankle, on the night the whole village was out
+with lanterns searching for the well-loved young scapegrace. It was the
+Tailless Tyke and his master who one bitter evening came upon little
+Mrs. Burton, lying in a huddle beneath the lea of the fast-whitening
+Druid's Pillar with her latest baby on her breast. It was little M'Adam
+who took off his coat and wrapped the child in it; little M'Adam who
+unwound his plaid, threw it like a breastband across the dog's great
+chest, and tied the ends round the weary woman's waist. Red Wull it was
+who dragged her back to the Sylvester Arms and life, straining like a
+giant through the snow, while his master staggered behind with the babe
+in his arms. When they reached the inn it was M'Adam who, with a smile
+on his face, told the landlord what he thought of him for sending _his_
+wife across the Marches on such a day and on his errand. To which: "I'd
+a cauld," pleaded honest Jem.
+
+For days together David could not cross the Stony Bottom to Kenmuir.
+His enforced confinement to the Grange led, however, to no more frequent
+collisions than usual with his father. For M'Adam and Red Wull were out,
+at all hours, in all weathers, night and day, toiling at their work of
+salvation.
+
+At last, one afternoon, David managed to cross the Bottom at a point
+where a fallen thorn-tree gave him a bridge over the soft snow. He
+stayed but a little while at Kenmuir, yet when he started for home it
+was snowing again.
+
+By the time he had crossed the ice-draped bridge over the Wastrel, a
+blizzard was raging. The wind roared past him, smiting him so that he
+could barely stand; and the snow leaped at him so that he could not see.
+But he held on doggedly; slipping, sliding, tripping, down and up
+again, with one arm shielding his face. On, on, into the white darkness,
+blindly on sobbing, stumbling, dazed.
+
+At length, nigh dead, he reached the brink of the Stony Bottom. He
+looked up and he looked down, but nowhere in that blinding mist could he
+see the fallen thorn-tree. He took a step forward into the white morass,
+and 'sank up to his thigh. He struggled feebly to free himself, and sank
+deeper. The snow wreathed, twisting, round him like a white flame, and
+he collapsed, softly crying, on that soft bed.
+
+"I canna--I canna!" he moaned.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Little Mrs. Moore, her face whiter and frailer than ever, stood at the
+window, looking out into the storm.
+
+"I canna rest for thinkin' o' th' lad," she said. Then, turning, she saw
+her husband, his fur cap down over his ears, buttoning his pilot-coat
+about his throat, while Owd Bob stood at his feet, waiting.
+
+"Ye're no goin', James?" she asked, anxiously.
+
+"But I am, lass," he answered; and she knew him too well to say more.
+
+So those two went quietly out to save life or lose it, nor counted the
+cost.
+
+Down a wind-shattered slope--over a spar of ice--up an eternal hill--a
+forlorn hope.
+
+In a whirlwind chaos of snow, the tempest storming at them, the white
+earth lashing them, they fought a good fight. In front, Owd Bob, the
+snow clogging his shaggy coat, his hair cutting like lashes of steel
+across eyes, his head lowered as he followed the finger of God; and
+close behind, James Moore, his back stern against the storm, stalwart
+still, yet swaying like a tree before the wind.
+
+So they battled through to the brink of the Stony Bottom--only to arrive
+too late.
+
+For, just as the Master peering about him, had caught sight of a
+shapeless lump lying motionless in front, there loomed across the
+snow-choked gulf through the white riot of the storm a gigantic figure
+forging, doggedly forward, his great head down to meet the hurricane.
+And close behind, buffeted and bruised, stiff and staggering, a little
+dauntless figure holding stubbornly on, clutching with one hand at the
+gale; and a shrill voice, whirled away on the trumpet tones of the wind,
+crying:
+
+     'Noo, Wullie, wi' me!
+     Scots wha' hae wi' Wallace bled!
+     Scots wham Bruce has often led!
+     Welcome to ----!'
+
+"Here he is, Wullie!"
+
+     '--or to victorie!"
+
+The brave little voice died away. The quest; was over; the lost sheep
+found. And the last James Moore saw of them was the same small, gallant
+form, half carrying, half dragging the rescued boy out of the Valley of
+the Shadow and away.
+
+David was none the worse for his adventure, for on reaching home M'Adam
+produced a familiar bottle.
+
+"Here's something to warm yer inside, and"--making a feint at the strap
+on the walls--' "here's something to do the same by yer ----. But,
+Wullie, oot again!"
+
+And out they went--unreckoned heroes.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was but a week later, in the very heart of the bitter time, that
+there came a day when, from gray dawn to grayer eve, neither James Moore
+nor Owd Bob stirred out into the wintry white. And the Master's face was
+hard and set as it always was in time of trouble.
+
+Outside, the wind screamed down the Dale; while the snow fell
+relentlessly; softly fingering the windows, blocking the doors, and
+piling deep against the walls. Inside the house there was a strange
+quiet; no sound save for hushed voices, and upstairs the shuffling of
+muffled feet.
+
+Below, all day long, Owd Bob patrolled the passage like some silent,
+gray spectre.
+
+Once there came a low knocking at the door; and David, his face and hair
+and cap smothered in the all-pervading white, came in with an eddy of
+snow. He patted Owd Bob, and moved on tiptoe into the kitchen. To him
+came Maggie softly, shoes in hand, with white, frightened face. The two
+whispered anxiously awhile like brother and sister as they were; then
+the boy crept quietly away; only a little pool of water on the floor and
+wet, treacherous foot-dabs toward the door testifying to the visitor.
+
+Toward evening the wind died down, but the mourning flakes still fell.
+
+With the darkening of night Owd Bob retreated to the porch and lay down
+on his blanket. The light from the lamp at the head of the stairs shone
+through the crack of open door on his dark head and the eyes that never
+slept.
+
+The hours passed, and the gray knight still kept his vigil. Alone in the
+darkness--alone, it almost seemed, in the house--he watched. His head
+lay motionless along his paws, but the steady gray eyes never flinched
+or drooped.
+
+Time tramped on on leaden foot, and still he waited; and ever the pain
+of hovering anxiety was stamped deeper in the gray eyes.
+
+At length it grew past bearing; the hollow stillness of the house
+overcame him. He rose, pushed open the door, and softly pattered across
+the passage.
+
+At the foot of the stairs he halted, his forepaws on the first step, his
+grave face and pleading eyes uplifted, as though he were praying. The
+dim light fell on the raised head; and the white escutcheon on his
+breast shone out like the snow on Salmon.
+
+At length, with a sound like a sob, he dropped to the ground, and stood
+listening, his tail dropping and head raised. Then he turned and began
+softly pacing up and down, like some velvet-footed sentinel at the gate
+of death.
+
+Up and down, up and down, softly as the falling snow, for a weary, weary
+while.
+
+Again he stopped and stood, listening intently, at the foot of the
+stairs; and his gray coat quivered as though there were a draught.
+
+Of a sudden, the deathly stillness of the house was broken. Upstairs,
+feet were running hurriedly. There was a cry, and again silence.
+
+A life was coming in; a life was going out.
+
+The minutes passed; hours passed; and, at the sunless dawn, a life
+passed.
+
+And all through that night of age-long agony the gray figure stood,
+still as a statue, at the foot of the stairs. Only, when, with the first
+chill breath of the morning, a dry, quick-quenched sob of a strong man
+sorrowing for the helpmeet of a score of years, and a tiny cry of a
+new-born child wailing because its mother was not, came down to his
+ears, the Gray Watchman dropped his head upon his bosom, and, with a
+little whimpering note, crept back to his blanket.
+
+A little later the door above opened, and James Moore tramped down the
+stairs. He looked taller and gaunter than his wont, but there was no
+trace of emotion on his face.
+
+At the foot of the stairs Owd Bob stole out to meet him. He came
+crouching up, head and tail down, in a manner no man ever saw before or
+since. At his master's feet he stopped.
+
+Then, for one short moment, James Moore's whole face quivered.
+
+"Well, lad," he said, quite low, and his voice broke; "she's awa'!"
+
+That was all; for they were an undemonstrative couple.
+
+Then they turned and went out together into the bleak morning.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter VIII. M'ADAM AND HIS COAT
+
+
+To David M'Adam the loss of gentle Elizabeth Moore was as real a grief
+as to her children. Yet he manfully smothered his own aching heart and
+devoted himself to comforting the mourners at Kenmuir.
+
+In the days succeeding Mrs. Moore's death the boy recklessly neglected
+his duties at the Grange. But little M'Adam forbore to rebuke him. At
+times, indeed, he essayed to be passively kind. David, however, was too
+deeply sunk in his great sorrow to note the change.
+
+The day of the funeral came. The earth was throwing off its ice-fetters;
+and the Dale was lost in a mourning mist.
+
+In the afternoon M'Adam was standing at the window of the kitchen,
+contemplating the infinite weariness of the scene, when the door of the
+house opened and shut noiselessly. Red Wull raised himself on to the
+sill and growled, and David hurried past the window making for Kenmuir.
+M'Adam watched the passing figure indifferently; then with an angry oath
+sprang to the window.
+
+"Bring me back that coat, ye thief!" he cried, tapping fiercely on the
+pane. "Tak' it aff at onst, ye muckle gowk, or I'll come and tear it aff
+ye. D'ye see him, Wullie? the great coof has ma coat--me black coat, new
+last Michaelmas, and it rainin' 'nough to melt it."
+
+He threw the window up with a bang and leaned out.
+
+"Bring it back, I tell ye, ondootiful, or I'll summons ye. Though ye've
+no respect for me, ye might have for ma claithes. Ye're too big for yer
+ain boots, let alane ma coat. D'ye think I had it cut for a elephant?
+It's burst-in', I tell ye. Tak' it aff! Fetch it here, or I'll e'en send
+Wullie to bring it!"
+
+David paid no heed except to begin running heavily down the hill. The
+coat was stretched in wrinkled agony across his back; his big, red
+wrists protruded like shank-bones from the sleeves; and the little tails
+flapped wearily in vain attempts to reach the wearer's legs.
+
+M'Adam, bubbling over with indignation, scrambled half through the open
+window. Then, tickled at the amazing impudence of the thing, he paused,
+smiled, dropped to the ground again, and watched the uncouth, retreating
+figure with chuckling amusement.
+
+"Did ye ever see the like o' that, Wullie?" he muttered. "Ma puir
+coat--puir wee coatie! it gars me greet to see her in her pain. A man's
+coat, Wullie, is aften unco sma' for his son's back; and David there
+is strainin' and stretchin' her nigh to brakin', for a' the world as he
+does ma forbearance. And what's he care aboot the one or t'ither?--not a
+finger-flip."
+
+As he stood watching the disappearing figure there began the slow
+tolling of the minute-bell in the little Dale church. Now near, now far,
+now loud, now low, its dull chant rang out through the mist like the
+slow-dropping tears of a mourning world.
+
+M'Adam listened, almost reverently, as the bell tolled on, the only
+sound in the quiet Dale. Outside, a drizzling rain was falling; the
+snow dribbled down the hill in muddy tricklets; and trees and roofs and
+windows dripped.
+
+And still the bell tolled on, calling up relentlessly sad memories of
+the long ago.
+
+It was on just such another dreary day, in just such another December,
+and not so many years gone by, that the light had gone forever out of
+his life.
+
+The whole picture rose as instant to his eyes as if it had been but
+yesterday. That insistent bell brought the scene surging back to him:
+the dismal day; the drizzle; the few mourners; little David decked out
+in black, his fair hair contrasting with his gloomy clothes, his face
+swollen with weeping; the Dale hushed, it seemed in death, save for the
+tolling of the bell; and his love had left him and gone to the happy
+land the hymn-books talk of.
+
+Red Wull, who had been watching him uneasily, now came up and shoved
+his muzzle into his master's hand. The cold touch brought the little man
+back to earth. He shook himself, turned wearily away from the window,
+and went to the door of the house.
+
+He stood there looking out; and all round him was the eternal drip, drip
+of the thaw. The wind lulled, and again the minute-bell tolled out clear
+and inexorable, resolute to recall what was and what had been.
+
+With a choking gasp the little man turned into the house, and ran up the
+stairs and into his room. He dropped on his knees beside the great chest
+in the corner, and unlocked the bottom drawer, the key turning noisily
+in its socket.
+
+In the drawer he searched with feverish fingers, and produced at length
+a little paper packet wrapped about with a stained yellow ribbon. It was
+the ribbon she had used to weave on Sundays into her soft hair.
+
+Inside the packet was a cheap, heart-shaped frame, and in it a
+photograph.
+
+Up there it was too dark to see. The little man ran down the stairs, Red
+Wull jostling him as he went, and hurried to the window in the kitchen.
+
+It was a sweet, laughing face that looked up at him from the frame,
+demure yet arch, shy yet roguish--a face to look at and a face to love.
+
+As he looked a wintry smile, wholly tender, half tearful, stole over the
+little man's face.
+
+"Lassie," he whispered, and his voice was infinitely soft, "it's lang
+sin' I've daured look at ye. But it's no that ye're forgotten, dearie."
+
+Then he covered his eyes with his hand as though he were blinded.
+
+"Dinna look at me sae, lass!" he cried, and fell on his knees, kissing
+the picture, hugging it to him and sobbing passionately.
+
+Red Wull came up and pushed his face compassionately into his master's;
+but the little man shoved him roughly away, and the dog retreated into a
+corner, abashed and reproachful.
+
+Memories swarmed back on the little man.
+
+It was more than a decade ago now, and yet he dared barely think of that
+last evening when she had lain so white and still in the little room
+above.
+
+"Pit the bairn on the bed, Adam man," she had said in low tones. "I'll
+be gaein' in a wee while noo. It's the lang good-by to you--and him."
+
+He had done her bidding and lifted David up. The tiny boy lay still a
+moment, looking at this white-faced mother whom he hardly recognized.
+
+"Minnie!" he called piteously. Then, thrusting a small, dirty hand into
+his pocket, he pulled out a grubby sweet.
+
+"Minnie, ha' a sweetie--ain o' Davie's sweeties!" and he held it out
+anxiously in his warm plump palm, thinking it a certain cure for any
+ill.
+
+"Eat it for mither," she said, smiling tenderly; and then: "Davie, ma
+heart, I'm leavin' ye."
+
+The boy ceased sucking the sweet, and looked at her, the corners of his
+mouth drooping pitifully.
+
+"Ye're no gaein' awa', mither?" he asked, his face all working. "Ye'll
+no leave yen wee laddie?"
+
+"Ay, laddie, awa'--reet awa'. HE's callin' me." She tried to smile; but
+her mother's heart was near to bursting.
+
+"Ye'll tak' yen wee Davie wi' ye mither!" the child pleaded, crawling up
+toward her face.
+
+The great tears rolled, unrestrained, down her wan cheeks, and M'Adam,
+at the head of the bed, was sobbing openly.
+
+"Eh, ma bairn, ma bairn, I'm sair to leave ye!" she cried brokenly.
+"Lift him for me, Adam."
+
+He placed the child in her arms; but she was too weak to hold him. So he
+laid him upon his mother's pillows; and the boy wreathed his soft arms
+about her neck and sobbed tempestuously.
+
+And the two lay thus together.
+
+Just before she died, Flora turned her head and whispered:
+
+"Adam, ma man, ye'll ha' to be mither and father baith to the lad noo";
+and she looked at him with tender confidence in her dying eyes.
+
+"I wull! afore God as I stan' here I wull!" he declared passionately.
+Then she died, and there was a look of ineffable peace upon her face.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Mither and father baith!"
+
+The little man rose to his feet and flung the photograph from him. Red
+Wull pounced upon it; but M'Adam leapt at him as he mouthed it.
+
+"Git awa', ye devil!" he screamed; and, picking it up, stroked it
+lovingly with trembling fingers.
+
+"Maither and father baith!"
+
+How had he fulfilled his love's last wish? How!
+
+"Oh God! "--and he fell upon his knees at the table-side, hugging the
+picture, sobbing and praying.
+
+Red Wull cowered in the far corner of the room, and then crept whining
+up to where his master knelt. But M'Adam heeded him not, and the great
+dog slunk away again.
+
+There the little man knelt in the gloom of the winter's afternoon, a
+miserable penitent. His gray-flecked head was bowed upon his arms; his
+hands clutched the picture; and he prayed aloud in gasping, halting
+tones.
+
+"Gie me grace, O God! 'Father and mither baith,' ye said, Flora--and I
+ha'na done it. But 'tis no too late--say it's no, lass. Tell me there's
+time yet, and say ye forgie me. I've tried to bear wi' him mony and mony
+a time. But he's vexed me, and set himself agin me, and stiffened my
+back, and ye ken hoo I was aye quick to tak' offence. But I'll mak' it
+up to him--mak' it up to him, and mair. I'll humble masel' afore him,
+and that'll be bitter enough. And I'll be father and mither baith to
+him. But there's bin none to help me; and it's bin sair wi'oot ye.
+And--. but, eh, lassie, I'm wearyin' for ye!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was a dreary little procession that wound in the drizzle from Kenmuir
+to the little Dale Church. At the head stalked James Moore, and close
+behind David in his meagre coat. While last of all, as if to guide the
+stragglers in the weary road, come Owd Bob.
+
+There was a full congregation in the tiny church now. In the squire's
+pew were Cyril Gilbraith, Muriel Sylvester, and, most conspicuous, Lady
+Eleanour. Her slender figure was simply draped in gray, with gray fur
+about the neck and gray fur edging sleeves and jacket; her veil was
+lifted, and you could see the soft hair about her temples, like waves
+breaking on white cliffs, and her eyes big with tender sympathy as she
+glanced toward the pew upon her right.
+
+For there were the mourners from Kenmuir: the Master, tall, grim, and
+gaunt; and beside him Maggie, striving to be calm, and little Andrew,
+the miniature of his father.
+
+Alone, in the pew behind, David M'Adam in his father's coat.
+
+The back of the church was packed with farmers from the whole March Mere
+Estate; friends from Silverdale and Grammoch-town; and nearly every
+soul in Wastrel-dale, come to show their sympathy for the living and
+reverence for the dead.
+
+At last the end came in the wet dreariness of the little churchyard, and
+slowly the mourners departed, until at length were left only the parson,
+the Master, and Owd Bob.
+
+The parson was speaking in rough, short accents, digging nervously
+at the wet ground. The other, tall and gaunt, his face drawn and
+half-averted, stood listening. By his side was Owd Bob, scanning his
+master's countenance, a wistful compassion deep in the sad gray eyes;
+while close by, one of the parson's terriers was nosing inquisitively in
+the wet grass.
+
+Of a sudden, James Moore, his face still turned away, stretched out a
+hand. The parson, broke off abruptly and grasped it. Then the two men
+strode away in opposite directions, the terrier hopping on three legs
+and shaking the rain off his hard coat.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+David's steps sounded outside. M'Adam rose from his knees. The door of
+the house opened, and the boy's feet shuffled in the passage.
+
+"David!" the little man called in a tremulous voice.
+
+He stood in the half-light, one hand on the table, the other clasping
+the picture. His eyes were bleared, his thin hair all tossed, and he was
+shaking.
+
+"David," he called again; "I've somethin' I wush to say to ye!"
+
+The boy burst into the room. His face was stained with tears and rain;
+and the new black coat was wet and slimy all down the front, and on the
+elbows were green-brown, muddy blots. For, on his way home, he had flung
+himself down in the Stony Bottom just as he was, heedless of the wet
+earth and his father's coat, and, lying on his face thinking of
+that second mother lost to him, had wept his heart out in a storm of
+passionate grief.
+
+Now he stood defiantly, his hand upon the door.
+
+"What d'yo' want?"
+
+The little man looked from him to the picture in his hand.
+
+"Help me, Flora--he'll no," he prayed. Then raising his eyes, he began:
+"I'd like to say--I've bin thinkin'--I think I should tell ye--it's no
+an easy thing for a man to say--"
+
+He broke off short. The self-imposed task was almost more than he could
+accomplish.
+
+He looked appealingly at David. But there was no glimmer of
+understanding in that white, set countenance.
+
+"O God, it's maist mair than I can do!" the little man muttered; and the
+perspiration stood upon his forehead. Again he began: "David, after I
+saw ye this afternoon steppin' doon the hill--" Again he paused. His
+glance rested unconsciously upon the coat. David mistook the look;
+mistook the dimness in his father's eyes; mistook the tremor in his
+voice.
+
+"Here 'tis! tak' yo' coat!" he cried passionately; and, tearing it off,
+flung it down at his father's feet. "Tak' it--and---and--curse yo'."
+
+He banged out of the room and ran upstairs; and, locking himself in,
+threw himself on to his bed and sobbed.
+
+Red Wull made a movement to fly at the retreating figure; then turned
+to his master, his stump-tail vibrating with pleasure. But little M'Adam
+was looking at the wet coat now lying in a wet bundle at his feet.
+
+"Curse ye," he repeated softly. "Curse ye--ye heard him. Wullie?"
+
+A bitter smile crept across his face. He looked again at the picture now
+lying crushed in his hand.
+
+"Ye canna say I didna try; ye canna ask me to agin," he muttered, and
+slipped it into his pocket. "Niver agin, Wullie; not if the Queen were
+to ask it."
+
+Then he went out into the gloom and drizzle, still smiling the same
+bitter smile.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+That night, when it came to closing-time at the Sylvester Arms, Jem
+Burton found a little gray-haired figure lying on the floor in the
+tap-room. At the little man's head lay a great dog.
+
+"Yo' beast!" said the righteous publican, regarding the figure of his
+best customer with fine scorn. Then catching sight of a photograph in
+the little man's hand:
+
+"Oh, yo're that sort, are yo', foxy?" he leered. "Gie us a look at 'er,"
+and he tried to disengage the picture from the other's grasp. But at
+the attempt the great dog rose, bared his teeth, and assumed such a
+diabolical expression that the big landlord retreated hurriedly behind
+the bar.
+
+"Two on ye!" he shouted viciously, rattling his heels; "beasts baith!"
+
+
+
+
+PART III THE SHEPHERDS' TROPHY
+
+
+
+
+Chapter IX. RIVALS
+
+
+M'ADAM never forgave his son. After the scene on the evening of the
+funeral there could be no alternative but war for all time. The
+little man had attempted to humble himself, and been rejected; and
+the bitterness of defeat, when he had deserved victory, rankled like a
+poisoned barb in his bosom.
+
+Yet the heat of his indignation was directed not against David, but
+against the Master of Kenmuir. To the influence and agency of James
+Moore he attributed his discomfiture, and bore himself accordingly. In
+public or in private, in tap-room or market, he never wearied of abusing
+his enemy.
+
+"Feel the loss o' his wife, d'ye say?" he would cry. "Ay, as muckle as
+I feel the loss o' my hair. James Moore can feel naethin', I tell ye,
+except, aiblins, a mischance to his meeserable dog."
+
+When the two met, as they often must, it was always M'Adam's endeavor
+to betray his enemy into an unworthy expression of feeling. But James
+Moore, sorely tried as he often was, never gave way. He met the little
+man's sneers with a quelling silence, looking down on his asp-tongued
+antagonist with such a contempt flashing from his blue-gray eyes as hurt
+his adversary more than words.
+
+Only once was he spurred into reply. It was in the tap-room of
+the Dalesman's Daughter on the occasion of the big spring fair in
+Grammoch-town, when there was a goodly gathering of farmers and their
+dogs in the room.
+
+M'Adam was standing at the fireplace with Red Wull at his side.
+
+"It's a noble pairt ye play, James Moore," he cried loudly across the
+room, "settin' son against father, and dividin' hoose against hoose.
+It's worthy o' ye we' yer churchgoin', and yer psalm-singin', and yer
+godliness."
+
+The Master looked up from the far end of the room.
+
+"Happen yo're not aware, M'Adam," he said sternly, "that, an' it had not
+bin for me, David'd ha' left you years agone--and 'twould nob'but ha'
+served yo' right, I'm thinkin'."
+
+The little man was beaten on his own ground, so he changed front.
+
+"Dinna shout so, man--I have ears to hear, Forbye ye irritate Wullie."
+
+The Tailless Tyke, indeed, had advanced from the fireplace, and now
+stood, huge and hideous, in the very centre of the room. There was
+distant thunder in his throat, a threat upon his face, a challenge in
+every wrinkle. And the Gray Dog stole gladly out from behind his master
+to take up the gage of battle.
+
+Straightway there was silence; tongues ceased to wag, tankards to clink.
+Every man and every dog was quietly gathering about those two central
+figures. Not one of them all but had his score to wipe off against the
+Tailless Tyke; not one of them but was burning to join in, the battle
+once begun. And the two gladiators stood looking past one another,
+muzzle to muzzle, each with a tiny flash of teeth glinting between his
+lips.
+
+But the fight was not to be; for the twentieth time the Master
+intervened.
+
+"Bob, lad, coom in!" he called, and, bending, grasped his favorite by
+the neck.
+
+M'Adam laughed softly.
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, to me!" he cried. "The look o' you's enough for that
+gentleman."
+
+"If they get fightin' it'll no be Bob here I'll hit, I warn yo',
+M'Adam," said the Master grimly.
+
+"Gin ye sae muckle as touched Wullie d'ye ken what I'd do, James Moore?"
+asked the little man very smoothly.
+
+"Yes--sweer," the other replied, and strode out of the room amid a roar
+of derisive laughter at M'Adam's expense.
+
+Owd Bob had now attained wellnigh the perfection of his art. Parson
+Leggy declared roundly that his like had not been seen since the days
+of Rex son of Rally. Among the Dalesmen he was a heroic favorite, his
+prowess and gentle ways winning him friends on every hand. But the point
+that told most heavily for him was that in all things he was the very
+antithesis of Red Wull.
+
+Barely a man in the country-side but owed that ferocious savage a
+grudge; not a man of them all who dared pay it. Once Long Kirby, full
+of beer and valor, tried to settle his account. Coming on M'Adam and Red
+Wull as he was driving into Grammoch-town, he leant over and with his
+thong dealt the dog a terrible sword-like slash that raised an angry
+ridge of red from hip to shoulder; and was twenty yards down the road
+before the little man's shrill curse reached his ear, drowned in a
+hideous bellow.
+
+He stood up and lashed the colt, who, quick on his legs for a young un,
+soon settled to his gallop. But, glancing over his shoulder, he saw a
+hounding form behind, catching him as though he were walking. His face
+turned sickly white; he screamed; he flogged; he looked back. Right
+beneath the tail-board was the red devil in the dust; while racing a
+furlong behind on the turnpike road was the mad figure of M'Adam.
+
+The smith struck back and flogged forward. It was of no avail. With a
+tiger-like bound the murderous brute leapt on the flying trap. At the
+shock of the great body the colt was thrown violently on his side; Kirby
+was tossed over the hedge; and Red Wull pinned beneath the debris.
+
+M'Adam had time to rush up and save a tragedy.
+
+"I've a mind to knife ye, Kirby," he panted, as he bandaged the smith's
+broken head.
+
+After that you may be sure the Dalesmen preferred to swallow insults
+rather than to risk their lives; and their impotence only served to fan
+their hatred to white heat.
+
+The working methods of the antagonists were as contrasted as their
+appearances. In a word, the one compelled where the other coaxed.
+
+His enemies said the Tailless Tyke was rough; not even Tammas denied he
+was ready. His brain was as big as his body, and he used them both
+to some purpose. "As quick as a cat, with the heart of a lion and the
+temper of Nick's self," was Parson Leggy's description.
+
+What determination could effect, that could Red Wall; but achievement
+by inaction--supremest of all strategies--was not for him. In matters of
+the subtlest handling, where to act anything except indifference was
+to lose, with sheep restless, fearful forebodings hymned to them by the
+wind, panic hovering unseen above them, when an ill-considered movement
+spelt catastrophe--then was Owd Bob o' Kenmuir incomparable.
+
+Men still tell how, when the squire's new thrashing-machine ran amuck
+in Grammoch-town, and for some minutes the market square was a turbulent
+sea of blaspheming men, yelping dogs, and stampeding sheep, only one
+flock stood calm as a mill-pond by the bull-ring, watching the riot with
+almost indifference. And in front, sitting between them and the storm,
+was a quiet gray dog, his mouth stretched in a capacious yawn: to yawn
+was to win, and he won.
+
+When the worst of the uproar was over, many a glance of triumph was shot
+first at that one still pack, and then at M'Adam, as he waded through
+the disorder of huddling sheep.
+
+"And wheer's your Wullie noo?" asked Tapper scornfully.
+
+"Weel," the little man answered with a quiet smile, "at this minute he's
+killin' your Rasper doon by the pump." Which was indeed the case; for
+big blue Rasper had interfered with the great dog in the performance of
+his duty, and suffered accordingly.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Spring passed into summer; and the excitement as to the event of the
+approaching Trials, when at length the rivals would be pitted
+against one another, reached such a height as old Jonas Maddox, the
+octogenarian, could hardly recall.
+
+Down in the Sylvester Arms there was almost nightly a conflict
+between M'Adam and Tammas Thornton, spokesman of the Dales men. Many a
+long-drawn bout of words had the two anent the respective merits and Cup
+chances of red and gray. In these duels Tammas was usually worsted. His
+temper would get the better of his discretion; and the cynical debater
+would be lost in the hot-tongued partisan.
+
+During these encounters the others would, as a rule, maintain a rigid
+silence. Only when their champion was being beaten, and it was time for
+strength of voice to vanquish strength of argument, they joined in
+right lustily and roared the little man down, for all the world like the
+gentlemen who rule the Empire at Westminster.
+
+Tammas was an easy subject for M'Adam to draw, but David was an easier.
+Insults directed at himself the boy bore with a stolidity born of long
+use. But a poisonous dart shot against his friends at Kenmuir never
+failed to achieve its object. And the little man evinced an amazing
+talent for the concoction of deft lies respecting James Moore.
+
+"I'm hearin'," said he, one evening, sitting in the kitchen, sucking his
+twig; "I'm hearin' James Moore is gaein' to git married agin."
+
+"Yo're hearin' lies--or mair-like tellin' 'em," David answered shortly.
+For he treated his father now with contemptuous indifference.
+
+"Seven months sin' his wife died," the little man continued
+meditatively. "Weel, I'm on'y 'stonished he's waited sae lang. Ain
+buried, anither come on--that's James Moore."
+
+David burst angrily out of the room.
+
+"Gaein' to ask him if it's true?" called his father after him. "Gude
+luck to ye--and him."
+
+David had now a new interest at Kenmuir. In Maggie he found an endless
+source of study. On the death of her mother the girl had taken up the
+reins of government at Kenmuir; and gallantly she played her part,
+whether in tenderly mothering the baby, wee Anne, or in the sterner
+matters of household work. She did her duty, young though she was,
+with a surprising, old-fashioned womanliness that won many a smile
+of approval from her father, and caused David's eyes to open with
+astonishment.
+
+And he soon discovered that Maggie, mistress of Kenmuir, was another
+person from his erstwhile playfellow and servant.
+
+The happy days when might ruled right were gone, never to be recalled.
+David often regretted them, especially when in a conflict of tongues,
+Maggie, with her quick answers and teasing eyes, was driving him sulky
+and vanquished from the field. The two were perpetually squabbling now.
+In the good old days, he remembered bitterly, squabbles between them
+were unknown. He had never permitted them; any attempt at independent
+thought or action was as sternly quelled as in the Middle Ages. She must
+follow where he led on--"Ma word!"
+
+Now she was mistress where he had been master; hers was to command, his
+to obey. In consequence they were perpetually at war. And yet he would
+sit for hours in the kitchen and watch her, as she went about her
+business, with solemn, interested eyes, half of admiration, half of
+amusement. In the end Maggie always turned on him with a little laugh
+touched with irritation.
+
+"Han't yo' got nothin' better'n that to do, nor lookin' at me?" she
+asked one Saturday about a month before Cup Day.
+
+"No, I han't," the pert fellow rejoined.
+
+"Then I wish yo' had. It mak's me fair jumpety yo' watchin' me so like
+ony cat a mouse."
+
+"Niver yo' fash yo'sel' account o' me, ma wench," he answered calmly.
+
+"Yo' wench, indeed!" she cried, tossing her head.
+
+"Ay, or will be," he muttered.
+
+"What's that?" she cried, springing round, a flush of color on her face.
+
+"Nowt, my dear. Yo'll know so soon as I want yo' to, yo' may be sure,
+and no sooner."
+
+The girl resumed her baking, half angry, half suspicious.
+
+"I dunno' what yo' mean, Mr. M'Adam," she said.
+
+"Don't yo', Mrs. M'A----"
+
+The rest was lost in the crash of a falling plate; whereat David laughed
+quietly, and asked if he should help pick up the bits.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On the same evening at the Sylvester Arms an announcement was made that
+knocked the breath out of its hearers.
+
+In the debate that night on the fast-approaching Dale Trials and the
+relative abilities of red and gray, M'Adam on the one side, and Tammas,
+backed by Long Kirby and the rest, on the other, had cudgelled each
+other with more than usual vigor. The controversy rose to fever-heat;
+abuse succeeded argument; and the little man again and again was hooted
+into silence.
+
+"It's easy laffin'," he cried at last, "but ye'll laff t'ither side o'
+yer ugly faces on Cup Day."
+
+"Will us, indeed? Us'll see," came the derisive chorus.
+
+"We'll whip ye till ye're deaf, dumb, and blind, Wullie and I."
+
+''Yo'll not!''
+
+"We will!"
+
+The voices were rising like the east wind in March.
+
+"Yo'll not, and for a very good reason too," asseverated Tammas loudly.
+
+"Gie us yer reason, ye muckle liar," cried the little man, turning on
+him.
+
+"Becos----" began Jim Mason and stopped to rub his nose.
+
+"Yo' 'old yo' noise, Jim," recommended Rob Saunderson.
+
+"Becos----" it was Tammas this time who paused.
+
+"Git on wi' it, ye stammerin' stirk!" cried M'Adam. "Why?"
+
+"Becos--Owd Bob'll not rin."
+
+Tammas sat back in his chair.
+
+"What!" screamed the little man, thrusting forward.
+
+"What's that!" yelled Long Kirby, leaping to his feet.
+
+"Mon, say it agin!" shouted Rob.
+
+"What's owd addled eggs tellin'?" cried Liz Burton.
+
+"Dang his 'ead for him!" shouts Tupper.
+
+"Fill his eye!" says Ned Hoppin.
+
+They jostled round the old man's chair: M'Adam in front; Jem Burton and
+Long Kirby leaning over his shoulder; Liz behind her father; Saunderson
+and Tupper tackling him on either side; while the rest peered and
+elbowed in the rear.
+
+The announcement had fallen like a thunderbolt among them.
+
+Tammas looked slowly up at the little mob of eager faces above him.
+Pride at the sensation caused by his news struggled in his countenance
+with genuine sorrow for the matter of it.
+
+"Ay, yo' may well 'earken all on yo'. Tis enough to mak' the deadies
+listen. I says agin: We's'll no rin oor Bob fot' Cup. And yo' may guess
+why. Bain't every mon, Mr. M'Adam, as'd pit aside his chanst o' the Cup,
+and that 'maist a gift for him"--M'Adam's tongue was in his cheek--"and
+it a certainty," the old man continued warmly, "oot o' respect for his
+wife's memory."
+
+The news was received in utter silence. The shock of the surprise,
+coupled with the bitterness of the disappointment, froze the slow
+tongues of his listeners.
+
+Only one small voice broke the stillness.
+
+"Oh, the feelin' man! He should git a reduction o' rent for sic a
+display o' proper speerit. I'll mind Mr. Hornbut to let auld Sylvester
+ken o't."
+
+Which he did, and would have got a thrashing for his pains had not Cyril
+Gilbraith thrown him out of the parsonage before the angry cleric could
+lay hands upon him.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter X. RED WULL WINS
+
+
+TAMMAS had but told the melancholy truth. Owd Bob was not to run for the
+cup. And this self-denying ordinance speaks more for James Moore's love
+of his lost wife than many a lordly cenotaph.
+
+To the people of the Daleland, from the Black Water to the market-cross
+in Grammoch-town, the news came with the shock of a sudden blow. They
+had set their hearts on the Gray Dog's success; and had felt serenely
+confident of his victory. But the sting of the matter lay in this: that
+now the Tailless Tyke might well win.
+
+M'Adam, on the other hand, was plunged into a fervor of delight at the
+news. For to win the Shepherds' Trophy was the goal of his ambition.
+David was now less than nothing to the lonely little man, Red Wull
+everything to him. And to have that name handed down to posterity,
+gallantly holding its place among those of the most famous sheep-dogs of
+all time, was his heart's desire.
+
+As Cup Day drew near, the little man, his fine-drawn temperament
+strung to the highest pitch of nervousness, was tossed on a sea of
+apprehension. His hopes and fears ebbed and flowed on the tide of the
+moment. His moods were as uncertain as the winds in March; and there was
+no dependence on his humor for a unit of time. At one minute he paced up
+and down the kitchen, his face already flushed with the glow of victory,
+chanting:
+
+"Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled!"
+
+At the next he was down at the table, his head buried in his hands, his
+whole figure shaking, as he cried in choking voice: "Eh, Wullie, Wullie,
+they're all agin us."
+
+David found that life with his father now was life with an unamiable
+hornet. Careless as he affected to be of his father's vagaries, he was
+tried almost to madness, and fled away at every moment to Kenmuir; for,
+as he told Maggie, "I'd sooner put up wi' your h'airs and h'imperences,
+miss, than wi' him, the wemon that he be!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At length the great day came. Fears, hopes, doubts, dismays, all
+dispersed in the presence of the reality.
+
+Cup Day is always a general holiday in the Daleland, and every soul
+crowds over to Silverdale. Shops were shut; special trains ran in
+to Grammoch-town; and the road from the little town was dazed with
+char-a-bancs, brakes, wagonettes, carriages, carts, foot-passengers,
+wending toward the Dalesman's Daughter.
+
+And soon the paddock below that little inn was humming with the crowd
+of sportsmen and spectators come to see the battle for the Shepherd's
+Trophy.
+
+There, very noticeable with its red body and yellow wheels, was the
+great Kenmuir wagon. Many an eye was directed on the handsome young pair
+who stood in it, conspicuous and unconscious, above the crowd: Maggie,
+looking in her simple print frock as sweet and fresh as any mountain
+flower; while David's fair face was all gloomy and his brows knit.
+
+In front of the wagon was a black cluster of Dalesmen, discussing
+M'Adam's chances. In the centre was Tammas holding forth. Had you passed
+close to the group you might have heard: "A man, d'yo say, Mr. Maddox? A
+h'ape, I call him"; or: "A dog? more like an 'og, I tell yo'." Round the
+old orator were Jonas, 'Enry, and oor Job, Jem Burton, Rob Saunderson,
+Tupper, Jim Mason, Hoppin, and others; while on the outskirts stood
+Sam'l Todd prophesying rain and M'Adam's victory. Close at hand Bessie
+Bolstock, who was reputed to have designs on David, was giggling
+spitefully at the pair in the Kenmuir wagon, and singing:
+
+"Let a lad aloan, lass, Let a lad a-be."
+
+While her father, Teddy, dodged in and out among the crowd with tray and
+glasses: for Cup Day was the great day of the year for him.
+
+Past the group of Dalesmen and on all sides was a mass of bobbing
+heads--Scots, Northerners, Yorkshiremen, Taffies. To right and left
+a long array of carriages and carts, ranging from the squire's quiet
+landau and Viscount Birdsaye's gorgeous barouche to Liz Burton's
+three-legged moke-cart with little Mrs. Burton, the twins, young Jake
+(who should have walked), and Monkey (ditto) packed away inside. Beyond
+the Silver Lea the gaunt Scaur raised its craggy peak, and the Pass,
+trending along its side, shone white in the sunshine.
+
+At the back of the carriages were booths, cocoanut-shies, Aunt Sallies,
+shows, bookmakers' stools, and all the panoply of such a meeting.
+Here Master Launcelot Bilks and Jacky Sylvester were fighting; Cyril
+Gilbraith was offering to take on the boxing man; Long Kirby was
+snapping up the odds against Red Wull; and Liz Burton and young Ned
+Hoppin were being photographed together, while Melia Ross in the
+background was pretending she didn't care.
+
+On the far bank of the stream was a little bevy of men and dogs,
+observed of all.
+
+The Juvenile Stakes had been run and won; Londesley's Lassie had carried
+off the Locals; and the fight for the Shepherds' Trophy was about to
+begin.
+
+"Yo're not lookin' at me noo," whispered Maggie to the silent boy by her
+side.
+
+"Nay; nor niver don't wush to agin." David answered roughly. His gaze
+was directed over the array of heads in front to where, beyond the
+Silver Lea, a group of shepherds and their dogs was clustered. While
+standing apart from the rest, in characteristic isolation, was the bent
+figure of his father, and beside him the Tailless Tyke.
+
+"Doest'o not want yo' feyther to win?" asked Maggie softly, following
+his gaze.
+
+"I'm prayin' he'll be beat," the boy answered moodily.
+
+"Eh, Davie, hoo can ye?" cried the girl, shocked.
+
+"It's easy to say, 'Eh, David,'" he snapped. "But if yo' lived along
+o' them two "--he nodded toward the stream--"'appen yo'd understand a
+bit.... 'Eh, David,' indeed! I never did!"
+
+"I know it, lad," she said tenderly; and he was appeased.
+
+"He'd give his right hand for his bless'd Wullie to win; I'd give me
+right arm to see him beat.... And oor Bob there all the while,"--he
+nodded to the far left of the line, where stood James Moore and Owd Bob,
+with Parson Leggy and the Squire.
+
+When at length Red Wull came out to run his course, he worked with the
+savage dash that always characterized him. His method was his own; but
+the work was admirably done.
+
+"Keeps right on the back of his sheep," said the parson, watching
+intently. "Strange thing they don't break!" But they didn't. There was
+no waiting, no coaxing; it was drive and devilry all through. He
+brought his sheep along at a terrific rate, never missing a turn, never
+faltering, never running out. And the crowd applauded, for the crowd
+loves a dashing display. While little M'Adam, hopping agilely about,
+his face ablaze with excitement, handled dog and sheep with a masterly
+precision that compelled the admiration even of his enemies.
+
+"M'Adam wins!" roared a bookmaker. "Twelve to one agin the field!"
+
+"He wins, dang him!" said David, low.
+
+"Wull wins!" said the parson, shutting his lips.
+
+"And deserves too!" said James Moore.
+
+"Wull wins!" softly cried the crowd.
+
+"We don't!" said Sam'l gloomily.
+
+And in the end Red Wull did Win; and there were none save Tammas, the
+bigot, and Long Kirby, who had lost a good deal of his wife's money and
+a little of his own, to challenge the justice of the verdict.
+
+The win had but a chilling reception. At first there was faint cheering;
+but it sounded like the echo of an echo, and soon died of inanition.
+To get up an ovation, there must be money at the back, or a few roaring
+fanatics to lead the dance. Here there was neither; ugly stories,
+disparaging remarks, on every hand. And the hundreds who did not know
+took their tone, as always, from those who said they did.
+
+M'Adam could but remark the absence of enthusiasm as he pushed up
+through the throng toward the committee tent. No single voice hailed
+him victor; no friendly hand smote its congratulations. Broad backs were
+turned; contemptuous glances levelled; spiteful remarks shot. Only the
+foreign element looked curiously at the little bent figure with the
+glowing face, and shrank back at the size and savage aspect of the great
+dog at his heels.
+
+But what cared he? His Wullie was acknowledged champion, the best
+sheep-dog of the year; and the little man was happy. They could turn
+their backs on him; but they could not alter that; and he could afford
+to be indifferent. "They dinna like it, lad--he! he! But they'll e'en
+ha' to thole it. Ye've won it, Wullie--won it fair."
+
+He elbowed through the press, making for the rope-guarded inclosure in
+front of the committee tent, round which the people were now packing. In
+the door of the tent stood the secretary, various stewards, and members
+of the committee. In front, alone in the roped-off space, was Lady
+Eleanour, fragile, dainty, graceful, waiting with a smile upon her face
+to receive the winner. And on a table beside her, naked and dignified,
+the Shepherd's Trophy.
+
+There it stood, kingly and impressive; its fair white sides inscribed
+with many names; cradled in three shepherds' crooks; and on the top, as
+if to guard the Cup's contents, an exquisitely carved collie's head. The
+Shepherds' Trophy, the goal of his life's race, and many another man's.
+
+He climbed over the rope, followed by Red Wull, and took off his hat
+with almost courtly deference to the fair lady before him.
+
+As he walked up to the table on which the Cup stood, a shrill voice,
+easily recognizable, broke the silence.
+
+"You'd like it better if 'twas full and yo' could swim in it, you and
+yer Wullie," it called. Whereat the crowd giggled, and Lady Eleanour
+looked indignant.
+
+The little man turned.
+
+"I'll mind drink yer health, Mr. Thornton, never fear, though I ken ye'd
+prefaire to drink yer ain," he said. At which the crowd giggled afresh;
+and a gray head at the back, which had hoped itself unrecognized,
+disappeared suddenly.
+
+The little man stood there in the stillness, sourly smiling, his face
+still wet from his exertions; while the Tailless Tyke at his side
+fronted defiantly the serried ring of onlookers, a white fence of teeth
+faintly visible between his lips.
+
+Lady Eleanour looked uneasy. Usually the lucky winner was unable to
+hear her little speech, as she gave the Cup away, so deafening was the
+applause. Now there was utter silence. She glanced up at the crowd, but
+there was no response to her unspoken appeal in that forest of hostile
+faces. And her gentle heart bled for the forlorn little man before her.
+To make it up she smiled on him so sweetly as to more than compensate
+him.
+
+"I'm sure you deserve your success, Mr. M'Adam," she said. "You and Red
+Wull there worked splendidly--everybody says so."
+
+"I've heard naethin' o't," the little man answered dryly. At which some
+one in the crowd sniggered.
+
+"And we all know what a grand dog he is; though"--with a reproving smile
+as she glanced at Red Wull's square, truncated stern--"he's not very
+polite."
+
+"His heart is good, your Leddyship, if his manners are not," M'Adam
+answered, smiling.
+
+"Liar!" came a loud voice in the silence. Lady Eleanour looked up, hot
+with indignation, and half rose from her seat. But M'Adam merely smiled.
+
+"Wullie, turn and mak' yer bow to the leddy," he said. "They'll no hurt
+us noo we're up; it's when we're doon they'll flock like corbies to the
+carrion."
+
+At that Red Wull walked up to Lady Eleanour, faintly wagging his tail;
+and she put her hand on his huge bull head and said, "Dear old Ugly!" at
+which the crowd cheered in earnest.
+
+After that, for some moments, the only sound was the gentle ripple of
+the good lady's voice and the little man's caustic replies.
+
+"Why, last winter the country was full of Red Wull's doings and yours.
+It was always M'Adam and his Red Wull have done this and that and the
+other. I declare I got quite tired of you both, I heard such a lot about
+you."
+
+The little man, cap in hand, smiled, blushed and looked genuinely
+pleased.
+
+"And when it wasn't you it was Mr. Moore and Owd Bob."
+
+"Owd Bob, bless him!" called a stentorian voice. "There cheers for oor
+Bob!"
+
+"'Ip! 'ip! 'ooray!" It was taken up gallantly, and cast from mouth
+to mouth; and strangers, though they did not understand, caught the
+contagion and cheered too; and the uproar continued for some minutes.
+
+When it was ended Lady Eleanour was standing up, a faint flush on her
+cheeks and her eyes flashing dangerously, like a queen at bay.
+
+"Yes," she cried, and her clear voice thrilled through the air like a
+trumpet. "Yes; and now three cheers for Mr. M'Adam and his Red Wull!
+Hip! hip--"
+
+"Hooray!" A little knowt of stalwarts at the back--James Moore,
+Parson Leggy, Jim Mason, and you may be sure in heart, at least, Owd
+Bob--responded to the call right lustily. The crowd joined in; and, once
+off, cheered and cheered again.
+
+"Three cheers more for Mr. M'Adam!"
+
+But the little man waved to them.
+
+"Dinna be bigger heepocrites than ye can help," he said. "Ye've done
+enough for one day, and thank ye for it."
+
+Then Lady Eleanour handed him the Cup.
+
+"Mr. M'Adam, I present you with the Champion Challenge Dale Cup, open to
+all comers. Keep it, guard it, love it as your own, and win it again if
+you can. Twice more and it's yours, you know, and it will stop forever
+beneath the shadow of the Pike. And the right place for it, say I--the
+Dale Cup for Dalesmen."
+
+The little man took the Cup tenderly.
+
+"It shall no leave the Estate or ma hoose, yer Leddyship, gin Wullie and
+I can help it," he said emphatically.
+
+Lady Eleanour retreated into the tent, and the crowd swarmed over the
+ropes and round the little man, who held the Cup beneath his arm.
+
+Long Kirby laid irreverent hands upon it.
+
+"Dinna finger it!" ordered M'Adam.
+
+"Shall!''
+
+"Shan't! Wullie, keep him aff." Which the great dog proceeded to do amid
+the laughter of the onlookers.
+
+Among the last, James Moore was borne past the little man. At sight of
+him, M'Adam's face assumed an expression of intense concern.
+
+"Man, Moore!" he cried, peering forward as though in alarm; "man, Moore,
+ye're green--positeevely verdant. Are ye in pain?" Then, catching sight
+of Owd Bob, he started back in affected horror.
+
+"And, ma certes! so's yer dog! Yer dog as was gray is green. Oh, guid
+life! "--and he made as though about to fall fainting to the ground.
+
+Then, in bantering tones: "Ah, but ye shouldna covet ----"
+
+"He'll ha' no need to covet it long, I can tell yo'," interposed
+Tammas's shrill accents.
+
+"And why for no?"
+
+"Becos next year he'll win it fra yo'. Oor Bob'll win it, little mon.
+Why? thot's why."
+
+The retort was greeted with a yell of applause from the sprinkling of
+Dalesmen in the crowd.
+
+But M'Adam swaggered away into the tent, his head up, the Cup beneath
+his arm, and Red Wull guarding his rear.
+
+"First of a' ye'll ha' to beat Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull!" he cried
+back proudly.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XI. OOR BOB
+
+
+M'ADAM'S pride in the great Cup that now graced his kitchen was supreme.
+It stood alone in the very centre of the mantelpiece, just below the old
+bell-mouthed blunderbuss that hung upon the wall. The only ornament in
+the bare room, it shone out in its silvery chastity like the moon in a
+gloomy sky.
+
+For once the little man was content. Since his mother's death David had
+never known such peace. It was not that his father became actively kind;
+rather that he forgot to be actively unkind.
+
+"Not as I care a brazen button one way or t'ither," the boy informed
+Maggie.
+
+"Then yo' should," that proper little person replied.
+
+M'Adam was, indeed, a changed being. He forgot to curse James Moore; he
+forgot to sneer at Owd Bob; he rarely visited the Sylvester Arms, to the
+detriment of Jem Burton's pocket and temper; and he was never drunk.
+
+"Soaks 'isseif at home, instead," suggested Tammas, the prejudiced. But
+the accusation was untrue.
+
+"Too drunk to git so far," said Long Kirby, kindly man.
+
+"I reck'n the Cup is kind o' company to him," said Jim Mason. "Happen
+it's lonesomeness as drives him here so much." And happen you were
+right, charitable Jim.
+
+"Best mak' maist on it while he has it, 'cos he'll not have it for
+long," Tammas remarked amid applause.
+
+Even Parson Leggy allowed--rather reluctantly, indeed, for he was but
+human--that the little man was changed wonderfully for the better.
+
+"But I am afraid it may not last," he said. "We shall see what happens
+when Owd Bob beats him for the Cup, as he certainly will. That'll be the
+critical moment."
+
+As things were, the little man spent all his spare moments with the Cup
+between his knees, burnishing it and crooning to Wullie:
+
+     "I never saw a fairer,
+     I never lo'ed a dearer,
+     And neist my heart I'll wear her,
+     For fear my jewel tine."
+
+"There, Wullie! look at her! is she no bonnie? She shines like a
+twinkle--twinkle in the sky." And he would hold it out at arm's length,
+his head cocked sideways the better to scan its bright beauties.
+
+The little man was very jealous for his treasure. David might not touch
+it; might not smoke in the kitchen lest the fumes should tarnish its
+glory; while if he approached too closely he was ordered abruptly away.
+
+"As if I wanted to touch his nasty Cup!" he complained to Maggie. "I'd
+sooner ony day--"
+
+"Hands aff, Mr. David, immediate!" she cried indignantly. "'Pertinence,
+indeed!" as she tossed her head clear of the big fingers that were
+fondling her pretty hair.
+
+So it was that M'Adam, on coming quietly into the kitchen one day,
+was consumed with angry resentment to find David actually handling
+the object of his reverence; and the manner of his doing it added a
+thousandfold to the offence.
+
+The boy was lolling indolently against the mantelpiece, his fair head
+shoved right into the Cup, his breath dimming its lustre, and his two
+hands, big and dirty, slowly revolving it before his eyes.
+
+Bursting with indignation, the little man crept up behind the boy. David
+was reading through the long list of winners.
+
+"Theer's the first on 'em," he muttered, shooting out his tongue to
+indicate the locality: "'Andrew Moore's Rough, 178--.' And theer agin--'
+James Moore's Pinch, 179--.' And agin--'Beck, 182--.' Ah, and theer's
+'im Tammas tells on! 'Rex, 183--,' and Rex, 183--.' Ay, but he was a
+rare un by all tell-in's! If he'd nob'but won but onst agin! Ah, and
+theer's none like the Gray Dogs--they all says that, and I say so
+masel'; none like the Gray Dogs o' Kenmuir, bless 'em! And we'll win
+agin too--" he broke off short; his eye had travelled down to the last
+name on the list.
+
+"'M'Adam's Wull'!" he read with unspeakable contempt, and put his great
+thumb across the name as though to wipe it out. "'M'Adam's Wull'! Goo'
+gracious sakes! P-hg-h-r-r! "--and he made a motion as though to spit
+upon the ground.
+
+But a little shoulder was into his side, two small fists were beating
+at his chest, and a shrill voice was yelling: "Devil! devil! stan'
+awa'!"--and he was tumbled precipitately away from the mantelpiece, and
+brought up abruptly against the side-wall.
+
+The precious Cup swayed on its ebony stand, the boy's hands, rudely
+withdrawn, almost overthrowing it. But the little man's first impulse,
+cursing and screaming though he was, was to steady it.
+
+"'M'Adam's Wull'! I wish he was here to teach ye, ye snod-faced,
+ox-limbed profleegit!" he cried, standing in front of the Cup, his eyes
+blazing.
+
+"Ay, 'M'Adam's Wull'! And why not 'M'Adam's Wull'? Ha' ye ony objections
+to the name?"
+
+"I didn't know yo' was theer," said David, a thought sheepishly.
+
+"Na; or ye'd not ha' said it."
+
+"I'd ha' thought it, though," muttered the boy.
+
+Luckily, however, his father did not hear. He stretched his hands up
+tenderly for the Cup, lifted it down, and began reverently to polish the
+dimmed sides with his handkerchief.
+
+"Ye're thinkin', nae doot," he cried, casting up a vicious glance at
+David, "that Wullie's no gude enough to ha' his name alangside o'
+they cursed Gray Dogs. Are ye no? Let's ha' the truth for aince--for a
+diversion."
+
+"Reck'n he's good enough if there's none better," David replied
+dispassionately.
+
+"And wha should there be better? Tell me that, ye muckle gowk."
+
+David smiled.
+
+"Eh, but that'd be long tellin', he said.
+
+"And what wad ye mean by that?" his father cried.
+
+"Nay; I was but thinkin' that Mr. Moore's Bob'll look gradely writ under
+yon." He pointed to the vacant space below Red Wull's name.
+
+The little man put the Cup back on its pedestal with hurried hands. The
+handkerchief dropped unconsidered to the floor; he turned and sprang
+furiously at the boy, who stood against the wall, still smiling; and,
+seizing him by the collar of his coat, shook him to and fro with fiery
+energy.
+
+"So ye're hopin', prayin', nae doot, that James Moore--curse him!--will
+win ma Cup awa' from me, yer ain dad. I wonder ye're no 'shamed to crass
+ma door! Ye live on me; ye suck ma blood, ye foul-mouthed leech. Wullie
+and me brak' oorsel's to keep ye in hoose and hame--and what's yer
+gratitude? Ye plot to rob us of oor rights."
+
+He dropped the boy's coat and stood back.
+
+"No rights about it," said David, still keeping his temper.
+
+"If I win is it no ma right as muckle as ony Englishman's?"
+
+Red Wull, who had heard the rising voices, came trotting in, scowled at
+David, and took his stand beside his master.
+
+"Ah, _if_ yo' win it," said David, with significant emphasis on the
+conjunction.
+
+"And wha's to beat us?"
+
+David looked at his father in well-affected surprise.
+
+"I tell yo' Owd Bob's rinin'," he answered.
+
+"And what if he is?" the other cried.
+
+"Why, even yo' should know so much," the boy sneered.
+
+The little man could not fail to understand.
+
+"So that's it!" he said. Then, in a scream, with one finger pointing to
+the great dog: "And what o' him? What'll ma Wullie be doin' the while?
+Tell me that, and ha' a care! Mind ye, he stan's here hearkenin'!" And,
+indeed, the Tailless Tyke was bristling for battle.
+
+David did not like the look of things; and edged away toward the door.
+
+"What'll Wullie be doin', ye chicken-hearted brock?" his father cried.
+
+"Im?" said the boy, now close on the door. "Im!" he said, with a slow
+contempt that made the red bristles quiver on the dog's neck. "Lookin'
+on, I should think--lookin' on. What else is he fit for? I tell yo' oor
+Bob--"
+
+"--'Oor Bob'!" screamed the little man darting forward. "'Oor Bob'! Hark
+to him. I'll 'oor--' At him, Wullie! at him!"
+
+But the Tailless Tyke needed no encouragement. With a harsh roar he
+sprang through the air, only to crash against the closing door!
+
+The outer door banged, and in another second a mocking finger tapped on
+the windowpane.
+
+"Better luck to the two on yo' next time!" laughed a scornful voice; and
+David ran down the hill toward Kenmuir.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XII. HOW RED WULL HELD THE BRIDGE
+
+
+FROM that hour the fire of M'Adam's jealousy blazed into a mighty flame.
+The winning of the Dale Cup had become a mania with him. He had won it
+once, and would again despite all the Moores, all the Gray Dogs, all the
+undutiful sons in existence; on that point he was resolved. The fact of
+his having tasted the joys of victory served to whet his desire. And now
+he felt he could never be happy till the Cup was his own--won outright.
+
+At home David might barely enter the room There the trophy stood.
+
+"I'll not ha' ye touch ma Cup, ye dirty-fingered, ill-begotten wastrel.
+Wullie and me won it--you'd naught to do wi' it. Go you to James Moore
+and James Moore's dog."
+
+"Ay, and shall I tak' Cup wi' me? or will ye bide till it's took from
+ye?"
+
+So the two went on; and every day the tension approached nearer
+breaking-point.
+
+In the Dale the little man met with no sympathy. The hearts of the
+Dalesmen were to a man with Owd Bob and his master.
+
+Whereas once at the Sylvester Arms his shrill, ill tongue had been
+rarely still, now he maintained a sullen silence; Jem Burton, at least,
+had no cause of complaint. Crouched away in a corner, with Red Wull
+beside him, the little man would sit watching and listening as the
+Dalesmen talked of Owd Bob's doings, his staunchness, sagacity, and
+coming victory.
+
+Sometimes he could restrain himself no longer. Then he would spring
+to his feet, and stand, a little swaying figure, and denounce them
+passionately in almost pathetic eloquence. These orations always
+concluded in set fashion.
+
+"Ye're all agin us!" the little man would cry in quivering voice.
+
+"We are that," Tammas would answer complacently.
+
+"Fair means or foul, ye're content sae lang as Wullie and me are beat.
+I wonder ye dinna poison him--a little arsenic, and the way's clear for
+your Bob."
+
+"'The way is clear enough wi'oot that," from Tammas caustically.
+
+Then a lengthy silence, only broken by that exceeding bitter cry: "Eh,
+Wullie, Wullie, they're all agin us!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+And always the rivals--red and gray--went about seeking their
+opportunity. But the Master, with his commanding presence and stern
+eyes, was ever ready for them. Toward the end, M'Adam, silent and
+sneering, would secretly urge on Red Wull to the attack; until, one day
+in Grammoch-town, James Moore turned on him, his blue eyes glittering.
+"D'yo' think, yo' little fule," he cried in that hard voice of his,
+"that onst they got set we should iver git either of them off alive?" It
+seemed to strike the little man as a novel idea; for, from that moment,
+he was ever the first in his feverish endeavors to oppose his small
+form, buffer-like, between the would-be combatants.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Curse as M'Adam might, threaten as he might, when the time came Owd Bob
+won.
+
+The styles of the rivals were well contrasted: the patience, the
+insinuating eloquence, combined with the splendid dash, of the one; and
+the fierce, driving fury of the other.
+
+The issue was never in doubt. It may have been that the temper of the
+Tailless Tyke gave in the time of trial; it may have been that his sheep
+were wild, as M'Adam declared; certainly not, as the little man alleged
+in choking voice, that they had been chosen and purposely set aside to
+ruin his chance. Certain it is that his tactics scared them hopelessly:
+and he never had them in hand.
+
+Act for Owd Bob, his dropping, his driving, his penning, aroused the
+loud-tongued admiration of crowd and competitors alike. He was patient
+yet persistent, quiet yet firm, and seemed to coax his charges in the
+right way in that inimitable manner of his own.
+
+When, at length, the verdict was given, and it was known that, after
+an interval of half a century, the Shepherds' Trophy was won again by a
+Gray Dog of Kenmuir, there was such a scene as has been rarely witnessed
+on the slope behind the Dalesman's Daughter.
+
+Great fists were slapped on mighty backs; great feet were stamped on the
+sun-dried banks of the Silver Lea; stalwart lungs were strained to their
+uttermost capacity; and roars of "Moore!" "Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!" "The
+Gray Dogs!" thundered up the hillside, and were flung, thundering, back.
+
+Even James Moore was visibly moved as he worked his way through the
+cheering mob; and Owd Bob, trotting alongside him in quiet dignity,
+seemed to wave his silvery brush in acknowledgment.
+
+Master Jacky Sylvester alternately turned cart-wheels and felled the
+Hon. Launcelot Bilks to the ground. Lady Eleanour, her cheeks flushed
+with pleasure, waved her parasol, and attempted to restrain her son's
+exuberance. Parson Leggy danced an unclerical jig, and shook hands with
+the squire till both those fine old gentlemen were purple in the face.
+Long Kirby selected a small man in the crowd, and bashed his hat down
+over his eyes. While Tammas, Rob Saunderson, Tupper, Hoppin, Londesley,
+and the rest joined hands and went raving round like so many giddy
+girls.
+
+Of them all, however, none was so uproarious in the mad heat of his
+enthusiasm as David M'Adam. He stood in the Kenmuir wagon beside Maggie,
+a conspicuous figure above the crowd, as he roared in hoarse ecstasy:
+
+"Weel done, oor Bob! Weel done, Mr. Moore! Yo've knocked him! Knock him
+agin! Owd Bob o' Kenmuir! Moore! Moore o' Kenmuir! Hip! Hip!" until the
+noisy young giant attracted such attention in his boisterous delight
+that Maggie had to lay a hand upon his arm to restrain his violence.
+
+Alone, on the far bank of the stream, stood the vanquished pair.
+
+The little man was trembling slightly; his face was still hot from his
+exertions; and as he listened to the ovation accorded to his conqueror,
+there was a piteous set grin upon his face. In front stood the defeated
+dog, his lips wrinkling and hackles rising, as he, too, saw and heard
+and understood.
+
+"It's a gran' thing to ha' a dutiful son. Wullie," the little man
+whispered, watching David's waving figure. "He's happy--and so are they
+a'--not sae much that James Moore has won, as that you and I are beat."
+
+Then, breaking down for a moment:
+
+"Eh, Wullie, Wullie! They're all agin us. It's you and I alane, lad."
+
+Again, seeing the squire followed by Parson Leggy, Viscount Birdsaye,
+and others of the gentry, forcing their way through the press to shake
+hands with the victor, he continued:
+
+"It's good to be in wi' the quality, Wullie. Niver mak' a friend of a
+man beneath ye in rank, nor an enemy of a man aboon ye: that's a soond
+principle, Wullie, if ye'd get on in honest England."
+
+He stood there, alone with his dog, watching the crowd on the far slope
+as it surged upward in the direction of the committee tent. Only when
+the black mass had packed itself in solid phalanges about that
+ring, inside which, just a year ago, he had stood in very different
+circumstances, and was at length still, a wintry smile played for a
+moment about his lips. He laughed a mirthless laugh.
+
+     "Bide a wee, Wullie--he! he! Bide a wee.
+     'The best-laid schemes o' mice and men
+     Gang aft agley.'"
+
+As he spoke, there came down to him, above the tumult, a faint cry of
+mingled surprise and anger. The cheering ceased abruptly. There was
+silence; then there burst on the stillness a hurricane of indignation.
+
+The crowd surged forward, then turned. Every eye was directed across the
+stream. A hundred damning fingers pointed at the solitary figure there.
+There were hoarse yells of: "There he be Yon's him! What's he done wi'
+it? Thief! Throttle him!"
+
+The mob came lumbering down the slope like one man, thundering their
+imprecations on a thousand throats. They looked dangerous, and their
+wrath was stimulated by the knot of angry Dalesmen who led the van.
+There was more than one white face among the women at the top of the
+slope as they watched the crowd blundering blindly down the hill. There
+were more men than Parson Leggy, the squire, James Moore, and the local
+constables in the thick of it all, striving frantically with voice and
+gesture, ay, and stick too, to stem the advance.
+
+It was useless; on the dark wave rolled, irresistible.
+
+On the far bank stood the little man, motionless, awaiting them with a
+grin upon his face. And a little farther in front was the Tailless Tyke,
+his back and neck like a new-shorn wheat-field, as he rumbled a vast
+challenge.
+
+"Come on, gentlemen!" the little man cried. "Come on! I'll bide for ye,
+never fear. Ye're a thousand to one and a dog. It's the odds ye like,
+Englishmen a'."
+
+And the mob, with murder in its throat, accepted the invitation and came
+on.
+
+At the moment, however, from the slope above, clear above the tramp of
+the multitude, a great voice bellowed: "Way! Way! Way for Mr. Trotter!"
+The advancing host checked and opened out; and the secretary of the
+meeting bundled through.
+
+He was a small, fat man, fussy at any time, and perpetually perspiring.
+Now his face was crimson with rage and running; he gesticulated wildly;
+vague words bubbled forth, as his short legs twinkled down the slope.
+
+The crowd paused to admire. Some one shouted a witticism, and the crowd
+laughed. For the moment the situation was saved.
+
+The fat secretary hurried on down the slope, unheeding of any insult but
+the one. He bounced over the plank-bridge: and as he came closer, M'Adam
+saw that in each hand brandished a brick.
+
+"Hoots, man! dinna throw!" he cried, making a feint as though to turn in
+sudden terror.
+
+"What's this? What's this?" gasped the secretary, waving his arms.
+
+"Bricks, 'twad seem," the other answered, staying his flight.
+
+The secretary puffed up like a pudding in a hurry.
+
+"Where's the Cup? Champion, Challenge, etc.," he jerked out. "Mind, sir,
+you're responsible! wholly responsible! Dents, damages, delays! What's
+it all mean, sir? These--these monstrous creations "--he brandished the
+bricks, and M'Adam started back--"wrapped, as I live, in straw, sir, in
+the Cup case, sir! the Cup case! No Cup! Infamous! Disgraceful! Insult
+me--meeting--committee--every one! What's it mean, sir?" He paused to
+pant, his body filling and emptying like a bladder.
+
+M'Adam approached him with one eye on the crowd, which was heaving
+forward again, threatening still, but sullen and silent.
+
+"I pit 'em there," he whispered; and drew back to watch the effect of
+his disclosure.
+
+The secretary gasped.
+
+"You--you not only do this--amazing thing--these monstrosities"--he
+hurled the bricks furiously on the unoffending ground--"but you dare to
+tell me so!"
+
+The little man smiled.
+
+"'Do wrang and conceal it, do right and confess it,' that's Englishmen's
+motto, and mine, as a rule; but this time I had ma reasons."
+
+"Reasons, sir! No reasons can justify such an extraordinary breach of
+all the--the decencies. Reasons? the reasons of a maniac. Not to say
+more, sir. Fraudulent detention--fraudulent, I say, sir! What were your
+precious reasons?"
+
+The mob with Tammas and Long Kirby at their head had now well nigh
+reached the plank-bridge. They still looked dangerous, and there were
+isolated cries of:
+
+"Duck him!"
+
+"Chuck him in!"
+
+"An' the dog!"
+
+"Wi' one o' they bricks about their necks!"
+
+"There are my reasons!" said M'Adam, pointing to the forest of menacing
+faces. "Ye see I'm no beloved amang yonder gentlemen, and"--in a stage
+whisper in the other's ear--"I thocht maybe I'd be 'tacked on the road."
+
+Tammas foremost of the crowd, had now his foot upon the first plank.
+
+"Ye robber! ye thief! Wait till we set hands on ye, you and yer
+gorilla!" he called.
+
+M'Adam half turned.
+
+"Wullie," he said quietly, "keep the bridge."
+
+At the order the Tailless Tyke shot gladly forward, and the leaders on
+the bridge as hastily back. The dog galloped on to the rattling plank,
+took his post fair and square in the centre of the narrow way, and stood
+facing the hostile crew like Cerberus guarding the gates of hell: his
+bull-head was thrust forward, hackles up, teeth glinting, and a distant
+rumbling in his throat, as though daring them to come on.
+
+"Yo' first, ole lad!" said Tammas, hopping agilely behind Long Kirby.
+
+"Nay; the old uns lead!" cried the big smith, his face gray-white. He
+wrenched round, pinned the old man by the arms, and held him forcibly
+before him as a covering shield. There ensued an unseemly struggle
+betwixt the two valiants, Tammas bellowing and kicking in the throes of
+mortal fear.
+
+"Jim Mason'll show us," he suggested at last.
+
+"Nay," said honest Jim; "I'm fear'd." He could say it with impunity; for
+the pluck of Postie Jim was a matter long past dispute.
+
+Then Jem Burton'd go first?
+
+Nay; Jem had a lovin' wife and dear little kids at 'ome.
+
+Then Big Bell?
+
+Big Bell'd see 'isseif further first.
+
+A tall figure came forcing through the crowd, his face a little paler
+than its wont, and a formidable knob-kerry in his hand.
+
+"I'm goin'!" said David.
+
+"But yo're not," answered burly Sam'l, gripping the boy from behind with
+arms like the roots of an oak. "Your time'll coom soon enough by the
+look on yo' wi' niver no hurry."
+
+And the sense of the Dalesmen was with the big man; for, as old Rob
+Saunderson said:
+
+"I reck'n he'd liefer claw on to your throat, lad, nor ony o' oors."
+
+As there was no one forthcoming to claim the honor of the lead, Tammas
+came forward with cunning counsel.
+
+"Tell yo' what, lads, we'd best let 'em as don't know nowt at all aboot
+him go first. And onst they're on, mind, we winna let 'em off; but keep
+a-shovin' and a-bovin 'on 'em forra'd. _Then_ us'll foller."
+
+By this time there was a little naked space of green round the
+bridge-head, like a fairy circle, into which the uninitiated might not
+penetrate. Round this the mob hedged: the Dalesmen in front, striving
+knavishly back and bawling to those behind to leggo that shovin'; and
+these latter urging valorously forward, yelling jeers and contumely at
+the front rank. "Come on! 'O's afraid? Lerrus through to 'em, then,
+ye Royal Stan'-backs!"--for well they knew the impossibility of their
+demand.
+
+And as they wedged and jostled thus, there stole out from their midst as
+gallant a champion as ever trod the grass. He trotted out into the
+ring, the observed of all, and paused to gaze at the gaunt figure on the
+bridge. The sun lit the sprinkling of snow on the dome of his head; one
+forepaw was off the ground; and he stood there, royally alert, scanning
+his antagonist.
+
+"Th' Owd Un!" went up in a roar fit to split the air as the hero of the
+day was recognized. And the Dalesmen gave a pace forward spontaneously
+as the gray knight-errant stole across the green.
+
+"Oor Bob'll fetch him!" they roared, their blood leaping to fever heat,
+and gripped their sticks, determined in stern reality to follow now.
+
+The gray champion trotted up on to the bridge, and paused again, the
+long hair about his neck rising like a ruff, and a strange glint in his
+eyes; and the holder of the bridge never moved. Red and Gray stood thus,
+face to face: the one gay yet resolute, the other motionless, his great
+head slowly sinking between his forelegs, seemingly petrified.
+
+There was no shouting now: it was time for deeds, not words. Only, above
+the stillness, came a sound from the bridge like the snore of a giant in
+his sleep, and blending, with it, a low, deep, purring thunder like some
+monster cat well pleased.
+
+"Wullie," came a solitary voice from the far side, "keep the bridge!"
+
+One ear went back, one ear was still forward; the great head was low and
+lower between his forelegs and the glowing eyes rolled upward so that
+the watchers could see the murderous white.
+
+Forward the gray dog stepped.
+
+Then, for the second time that afternoon, a voice, stern and hard, came
+ringing down from the slope above over the heads of the many.
+
+"Bob, lad, coom back!"
+
+"He! he! I thocht that was comin'," sneered the small voice over the
+stream.
+
+The gray dog heard, and checked.
+
+"Bob, lad, coom in, I say!"
+
+At that he swung round and marched slowly back, gallant as he had come,
+dignified still in his mortification.
+
+And Red Wull threw back his head and bellowed a paean of
+victory--challenge, triumph, scorn, all blended in that bull-like,
+blood-chilling blare.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the mean time, M'Adam and the secretary had concluded their business.
+It had been settled that the Cup was to be delivered over to James Moore
+not later than the following Saturday.
+
+"Saturday, see! at the latest!" the secretary cried as he turned and
+trotted off.
+
+"Mr. Trotter," M'Adam called after him. "I'm sorry, but ye maun bide
+this side the Lea till I've reached the foot o' the Pass. Gin they
+gentlemen"--nodding toward the crowd--"should set hands on me, why--"
+and he shrugged his shoulders significantly. "Forbye, Wullie's keepin'
+the bridge."
+
+With that the little man strolled off leisurely; now dallying to pick a
+flower, now to wave a mocking hand at the furious mob, and so slowly on
+to the foot of the Muirk Muir Pass.
+
+There he turned and whistled that shrill peculiar note.
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, to me!" he called.
+
+At that, with one last threat thrown at the' thousand souls he had held
+at bay for thirty minutes, the Tailless Tyke swung about and galloped
+after his lord.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XIII. THE FACE IN THE FRAME
+
+
+ALL Friday M'Adam never left the kitchen. He sat opposite the Cup, in a
+coma, as it were; and Red Wull lay motionless at his feet.
+
+Saturday came, and still the two never budged. Toward the evening
+the little man rose, all in a tremble, and took the Cup down from the
+mantelpiece; then he sat down again with it in his arms.
+
+"Eh, Wullie, Wullie, is it a dream? Ha' they took her fra us? Eh, but
+it's you and I alane, lad."
+
+He hugged it to him, crying silently, and rocking to and fro like a
+mother with a dying child. And Red Wull sat up on his haunches, and
+weaved from side to side in sympathy.
+
+As the dark was falling, David looked in.
+
+At the sound of the opening door the little man swung round noiselessly,
+the Cup nursed in his arms, and glared, sullen and suspicious, at the
+boy; yet seemed not to recognize him. In the half-light David could see
+the tears coursing down the little wizened face.
+
+"'Pon ma life, he's gaein' daft!" was his comment as he turned away to
+Kenmuir. And again the mourners were left alone.
+
+"A few hours noo, Wullie," the little man wailed, "and she'll be gane.
+We won her, Wullie, you and I, won her fair: she's lit the hoose for
+us; she's softened a' for us--and God kens we needed it; she was the ae
+thing we had to look to and love. And noo they're takin' her awa', and
+'twill be night agin. We've cherished her, we've garnished her, we've
+loved her like oor ain; and noo she maun gang to strangers who know her
+not."
+
+He rose to his feet, and the great dog rose with him. His voice
+heightened to a scream, and he swayed with the Cup in his arms till it
+seemed he must fall.
+
+"Did they win her fair, Wullie? Na; they plotted, they conspired, they
+worked ilka ain o' them agin us, and they beat us. Ay, and noo they're
+robbin' us--robbin' us! But they shallna ha' her. Oor's or naebody's,
+Wullie! We'll finish her sooner nor that."
+
+He banged the Cup down on the table and rushed madly out of the room,
+Red Wull at his heels. In a moment he came running back, brandishing a
+great axe about his head.
+
+"Come on, Wullie!" he cried. "'Scots wha hae'! Noo's the day and noo's
+the hour! Come on!"
+
+On the table before him, serene and beautiful, stood the target of his
+madness. The little man ran at it, swinging his murderous weapon like a
+flail.
+
+"Oor's or naebody's Wullie! Come on! 'Lay the proud usurpers low'!" He
+aimed a mighty buffet; and the Shepherds' Trophy--the Shepherds' Trophy
+which had won through the hardships of a hundred years--was almost gone.
+It seemed to quiver as the blow fell. But the cruel steel missed, and
+the axe-head sank into the wood, clean and deep, like a spade in snow.
+
+Red Wull had leapt on to the table, and in his cavernous voice was
+grumbling a chorus to his master's yells. The little man danced up and
+down, tugging and straining at the axe-handle.
+
+     "You and I, Wullie!
+     'Tyrants fall in every foe!
+     Liberty's in every blow!'"
+
+The axe-head was as immoveable as the Muir Pike.
+
+     "'Let us do or die!'"
+
+The shaft snapped, and the little man tottered back. Red Wull jumped
+down from the table, and, in doing so, brushed against the Cup. It
+toppled* over on to the floor, and rolled tinkling away in the dust.
+And the little man fled madly out of the house, still screaming his
+war-song.
+
+     *N.B.--You may see the dent in the Cup's white sides to this
+     day.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When, late that night, M'Adam returned home, the Cup was gone. Down on
+his hands and knees he traced out its path, plain to see, where it had
+rolled along the dusty floor. Beyond that there was no sign.
+
+At first he was too much overcome to speak. Then he raved round the room
+like a derelict ship, Red Wull following uneasily behind. He cursed;
+he blasphemed; he screamed and beat the walls with feverish hands. A
+stranger, passing, might well have thought this was a private Bedlam. At
+last, exhausted, he sat down and cried.
+
+"It's David, Wullie, ye may depend; David that's robbed his father's
+hoose. Oh, it's a grand thing to ha' a dutiful son!"--and he bowed his
+gray head in his hands.
+
+David, indeed, it was. He had come back to the Grange during his
+father's absence, and, taking the Cup from its grimy bed, had marched it
+away to its rightful home. For that evening at Kenmuir, James Moore had
+said to him:
+
+"David, your father's not sent the Cup. I shall come and fetch it
+to-morrow." And David knew he meant it. Therefore, in order to save a
+collision between his father and his friend--a collision the issue of
+which he dared hardly contemplate, knowing, as he did, the unalterable
+determination of the one and the lunatic passion of the other--the boy
+had resolved to fetch the Cup himself, then and there, in the teeth, if
+needs be, of his father and the Tailless Tyke. And he had done it.
+
+When he reached home that night he marched, contrary to his wont,
+straight into the kitchen.
+
+There sat his father facing the door, awaiting him, his hands upon his
+knees. For once the little man was alone; and David, brave though he
+was, thanked heaven devoutly that Red Wull was elsewhere.
+
+For a while father and son kept silence, watching one another like two
+fencers.
+
+"'Twas you as took ma Cup?" asked the little man at last, leaning
+forward in his chair.
+
+"'Twas me as took Mr. Moore's Cup," the boy replied. "I thowt yo' mun
+ha' done wi' it--I found it all bashed upon the floor."
+
+"You took it--pit up to it, nae doot, by James Moore."
+
+David made a gesture of dissent.
+
+"Ay, by James Moore," his father continued. "He dursena come hissel'
+for his ill-gotten spoils, so he sent the son to rob the father. The
+coward!"--his whole frame shook with passion. "I'd ha' thocht James
+Moore'd ha' bin man enough to come himself for what he wanted. I see noo
+I did him a wrang--I misjudged him. I kent him a heepocrite; ain o' yer
+unco gudes; a man as looks one thing, says anither, and does a third;
+and noo I ken he's a coward. He's fear'd o' me, sic as I am, five foot
+twa in ma stockin's." He rose from his chair and drew himself up to his
+full height.
+
+"Mr. Moore had nowt to do wi' it," David persisted.
+
+"Ye're lyin'. James Moore pit ye to it."
+
+"I tell yo' he did not."
+
+"Ye'd ha' bin willin' enough wi'oot him, if ye'd thocht o't, I grant ye.
+But ye've no the wits. All there is o' ye has gane to mak' yer muckle
+body. Hooiver, that's no matter. I'll settle wi' James Moore anither
+time. I'll settle wi' you noo, David M'Adam."
+
+He paused, and looked the boy over from bead to foot.
+
+"So, ye're not only an idler! a wastrel! a liar!"--he spat the words
+out. "Ye're--God help ye--a thief!"
+
+"I'm no thief!" the boy returned hotly. "I did but give to a mon what ma
+feyther--shame on him!--wrongfully kept from him."
+
+"Wrangfully?" cried the little man, advancing with burning face.
+
+"'Twas honorably done, keepin' what wasna your'n to keep! Holdin' back
+his rights from a man! Ay, if ony one's the thief, it's not me: it's
+you, I say, you!"--and he looked his father in the face with flashing
+eyes.
+
+"I'm the thief, am I?" cried the other, incoherent with passion. "Though
+ye're three times ma size, I'll teach ma son to speak so to me."
+
+The old strap, now long disused, hung in the chimney corner. As he spoke
+the little man sprang back, ripped it from the wall, and, almost before
+David realized what he was at, had brought it down with a savage slash
+across his son's shoulders; and as he smote he whistled a shrill,
+imperative note:
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, to me!"
+
+David felt the blow through his coat like a bar of hot iron laid across
+his back. His passion seethed within him; every vein throbbed; every
+nerve quivered. In a minute he would wipe out, once and for all, the
+score of years; for the moment, however, there was urgent business on
+hand. For outside he could hear the quick patter of feet hard-galloping,
+and the scurry of a huge creature racing madly to a call.
+
+With a bound he sprang at the open door; and again the strap came
+lashing down, and a wild voice:
+
+"Quick, Wullie! For God's sake, quick!"
+
+David slammed the door to. It shut with a rasping snap; and at the same
+moment a great body from without thundered against it with terrific
+violence, and a deep voice roared like the sea when thwarted of its
+prey.
+
+"Too late, agin!" said David, breathing hard; and shot the bolt home
+with a clang. Then he turned on his father.
+
+"Noo," said he, "man to man!"
+
+"Ay," cried the other, "father to son!"
+
+The little man half turned and leapt at the old musketoon hanging on the
+wall. He missed it, turned again, and struck with the strap full at
+the other's face. David caught the falling arm at the wrist, hitting it
+aside with such tremendous force that the bone all but snapped. Then
+he smote his father a terrible blow on the chest, and the little man
+staggered back, gasping, into the corner; while the strap dropped from
+his numbed fingers.
+
+Outside Red Wull whined and scratched; but the two men paid no heed.
+
+David strode forward; there was murder in his face. The little man
+saw it: his time was come; but his bitterest foe never impugned Adam
+M'Adam's courage.
+
+He stood huddled in the corner, all dishevelled, nursing one arm with
+the other, entirely unafraid.
+
+"Mind, David," he said, quite calm, "murder 'twill be, not
+manslaughter."
+
+"Murder 'twill be," the boy answered, in thick, low voice, and was
+across the room.
+
+Outside Red Wull banged and clawed high up on the door with impotent
+pats.
+
+The little man suddenly slipped his hand in his pocket, pulled out
+something, and flung it. The missile pattered on his son's face like a
+rain-drop on a charging bull, and David smiled as he came on. It dropped
+softly on the table at his side; he looked down and--it was the face of
+his mother which gazed up at him!
+
+"Mither!" he sobbed, stopping short. "Mither! Ma God, ye saved him--and
+me!"
+
+He stood there, utterly unhinged, shaking and whimpering.
+
+It was some minutes before he pulled himself together; then he walked to
+the wall, took down a pair of shears, and seated himself at the table,
+still trembling. Near him lay the miniature, all torn and crumpled, and
+beside it the deep-buried axe-head.
+
+He picked up the strap and began cutting it into little pieces.
+
+"There! and there! and there!" he said with each snip. "An' ye hit me
+agin there may be no mither to save ye."
+
+M'Adam stood huddling in the corner. He shook like an aspen leaf; his
+eyes blazed in his white face; and he still nursed one arm with the
+other.
+
+"Honor yer father," he quoted in small, low voice.
+
+
+
+
+PART IV THE BLACK KILLER
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XIV. A MAD MAN
+
+
+TAMMAS is on his feet in the tap-room of the Arms, brandishing a pewter
+mug.
+
+"Gen'lemen!" he cries, his old face flushed; "I gie you a toast. Stan'
+oop!"
+
+The knot of Dalesmen round the fire rises like one. The old man waves
+his mug before him, reckless of the good ale that drips on to the floor.
+
+"The best sheep-dog i' th' North--Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!" he cries. In an
+instant there is uproar: the merry applause of clinking pewters; the
+stamping of feet; the rattle of sticks. Rob Saunderson and old Jonas
+are cheering with the best; Tupper and Ned Hoppin are bellowing in one
+another's ears; Long Kirby and Jem Burton are thumping each other on
+the back; even Sam'l Todd and Sexton Ross are roused from their habitual
+melancholy.
+
+"Here's to Th' Owd Un! Here's to oor Bob!" yell stentorian voices; while
+Rob Saunderson has jumped on to a chair.
+
+"Wi' the best sheep-dog i' th' North I gie yo' the Shepherd's
+Trophy!--won outreet as will be!" he cries. Instantly the clamor
+redoubles.
+
+"The Dale Cup and Th' Owd Un! The Trophy and oor Bob! 'Ip, 'ip, for
+the gray dogs! 'Ip, 'ip, for the best sheep-dog as ever was or will be!
+'Ooray, 'ooray!"
+
+It is some minutes before the noise subsides; and slowly the enthusiasts
+resume their seats with hoarse throats and red faces.
+
+"Gentlemen a'!"
+
+A little unconsidered man is standing up at the back of the room. His
+face is aflame, and his hands twitch spasmodically; and, in front, with
+hackles up and eyes gleaming, is a huge, bull-like dog.
+
+"Noo," cries the little man, "I daur ye to repeat that lie!"
+
+"Lie!" screams Tammas; "lie! I'll gie 'im lie! Lemme at im', I say!"
+
+The old man in his fury is half over the surrounding ring of chairs
+before Jim Mason on the one hand and Jonas Maddox on the other can pull
+him back.
+
+"Coom, Mr. Thornton," soothes the octogenarian, "let un be. Yo' surely
+bain't angered by the likes o' 'im!"--and he jerks contemptuously toward
+the solitary figure at his back.
+
+Tammas resumes his seat unwillingly.
+
+The little man in the far corner of the room remains silent, waiting
+for his challenge to be taken up. It is in vain. And as he looks at the
+range of broad, impassive backs turned on him, he smiles bitterly.
+
+"They dursen't Wullie, not a man of them a'!" he cries.
+"They're one--two--three--four--eleven to one, Wullie, and yet
+they dursen't. Eleven of them, and every man a coward! Long
+Kirby--Thornton--Tupper--Todd--Hoppin--Ross--Burton--and the rest, and
+not one but's a bigger man nor me, and yet--Weel, we might ha' kent it.
+We should ha' kent Englishmen by noo. They're aye the same and aye have
+bin. They tell lies, black lies--"
+
+Tammas is again half out his chair and, only forcibly restrained by the
+men on either hand.
+
+"--and then they ha' na the courage to stan' by 'em. Ye're English,
+ivery man o' ye, to yer marrow."
+
+The little man's voice rises as he speaks. He seizes the tankard from
+the table at his side.
+
+"Englishmen!" he cries, waving it before him. "Here's a health! The best
+sheep-dog as iver penned a flock--Adam M'Adam's Red Wull!"
+
+He pauses, the pewter at his lips, and looks at his audience with
+flashing eyes. There is no response from them.
+
+"Wullie, here's to you!" he cries. "Luck and life to ye, ma trusty fier!
+Death and defeat to yer enemies!"
+
+     "'The warld's warld's wrack we share o't,
+     The warstle and the care o't;"
+
+He raises the tankard and drains it to its uttermost dreg.
+
+Then drawing himself up, he addresses his audience once more:
+
+"An' noo I'll warn ye aince and for a', and ye may tell James Moore I
+said it: He may plot agin us, Wullie and me; he may threaten us; he may
+win the Cup outright for his muckle favorite; but there was niver a man
+or dog yet as did Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull a hurt but in the end he
+wush't his mither hadna borne him."
+
+A little later, and he walks out of the inn, the Tailless Tyke at his
+heels.
+
+After he is gone it is Rob Saunderson who says: "The little mon's mad;
+he'll stop at nothin"; and Tammas who answers:
+
+"Nay; not even murder."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The little man had aged much of late. His hair was quite white, his eyes
+unnaturally bright, and his hands were never still, as though he were in
+everlasting pain. He looked the picture of disease.
+
+After Owd Bob's second victory he had become morose and untalkative. At
+home he often sat silent for hours together, drinking and glaring at the
+place where the Cup had been. Sometimes he talked in low, eerie voice to
+Red Wull; and on two occasions, David, turning, suddenly, had caught his
+father glowering stealthily at him with such an expression on his face
+as chilled the boy's blood. The two never spoke now; and David held this
+silent, deadly enmity far worse than the old-time perpetual warfare.
+
+It was the same at the Sylvester Arms. The little man sat alone with Red
+Wull, exchanging words with no man, drinking steadily, brooding over his
+wrongs, only now and again galvanized into sudden action.
+
+Other people than Tammas Thornton came to the conclusion that M'Adam
+would stop at nothing in the undoing of James Moore or the gray dog.
+They said drink and disappointment had turned his head; that he was mad
+and dangerous. And on New Year's day matters seemed coming to a crisis;
+for it was reported that in the gloom of a snowy evening he had drawn
+a knife on the Master in the High Street, but slipped before he could
+accomplish his fell purpose.
+
+Most of them all, David was haunted with an ever-present anxiety as to
+the little man's intentions. The boy even went so far as to warn his
+friend against his father. But the Master only smiled grimly.
+
+"Thank ye, lad," he said. "But I reck'n we can 'fend for oorsel's, Bob
+and I. Eh, Owd Un?"
+
+Anxious as David might be, he was not so anxious as to be above taking
+a mean advantage of this state of strained apprehension to work on
+Maggie's fears.
+
+One evening he was escorting her home from church, when, just before
+they reached the larch copse: "Goo' sakes! What's that?" he ejaculated
+in horror-laden accents, starting back.
+
+"What, Davie?" cried the girl, shrinking up to him all in a tremble.
+
+"Couldna say for sure. It mought be owt, or agin it mought be nowt. But
+yo' grip my arm, I'll grip yo' waist."
+
+Maggie demurred.
+
+"Canst see onythin'?" she asked, still in a flutter.
+
+"Be'ind the 'edge."
+
+"Wheer?"
+
+"Theer! "--pointing vaguely.
+
+"I canna see nowt."
+
+"Why, theer, lass. Can yo' not see? Then yo' pit your head along o'
+mine--so--closer--closer." Then, in aggrieved tones: "Whativer is the
+matter wi' yo', wench? I might be a leprosy."
+
+But the girl was walking away with her head high as the snow-capped
+Pike.
+
+"So long as I live, David M'Adam," she cried, "I'll niver go to church
+wi' you agin!"
+
+"Iss, but you will though--onst," he answered low.
+
+Maggie whisked round in a flash, superbly indignant.
+
+"What d'yo' mean, sir-r-r?"
+
+"Yo' know what I mean, lass," he replied sheepish and shuffling before
+her queenly anger.
+
+She looked him up and down, and down and up again.
+
+"I'll niver speak to you agin, Mr. M'Adam," she cried; "not if it was
+ever so--Nay, I'll walk home by myself, thank you. I'll ha' nowt to do
+wi' you."
+
+So the two must return to Kenmuir, one behind the other, like a lady and
+her footman.
+
+David's audacity had more than once already all but caused a rupture
+between the pair. And the occurrence behind the hedge set the cap on his
+impertinences. That was past enduring and Maggie by her bearing let him
+know it.
+
+David tolerated the girl's new attitude for exactly twelve minutes by
+the kitchen clock. Then: "Sulk wi' me, indeed! I'll teach her!" and he
+marched out of the door, "Niver to cross it agin, ma word!"
+
+Afterward, however, he relented so far as to continue his visits as
+before; but he made it clear that he only came to see the Master and
+hear of Owd Bob's doings. On these occasions he loved best to sit on the
+window-sill outside the kitchen, and talk and chaff with Tammas and the
+men in the yard, feigning an uneasy bashfulness when reference made to
+Bessie Bolstock. And after sitting thus for some time, he would half
+turn, look over his shoulder, and remark in indifferent tones to the
+girl within: "Oh, good-evenin'! I forgot yo', "--and then resume his
+conversation. While the girl within, her face a little pinker, her
+lips a little tighter, and her chin a little higher, would go about her
+business, pretending neither to hear nor care.
+
+The suspicions that M'Adam nourished dark designs against James Moore
+were somewhat confirmed in that, on several occasions in the bitter
+dusks of January afternoons, a little insidious figure was reported to
+have been seen lurking among the farm-buildings of Kenmuir.
+
+Once Sam'l Todd caught the little man fairly, skulking away in the
+woodshed. Sam'l took him up bodily and carried him down the slope to the
+Wastrel, shaking him gently as he went.
+
+Across the stream he put him on his feet.
+
+"If I catches yo' cadgerin' aroun' the farm agin, little mon," he
+admonished, holding up a warning finger; "I'll tak' yo' and drap yo'
+in t' Sheep-wash, I warn yo' fair. I'd ha' done it noo an' yo'd bin a
+bigger and a younger mon. But theer! yo'm sic a scrappety bit. Noo, rin
+whoam." And the little man slunk silently away.
+
+For a time he appeared there no more. Then, one evening when it was
+almost dark, James Moore, going the round of the outbuildings, felt Owd
+Bob stiffen against his side.
+
+"What's oop, lad" he whispered, halting; and, dropping his hand on the
+old dog's neck felt a ruff of rising hair beneath it.
+
+"Steady, lad, steady," he whispered; "what is 't?" He peered forward
+into the gloom; and at length discerned a little familiar figure huddled
+away in the crevice between two stacks.
+
+"It's yo, is it, M'Adam?" he said, and, bending, seized a wisp of Owd
+Bob's coat in a grip like a vice.
+
+Then, in a great voice, moved to rare anger:
+
+"Oot o' this afore I do ye a hurt, ye meeserable spyin' creetur" he
+roared. "Yo' mun wait till dark cooms to hide yo', yo' coward, afore yo
+daur coom crawlin' aboot ma hoose, frightenin' the women-folk and up to
+yer devilments. If yo've owt to say to me, coom like a mon in the open
+day. Noo git aff wi' yo', afore I lay hands to yo'!"
+
+He stood there in the dusk, tall and mighty, a terrible figure, one hand
+pointing to the gate, the other still grasping the gray dog.
+
+The little man scuttled away in the half-light, and out of the yard.
+
+On the plank-bridge he turned and shook his fist at the darkening house.
+
+"Curse ye, James Moore!" he sobbed, "I'll be even wi' ye yet."
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XV. DEATH ON THE MARCHES
+
+
+ON the top of this there followed an attempt to poison Th' Owd Un. At
+least there was no other accounting for the affair.
+
+In the dead of a long-remembered night James Moore was waked by a low
+moaning beneath his room. He leapt out of bed and ran to the window to
+see his favorite dragging about the moonlit yard, the dark head
+down, the proud tail for once lowered, the lithe limbs wooden, heavy,
+unnatural--altogether pitiful.
+
+In a moment he was downstairs and out to his friend's assistance.
+"Whativer is't, Owd Un?" he cried in anguish.
+
+At the sound of that dear voice the old dog tried to struggle to him,
+could not, and fell, whimpering.
+
+In a second the Master was with him, examining him tenderly, and crying
+for Sam'l, who slept above the stables.
+
+There was every symptom of foul play: the tongue was swollen and almost
+black; the breathing labored; the body twitched horribly; and the soft
+gray eyes all bloodshot and straining in agony.
+
+With the aid of Sam'l and Maggie, drenching first and stimulants after,
+the Master pulled him around for the moment. And soon Jim Mason and
+Parson Leggy, hurriedly summoned, came running hot-foot to the rescue.
+
+Prompt and stringent measures saved the victim--but only just. For a
+time the best sheep-dog in the North was pawing at the Gate of Death. In
+the end, as the gray dawn broke, the danger passed.
+
+The attempt to get at him, if attempt it was, aroused passionate
+indignation in the countryside. It seemed the culminating-point of the
+excitement long bubbling.
+
+There were no traces of the culprit; not a vestige to lead to
+incrimination, so cunningly had the criminal accomplished his foul task.
+But as to the perpetrator, if there where no proofs there were yet fewer
+doubts.
+
+At the Sylvester Arms, Long Kirby asked M'Adam point-blank for his
+explanation of the matter.
+
+"Hoo do I 'count for it?" the little man cried. "I dinna 'count for it
+ava."
+
+"Then hoo did it happen?" asked Tammas with asperity.
+
+"I dinna believe it did happen," the little man replied. "It's a lee
+o' James Moore's--a characteristic lee." Whereon they chucked him out
+incontinently; for the Terror for once was elsewhere.
+
+Now that afternoon is to be remembered for threefold causes. Firstly,
+because, as has been said, M'Adam was alone. Secondly, because, a few
+minutes after his ejectment, the window of the tap-room was thrown open
+from without, and the little man looked in. He spoke no word, but those
+dim, smouldering eyes of his wandered from face to face, resting for
+a second on each, as if to burn them on his memory. "I'll remember ye,
+gentlemen," he said at length quietly, shut the window, and was gone.
+
+Thirdly, for a reason now to be told.
+
+Though ten days had elapsed since the attempt on him, the gray dog had
+never been his old self since. He had attacks of shivering; his vitality
+seemed sapped; he tired easily, and, great heart, would never own it.
+At length on this day, James Moore, leaving the old dog behind him, had
+gone over to Grammoch-town to consult Dingley, the vet. On his way home
+he met Jim Mason with Gyp, the faithful Betsy's unworthy successor, at
+the Dalesman's Daughter. Together they started for the long tramp home
+over the Marches. And that journey is marked with a red stone in this
+story.
+
+All day long the hills had been bathed in impenetrable fog. Throughout
+there had been an accompanying drizzle; and in the distance the wind
+had moaned a storm-menace. To the darkness of the day was added the
+sombreness of falling night as the three began the ascent of the
+Murk Muir Pass. By the time they emerged into the Devil's Bowl it was
+altogether black and blind. But the threat of wind had passed, leaving
+utter stillness; and they could hear the splash of an otter on the far
+side of the Lone Tarn as they skirted that gloomy water's edge. When at
+length the last steep rise on to the Marches had been topped, a breath
+of soft air smote them lightly, and the curtain of fog began drifting
+away.
+
+The two men swung steadily through the heather with that reaching stride
+the birthright of moor-men and highlanders. They talked but little,
+for such was their nature: a word or two on sheep and the approaching
+lambing-time; thence on to the coming Trials; the Shepherds' Trophy;
+Owd Bob and the attempt on him; and from that to M'Adam and the Tailless
+Tyke.
+
+"D'yo' reck'n M'Adam had a hand in't?" the postman was asking.
+
+"Nay; there's no proof."
+
+"Ceptin' he's mad to get shut o' Th' Owd Un afore Cup Day."
+
+"Im or me--it mak's no differ. For a dog is disqualified from competing
+for the Trophy who has changed hands during the six months prior to the
+meeting. And this holds good though the change be only from father to
+son on the decease of the former."
+
+Jim looked up inquiringly at his companion.
+
+"D'yo' think it'll coom to that?" he asked.
+
+"What?"
+
+"Why--murder."
+
+"Not if I can help it," the other answered grimly.
+
+The fog had cleared away by now, and the moon was up. To their right,
+on the crest of a rise some two hundred yards away, a low wood stood out
+black against the sky. As they passed it, a blackbird rose up screaming,
+and a brace of wood-pigeons winged noisily away.
+
+"Hullo! hark to the yammerin'!" muttered Jim, stopping; "and at this
+time o' night too!"
+
+Some rabbits, playing in the moonlight on the outskirts of the wood, sat
+up, listened, and hopped back into security. At the same moment a big
+hill-fox slunk out of the covert. He stole a pace forward and halted,
+listening with one ear back and one pad raised; then cantered silently
+away in the gloom, passing close to the two men and yet not observing
+them.
+
+"What's up, I wonder?" mused the postman.
+
+"The fox set 'em clackerin', I reck'n," said the Master.
+
+"Not he; he was scared 'maist oot o' his skin," the other answered. Then
+in tones of suppressed excitement, with his hands on James Moore's arm:
+"And, look'ee, theer's ma Gyp a-beckonin' on us!"
+
+There, indeed, on the crest of the rise beside the wood, was the
+little lurcher, now looking back at his master, now creeping stealthily
+forward.
+
+"Ma word! theer's summat wrong yonder!" cried Jim, and jerked the
+post-bags off his shoulder. "Coom on, Master! "--and he set off running
+toward the dog; while James Moore, himself excited now, followed with an
+agility that belied his years.
+
+Some score yards from the lower edge of the spinney, upon the farther
+side of the ridge, a tiny beck babbled through its bed of peat. The
+two men, as they topped the rise, noticed a flock of black-faced
+mountain-sheep clustered in the dip 'twixt wood and stream. They stood
+martialled in close array, facing half toward the wood, half toward
+the newcomers, heads up, eyes glaring, handsome as sheep only look when
+scared.
+
+On the crest of the ridge the two men halted beside Gyp. The postman
+stood with his head a little forward, listening intently. Then he
+dropped in the heather like a dead man, pulling the other with him.
+
+"Doon, mon!" he whispered, clutching at Gyp with his spare hand.
+
+"What is't, Jim?" asked the Master, now thoroughly roused.
+
+"Summat movin' i' th' wood," the other whispered, listening
+weasel-eared.
+
+So they lay motionless for a while; but there came no sound from the
+copse.
+
+"'Appen 'twas nowt," the postman at length allowed, peering cautiously
+about. "And yet I thowt--I dunno reetly what I thowt."
+
+Then, starting to his knees with a hoarse cry of terror: "Save us!
+what's yon theer?"
+
+Then for the first time the Master raised his head and noticed, lying in
+the gloom between them and the array of sheep, a still, white heap.
+
+James Moore was a man of deeds, not words.
+
+"It's past waitin'!" he said, and sprang forward, his heart in his
+mouth.
+
+The sheep stamped and shuffled as he came, and yet did not break.
+
+"Ah, thanks be!" he cried, dropping beside the motionless body; "it's
+nob'but a sheep." As he spoke his hands wandered deftly over the
+carcase. "But what's this?" he called. "Stout* she was as me. Look at
+her fleece--crisp, close, strong; feel the flesh--firm as a rock. And
+ne'er a bone broke, ne're a scrat on her body a pin could mak'. As
+healthy as a mon--and yet dead as mutton!"
+
+     *N.B. Stout--Hearty.
+
+Jim, still trembling from the horror of his fear, came up, and knelt
+beside his friend. "Ah, but there's bin devilry in this!" he said; "I
+reck'ned they sheep had bin badly skeared, and not so long agone."
+
+"Sheep-murder, sure enough!" the other answered. "No fox's doin'--a
+girt-grown two-shear as could 'maist knock a h'ox."
+
+Jim's hands travelled from the body to the dead creature's throat. He
+screamed.
+
+"By gob, Master! look 'ee theer!" He held his hand up in the moonlight,
+and it dripped red. "And warm yet! warm!"
+
+"Tear some bracken, Jim!" ordered the other, "and set alight. We mun see
+to this."
+
+The postman did as bid. For a moment the fern smouldered and smoked,
+then the flame ran crackling along and shot up in the darkness,
+weirdly lighting the scene: to the right the low wood, a block of solid
+blackness against the sky; in front the wall of sheep, staring out of
+the gloom with bright eyes; and as centre-piece that still, white body,
+with the kneeling men and lurcher sniffing tentatively round.
+
+The victim was subjected to a critical examination. The throat, and that
+only, had been hideously mauled; from the raw wounds the flesh hung in
+horrid shreds; on the ground all about were little pitiful dabs of
+wool, wrenched off apparently in a struggle; and, crawling among the
+fern-roots, a snake-like track of red led down to the stream.
+
+"A dog's doin', and no mistakin' thot," said Jim at length, after a
+minute inspection.
+
+"Ay," declared the Master with slow emphasis, "and a sheep-dog's too,
+and an old un's, or I'm no shepherd."
+
+The postman looked up.
+
+"Why thot?" he asked, puzzled.
+
+"Becos," the Master answered, "'im as did this killed for blood--and for
+blood only. If had bin ony other dog--greyhound, bull, tarrier, or even
+a young sheep-dog--d'yo' think he'd ha' stopped wi' the one? Not he;
+he'd ha' gone through 'em, and be runnin' 'em as like as not yet,
+nippin' 'em, pullin' 'em down, till he'd maybe killed the half. But 'im
+as did this killed for blood, I say. He got it--killed just the one, and
+nary touched the others, d'yo 'see, Jim?"
+
+The postman whistled, long and low.
+
+"It's just what owd Wrottesley'd tell on," he said. "I never nob'but
+half believed him then--I do now though. D'yo' mind what th' owd lad'd
+tell, Master?"
+
+James Moore nodded.
+
+"Thot's it. I've never seen the like afore myself, but I've heard ma
+grandad speak o't mony's the time. An owd dog'll git the cravin' for
+sheep's blood on him, just the same as a mon does for the drink; he
+creeps oot o' nights, gallops afar, hunts his sheep, downs 'er, and
+satisfies the cravin'. And he nary kills but the one, they say, for he
+knows the value o' sheep same as you and me. He has his gallop, quenches
+the thirst, and then he's for home, maybe a score mile away, and no one
+the wiser i' th' mornin'. And so on, till he cooms to a bloody death,
+the murderin' traitor."
+
+"If he does!" said Jim.
+
+"And he does, they say, nigh always. For he gets bolder and bolder wi'
+not bein' caught, until one fine night a bullet lets light into him. And
+some mon gets knocked nigh endways when they bring his best tyke home i'
+th' mornin', dead, wi' the sheep's wool yet stickin' in his mouth."
+
+The postman whistled again.
+
+"It's what owd Wrottesley'd tell on to a tick. And he'd say, if ye
+mind, Master, as hoo the dog'd niver kill his master's sheep--kind o'
+conscience-like."
+
+"Ay, I've heard that," said the Master. "Queer too, and 'im bein' such a
+bad un!"
+
+Jim Mason rose slowly from his knees.
+
+"Ma word," he said, "I wish Th' Owd Un was here. He'd 'appen show us
+summat!"
+
+"I nob'but wish he was, pore owd lad!" said the Master.
+
+As he spoke there was a crash in the wood above them; a sound as of some
+big body bursting furiously through brushwood.
+
+The two men rushed to the top of the rise. In the darkness they could
+see nothing; only, standing still and holding their breaths, they could
+hear the faint sound, ever growing fainter, of some creature splashing
+in a hasty gallop over the wet moors.
+
+"Yon's him! Yon's no fox, I'll tak' oath. And a main big un, too, hark
+to him!" cried Jim. Then to Gyp, who had rushed off in hot pursuit:
+"Coom back, chunk-'ead. What's use o' you agin a gallopin' potamus?"
+
+Gradually the sounds died away and away, and were no more.
+
+"Thot's 'im, the devil!" said the Master at length.
+
+"Nay; the devil has a tail, they do say," replied Jim thoughtfully. For
+already the light of suspicion was focusing its red glare.
+
+"Noo I reck'n we're in for bloody times amang the sheep for a while,"
+said the Master, as Jim picked up his bags.
+
+"Better a sheep nor a mon," answered the postman, still harping on the
+old theme.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XVI. THE BLACK KILLER
+
+
+THAT, as James Moore had predicted, was the first only of a long
+succession of such solitary crimes.
+
+Those who have not lived in a desolate country like that about the
+Muir Pike, where sheep are paramount and every other man engaged in the
+profession pastoral, can barely imagine the sensation aroused. In market
+place, tavern, or cottage, the subject of conversation was always the
+latest sheep-murder and the yet-undetected criminal.
+
+Sometimes there would be a lull, and the shepherds would begin to
+breathe more freely. Then there would come a stormy night, when the
+heavens were veiled in the cloak of crime, and the wind moaned fitfully
+over meres and marches, and another victim would be added to the
+lengthening list.
+
+It was always such black nights, nights of wind and weather, when no man
+would be abroad, that the murderer chose for his bloody work; and that
+was how he became known from the Red Screes to the Muir Pike as the
+Black Killer. In the Daleland they still call a wild, wet night "A Black
+Killer's night:" for they say: "His ghaist'll be oot the night."
+
+There was hardly a farm in the countryside but was marked with the seal
+of blood. Kenmuir escaped, and the Grange; Rob Saunderson at the Holt,
+and Tupper at Swinsthwaite; and they were about the only lucky ones.
+
+As for Kenmuir, Tammas declared with a certain grim pride: "He knows
+better'n to coom wheer Th' Owd Un be." Whereat M'Adam was taken with a
+fit of internal spasms, rubbing his knees and cackling insanely for a
+half-hour afterward. And as for the luck of the Grange--well, there was
+a reason for that too, so the Dalesmen said.
+
+Though the area of crime stretched from the Black Water to
+Grammoch-town, twenty-odd miles, there was never a sign of the
+perpetrator. The Killer did his bloody work with a thoroughness and a
+devilish cunning that defied detection.
+
+It was plain that each murder might be set down to the same agency. Each
+was stamped with the same unmistakable sign-manual: one sheep killed,
+its throat torn into red ribands, and the others untouched.
+
+It was at the instigation of Parson Leggy that the squire imported a
+bloodhound to track the Killer to his doom. Set on at a fresh killed
+carcase at the One Tree Knowe, he carried the line a distance in the
+direction of the Muir Pike; then was thrown out by a little bustling
+beck, and never acknowledged the scent again. Afterward he became
+unmanageable, and could be no further utilized. Then there was talk of
+inducing Tommy Dobson and his pack to come over from Eskdale, but
+that came to nothing. The Master of the Border Hunt lent a couple of
+foxhounds, who effected nothing; and there were a hundred other attempts
+and as many failures. Jim Mason set a cunning trap or two and caught his
+own bob-tailed tortoise-shell and a terrible wigging from his missus;
+Ned Hoppin sat up with a gun two nights over a new slain victim and
+Londesley of the Home Farm poisoned a carcase. But the Killer never
+returned to the kill, and went about in the midst of the all, carrying
+on his infamous traffic and laughing up his sleeve.
+
+In the meanwhile the Dalesmen raged and swore vengeance; their
+impotence, their unsuccess, and their losses heating their wrath to
+madness. And the bitterest sting of it all lay in this; that though they
+could not detect him, they were nigh to positive as to the culprit.
+
+Many a time was the Black Killer named in low-voiced conclave; many a
+time did Long Kirby, as he stood in the Border Ram and watched M'Adam
+and the Terror walking down the High, nudge Jim Mason and whisper:
+
+"Theer's the Killer--oneasy be his grave!" To which practical Jim always
+made the same retort:
+
+"Ay, theer's the Killer; but wheer's the proof?"
+
+And therein lay the crux. There was scarcely a man in the countryside
+who doubted the guilt of the Tailless Tyke; but, as Jim said, where
+was the proof? They could but point to his well-won nickname; his evil
+notoriety; say that, magnificent sheep-dog as he was, he was known even
+in his work as a rough handler of stock; and lastly remark significantly
+that the grange was one of the few farms that had so far escaped
+unscathed. For with the belief that the Black Killer was a sheep-dog
+they held it as an article of faith that he would in honour spare his
+master's flock.
+
+There may, indeed, have been prejudice in their judgement. For each has
+his private grudge against the Terror; and nigh every man bore on his
+own person, or his clothes, or on the body of his dog, the mark of that
+huge savage.
+
+Proof?
+
+"Why, he near killed ma Lassie!" cries Londesley.
+
+"And he did kill the Wexer!"
+
+"And Wan Tromp!"
+
+"And see pore old Wenus!" says John Swan, and pulls out that fair
+Amazon, battered almost past recognition, but a warrioress still.
+
+"That's Red Wull--bloody be his end!"
+
+"And he laid ma Rasper by for nigh three weeks!" continues Tupper,
+pointing to the yet-unhealed scars on the neck of the big bobtail. "See
+thisey--his work."
+
+"And look here!" cries Saunderson, exposing a ragged wound in Shep's
+throat; "thot's the Terror--black be his fa'!"
+
+"Ay," says Long Kirby with an oath; "the tykes love him nigh as much as
+we do."
+
+"Yes," says Tammas. "Yo' jest watch!"
+
+The old man slips out of the tap-room; and in another moment from the
+road without comes a heavy, regular pat-pat-pat, as of some big creature
+approaching, and, blending with the sound, little shuffling footsteps.
+
+In an instant every dog in the room has risen to his feet and stands
+staring at the door with sullen, glowing eyes; lips wrinkling, bristles
+rising, throats rumbling.
+
+An unsteady hand fumbles at the door; a reedy voice calls, "Wullie, come
+here!" and the dogs move away, surly to either side of the fireplace,
+tails down, ears back, grumbling still; the picture of cowed passion.
+Then the door opens; Tammas enters, grinning; and each, after a moment's
+scrutiny, resumes his former position before the fire.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Meanwhile over M'Adam, seemingly all unsuspicious of these suspicions,
+a change had come. Whether it was that for the time he heard less of the
+best sheep-dog in the North, or for some more occult reason, certain it
+is that he became his old self. His tongue wagged as gayly and bitterly
+as ever, and hardly a night passed but he infuriated Tammas almost to
+blows with his innuendoes and insidious sarcasms.
+
+Old Jonas Maddox, one evening at the Sylvester Arms, inquired of him
+what his notion was as to the identity of the Killer.
+
+"I hae ma suspicions, Mr. Maddox; I hae ma suspicions," the little man
+replied, cunningly wagging his head and giggling. But more than that
+they could not elicit from him. A week later, however, to the question:
+
+"And what are yo' thinkin' o' this black Killer, Mr. M'adam?"
+
+"Why _black?_" the little man asked earnestly; "why _black_ mair than
+white--or _gray_ we'll say?" Luckily for him, however, the Dalesmen are
+slow of wit as of speech.
+
+David, too, marked the difference in his father, who nagged at him now
+and then with all the old spirit. At first he rejoiced in then change,
+preferring his outward and open warfare to that aforetime stealthy
+enmity. But soon he almost wished the other back; for the older he grew
+the more difficult did he find it to endure calmly these everlasting
+bickerings.
+
+For one reason he was truly glad of the altered condition of affairs; he
+believed that, for the nonce, at least his father had abandoned any
+ill designs he might have cherished against James Moore; those sneaking
+visits to Kenmuir were, he hoped, discontinued.
+
+Yet Maggie Moore, had she been on speaking terms with him, could have
+undeceived him. For, one night, when alone in the kitchen, on suddenly
+looking up, she had seen to her horror a dim, moonlike face glued
+against the windowpane. In the first mad panic of the moment she almost
+screamed, and dropped her work; then--a true Moore--controlled herself
+and sat feigning to work, yet watching all the while.
+
+It was M'Adam, she recognized that: the face pale in its framework
+of black; the hair lying dank and dark on his forehead; and the white
+eyelids blinking, slow, regular, horrible. She thought of the stories
+she had heard of his sworn vengeance on her father, and her heart stood
+still, though she never moved. At length with a gasp of relief she
+discerned that the eyes were not directed on her. Stealthily following
+their gaze, she saw they rested on the Shepherds' Trophy; and on the Cup
+they remained fixed, immovable, while she sat motionless and watched.
+
+An hour, it seemed to her, elapsed before they shifted their direction,
+and wandered round the room. For a second they dwelt upon her; then the
+face withdrew into the night.
+
+Maggie told no one what she had seen. Knowing well how terrible her
+father was in his anger, she deemed it wiser to keep silence. While as
+for David M'Adam, she would never speak to him again!
+
+And not for a moment did that young man surmise whence his father came
+when, on the night in question, M'Adam returned to the Grange, chuckling
+to himself. David was growing of late accustomed to these fits of
+silent, unprovoked merriment; and when his father began giggling and
+muttering to Red Wull, at first he paid no heed.
+
+"He! he! Wullie. Aiblins we'll beat him yet. There's many a slip
+twixt Cup and lip--eh, Wullie, he! he!" And he made allusion to the
+flourishing of the wicked and their fall; ending always with the same
+refrain: "He! he! Wullie. Aiblins we'll beat him yet."
+
+In this strain he continued until David, his patience exhausted, asked
+roughly:
+
+"What is't yo' mumblin' aboot? Wha is it yo'll beat, you and yer
+Wullie?"
+
+The lad's tone was as contemptuous as his words. Long ago he had cast
+aside any semblance of respect for his father.
+
+M'Adam only rubbed his knees and giggled.
+
+"Hark to the dear lad, Wullie! Listen hoo pleasantly he addresses his
+auld dad!" Then turning on his son, and leering at him: "What is it,
+ye ask? Wha should it be but the Black Killer? Wha else is there I'd be
+wushin' to hurt?"
+
+"The Black Killer!" echoed the boy, and looked at his father in
+amazement.
+
+Now David was almost the only man in Wastrel-dale who denied Red Wull's
+identity with the Killer. "Nay," he said once; "he'd kill me, given half
+a chance, but a sheep--no." Yet, though himself of this opinion, he knew
+well what the talk was, and was astonished accordingly at his father's
+remark.
+
+"The Black Killer, is it? What d'you know o' the Killer?" he inquired.
+
+"Why _black_, I wad ken? Why _black?_" the little man asked, leaning
+forward in his chair.
+
+Now David, though repudiating in the village Red Wull's complicity
+with the crimes, at home was never so happy as when casting cunning
+innuendoes to that effect.
+
+"What would you have him then?" he asked. "Red, yaller, muck-dirt
+colour?"--and he stared significantly at the Tailless Tyke, who was
+lying at his master's feet. The little man ceased rubbing his knees and
+eyed the boy. David shifted uneasily beneath that dim, persistent stare.
+
+"Well?" he said at length gruffly.
+
+The little man giggled, and his two thin hands took up their task again.
+
+"Aiblins his puir auld doited fool of a dad kens mair than the dear lad
+thinks for, ay, or wushes--eh, Wullie, he! he!"
+
+"Then what is it you do know, or think yo' know?" David asked irritably.
+
+The little man nodded and chuckled.
+
+"Naethin' ava, laddie, naethin' worth the mention. Only aiblins the
+Killer'll be caught afore sae lang."
+
+David smiled incredulously, wagging his head in offensive scepticism.
+
+"Yo'll catch him yo'self, I s'pose, you and yer Wullie? Tak' a chair on
+to the Marches, whistle a while, and when the Killer comes, why! pit a
+pinch o' salt upon his tail--if he had one."
+
+At the last words, heavily punctuated by the speaker, the little man
+stopped his rubbing as though shot.
+
+"What wad ye mean by that?" he asked softly.
+
+"What wad I?" the boy replied.
+
+"I dinna ken for sure," the little man answered; "and it's aiblins just
+as well for you, dear lad"--in fawning accents--"that I dinna." He
+began rubbing and giggling afresh. "It's a gran' thing, Wullie, to ha'
+a dutiful son; a shairp lad wha has no silly sens o' shame aboot
+sharpenin' his wits at his auld dad's expense. And yet, despite
+oor facetious lad there, aiblins we will ha' a hand in the Killer's
+catchin', you and I, Wullie--he! he!" And the great dog at his feet
+wagged his stump tail in reply.
+
+David rose from his chair and walked across the room to where his father
+sat.
+
+"If yo' know sic a mighty heap," he shouted, "happen you'll just tell me
+what yo' do know!"
+
+M'Adam stopped stroking Red Wull's massive head, and looked up.
+
+"Tell ye? Ay, wha should I tell if not ma dear David? Tell? Ay, I'll
+tell ye this"--with a sudden snarl of bitterness--"That you'd be the
+vairy last person I wad tell."
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XVII. A MAD DOG
+
+
+DAVID and Maggie, meanwhile, were drifting further and further apart. He
+now thought the girl took too much upon herself; that this assumption of
+the woman and the mother was overdone. Once, on a Sunday, he caught her
+hearing Andrew his catechism. He watched the performance through a crack
+in the door, and listened, giggling, to her simple teaching. At length
+his merriment grew so boisterous that she looked up, saw him, and,
+straightway rising to her feet, crossed the room and shut the door;
+tendering her unspoken rebuke with such a sweet dignity that he slunk
+away for once decently ashamed. And the incident served to add point to
+his hostility.
+
+Consequently he was seldom at Kenmuir, and more often at home,
+quarrelling with his father.
+
+Since that day, two years before, when the boy had been an instrument in
+the taking of the Cup from him, father and son had been like two vessels
+charged with electricity, contact between which might result at any
+moment in a shock and a flash. This was the outcome not of a moment, but
+of years.
+
+Of late the contest had raged markedly fierce; for M'Adam noticed his
+son's more frequent presence at home, and commented on the fact in his
+usual spirit of playful raillery.
+
+"What's come to ye, David?" he asked one day. "Yer auld dad's head is
+nigh turned wi' yer condescension. Is James Moore feared ye'll steal the
+Cup fra him, as ye stole it from me, that he'll not ha' ye at Kenmuir?
+or what is it?"
+
+"I thought I could maybe keep an eye on the Killer gin I stayed here,"
+David answered, leering at Red Wull.
+
+"Ye'd do better at Kenmuir--eh, Wullie!" the little man replied.
+
+"Nay," the other answered, "he'll not go to Kenmuir. There's Th' Owd Un
+to see to him there o' nights."
+
+The little man whipped round.
+
+"Are ye so sure he is there o' nights, ma lad?" he asked with slow
+significance.
+
+"He was there when some one--I dinna say who, though I have ma
+thoughts--tried to poison him," sneered the boy, mimicking his father's
+manner.
+
+M'Adam shook his head.
+
+"If he was poisoned, and noo I think aiblins he was, he didna pick it up
+at Kenmuir, I tell ye that," he said, and marched out of the room.
+
+In the mean time the Black Killer pursued his bloody trade unchecked.
+The public, always greedy of a new sensation, took up the matter.
+In several of the great dailies, articles on the "Agrarian Outrages"
+appeared, followed by lengthy correspondence. Controversy raged high;
+each correspondent had his own theory and his own solution of the
+problem; and each waxed indignant as his were discarded for another's.
+
+The Terror had reigned already two months when, with the advent of the
+lambing-time, matters took a yet more serious aspect.
+
+It was bad enough to lose one sheep, often the finest in the pack; but
+the hunting of a flock at a critical moment, which was incidental to the
+slaughter of the one, the scaring of these woolly mothers-about-to-be
+almost out of their fleeces, spelt for the small farmers something akin
+to ruin, for the bigger ones a loss hardly bearable.
+
+Such a woful season had never been known; loud were the curses, deep
+the vows of revenge. Many a shepherd at that time patrolled all night
+through with his dogs, only to find in the morning that the Killer had
+slipped him and havocked in some secluded portion of his beat.
+
+It was heartrending work; and all the more so in that, though his
+incrimination seemed as far off as ever, there was still the same
+positiveness as to the culprit's identity.
+
+Long Kirby, indeed, greatly daring, went so far on one occasion as to
+say to the little man: "And d'yo' reck'n the Killer is a sheep-dog,
+M'Adam?"
+
+"I do," the little man replied with conviction.
+
+"And that he'll spare his own sheep?"
+
+"Niver a doubt of it."
+
+"Then," said the smith with a nervous cackle, "it must lie between you
+and Tupper and Saunderson."
+
+The little man leant forward and tapped the other on the arm.
+
+"Or Kenmuir, ma friend," he said. "Ye've forgot Kenmuir."
+
+"So I have," laughed the smith, "so I have."
+
+"Then I'd not anither time," the other continued, still tapping. "I'd
+mind Kenmuir, d'ye see, Kirby?"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was about the middle of the lambing-time, when the Killer was working
+his worst, that the Dalesmen had a lurid glimpse of Adam M'Adam as he
+might be were he wounded through his Wullie.
+
+Thus it came about: It was market-day in Grammoch-town, and in the
+Border Ram old Rob Saunderson was the centre of interest. For on the
+previous night Rob, who till then had escaped unscathed, had lost a
+sheep to the Killer: and--far worse--his flock of Herdwicks, heavy in
+lamb, had been galloped with disastrous consequences.
+
+The old man, with tears in his eyes, was telling how on four nights that
+week he had been up with Shep to guard against mishap; and on the fifth,
+worn out with his double labor, had fallen asleep at his post. But
+a very little while he slumbered; yet when, in the dawn, he woke and
+hurried on his rounds, he quickly came upon a mangled sheep and the
+pitiful relic of his flock. A relic, indeed! For all about were cold
+wee lambkins and their mothers, dead and dying of exhaustion and their
+unripe travail--a slaughter of the innocents.
+
+The Dalesmen were clustered round the old shepherd, listening with
+lowering countenances, when a dark gray head peered in at the door and
+two wistful eyes dwelt for a moment on the speaker.
+
+"Talk o' the devil!" muttered M'Adam, but no man heard him. For Red
+Wull, too, had seen that sad face, and, rising from his master's feet,
+had leapt with a roar at his enemy, toppling Jim Mason like a ninepin in
+the fury of his charge.
+
+In a second every dog in the room, from the battered Venus to Tupper's
+big Rasper, was on his feet, bristling to have at the tyrant and wipe
+out past injuries, if the gray dog would but lead the dance.
+
+It was not to be, however. For Long Kirby was standing at the door with
+a cup of hot coffee in his hand. Barely had he greeted the gray dog
+with--
+
+"Ullo, Owd Un!" when hoarse yells of "'Ware, lad! The Terror!" mingled
+with Red Wull's roar.
+
+Half turning, he saw the great dog bounding to the attack. Straightway
+he flung the boiling contents of his cup full in that rage-wracked
+countenance. The burning liquid swished against the huge bull-head.
+Blinding, bubbling, scalding, it did its fell work well; nothing escaped
+that merciless torrent. With a cry of agony, half bellow, half howl,
+Red Wull checked in his charge. From without the door was banged to; and
+again the duel was postponed. While within the tap-room a huddle of men
+and dogs were left alone with a mad man and a madder brute.
+
+Blind, demented, agonized, the Tailless Tyke thundered about the little
+room gnashing, snapping, oversetting; men, tables, chairs swirled off
+their legs as though they had been dolls. He spun round like a monstrous
+teetotum; he banged his tortured head against the wall; he burrowed
+into the unyielding floor. And all the while M'Adam pattered after him,
+laying hands upon him only to be flung aside as a terrier flings a rat.
+Now up, now down again, now tossed into a corner, now dragged upon
+the floor, yet always following on and crying in supplicating tones,
+"Wullie, Wullie, let me to ye! let yer man ease ye!" and then, with
+a scream and a murderous glance, "By ----, Kirby, I'll deal wi' you
+later!"
+
+The uproar was like hell let loose. You could hear the noise of oaths
+and blows, as the men fought for the door, a half-mile away. And above
+it the horrid bellowing and the screaming of that shrill voice.
+
+Long Kirby was the first man out of that murder-hole; and after him
+the others toppled one by one--men and dogs jostling one another in
+the frenzy of their fear. Big Bell, Londesley, Tupper, Hoppin, Teddy
+Bolstock, white-faced and trembling; and old Saunderson they pulled out
+by his heels. Then the door was shut with a clang, and the little man
+and mad dog were left alone.
+
+In the street was already a big-eyed crowd, attracted by the uproar;
+while at the door was James Moore, seeking entrance. "Happen I could
+lend the little mon a hand," said he; but they withheld him forcibly.
+
+Inside was pandemonium: bangings like the doors of hell; the bellowing
+of that great voice; the patter of little feet; the slithering of a
+body on the floor; and always that shrill, beseeching prayer, "Wullie,
+Wullie, let me to ye!" and, in a scream, "By ----, Kirby, I'll be wi' ye
+soon!"
+
+Jim Mason it was who turned, at length, to the smith and whispered,
+"Kirby, lad, yo'd best skip it."
+
+The big man obeyed and ran. The stamp-stamp of his feet on the hard road
+rang above the turmoil. As the long legs vanished round the corner and
+the sound of the fugitive died away, a panic seized the listening crowd.
+
+A woman shrieked; a girl fainted; and in two minutes the street was as
+naked of men as the steppes of Russia in winter: here a white face at a
+window; there a door ajar; and peering round a far corner a frightened
+boy. One man only scorned to run. Alone, James Moore stalked down the
+centre of the road, slow and calm, Owd Bob trotting at his heels.
+
+It was a long half-hour before the door of the inn burst open, and
+M'Adam came out with a run, flinging the door behind him.
+
+He rushed into the middle of the road; his sleeves were rolled at
+the wrist like a surgeon's; and in his right hand was a black-handled
+jack-knife.
+
+"Noo, by ----!" he cried in a terrible voice, "where is he?"
+
+He looked up and down the road, darting his fiery glances everywhere;
+and his face was whiter than his hair.
+
+Then he turned and hunted madly down the whole length of the High,
+nosing like a weasel in every cranny, stabbing at the air as he went,
+and screaming, "By ----, Kirby, wait till I get ye!"
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XVIII. HOW THE KILLER WAS SINGED
+
+
+No further harm came of the incident; but it served as a healthy
+object-lesson for the Dalesmen.
+
+A coincidence it may have been, but, as a fact, for the fortnight
+succeeding Kirby's exploit there was a lull in the crimes. There
+followed, as though to make amends, the seven days still remembered in
+the Daleland as the Bloody Week.
+
+On the Sunday the Squire lost a Cheviot ewe, killed not a hundred yards
+from the Manor wall. On the Monday a farm on the Black Water was marked
+with the red cross. On Tuesday--a black night--Tupper at Swinsthwaite
+came upon the murderer at his work; he fired into the darkness without
+effect; and the Killer escaped with a scaring. On the following night
+Viscount Birdsaye lost a shearling ram, for which he was reported to
+have paid a fabulous sum. Thursday was the one blank night of the week.
+On Friday Tupper was again visited and punished heavily, as though in
+revenge for that shot.
+
+On the Saturday afternoon a big meeting was held at the Manor to discuss
+measures. The Squire presided; gentlemen and magistrates were there in
+numbers, and every farmer in the country-side.
+
+To start the proceedings the Special Commissioner read a futile letter
+from the Board of Agriculture. After him Viscount Birdsaye rose and
+proposed that a reward more suitable to the seriousness of the case
+than the paltry 5 pounds of the Police should be offered, and backed his
+proposal with a 25 pound cheque. Several others spoke, and, last of all,
+Parson Leggy rose.
+
+He briefly summarized the history of the crimes; reiterated his belief
+that a sheep-dog was the criminal; declared that nothing had occurred
+to shake his conviction; and concluded by offering a remedy for their
+consideration. Simple it was, so he said, to laughableness; yet, if
+their surmise was correct, it would serve as an effectual preventive if
+not cure, and would at least give them time to turn round. He paused.
+
+"My suggestion is: That every man-jack of you who owns a sheep-dog ties
+him up at night."
+
+The farmers were given half an hour to consider the proposal, and
+clustered in knots talking it over. Many an eye was directed on M'Adam;
+but that little man appeared all unconscious.
+
+"Weel, Mr. Saunderson," he was saying in, shrill accents, "and shall ye
+tie Shep?"
+
+"What d'yo' think?" asked Rob, eying the man at whom the measure was
+aimed.
+
+"Why, it's this way, I'm thinkin'," the little man replied. "Gin ye haud
+Shep's the guilty one I _wad_, by all manner o' means--or shootin'd be
+aiblins better. If not, why"--he shrugged his shoulders significantly;
+and having shown his hand and driven the nail well home, the little man
+left the meeting.
+
+James Moore stayed to see the Parson's resolution negatived, by a large
+majority, and then he too quitted the hall. He had foreseen the result,
+and, previous to the meeting, had warned the Parson how it would be.
+
+"Tie up!" he cried almost indignantly, as Owd Bob came galloping up
+to his whistle; "I think I see myself chainin' yo', owd lad, like any
+murderer. Why, it's yo' has kept the Killer off Kenmuir so far, I'll
+lay."
+
+At the lodge-gate was M'Adam, for once without his familiar spirit,
+playing with the lodge-keeper's child; for the little man loved all
+children but his own, and was beloved of them. As the Master approached
+he looked up.
+
+"Weel, Moore," he called, "and are you gaein' to tie yer dog?"
+
+"I will if you will yours," the Master answered grimly.
+
+"Na," the little man replied, "it's Wullie as frichts the Killer aff the
+Grange. That's why I've left him there noo."
+
+"It's the same wi' me," the Master said. "He's not come to Kenmuir yet,
+nor he'll not so long as Th' Owd Un's loose, I reck'n."
+
+"Loose or tied, for the matter o' that," the little man rejoined,
+"Kenmuir'll escape." He made the statement dogmatically, snapping his
+lips.
+
+The Master frowned.
+
+"Why that?" he asked.
+
+"Ha' ye no heard what they're sayin'?" the little man inquired with
+raised eyebrows.
+
+"Nay; what?"
+
+"Why, that the mere repitation o' th' best sheep-dog in the North'
+should keep him aff. An' I guess they're reet," and he laughed shrilly
+as he spoke.
+
+The Master passed on, puzzled.
+
+"Which road are ye gaein' hame?" M'Adam called after him. "Because,"
+with a polite smile, "I'll tak' t'ither."
+
+"I'm off by the Windy Brae," the Master answered, striding on. "Squire
+asked me to leave a note wi' his shepherd t'other side o' the Chair."
+So he headed away to the left, making for home by the route along the
+Silver Mere.
+
+It is a long sweep of almost unbroken moorland, the well-called Windy
+Brae; sloping gently down in mile on mile of heather from the Mere
+Marches on the top to the fringe of the Silver Mere below. In all that
+waste of moor the only break is the quaint-shaped Giant's Chair,
+puzzle of geologists, looking as though plumped down by accident in the
+heathery wild. The ground rises suddenly from the uniform grade of the
+Brae; up it goes, ever growing steeper, until at length it runs abruptly
+into a sheer curtain of rock--the Fall--which rises perpendicular some
+forty feet, on the top of which rests that tiny grassy bowl--not twenty
+yards across--they call the Scoop.
+
+The Scoop forms the seat of the Chair and reposes on its collar of rock,
+cool and green and out of the world, like wine in a metal cup; in front
+is the forty-foot Fall; behind, rising sheer again, the wall of rock
+which makes the back of the Chair. Inaccessible from above, the only
+means of entrance to that little dell are two narrow sheep-tracks, which
+crawl dangerously up between the sheer wall on the one hand and the
+sheer Fall on the other, entering it at opposite sides.
+
+It stands out clear-cut from the gradual incline, that peculiar
+eminence; yet as the Master and Owd Bob debouched on to the Brae it was
+already invisible in the darkening night.
+
+Through the heather the two swung, the Master thinking now with a smile
+of David and Maggie; wondering what M'Adam had meant; musing with a
+frown on the Killer; pondering on his identity--for he was half of
+David's opinion as to Red Wull's innocence; and thanking his stars that
+so far Kenmuir had escaped, a piece of luck he attributed entirely to
+the vigilance of Th' Owd Un, who, sleeping in the porch, slipped out at
+all hours and went his rounds, warding off danger. And at the thought
+he looked down for the dark head which should be travelling at his knee;
+yet could not see it, so thick hung the pall of night.
+
+So he brushed his way along, and ever the night grew blacker; until,
+from the swell of the ground beneath his feet, he knew himself skirting
+the Giant's Chair.
+
+Now as he sped along the foot of the rise, of a sudden there burst
+on his ear the myriad patter of galloping feet. He turned, and at the
+second a swirl of sheep almost bore him down. It was velvet-black,
+and they fled furiously by, yet he dimly discovered, driving at their
+trails, a vague hound-like form.
+
+"The Killer, by thunder!" he ejaculated, and, startled though he was,
+struck down at that last pursuing shape, to miss and almost fall.
+
+"Bob, lad!" he cried, "follow on!" and swung round; but in the darkness
+could not see if the gray dog had obeyed.
+
+The chase swept on into the night, and, far above him on the hill-side,
+he could now hear the rattle of the flying feet. He started hotly in
+pursuit, and then, recognizing the futility of following where he
+could not see his hand, desisted. So he stood motionless, listening
+and peering into the blackness, hoping Th' Owd Un was on the villain's
+heels.
+
+He prayed for the moon; and, as though in answer, the lantern of the
+night shone out and lit the dour face of the Chair above him. He shot a
+glance at his feet; and thanked heaven on finding the gray dog was not
+beside him.
+
+Then he looked up. The sheep had broken, and were scattered over the
+steep hill-side, still galloping madly. In the rout one pair of darting
+figures caught and held his gaze: the foremost dodging, twisting,
+speeding upward, the hinder hard on the leader's heels, swift,
+remorseless, never changing. He looked for a third pursuing form; but
+none could he discern.
+
+"He mun ha' missed him in the dark," the Master muttered, the sweat
+standing on his brow, as he strained his eyes upward.
+
+Higher and higher sped those two dark specks, far out-topping the
+scattered remnant of the flock. Up and up, until of a sudden the sheer
+Fall dropped its relentless barrier in the path of the fugitive. Away,
+scudding along the foot of the rock-wall struck the familiar track
+leading to the Scoop, and up it, bleating pitifully, nigh spent, the
+Killer hard on her now.
+
+"He'll doon her in the Scoop!" cried the Master hoarsely, following
+with fascinated eyes. "Owd Un! Owd Un! wheer iver are yo' gotten to?" he
+called in agony; but no Owd Un made reply.
+
+As they reached the summit, just as he had prophesied, the two black
+dots were one; and down they rolled together into the hollow of the
+Scoop, out of the Master's ken. At the same instant the moon, as though
+loth to watch the last act of the bloody play, veiled her face.
+
+It was his chance. "Noo!"--and up the hillside he sped like a young man,
+girding his loins for the struggle. The slope grew steep and steeper;
+but on and on he held in the darkness, gasping painfully, yet running
+still, until the face of the Fall blocked his way too.
+
+There he paused a moment, and whistled a low call. Could he but dispatch
+the old dog up the one path to the Scoop, while he took the other, the
+murderer's one road to safety would be blocked.
+
+He waited, all expectant; but no cold muzzle was shoved into his hand.
+Again he whistled. A pebble from above almost dropped on him, as if the
+criminal up there had moved to the brink of the Fall to listen; and he
+dared no more.
+
+He waited till all was still again, then crept, cat-like, along the
+rock-foot, and hit, at length, the track up which a while before had
+fled Killer and victim. Up that ragged way he crawled on hands and
+knees. The perspiration rolled off his face; one elbow brushed the rock
+perpetually; one hand plunged ever and anon into that naked emptiness on
+the other side.
+
+He prayed that the moon might keep in but a little longer; that his feet
+might be saved from falling, where a slip might well mean death, certain
+destruction to any chance of success. He cursed his luck that Th' Owd Un
+had somehow missed him in the dark; for now he must trust to chance, his
+own great strength, and his good oak stick. And as he climbed, he laid
+his plan: to rush in on the Killer as he still gorged and grapple
+with him. If in the darkness he missed--and in that narrow arena the
+contingency was improbable--the murderer might still, in the panic of
+the moment, forget the one path to safety and leap over the Fall to his
+destruction.
+
+At length he reached the summit and paused to draw breath. The
+black void before him was the Scoop, and in its bosom--not ten yards
+away--must be lying the Killer and the killed.
+
+He crouched against the wet rock-face and listened. In that dark
+silence, poised 'twixt heaven and earth, he seemed a million miles apart
+from living soul.
+
+No sound, and yet the murderer must be there. Ay, there was the tinkle
+of a dislodged stone; and again, the tread of stealthy feet.
+
+The Killer was moving; alarmed; was off.
+
+Quick!
+
+He rose to his full height; gathered himself, and leapt.
+
+Something collided with him as he sprang; something wrestled madly with
+him; something wrenched from beneath him; and in a clap he heard
+the thud of a body striking ground far below, and the slithering and
+splattering of some creature speeding furiously down the hill-side and
+away.
+
+"Who the blazes?" roared he.
+
+"What the devil?" screamed a little voice.
+
+The moon shone out.
+
+"Moore!"
+
+"M'Adam!"
+
+And there they were still struggling over the body of a dead sheep.
+
+In a second they had disengaged and rushed to the edge of the Fall. In
+the quiet they could still hear the scrambling hurry of the fugitive far
+below them. Nothing was to be seen, however, save an array of startled
+sheep on the hill-side, mute witnesses of the murderer's escape.
+
+The two men turned and eyed each other; the one grim, the other
+sardonic: both dishevelled and suspicious.
+
+"Well?''
+
+"Weel?"
+
+A pause and, careful scrutiny.
+
+"There's blood on your coat."
+
+"And on yours."
+
+Together they walked hack into the little moonlit hollow. There lay the
+murdered sheep in a pool of blood. Plain it was to see whence the marks
+on their coats came. M'Adam touched the victim's head with his foot. The
+movement exposed its throat. With a shudder he replaced it as it was.
+
+The two men stood back and eyed one another.
+
+"What are yo' doin' here?"
+
+"After the Killer. What are you?"
+
+"After the Killer?"
+
+"Hoo did you come?"
+
+"Up this path," pointing to the one behind him. "Hoo did you?"
+
+"Up this."
+
+Silence; then again:
+
+"I'd ha' had him but for yo'."
+
+"I did have him, but ye tore me aff,"
+
+A pause again.
+
+"Where's yer gray dog?" This time the challenge was unmistakable.
+
+"I sent him after the Killer. Wheer's your Red Wull?"
+
+"At hame, as I tell't ye before."
+
+"Yo' mean yo' left him there?" M'Adam's fingers twitched.
+
+"He's where I left him."
+
+James Moore shrugged his shoulders. And the other began:
+
+"When did yer dog leave ye?"
+
+"When the Killer came past."
+
+"Ye wad say ye missed him then?"
+
+"I say what I mean."
+
+"Ye say he went after the Killer. Noo the Killer was here," pointing to
+the dead sheep. "Was your dog here, too?"
+
+"If he had been he'd been here still."
+
+"Onless he went over the Fall!"
+
+"That was the Killer, yo' fule."
+
+"Or your dog."
+
+"There was only _one_ beneath me. I felt him."
+
+"Just so," said M'Adam, and laughed. The other's brow contracted.
+
+"An' that was a big un," he said slowly. The little man stopped his
+cackling.
+
+"There ye lie," he said, smoothly. "He was small."
+
+They looked one another full in the eyes.
+
+"That's a matter of opinion," said the Master.
+
+"It's a matter of fact," said the other.
+
+The two stared at one another, silent and stern, each trying to fathom
+the other's soul; then they turned again to the brink of the Fall.
+Beneath them, plain to see, was the splash and furrow in the shingle
+marking the Killer's line of retreat. They looked at one another again,
+and then each departed the way he had come to give his version of the
+story.
+
+"'If Th' Owd Un had kept wi' me, I should ha' had him."
+
+And--
+
+"I tell ye I did have him, but James Moore pulled me aff. Strange, too,
+his dog not bein' wi' him!"
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XIX. LAD AND LASS
+
+
+AN immense sensation this affair of the Scoop created in the Daleland.
+It spurred the Dalesmen into fresh endeavors. James Moore and M'Adam
+were examined and re-examined as to the minutest details of the matter.
+The whole country-side was placarded with huge bills, offering 100
+pounds reward for the capture of the criminal dead or alive. While the
+vigilance of the watchers was such that in a single week they bagged a
+donkey, an old woman, and two amateur detectives.
+
+In Wastrel-dale the near escape of the Killer, the collision between
+James Moore and Adam, and Owd Bob's unsuccess, who was not wont to fail,
+aroused intense excitement, with which was mingled a certain anxiety as
+to their favorite.
+
+For when the Master had reached home that night, he had found the old
+dog already there; and he must have wrenched his foot in the pursuit or
+run a thorn into it, for he was very lame. Whereat, when it was reported
+at the Sylvester Arms, M'Adam winked at Red Wull and muttered, "Ah,
+forty foot is an ugly tumble."
+
+A week later the little man called at Kenmuir. As he entered the yard,
+David was standing outside the kitchen window, looking very glum and
+miserable. On seeing his father, however, the boy started forward, all
+alert.
+
+"What d'yo' want here?" he cried roughly.
+
+"Same as you, dear lad," the little man giggled, advancing. "I come on a
+visit."
+
+"Your visits to Kenmuir are usually paid by night, so I've heard," David
+sneered.
+
+The little man affected not to hear.
+
+"So they dinna allow ye indoors wi' the Cup," he laughed. "They know yer
+little ways then, David."
+
+"Nay, I'm not wanted in there," David answered bitterly, but not so loud
+that his father could hear. Maggie within the kitchen heard, however,
+but paid no heed; for her heart was hard against the boy, who of late,
+though he never addressed her, had made himself as unpleasant in a
+thousand little ways as only David M'Adam could.
+
+At that moment the Master came stalking into the yard, Owd Bob
+preceding him; and as the old dog recognized his visitor he bristled
+involuntarily.
+
+At the sight of the Master M'Adam hurried forward.
+
+"I did but come to ask after the tyke," he said, "Is he gettin' over his
+lameness?"
+
+James Moore looked surprised; then his stern face relaxed into a cordial
+smile. Such generous anxiety as to the welfare of Red Wull's rival was a
+wholly new characteristic in the little man.
+
+"I tak' it kind in yo', M'Adam," he said, "to come and inquire."
+
+"Is the thorn oot?" asked the little man with eager interest, shooting
+his head forward to stare closely at the other.
+
+"It came oot last night wi' the poulticin'," the Master answered,
+returning the other's gaze, calm and steady.
+
+"I'm glad o' that," said the little man, still staring. But his yellow,
+grinning face said as plain words, "What a liar ye are, James Moore."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The days passed on. His father's taunts and gibes, always becoming more
+bitter, drove David almost to distraction.
+
+He longed to make it up with Maggie; he longed for that tender sympathy
+which the girl had always extended to him when his troubles with his
+father were heavy on him. The quarrel had lasted for months now, and
+he was well weary of it, and utterly ashamed. For, at least, he had the
+good grace to acknowledge that no one was to blame but himself; and that
+it had been fostered solely by his ugly pride.
+
+At length he could endure it no longer, and determined to go to the
+girl and ask forgiveness. It would be a bitter ordeal to him; always
+unwilling to acknowledge a fault, even to himself, how much harder would
+it be to confess it to this strip of a girl. For a time he thought it
+was almost more than he could do. Yet, like his father, once set upon
+a course, nothing could divert him. So, after a week of doubts and
+determinations, of cowardice and courage, he pulled himself together and
+off he set.
+
+An hour it took him from the Grange to the bridge over the Wastrel--an
+hour which had wont to be a quarter. Now, as he walked on up the slope
+from the stream, very slowly, heartening himself for his penance, he was
+aware of a strange disturbance in the yard above him: the noisy cackling
+of hens, the snorting of pigs disturbed, and above the rest the cry of a
+little child ringing out in shrill distress.
+
+He set to running, and sped up the slope as fast as his long legs would
+carry him. As he took the gate in his stride, he saw the white-clad
+figure of Wee Anne fleeing with unsteady, toddling steps, her fair hair
+streaming out behind, and one bare arm striking wildly back at a great
+pursuing sow.
+
+David shouted as he cleared the gate, but the brute paid no heed, and
+was almost touching the fugitive when Owd Bob came galloping round the
+corner, and in a second had flashed between pursuer and pursued. So
+close were the two that as he swung round on the startled sow, his tail
+brushed the baby to the ground; and there she lay kicking fat legs to
+heaven and calling on all her gods.
+
+David, leaving the old dog to secure the warrior pig, ran round to her;
+but he was anticipated. The whole matter had barely occupied a minute's
+time; and Maggie, rushing from the kitchen, now had the child in her
+arms and was hurrying back with her to the house.
+
+"Eh, ma pet, are yo' hurted, dearie?" David could hear her asking
+tearfully, as he crossed the yard and established himself in the door.
+
+"Well," said he, in bantering tones, "yo'm a nice wench to ha' charge o'
+oor Annie!"
+
+It was a sore subject with the girl, and well he knew it. Wee Anne, that
+golden-haired imp of mischief, was forever evading her sister-mother's
+eye and attempting to immolate herself. More than once she had only been
+saved from serious hurt by the watchful devotion of Owd Bob, who always
+found time, despite his many labors, to keep a guardian eye on his
+well-loved lassie. In the previous winter she had been lost on a bitter
+night on the Muir Pike; once she had climbed into a field with the
+Highland bull, and barely escaped with her life, while the gray dog held
+the brute in check; but a little while before she had been rescued from
+drowning by the Tailless Tyke; there had been numerous other mischances;
+and now the present mishap. But the girl paid no heed to her tormentor
+in her joy at finding the child all unhurt.
+
+"Theer! yo' bain't so much as scratted, ma precious, is yo'?" she cried.
+"Rin oot agin, then," and the baby toddled joyfully away.
+
+Maggie rose to her feet and stood with face averted. David's eyes dwelt
+lovingly upon her, admiring the pose of the neat head with its thatch of
+pretty brown hair; the slim figure, and slender ankles, peeping modestly
+from beneath her print frock.
+
+"Ma word! if yo' dad should hear tell o' hoo his Anne--" he broke off
+into a long-drawn whistle.
+
+Maggie kept silence; but her lips quivered, and the flush deepened on
+her cheek.
+
+"I'm fear'd I'll ha' to tell him," the boy continued, "'Tis but ma
+duty."
+
+"Yo' may tell wham yo' like what yo' like," the girl replied coldly; yet
+there was a tremor in her voice.
+
+"First yo' throws her in the stream," David went on remorselessly; "then
+yo' chucks her to the pig, and if it had not bin for me--"
+
+"Yo', indeed!" she broke in contemptuously. "Yo'! 'twas Owd Bob reskied
+her. Yo'd nowt' to do wi' it, 'cept lookin' on--'bout what yo're fit
+for."
+
+"I tell yo'," David pursued stubbornly, "an it had not bin for me yo'
+wouldn't have no sister by noo. She'd be lyin', she would, pore little
+lass, cold as ice, pore mite, wi' no breath in her. An' when yo' dad
+coom home there'd be no Wee Anne to rin to him, and climb on his knee,
+and yammer to him, and beat his face. An he'd say, 'What's gotten to oor
+Annie, as I left wi' yo'?' And then yo'd have to tell him, 'I never took
+no manner o' fash after her, dad; d'reckly yo' back was turned, I--'"
+
+The girl sat down, buried her face in her apron, and indulged in the
+rare luxury of tears.
+
+"Yo're the cruellest mon as iver was, David M'Adam," she sobbed, rocking
+to and fro.
+
+He was at her side in a moment, tenderly bending over her.
+
+"Eh, Maggie, but I am sorry, lass--"
+
+She wrenched away from beneath his hands.
+
+"I hate yo'," she cried passionately.
+
+He gently removed her hands from before her tear-stained face.
+
+"I was nob'but laffin', Maggie," he pleaded; "say yo' forgie me."
+
+"I don't," she cried, struggling. "I think yo're the hatefullest lad as
+iver lived."
+
+The moment was critical; it was a time for heroic measures.
+
+"No, yo' don't, lass," he remonstrated; and, releasing her wrists,
+lifted the little drooping face, wet as it was, like the earth after
+a spring shower, and, holding it between his two big hands, kissed it
+twice.
+
+"Yo' coward!" she cried, a flood of warm red crimsoning her cheeks; and
+she struggled vainly to be free.
+
+"Yo' used to let me," he reminded her in aggrieved tones.
+
+"I niver did!" she cried, more indignant than truthful.
+
+"Yes, yo' did, when we was little uns; that is, yo' was allus for
+kissin' and I was allus agin it. And noo," with whole-souled bitterness,
+"I mayn't so much as keek at yo' over a stone wall."
+
+However that might be, he was keeking at her from closer range now; and
+in that position--for he held her firmly still--she could not help
+but keek back. He looked so handsome--humble for once; penitent yet
+reproachful; his own eyes a little moist; and, withal, his old audacious
+self--that, despite herself, her anger grew less hot.
+
+"Say yo' forgie me and I'll let yo' go."
+
+"I don't, nor niver shall," she answered firmly; but there was less
+conviction in her heart than voice.
+
+"Iss yo' do, lass," he coaxed, and kissed her again.
+
+She struggled faintly.
+
+"Hoo daur yo'?" she cried through her tears. But he was not to be moved.
+
+"Will yo' noo?" he asked.
+
+She remained dumb, and he kissed her again.
+
+"Impidence!" she cried.
+
+"Ay," said he, closing her mouth.
+
+"I wonder at ye, Davie!" she said, surrendering.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+After that Maggie must needs give in; and it was well understood, though
+nothing definite had been said, that the boy and girl were courting. And
+in the Dale the unanimous opinion was that the young couple would make
+"a gradely pair, surely."
+
+M'Adam was the last person to hear the news, long after it had been
+common knowledge in the village. It was in the Sylvester Arms he first
+heard it, and straightway fell into one of those foaming frenzies
+characteristic of him.
+
+"The dochter o' Moore o' Kenmuir, d'ye say? sic a dochter o' sic a man!
+The dochter o' th' one man in the warld that's harmed me aboon the rest!
+I'd no ha' believed it gin ye'd no tell't me. Oh, David, David! I'd no
+ha' thocht it even o' you, ill son as ye've aye bin to me. I think he
+might ha' waited till his auld dad was gone, and he'd no had to wait
+lang the noo." Then the little man sat down and burst into tears.
+Gradually, however, he resigned himself, and the more readily when he
+realized that David by his act had exposed a fresh wound into which he
+might plunge his barbed shafts. And he availed himself to the full
+of his new opportunities. Often and often David was sore pressed to
+restrain himself.
+
+"Is't true what they're sayin' that Maggie Moore's nae better than she
+should be?" the little man asked one evening with anxious interest.
+
+"They're not sayin' so, and if they were 'twad be a lie," the boy
+answered angrily.
+
+M'Adam leant back in his chair and nodded his head.
+
+"Ay, they tell't me that gin ony man knew 'twad be David M'Adam."
+
+David strode across the room.
+
+"No, no mair o' that," he shouted. "Y'ought to be 'shamed, an owd mon
+like you, to speak so o' a lass." The little man edged close up to his
+son, and looked up into the fair flushed face towering above him.
+
+"David," he said in smooth soft tones, "I'm 'stonished ye dinna strike
+yen auld dad." He stood with his hands clasped behind his back as if
+daring the young giant to raise a finger against him. "Ye maist might
+noo," he continued suavely. "Ye maun be sax inches taller, and a good
+four stane heavier. Hooiver, aiblins ye're wise to wait. Anither year
+twa I'll be an auld man, as ye say, and feebler, and Wullie here'll be
+gettin' on, while you'll be in the prime o' yer strength. Then I think
+ye might hit me wi' safety to your person, and honor to yourself."
+
+He took a pace back, smiling.
+
+"Feyther," said David, huskily, "one day yo'll drive me too far."
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XX. THE SNAPPING OF THE STRING
+
+
+THE spring was passing, marked throughout with the bloody trail of
+the Killer. The adventure in the Scoop scared him for a while into
+innocuousness; then he resumed his game again with redoubled zest.
+It seemed likely he would harry the district till some lucky accident
+carried him off, for all chance there was of arresting him.
+
+You could still hear nightly in the Sylvester Arms and elsewhere the
+assertion, delivered with the same dogmatic certainty as of old, "It's
+the Terror, I tell yo'!" and that irritating, inevitable reply: "Ay; but
+wheer's the proof?" While often, at the same moment, in a house not far
+away, a little lonely man was sitting before a low-burnt fire, rocking
+to and fro, biting his nails, and muttering to the great dog whose head
+lay between his knees: "If we had but the proof, Wullie! if we had
+but the proof! I'd give ma right hand aff my arm gin we had the proof
+to-morrow."
+
+Long Kirby, who was always for war when some one else was to do the
+fighting, suggested that David should be requested, in the name of the
+Dalesmen, to tell M'Adam that he must make an end to Red Wull. But Jim
+Mason quashed the proposal, remarking truly enough that there was too
+much bad blood as it was between father and son; while Tammas proposed
+with a sneer that the smith should be his own agent in the matter.
+
+Whether it was this remark of Tammas's which stung the big man into
+action, or whether it was that the intensity of his hate gave him
+unusual courage, anyhow, a few days later, M'Adam caught him lurking in
+the granary of the Grange.
+
+The little man may not have guessed his murderous intent; yet the
+blacksmith's white-faced terror, as he crouched away in the darkest
+corner, could hardly have escaped remark; though--and Kirby may thank
+his stars for it--the treacherous gleam of a gun-barrel, ill-concealed
+behind him, did.
+
+"Hullo, Kirby!" said M'Adam cordially, "ye'll stay the night wi' me?"
+And the next thing the big man heard was a giggle on the far side the
+door, lost in the clank of padlock and rattle of chain. Then--through
+a crack--"Good-night to ye. Hope ye'll be comfie." And there he stayed
+that night, the following day and next night--thirty-six hours in all,
+with swedes for his hunger and the dew off the thatch for his thirst.
+
+Meanwhile the struggle between David and his father seemed coming to a
+head. The little man's tongue wagged more bitterly than ever; now it was
+never at rest--searching out sores, stinging, piercing.
+
+Worst of all, he was continually dropping innuendoes, seemingly innocent
+enough, yet with a world of subtile meaning at their back, respecting
+Maggie. The leer and wink with which, when David came home from
+Kenmuir at nights, he would ask the simple question, "And was she kind,
+David--eh, eh?" made the boy's blood boil within him.
+
+And the more effective the little man saw his shots to be, the more
+persistently he plied them. And David retaliated in kind. It was a war
+of reprisals. There was no peace; there were no truces in which to
+bury the dead before the opponents set to slaying others. And every day
+brought the combatants nearer to that final struggle, the issue of which
+neither cared to contemplate.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There came a Saturday, toward the end of the spring, long to be
+remembered by more than David in the Dale.
+
+For that young man the day started sensationally. Rising before
+cock-crow, and going to the window, the first thing he saw in the misty
+dawn was the gaunt, gigantic figure of Red Wull, hounding up the hill
+from the Stony Bottom; and in an instant his faith was shaken to its
+foundation.
+
+The dog was travelling up at a long, slouching trot; and as he rapidly
+approached the house, David saw that his flanks were all splashed with
+red mud, his tongue out, and the foam dripping from his jaws, as though
+he had come far and fast.
+
+He slunk up to the house, leapt on to the sill of the unused
+back-kitchen, some five feet from the ground, pushed with his paw at the
+cranky old hatchment, which was its only covering; and, in a second, the
+boy, straining out of the window the better to see, heard the rattle of
+the boards as the dog dropped within the house.
+
+For the moment, excited as he was, David held his peace. Even the Black
+Killer took only second place in his thoughts that morning. For this was
+to be a momentous day for him.
+
+That afternoon James Moore and Andrew would, he knew, be over at
+Grammoch-town, and, his work finished for the day, he was resolved to
+tackle Maggie and decide his fate. If she would have him--well, he would
+go next morning and thank God for it, kneeling beside her in the
+tiny village church; if not, he would leave the Grange and all its
+unhappiness behind, and straightway plunge out into the world.
+
+All through a week of stern work he had looked forward to this hard-won
+half-holiday. Therefore, when, as he was breaking off at noon, his
+father turned to him and said abruptly:
+
+"David, ye're to tak' the Cheviot lot o'er to Grammoch-town at once," he
+answered shortly:
+
+"Yo' mun tak' 'em yo'sel', if yo' wish 'em to go to-day."
+
+"Na," the little man answered; "Wullie and me, we're busy. Ye're to tak'
+'em, I tell ye."
+
+"I'll not," David replied. "If they wait for me, they wait till Monday,"
+and with that he left the room.
+
+"I see what 'tis," his father called after him; "she's give ye a tryst
+at Kenmuir. Oh, ye randy David!"
+
+"Yo' tend yo' business; I'll tend mine," the boy answered hotly.
+
+Now it happened that on the previous day Maggie had given him a
+photograph of herself, or, rather, David had taken it and Maggie had
+demurred. As he left the room it dropped from his pocket. He failed to
+notice his loss, but directly he was gone M'Adam pounced on it.
+
+"He! he! Wullie, what's this?" he giggled, holding the photograph into
+his face. "He! he! it's the jade hersel', I war'nt; it's Jezebel!"
+
+He peered into the picture.
+
+"She kens what's what, I'll tak' oath, Wullie. See her eyes--sae saft
+and languishin'; and her lips--such lips, Wullie!" He held the picture
+down for the great dog to see: then walked out of the room, still
+sniggering, and chucking the face insanely beneath its cardboard chin.
+
+Outside the house he collided against David. The boy had missed his
+treasure and was hurrying back for it.
+
+"What yo' got theer?" he asked suspiciously.
+
+"Only the pictur' o' some randy quean," his father answered, chucking
+away at the inanimate chin.
+
+"Gie it me!" David ordered fiercely. "It's mine."
+
+"Na, na," the little man replied. "It's no for sic douce lads as dear
+David to ha' ony touch wi' leddies sic as this."
+
+"Gie it me, I tell ye, or I'll tak' it!" the boy shouted.
+
+"Na, na; it's ma duty as yer dad to keep ye from sic limmers." He
+turned, still smiling, to Red Wull.
+
+"There ye are, Wullie!" He threw the photograph to the dog. "Tear her,
+Wullie, the Jezebel!"
+
+The Tailless Tyke sprang on the picture, placed one big paw in the very
+centre of the face, forcing it into the muck, and tore a corner off;
+then he chewed the scrap with unctious, slobbering gluttony, dropped it,
+and tore a fresh piece.
+
+David dashed forward.
+
+"Touch it, if ye daur, ye brute!" he yelled; but his father seized him
+and held him back.
+
+"'And the dogs o' the street,'" he quoted. David turned furiously on
+him.
+
+"I've half a mind to brak' ivery bone in yer body!" he shouted, "robbin'
+me o' what's mine and throwin' it to yon black brute!"
+
+"Whist, David, whist!" soothed the little man. "Twas but for yer ain
+good yer auld dad did it. 'Twas that he had at heart as he aye has.
+Rin aff wi' ye noo to Kenmuir. She'll mak' it up to ye, I war'nt. She's
+leeberal wi' her favors, I hear. Ye've but to whistle and she'll come."
+
+David seized his father by the shoulder.
+
+"An' yo' gie me much more o' your sauce," he roared.
+
+"Sauce, Wullie," the little man echoed in a gentle voice.
+
+"I'll twist yer neck for yo'!"
+
+"He'll twist my neck for me."
+
+"I'll gang reet awa', I warn yo', and leave you and yer Wullie to yer
+lone."
+
+The little man began to whimper.
+
+"It'll brak' yer auld dad's heart, lad," he said.
+
+"Nay; yo've got none. But 'twill ruin yo', please God. For yo' and
+yer Wullie'll get ne'er a soul to work for yo'--yo' cheeseparin',
+dirty-tongued Jew."
+
+The little man burst into an agony of affected tears, rocking to and
+fro, his face in his hands.
+
+"Waesucks, Wullue! d'ye hear him? He is gaein' to leave us--the son o'
+my bosom! my Benjamin! my little Davie! he's gaein' awa'!"
+
+David turned away down the hill; and M'Adam lifted his stricken face and
+waved a hand at him.
+
+"'Adieu, dear amiable youth!'" he cried in broken voice; and straightway
+set to sobbing again.
+
+Half-way down to the Stony Bottom David turned.
+
+"I'll gie yo' a word o' warnin'," he shouted back. "I'd advise yo' to
+keep a closer eye to yer Wullie's goings on, 'specially o' nights, or
+happen yo'll wake to a surprise one mornin'."
+
+In an instant the little man ceased his fooling.
+
+"And why that?" he asked, following down the hill.
+
+"I'll tell yo'. When I wak' this mornin' I walked to the window, and
+what d'yo' think I see? Why, your Wullie gollopin' like a good un up
+from the Bottom, all foamin', too, and red-splashed, as if he'd coom
+from the Screes. What had he bin up to, I'd like to know?"
+
+"What should he be doin'," the little man replied, "but havin' an eye to
+the stock? and that when the Killer might be oot."
+
+David laughed harshly.
+
+"Ay, the Killer was oot, I'll go bail, and yo' may hear o't afore the
+evenin', ma man," and with that he turned away again.
+
+As he had foreseen, David found Maggie alone. But in the heat of his
+indignation against his father he seemed to have forgotten his
+original intent, and instead poured his latest troubles into the girl's
+sympathetic ear.
+
+"There's but one mon in the world he wishes worse nor me," he was
+saying. It was late in the afternoon, and he was still inveighing
+against his father and his fate. Maggie sat in her father's chair by the
+fire, knitting; while he lounged on the kitchen table, swinging his long
+legs.
+
+"And who may that be?" the girl asked.
+
+"Why, Mr. Moore, to be sure, and Th' Owd Un, too. He'd do either o' them
+a mischief if he could."
+
+"But why, David?" she asked anxiously. "I'm sure dad niver hurt him, or
+ony ither mon for the matter o' that."
+
+David nodded toward the Dale Cup which rested on the mantelpiece in
+silvery majesty.
+
+"It's yon done it," he said. "And if Th' Owd Un wins agin, as win he
+will, bless him! why, look out for 'me and ma Wullie'; that's all."
+
+Maggie shuddered, and thought of the face at the window.
+
+"'Me and ma Wullie,'" David continued; "I've had about as much of them
+as I can swaller. It's aye the same--'Me and ma Wullie,' and 'Wullie and
+me,' as if I never put ma hand to a stroke! Ugh!"--he made a gesture of
+passionate disgust--"the two on 'em fair madden me. I could strike the
+one and throttle t'other," and he rattled his heels angrily together.
+
+"Hush, David," interposed the girl; "yo' munna speak so o' your dad;
+it's agin the commandments."
+
+"'Tain't agin human nature," he snapped in answer. "Why, 'twas nob'but
+yester' morn' he says in his nasty way, 'David, ma gran' fellow, hoo ye
+work! ye 'stonish me!' And on ma word, Maggie"--there were tears in the
+great boy's eyes--"ma back was nigh broke wi' toilin'. And the Terror,
+he stands by and shows his teeth, and looks at me as much as to say,
+'Some day, by the grace o' goodness, I'll ha' my teeth in your throat,
+young mon.'"
+
+Maggie's knitting dropped into her lap and she looked up, her soft eyes
+for once flashing.
+
+"It's cruel, David; so 'tis!" she cried. "I wonder yo' bide wi' him. If
+he treated me so, I'd no stay anither minute. If it meant the House for
+me I'd go," and she looked as if she meant it.
+
+David jumped off the table.
+
+"Han' yo' niver guessed why I stop, lass, and me so happy at home?" he
+asked eagerly.
+
+Maggie's eyes dropped again.
+
+"Hoo should I know?" she asked innocently.
+
+"Nor care, neither, I s'pose," he said in reproachful accents. "Yo' want
+me me to go and leave yo', and go reet awa'; I see hoo 'tis. Yo' wouldna
+mind, not yo', if yo' was niver to see pore David agin. I niver thowt
+yo' welly like me, Maggie; and noo I know it."
+
+"Yo' silly lad," the girl murmured, knitting steadfastly.
+
+"Then yo' do," he cried, triumphant, "I knew yo' did." He approached
+close to her chair, his face clouded with eager anxiety.
+
+"But d'yo' like me more'n just _likin'_, Maggie? d'yo'," he bent and
+whispered in the little ear.
+
+The girl cuddled over her work so that he could not see her face.
+
+"If yo' won't tell me yo' can show me," he coaxed. "There's other things
+besides words."
+
+He stood before her, one hand on the chair-back on either side. She sat
+thus, caged between his arms, with drooping eyes and heightened color.
+
+"Not so close, David, please," she begged, fidgeting uneasily; but the
+request was unheeded.
+
+"Do'ee move away a wee," she implored.
+
+"Not till yo've showed me," he said, relentless.
+
+"I canna, Davie," she cried with laughing, petulance.
+
+"Yes, yo' can, lass."
+
+"Tak' your hands away, then."
+
+"Nay; not till yo've showed me."
+
+A pause.
+
+"Do'ee, Davie," she supplicated.
+
+And--
+
+"Do'ee," he pleaded.
+
+She tilted her face provokingly, but her eyes were still down.
+
+"It's no manner o' use, Davie."
+
+"Iss, 'tis," he coaxed.
+
+"Niver."
+
+"Please."
+
+A lengthy pause.
+
+"Well, then--" She looked up, at last, shy, trustful, happy; and the
+sweet lips were tilted further to meet his.
+
+And thus they were situated, lover-like, when a low, rapt voice broke in
+on them,--
+
+ 'A dear-lov'd lad, convenience snug,
+A treacherous inclination.'
+
+"Oh, Wullie, I wush you were here!"
+
+It was little M'Adam. He was leaning in at the open window, leering at
+the young couple, his eyes puckered, an evil expression on his face.
+
+"The creetical moment! and I interfere! David, ye'll never forgie me."
+
+The boy jumped round with an oath; and Maggie, her face flaming, started
+to her feet. The tone, the words, the look of the little man at the
+window were alike insufferable.
+
+"By thunder! I'll teach yo' to come spyin' on me!" roared David. Above
+him on the mantelpiece blazed the Shepherds' Trophy. Searching any
+missile in his fury, he reached up a hand for it.
+
+"Ay, gie it me back, Ye robbed me o't," the little man cried, holding
+out his arms as if to receive it.
+
+"Dinna, David," pleaded Maggie, with restraining hand on her lover's
+arm.
+
+"By the Lord! I'll give him something!" yelled the boy. Close by there
+stood a pail of soapy water. He seized it, swung it, and slashed its
+contents at the leering face in the window.
+
+The little man started back, but the dirty torrent caught him and soused
+him through. The bucket followed, struck him full on the chest, and
+rolled him over in the mud. After it with a rush came David.
+
+"I'll let yo' know, spyin' on me!" he yelled. "I'll--"
+
+Maggie, whose face was as white now as it had been crimson, clung to
+him, hampering him.
+
+"Dinna, David, dinna!" she implored. "He's yer ain dad."
+
+"I'll dad him! I'll learn him!" roared David half through the window.
+
+At the moment Sam'l Todd came floundering furiously round the corner,
+closely followed by 'Enry and oor Job.
+
+"Is he dead?" shouted Sam'l seeing the prostrate form.
+
+"Ho! ho!" went the other two.
+
+They picked up the draggled little man and hustled him out of the yard
+like a thief, a man on either side and a man behind.
+
+As they forced him through the gate, he struggled round.
+
+"By Him that made ye! ye shall pay for this, David M'Adam, you and
+yer--"
+
+But Sam'l's big hand descended on his mouth, and he was borne away
+before that last ill word had flitted into being.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXI. HORROR OF DARKNESS
+
+
+IT was long past dark that night when M'Adam staggered home.
+
+All that evening at the Sylvester Arms his imprecations against David
+had made even the hardest shudder. James Moore, Owd Bob, and the Dale
+Cup were for once forgotten as, in his passion, he cursed his son.
+
+The Dalesmen gathered fearfully away from the little dripping madman.
+For once these men, whom, as a rule, no such geyser outbursts could
+quell, were dumb before him; only now and then shooting furtive glances
+in his direction, as though on the brink of some daring enterprise
+of which he was the objective. But M'Adam noticed nothing, suspected
+nothing.
+
+When, at length, he lurched into the kitchen of the Grange, there was no
+light and the fire burnt low. So dark was the room that a white riband
+of paper pinned on to the table escaped his remark.
+
+The little man sat down heavily, his clothes still sodden, and resumed
+his tireless anathema.
+
+"I've tholed mair fra him, Wullie, than Adam M'Adam ever thocht to thole
+from ony man. And noo it's gane past bearin'. He struck me, Wullie!
+struck his ain father. Ye see it yersel', Wullie. Na, ye werena there.
+Oh, gin ye had but bin, Wullie! Him and his madam! But I'll gar him ken
+Adam M'Adam. I'll stan' nae mair!"
+
+He sprang to his feet and, reaching up with trembling hands, pulled down
+the old bell-mouthed blunderbuss that hung above the mantelpiece.
+
+"We'll mak' an end to't, Wullie, so we will, aince and for a'!" And he
+banged the weapon down upon the table. It lay right athwart that slip of
+still condemning paper, yet the little man saw it not.
+
+Resuming his seat, he prepared to wait. His hand sought the pocket of
+his coat, and fingered tenderly a small stone bottle, the fond companion
+of his widowhood. He pulled it out, uncorked it, and took a long pull;
+then placed it on the table by his side.
+
+Gradually the gray head lolled; the shrivelled hand dropped and hung
+limply down, the finger-tips brushing the floor; and he dozed off into a
+heavy sleep, while Red Wull watched at his feet.
+
+It was not till an hour later that David returned home.
+
+As he approached the lightless house, standing in the darkness like a
+body with the spirit fled, he could but contrast this dreary home of his
+with the bright kitchen and cheery faces he had left.
+
+Entering the house, he groped to the kitchen door and opened it; then
+struck a match and stood in the doorway peering in.
+
+"Not home, bain't he?" he muttered, the tiny light above his head. "Wet
+inside as well as oot by noo, I'll lay. By gum! but 'twas a lucky thing
+for him I didna get ma hand on him this evenin'. I could ha' killed
+him." He held the match above his head.
+
+Two yellow eyes, glowing in the darkness like cairngorms, and a small
+dim figure bunched up in a chair, told him his surmise was wrong. Many
+a time had he seen his father in such case before, and now he muttered
+contemptuously:
+
+"Drunk; the leetle swab! Sleepin' it off, I reck'n."
+
+Then he saw his mistake. The hand that hung above the floor twitched and
+was still again.
+
+There was a clammy silence. A mouse, emboldened by the quiet, scuttled
+across the hearth. One mighty paw lightly moved; a lightning tap, and
+the tiny beast lay dead.
+
+Again that hollow stillness: no sound, no movement; only those two
+unwinking eyes fixed on him immovable.
+
+At length a small voice from the fireside broke the quiet.
+
+"Drunk--the--leetle--swab!"
+
+Again a clammy silence, and a life-long pause.
+
+"I thowt yo' was sleepin'," said David, at length, lamely.
+
+"Ay, so ye said. 'Sleepin' it aff'; I heard ye." Then, still in the same
+small voice, now quivering imperceptibly, "Wad ye obleege me, sir, by
+leetin' the lamp? Or, d'ye think, Wullie, 'twad be soilin' his dainty
+fingers? They're mair used, I'm told, to danderin' with the bonnie brown
+hair o' his--"
+
+"I'll not ha' ye talk o' ma Maggie so," interposed the boy passionately.
+
+"_His_ Maggie, mark ye, Wullie--_his_! I thocht 'twad soon get that
+far."
+
+"Tak' care, dad! I'll stan' but little more," the boy warned him in
+choking voice; and began to trim the lamp with trembling fingers.
+
+M'Adam forthwith addressed himself to Red Wull.
+
+"I suppose no man iver had sic a son as him, Wullie. Ye ken what I've
+done for him, an' ye ken hoo he's repaid it. He's set himsel' agin
+me; he's misca'd me; he's robbed me o' ma Cup; last of all, he struck
+me--struck me afore them a'. We've toiled for him, you and I, Wullie;
+we've slaved to keep him in hoose an' hame, an' he's passed his time,
+the while, in riotous leevin', carousin' at Kenmuir, amusin' himself'
+wi' his--" He broke off short. The lamp was lit, and the strip of paper,
+pinned on to the table, naked and glaring, caught his eye.
+
+"What's this?" he muttered; and unloosed the nail that clamped it down.
+
+This is what he read:
+
+"Adam Mackadam yer warned to mak' an end to yer Red Wull will be best
+for him and the Sheep. This is the first yo'll have two more the third
+will be the last--"
+
+It was written in pencil, and the only signature was a dagger, rudely
+lined in red.
+
+M'Adam read the paper once, twice, thrice. As he slowly assimilated
+its meaning, the blood faded from his face. He stared at it and still
+stared, with whitening face and pursed lips. Then he stole a glance at
+David's broad back.
+
+"What d'ye ken o' this, David?" he asked, at length, in a dry thin
+voice, reaching forward in his chair.
+
+"O' what?"
+
+"O' this," holding up the slip. "And ye'el obleege me by the truth for
+once."
+
+David turned, took up the paper, read it, and laughed harshly.
+
+"It's coom to this, has it?" he said, still laughing, and yet with
+blanching face.
+
+"Ye ken what it means. I daresay ye pit it there; aiblins writ it. Ye'll
+explain it." The little man spoke in the same small, even voice, and his
+eyes never moved off his son's face.
+
+"I've heard naethin'.... I'd like the truth, David, if ye can tell it."
+
+The boy smiled a forced, unnatural smile, looking from his father to the
+paper in his hand.
+
+"Yo' shall have it, but yo'll not like it. It's this: Tupper lost a
+sheep to the Killer last night."
+
+"And what if he did?" The little man rose smoothly to his feet. Each
+noticed the others' face--dead-white.
+
+"Why, he--lost--it--on--Wheer d'yo' think?" He drawled the words out,
+dwelling almost lovingly on each.
+
+"Where?"
+
+"On--the--Red--Screes."
+
+The crash was coming--inevitable now. David knew it, knew that nothing
+could avert it, and braced himself to meet it. The smile had fled from
+his face, and his breath fluttered in his throat like the wind before a
+thunderstorm.
+
+"What of it?" The little man's voice was calm as a summer sea.
+
+"Why, your Wullie--as I told yo'--was on the Screes last night."
+
+"Go on, David."
+
+"And this," holding up the paper, "tells you that they ken as I ken
+noo, as maist o' them ha' kent this mony a day, that your Wullie, Red
+Wull--the Terror--"
+
+"Go on."
+
+"Is--"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"The Black Killer."
+
+It was spoken.
+
+The frayed string was snapped at last. The little man's hand flashed to
+the bottle that stood before him.
+
+"Ye--liar!" he shrieked, and threw it with all his strength at the boy's
+head. David dodged and ducked, and the bottle hurtled over his shoulder.
+
+Crash! it whizzed into the lamp behind, and broke on the wall beyond,
+its contents trickling down the wall to the floor.
+
+For a moment, darkness. Then the spirits met the lamp's smouldering wick
+and blazed into flame.
+
+By the sudden light David saw his father on the far side the table,
+pointing with crooked forefinger. By his side Red Wull was standing
+alert, hackles up, yellow fangs bared, eyes lurid; and, at his feet, the
+wee brown mouse lay still and lifeless.
+
+"Oot o' ma hoose! Back to Kenmuir! Back to yer ----" The unpardonable
+word, unmistakable, hovered for a second on his lips like some foul
+bubble, and never burst.
+
+"No mither this time!" panted David, racing round the table.
+
+"Wullie!"
+
+The Terror leapt to the attack; but David overturned the table as
+he ran, the blunderbuss crashing to the floor; it fell, opposing a
+momentary barrier in the dog's path.
+
+"Stan' off, ye--!" screeched the little man, seizing a chair in both
+hands; "stan' off, or I'll brain ye!"
+
+But David was on him.
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, to me!"
+
+Again the Terror came with a roar like the sea. But David, with a mighty
+kick catching him full on the jaw, repelled the attack.
+
+Then he gripped his father round the waist and lifted him from the
+ground. The little man, struggling in those iron arms, screamed, cursed,
+and battered at the face above him, kicking and biting in his frenzy.
+
+"The Killer! wad ye ken wha's the Killer? Go and ask 'em at Kenmuir! Ask
+yer ----"
+
+David swayed slightly, crushing the body in his arms till it seemed
+every rib must break; then hurled it from him with all the might of
+passion. The little man fell with a crash and a groan.
+
+The blaze in the corner flared, flickered, and died. There was
+hell-black darkness, and silence of the dead.
+
+David stood against the wall, panting, every nerve tightstrung as the
+hawser of a straining ship.
+
+In the corner lay the body of his father, limp and still; and in the
+room one other living thing was moving.
+
+He clung close to the wall, pressing it with wet hands. The horror of
+it all, the darkness, the man in the corner, that moving something,
+petrified him.
+
+"Feyther!" he whispered.
+
+There was no reply. A chair creaked at an invisible touch. Something was
+creeping, stealing, crawling closer.
+
+David was afraid.
+
+"Feyther!" he whispered in hoarse agony, "are yo' hurt?"
+
+The words were stifled in his throat. A chair overturned with a crash; a
+great body struck him on the chest; a hot, pestilent breath volleyed in
+his face, and wolfish teeth were reaching for his throat.
+
+"Come on, Killer!" he screamed.
+
+The horror of suspense was past. It had come, and with it he was himself
+again.
+
+Back, back, back, along the wall he was borne. His hands entwined
+themselves around a hairy throat; he forced the great head with its
+horrid lightsome eyes from him; he braced himself for the effort, lifted
+the huge body at his breast, and heaved it from him. It struck the wall
+and fell with a soft thud.
+
+As he recoiled a hand clutched his ankle and sought to trip him. David
+kicked back and down with all his strength. There was one awful groan,
+and he staggered against the door and out.
+
+There he paused, leaning against the wall to' breathe.
+
+He struck a match and lifted his foot to see where the hand had clutched
+him.
+
+God! there was blood on his heel.
+
+Then a great fear laid hold on him. A cry was suffocated in his breast
+by the panting of his heart.
+
+He crept back to the kitchen door and listened.
+
+Not a sound.
+
+Fearfully he opened it a crack.
+
+Silence of the tomb.
+
+He banged it to. It opened behind him, and the fact lent wings to his
+feet.
+
+He turned and plunged out into the night, and ran through the blackness
+for his life. And a great owl swooped softly by and hooted mockingly:
+
+"For your life! for your life! for your life!"
+
+
+
+
+PART V OWD BOB O' KENMUIR
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXII A MAN AND A MAID
+
+
+IN the village even the Black Killer and the murder on the Screes were
+forgotten in this new sensation. The mystery in which the affair was
+wrapped, and the ignorance as to all its details, served to whet the
+general interest. There had been a fight; M'Adam and the Terror had been
+mauled; and David had disappeared--those were the facts. But what was
+the origin of the affray no one could say.
+
+One or two of the Dalesmen had, indeed, a shrewd suspicion. Tupper
+looked guilty; Jem Burton muttered, "I knoo hoo 'twould be"; while as
+for Long Kirby, he vanished entirely, not to reappear till three months
+had sped.
+
+Injured as he had been, M'Adam was yet sufficiently recovered to appear
+in the Sylvester Arms on the Saturday following the battle. He entered
+the tap-room silently with never a word to a soul; one arm was in a
+sling and his head bandaged. He eyed every man present critically; and
+all, except Tammas, who was brazen, and Jim Mason, who was innocent,
+fidgeted beneath the stare. Maybe it was well for Long Kirby he was not
+there.
+
+"Onythin' the matter?" asked Jem, at length, rather lamely, in view of
+the plain evidences of battle.
+
+"Na, na; naethin' oot o' the ordinar'," the little man replied,
+giggling. "Only David set on me, and me sleepin'. And," with a shrug,
+"here I am noo." He sat down, wagging his bandaged head and grinning.
+"Ye see he's sae playfu', is Davie. He wangs ye o'er the head wi' a
+chair, kicks ye in the jaw, stamps on yer wame, and all as merry as
+May." And nothing further could they get from him, except that if David
+reappeared it was his firm resolve to hand him over to the police for
+attempted parricide.
+
+"'Brutal assault on an auld man by his son!' 'Twill look well in the
+Argus; he! he! They couldna let him aff under two years, I'm thinkin'."
+
+M'Adam's version of the affair was received with quiet incredulity. The
+general verdict was that he had brought his punishment entirely on his
+own head. Tammas, indeed, who was always rude when he was not witty,
+and, in fact, the difference between the two things is only one of
+degree, told him straight: "It served yo' well reet. An' I nob'but wish
+he'd made an end to yo'."
+
+"He did his best, puir lad," M'Adam reminded him gently.
+
+"We've had enough o' yo'," continued the uncompromising old man. "I'm
+fair grieved he didna slice yer throat while he was at it."
+
+At that M'Adam raised his eyebrows, stared, and then broke into a low
+whistle.
+
+"That's it, is it?" he muttered, as though a new light was dawning on
+him. "Ah, noo I see."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The days passed on. There was still no news of the missing one, and
+Maggie's face became pitifully white and haggard.
+
+Of course she did not believe that David had attempted to murder his
+father, desperately tried as she knew he had been. Still, it was a
+terrible thought to her that he might at any moment be arrested; and her
+girlish imagination was perpetually conjuring up horrid pictures of a
+trial, conviction, and the things that followed.
+
+Then Sam'l started a wild theory that the little man had murdered his
+son, and thrown the mangled body down the dry well at the Grange. The
+story was, of course, preposterous, and, coming from such a source,
+might well have been discarded with the ridicule it deserved. Yet it
+served to set the cap on the girl's fears; and she resolved, at whatever
+cost, to visit the Grange, beard M'Adam, and discover whether he could
+not or would not allay her gnawing apprehension.
+
+Her intent she concealed from her father, knowing well that were she to
+reveal it to him, he would gently but firmly forbid the attempt; and on
+an afternoon some fortnight after David's disappearance, choosing her
+opportunity, she picked up a shawl, threw it over her head, and fled
+with palpitating heart out of the farm and down the slope to the
+Wastrel.
+
+The little plank-bridge rattled as she tripped across it; and she fled
+faster lest any one should have heard and come to look. And, indeed, at
+the moment it rattled again behind her, and she started guiltily round.
+It proved, however, to be only Owd Bob, sweeping after, and she was
+glad.
+
+"Comin' wi' me, lad?" she asked as the old dog cantered up, thankful to
+have that gray protector with her.
+
+Round Langholm now fled the two conspirators; over the summer-clad lower
+slopes of the Pike, until, at length, they reached the Stony Bottom.
+Down the bramble-covered bank of the ravine the girl slid; picked her
+way from stone to stone across the streamlet tinkling in that rocky bed;
+and scrambled up the opposite bank.
+
+At the top she halted and looked back. The smoke from Kenmuir was
+winding slowly up against the sky; to her right the low gray cottages of
+the village cuddled in the bosom of the Dale; far away over the Marches
+towered the gaunt Scaur; before her rolled the swelling slopes of the
+Muir Pike; while behind--she glanced timidly over her shoulder--was the
+hill, at the top of which squatted the Grange, lifeless, cold, scowling.
+
+Her heart failed her. In her whole life she had never spoken to M'Adam.
+Yet she knew him well enough from all David's accounts--ay, and hated
+him for David's sake. She hated him and feared him, too; feared him
+mortally--this terrible little man. And, with a shudder, she recalled
+the dim face at the window, and thought of his notorious hatred of her
+father. But even M'Adam could hardly harm a girl coming, broken-hearted,
+to seek her lover. Besides, was not Owd Bob with her?
+
+And, turning, she saw the old dog standing a little way up the hill,
+looking back at her as though he wondered why she waited. "Am I not
+enough?" the faithful gray eyes seemed to say.
+
+"Lad, I'm fear'd," was her answer to the unspoken question.
+
+Yet that look determined her. She clenched her little teeth, drew the
+shawl about her, and set off running up the hill.
+
+Soon the run dwindled to a walk, the walk to a crawl, and the crawl to
+a halt. Her breath was coming painfully, and her heart pattered against
+her side like the beatings of an imprisoned bird. Again her gray
+guardian looked up, encouraging her forward.
+
+"Keep close, lad," she whispered, starting forward afresh. And the old
+dog ranged up beside her, shoving into her skirt, as though to let her
+feel his presence.
+
+So they reached the top of the hill; and the house stood before them,
+grim, unfriendly.
+
+The girl's face was now quite white, yet set; the resemblance to her
+father was plain to see. With lips compressed and breath quick-coming,
+she crossed the threshold, treading softly as though in a house of the
+dead. There she paused and lifted a warning finger at her companion,
+bidding him halt without; then she turned to the door on the left of the
+entrance and tapped.
+
+She listened, her head buried in the shawl, close to the wood panelling.
+There was no answer; she could only hear the drumming of her heart.
+
+She knocked again. From within came the scraping of a chair cautiously
+shoved back, followed by a deep-mouthed cavernous growl.
+
+Her heart stood still, but she turned the handle and entered, leaving a
+crack open behind.
+
+On the far side the room a little man was sitting. His head was swathed
+in dirty bandages, and a bottle was on the table beside him. He was
+leaning forward; his face was gray, and there was a stare of naked
+horror in his eyes. One hand grasped the great dog who stood at his
+side, with yellow teeth glinting, and muzzle hideously wrinkled; with
+the other he pointed a palsied finger at her.
+
+"Ma God! wha are ye?" he cried hoarsely.
+
+The girl stood hard against the door, her fingers still on the handle;
+trembling like an aspen at the sight of that uncannie pair.
+
+That look in the little man's eyes petrified her: the swollen pupils;
+lashless lids, yawning wide; the broken range of teeth in that gaping
+mouth, froze her very soul. Rumors of the man's insanity tided back on
+her memory.
+
+"I'm--I--" the words came in trembling gasps.
+
+At the first utterance, however, the little man's hand dropped; he leant
+back in his chair and gave a soul-bursting sigh of relief.
+
+No woman had crossed that threshold since his wife died; and, for a
+moment, when first the girl had entered silent-footed, aroused from
+dreaming of the long ago, he had thought this shawl-clad figure with the
+pale face and peeping hair no earthly visitor; the spirit, rather, of
+one he had loved long since and lost, come to reproach him with a broken
+troth.
+
+"Speak up, I canna hear," he said, in tones mild compared with those
+last wild words.
+
+"I--I'm Maggie Moore," the girl quavered.
+
+"Moore! Maggie Moore, d'ye say?" he cried, half rising from his chair,
+a flush of color sweeping across his face, "the dochter o' James Moore?"
+He paused for an answer, glowering at her; and she shrank, trembling,
+against the door.
+
+The little man leant back in his chair. Gradually a grim smile crept
+across his countenance.
+
+"Weel, Maggie Moore," he said, halfamused, "ony gate ye're a good
+plucked un." And his wizened countenance looked at her almost kindly
+from beneath its dirty crown of bandages.
+
+At that the girl's courage returned with a rush. After all this little
+man was not so very terrible. Perhaps he would be kind. And in the
+relief of the moment, the blood swept back into her face.
+
+There was not to be peace yet, however. The blush was still hot upon her
+cheeks, when she caught the patter of soft steps in the passage without.
+A dark muzzle flecked with gray pushed in at the crack of the door; two
+anxious gray eyes followed.
+
+Before she could wave him back, Red Wull had marked the intruder. With
+a roar he tore himself from his master's restraining hand, and dashed
+across the room.
+
+"Back, Bob!" screamed Maggie, and the dark head withdrew. The door
+slammed with a crash as the great dog flung himself against it, and
+Maggie was hurled, breathless and white-faced, into a corner.
+
+M'Adam was on his feet, pointing with a shrivelled finger, his face
+diabolical.
+
+"Did you bring him? did you bring _that_ to ma door?"
+
+Maggie huddled in the corner in a palsy of trepidation. Her eyes gleamed
+big and black in the white face peering from the shawl.
+
+Red Wull was now beside her snarling horribly. With nose to the bottom
+of the door and busy paws he was trying to get out; while, on the other
+side, Owd Bob, snuffling also at the crack, scratched and pleaded to get
+in. Only two miserable wooden inches separated the pair.
+
+"I brought him to protect me. I--I was afraid."
+
+M'Adam sat down and laughed abruptly.
+
+"Afraid! I wonder ye were na afraid to bring him here. It's the first
+time iver he's set foot on ma land, and 't had best be the last" He
+turned to the great dog. "Wullie, Wullie, wad ye?" he called. "Come
+here. Lay ye doon--so--under ma chair--good lad. Noo's no the time to
+settle wi' him"--nodding toward the door. "We can wait for that, Wullie;
+we can wait." Then, turning to Maggie, "Gin ye want him to mak' a show
+at the Trials two months hence, he'd best not come here agin. Gin he
+does, he'll no leave ma land alive; Wullie'll see to that. Noo, what is
+'t ye want o'me?"
+
+The girl in the corner, scared almost out of her senses by this last
+occurrence, remained dumb.
+
+M'Adam marked her hesitation, and grinned sardonically.
+
+"I see hoo 'tis," said he; "yer dad's sent ye. Aince before he wanted
+somethin' o' me, and did he come to fetch it himself like a man? Not he.
+He sent the son to rob the father." Then, leaning forward in his chair
+and glaring at the girl, "Ay, and mair than that! The night the lad
+set on me he cam'"--with hissing emphasis--"straight from Kenmuir!" He
+paused and stared at her intently, and she was still dumb before him.
+"Gin I'd ben killed, Wullie'd ha' bin disqualified from competin' for
+the Cup. With Adam M'Adam's Red Wull oot o' the way--noo d'ye see? Noo
+d'ye onderstan'?"
+
+She did not, and he saw it and was satisfied. What he had been saying
+she neither knew nor cared. She only remembered the object of her
+mission; she only saw before her the father of the man she loved; and a
+wave of emotion surged up in her breast.
+
+She advanced timidly toward him, holding out her hands.
+
+"Eh, Mr. M'Adam," she pleaded, "I come to ask ye after David." The shawl
+had slipped from her head, and lay loose upon her shoulders; and she
+stood before him with her sad face, her pretty hair all tossed, and her
+eyes big with unshed tears--a touching suppliant.
+
+"Will ye no tell me wheer he is? I'd not ask it, I'd not trouble yo',
+but I've bin waitin' a waefu' while, it seems, and I'm wearyin' for news
+o' him."
+
+The little man looked at her curiously. "Ah, noo I mind me,"--this to
+himself. "You' the lass as is thinkin' o' marryin' him?"
+
+"We're promised," the girl answered simply.
+
+"Weel," the other remarked, "as I said afore, ye're a good plucked un."
+Then, in a tone in which, despite the cynicism, a certain indefinable
+sadness was blended, "Gin he mak's you as good husband as he mad' son to
+me, ye'll ha' made a maist remairkable match, my dear."
+
+Maggie fired in a moment.
+
+"A good feyther makes a good son," she answered almost pertly; and then,
+with infinite tenderness, "and I'm prayin' a good wife'll make a good
+husband."
+
+He smiled scoffingly.
+
+"I'm feared that'll no help ye much," he said.
+
+But the girl never heeded this last sneer, so set was she on her
+purpose. She had heard of the one tender place in the heart of this
+little man with the tired face and mocking tongue, and she resolved to
+attain her end by appealing to it.
+
+"Yo' loved a lass yo'sel' aince, Mr. M'Adam," she said. "Hoo would yo'
+ha' felt had she gone away and left yo'? Yo'd ha' bin mad; yo' know yo'
+would. And, Mr. M'Adam, I love the lad yer wife loved." She was kneeling
+at his feet now with both hands on his knees, looking up at him. Her sad
+face and quivering lips pleaded for her more eloquently than any words.
+
+The little man was visibly touched.
+
+"Ay, ay, lass, that's enough," he said, trying to avoid those big
+beseeching eyes which would not be avoided.
+
+"Will ye no tell me?" she pleaded.
+
+"I canna tell ye, lass, for why, I dinna ken," he answered querulously.
+In truth, he was moved to the heart by her misery.
+
+The girl's last hopes were dashed. She had played her last card and
+failed. She had clung with the fervor of despair to this last resource,
+and now it was torn from her. She had hoped, and now there was no hope.
+In the anguish of her disappointment she remembered that this was the
+man who, by his persistent cruelty, had driven her love into exile.
+
+She rose to her feet and stood back.
+
+"Nor ken, nor care!" she cried bitterly.
+
+At the words all the softness fled from the little man's face.
+
+"Ye do me a wrang, lass; ye do indeed," he said, looking up at her with
+an assumed ingenuousness which, had she known him better, would have
+warned her to beware. "Gin I kent where the lad was I'd be the vairy
+first to let you, and the p'lice, ken it too; eh, Wullie! he! he!" He
+chuckled at his wit and rubbed his knees, regardless of the contempt
+blazing in the girl's face.
+
+"I canna tell ye where he is now, but ye'd aiblins care to hear o' when
+I saw him last." He turned his chair the better to address her.
+
+"Twas like so: I was sittin' in this vairy chair it was, asleep, when
+he crep' up behind an' lep' on ma back. I knew naethin' o't till I found
+masel' on the floor an' him kneelin' on me. I saw by the look on him he
+was set on finishin' me, so I said--"
+
+The girl waved her hand at him, superbly disdainful.
+
+"Yo' ken yo're lyin', ivery word o't," she cried.
+
+The little man hitched his trousers, crossed his legs, and yawned.
+
+"An honest lee for an honest purpose is a matter ony man may be proud
+of, as you'll ken by the time you're my years, ma lass."
+
+The girl slowly crossed the room. At the door she turned.
+
+"Then ye'll no tell me wheer he is?" she asked with a heart-breaking
+trill in her voice.
+
+"On ma word, lass, I dinna ken," he cried, half passionately.
+
+"On your word, Mr. M'Adam" she said with a quiet scorn in her voice that
+might have stung Iscariot.
+
+The little man spun round in his chair, an angry red dyeing his cheeks.
+In another moment he was suave and smiling again.
+
+"I canna tell ye where he is noo," he said, unctuously; "but aiblins, I
+could let ye know where he's gaein' to."
+
+"Can yo'? will yo'?" cried the simple girl all unsuspecting. In a moment
+she was across the room and at his knees.
+
+"Closer, and I'll whisper." The little ear, peeping from its nest of
+brown, was tremblingly approached to his lips. The little man lent
+forward and whispered one short, sharp word, then sat back, grinning, to
+watch the effect of his disclosure.
+
+He had his revenge, an unworthy revenge on such a victim. And, watching
+the girl's face, the cruel disappointment merging in the heat of her
+indignation, he had yet enough nobility to regret his triumph.
+
+She sprang from him as though he were unclean.
+
+"An' yo' his father!" she cried, in burning tones.
+
+She crossed the room, and at the door paused. Her face was white again
+and she was quite composed.
+
+"If David did strike you, you drove him to it," she said, speaking in
+calm, gentle accents. "Yo' know, none so well, whether yo've bin a good
+feyther to him, and him no mither, poor laddie! Whether yo've bin to him
+what she'd ha' had yo' be. Ask yer conscience, Mr. M'Adam. An' if he
+was a wee aggravatin' at times, had he no reason? He'd a heavy cross to
+bear, had David, and yo' know best if yo' helped to ease it for him."
+
+The little man pointed to the door; but the girl paid no heed.
+
+"D'yo' think when yo' were cruel to him, jeerin' and fleerin', he never
+felt it, because he was too proud to show ye? He'd a big saft heart, had
+David, beneath the varnish. Mony's the time when mither was alive, I've
+seen him throw himsel' into her arms, sobbin', and cry, 'Eh, if I had
+but mither! 'Twas different when mither was alive; he was kinder to me
+then. An' noo I've no one; I'm alone.' An' he'd sob and sob in mither's
+arms, and she, weepin' hersel', would comfort him, while he, wee laddie,
+would no be comforted, cryin' broken-like, 'There's none to care for me
+noo; I'm alone. Mither's left me and eh! I'm prayin' to be wi' her!'"
+
+The clear, girlish voice shook. M'Adam, sitting with face averted,
+waved to her, mutely ordering her to be gone. But she held on, gentle,
+sorrowful, relentless.
+
+"An' what'll yo' say to his mither when yo meet her, as yo' must soon
+noo, and she asks yo', 'An what o' David? What o' th' lad I left wi'
+yo', Adam, to guard and keep for me, faithful and true, till this Day?'
+And then yo'll ha' to speak the truth, God's truth; and yo'll ha' to
+answer, 'Sin' the day yo' left me I niver said a kind word to the lad.
+I niver bore wi' him, and niver tried to. And in the end I drove him by
+persecution to try and murder me.' Then maybe she'll look at yo'--yo'
+best ken hoo--and she'll say, 'Adam, Adam! is this what I deserved fra
+yo'?'"
+
+The gentle, implacable voice ceased. The girl turned and slipped softly
+out of the room; and M'Adam was left alone to his thoughts and his dead
+wife's memory.
+
+"Mither and father, baith! Mither and father, baith!" rang remorselessly
+in his ears.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXIII TH' OWD UN
+
+
+THE Black Killer still cursed the land. Sometimes there would be a
+cessation in the crimes; then a shepherd, going his rounds, would notice
+his sheep herding together, packing in unaccustomed squares; a raven,
+gorged to the crop, would rise before him and flap wearily away, and he
+would come upon the murderer's latest victim.
+
+The Dalesmen were in despair, so utterly futile had their efforts been.
+There was no proof; no hope, no apparent probability that the end was
+near. As for the Tailless Tyke, the only piece of evidence against him
+had flown with David, who, as it chanced, had divulged what he had seen
+to no man.
+
+The 100 pound reward offered had brought no issue. The police had done
+nothing. The Special Commissioner had been equally successful. After
+the affair in the Scoop the Killer never ran a risk, yet never missed a
+chance.
+
+Then, as a last resource, Jim Mason made his attempt. He took a holiday
+from his duties and disappeared into the wilderness. Three days and
+three nights no man saw him.
+
+On the morning of the fourth he reappeared, haggard, unkempt, a furtive
+look haunting his eyes, sullen for once, irritable, who had never been
+irritable before--to confess his failure. Cross-examined further, he
+answered with unaccustomed fierceness: "I seed nowt, I tell ye. Who's
+the liar as said I did?"
+
+But that night his missus heard him in his sleep conning over something
+to himself in slow, fearful whisper, "Two on 'em; one ahint t'other. The
+first big--bull-like; t'ither--" At which point Mrs. Mason smote him a
+smashing blow in the ribs, and he woke in a sweat, crying terribly, "Who
+said I seed--"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The days were slipping away; the summer was hot upon the land, and with
+it the Black Killer was forgotten; David was forgotten; everything
+sank into oblivion before the all-absorbing interest of the coming Dale
+trials.
+
+The long-anticipated battle for the Shepherds' Trophy was looming close;
+soon everything that hung upon the issue of that struggle would be
+decided finally. For ever the justice of Th' Owd Un' claim to his
+proud title would be settled. If he won, he won outright--a thing
+unprecedented in the annals of the Cup; if he won, the place of Owd Bob
+o' Kenmuir as first in his profession was assured for all time. Above
+all, it was the last event in the six years' struggle 'twixt Red and
+Gray It was the last time those two great rivals would meet in battle.
+The supremacy of one would be decided once and for all. For win or lose,
+it was the last public appearance of the Gray Dog of Kenmuir.
+
+And as every hour brought the great day nearer, nothing else was talked
+of in the country-side. The heat of the Dalesmen's enthusiasm was only
+intensified by the fever of their apprehension. Many a man would lose
+more than he cared to contemplate were Th' Owd Un beat. But he'd not be!
+Nay; owd, indeed, he was--two years older than his great rival; there
+were a hundred risks, a hundred chances; still: "What's the odds agin
+Owd Bob o' Kenmuir? I'm takin' 'em. Who'll lay agin Th' Owd Un?"
+
+And with the air saturated with this perpetual talk of the old dog,
+these everlasting references to his certain victory; his ears drumming
+with the often boast that the gray dog was the best in the North,
+M'Adam became the silent, ill-designing man of six months since--morose,
+brooding, suspicious, muttering of conspiracy, plotting revenge.
+
+The scenes at the Sylvester Arms were replicas of those of previous
+years. Usually the little man sat isolated in a far corner, silent
+and glowering, with Red Wull at his feet. Now and then he burst into
+a paroxysm of insane giggling, slapping his thigh, and muttering,
+"Ay, it's likely they'll beat us, Wullie. Yet aiblins there's a wee
+somethin'--a somethin' we ken and they dinna, Wullie,--eh! Wullie, he!
+he!" And sometimes he would leap to his feet and address his pot-house
+audience, appealing to them passionately, satirically, tearfully, as the
+mood might be on him; and his theme was always the same: James Moore,
+Owd Bob, the Cup, and the plots agin him and his Wullie; and always he
+concluded with that hint of the surprise to come.
+
+Meantime, there was no news of David; he had gone as utterly as a ship
+foundered in mid-Atlantic. Some said he'd 'listed; some, that he'd gone
+to sea. And "So he 'as," corroborated Sam'l, "floatin', 'eels uppards."
+
+With no gleam of consolation, Maggie's misery was such as to rouse
+compassion in all hearts. She went no longer blithely singing about
+her work; and all the springiness had fled from her gait. The people of
+Kenmuir vied with one another in their attempts to console their young
+mistress.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Maggie was not the only one in whose life David's absence had created
+a void. Last as he would have been to own it, M'Adam felt acutely the
+boy's loss. It may have been he missed the ever-present butt; it may
+have been a nobler feeling. Alone with Red Wull, too late he felt his
+loneliness. Sometimes, sitting in the kitchen by himself, thinking of
+the past, he experienced sharp pangs of remorse; and this was all the
+more the case after Maggie's visit. Subsequent to that day the little
+man, to do him justice, was never known to hint by word or look an ill
+thing of his enemy's daughter. Once, indeed, when Melia Ross was drawing
+on a dirty imagination with Maggie for subject, M'Adam shut her up with:
+"Ye're a maist amazin' big liar, Melia Ross."
+
+Yet, though for the daughter he had now no evil thought, his hatred for
+the father had never been so uncompromising.
+
+He grew reckless in his assertions. His life was one long threat against
+James Moore's. Now he openly stated his conviction that, on the eventful
+night of the fight, James Moore, with object easily discernible, had
+egged David on to murder him.
+
+"Then why don't yo' go and tell him so, yo' muckle liar?" roared Tammas
+at last, enraged to madness.
+
+"I will!" said M'Adam. And he did.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was on the day preceding the great summer sheep fair at Grammoch-town
+that he fulfilled his vow.
+
+That is always a big field-day at Kenmuir; and on this occasion James
+Moore and Owd Bob had been up and working on the Pike from the rising of
+the sun. Throughout the straggling lands of Kenmuir the Master went
+with his untiring adjutant, rounding up, cutting out, drafting. It was
+already noon when the flock started from the yard.
+
+On the gate by the stile, as the party came up, sat M'Adam.
+
+"I've a word to say to you, James Moore," he announced, as the Master
+approached.
+
+"Say it then, and quick. I've no time to stand gossipin' here, if yo'
+have," said the Master.
+
+M'Adam strained forward till he nearly toppled off the gate.
+
+"Queer thing, James Moore, you should be the only one to escape this
+Killer."
+
+"Yo' forget yoursel', M'Adam."
+
+"Ay, there's me," acquiesced the little man. "But you--hoo d'yo' 'count
+for _your_ luck?"
+
+James Moore swung round and pointed proudly at the gray dog, now
+patrolling round the flock.
+
+"There's my luck!" he said.
+
+M'Adam laughed unpleasantly.
+
+"So I thought," he said, "so I thought! And I s'pose ye're thinkin' that
+yer luck," nodding at the gray dog, "will win you the Cup for certain a
+month hence."
+
+"I hope so!" said the Master.
+
+"Strange if he should not after all," mused the little man.
+
+James Moore eyed him suspiciously. "What d'yo' mean?" he asked sternly.
+M'Adam shrugged his shoulders. "There's mony a slip 'twixt Cup and lip,
+that's a'. I was thinkin' some mischance might come to him."
+
+The Master's eyes flashed dangerously. He recalled the many rumors he
+had heard, and the attempt on the old dog early in the year.
+
+"I canna think ony one would be coward enough to murder him," he said,
+drawing himself up.
+
+M'Adam leant forward. There was a nasty glitter in his eye, and his face
+was all a-tremble.
+
+"Ye'd no think ony one 'd be cooard enough to set the son to murder the
+father. Yet some one did--set the lad on to 'sassinate me. He failed at
+me, and next, I suppose, he'll try at Wullie!" There was a flush on
+the sallow face, and a vindictive ring in the thin voice. "One way or
+t'ither, fair or foul, Wullie or me, ain or baith, has got to go afore
+Cup Day, eh, James Moore! eh?"
+
+The Master put his hand on the latch of the gate, "That'll do, M'Adam,"
+he said. "I'll stop to hear no more, else I might get angry wi' yo'. Noo
+git off this gate, yo're trespassin' as 'tis."
+
+He shook the gate. M'Adam tumbled off, and went sprawling into the sheep
+clustered below. Picking himself up, he dashed on through the flock,
+waving his arms, kicking fantastically, and scattering confusion
+everywhere.
+
+"Just wait till I'm thro' wi' 'em, will yo'?" shouted the Master, seeing
+the danger.
+
+It was a request which, according to the etiquette of shepherding, one
+man was bound to grant another. But M'Adam rushed on regardless, dancing
+and gesticulating. Save for the lightning vigilance of Owd Bob, the
+flock must have broken.
+
+"I think yo' might ha' waited!" remonstrated the Master, as the little
+man burst his way through.
+
+"Noo, I've forgot somethin'!" the other cried, and back he started as he
+had gone.
+
+It was more than human nature could tolerate.
+
+"Bob, keep him off!"
+
+A flash of teeth; a blaze of gray eyes; and the old dog had leapt
+forward to oppose the little man's advance.
+
+"Shift oot o' ma light!" cried he, striving to dash past.
+
+"Hold him, lad!"
+
+And hold him the old dog did, while his master opened the gate and put
+the flock through, the opponents dodging in front of one another like
+opposing three-quarter-backs at the Rugby game.
+
+"Oot o' ma path, or I'll strike!" shouted the little man in a fury, as
+the last sheep passed through the gate.
+
+"I'd not," warned the Master.
+
+"But I will!" yelled M'Adam; and, darting forward as the gate swung to,
+struck furiously at his opponent.
+
+He missed, and the gray dog charged at him like a mail-train.
+
+"Hi! James Moore--" but over he went like a toppled wheelbarrow, while
+the old dog turned again, raced at the gate, took it magnificently in
+his stride, and galloped up the lane after his master.
+
+At M'Adam's yell, James Moore had turned.
+
+"Served yo' properly!" he called back. "He'll larn ye yet it's not wise
+to tamper wi' a gray dog or his sheep. Not the first time he's downed
+ye, I'm thinkin'!"
+
+The little man raised himself painfully to his elbow and crawled toward
+the gate. The Master, up the lane, could hear him cursing as he dragged
+himself. Another moment, and a head was poked through the bars of the
+gate, and a devilish little face looked after him.
+
+"Downed me, by--, he did!" the little man cried passionately. "I owed ye
+baith somethin' before this, and noo, by ----, I owe ye somethin' more.
+An' mind ye, Adam M'Adam pays his debts!"
+
+"I've heard the contrary," the Master replied drily, and turned away up
+the lane toward the Marches.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXIV A SHOT IN THE NIGHT
+
+
+IT was only three short weeks before Cup Day that one afternoon Jim
+Mason brought a letter to Kenmuir. James Moore opened it as the postman
+still stood in the door.
+
+It was from Long Kirby--still in retirement--begging him for mercy's
+sake to keep Owd Bob safe within doors at nights; at all events till
+after the great event was over. For Kirby knew, as did every Dalesman,
+that the old dog slept in the porch, between the two doors of the house,
+of which the outer was only loosely closed by a chain, so that the
+ever-watchful guardian might slip in and out and go his rounds at any
+moment of the night.
+
+This was how the smith concluded his ill-spelt note: "Look out for
+M'Adam i tell you i _know_ hel tri at thowd un afore cup day--failin im
+you if the ole dog's bete i'm a ruined man i say so for the luv o' God
+keep yer eyes wide."
+
+The Master read the letter, and handed it to the postman, who perused it
+carefully.
+
+"I tell yo' what," said Jim at length, speaking with an earnestness that
+made the other stare, "I wish yo'd do what he asks yo': keep Th' Owd Un
+in o' nights, I mean, just for the present."
+
+The Master shook his head and laughed, tearing the letter to pieces.
+
+"Nay," said he; "M'Adam or no M'Adam, Cup or no Cup, Th' Owd Un has the
+run o' ma land same as he's had since a puppy. Why, Jim, the first night
+I shut him up that night the Killer comes, I'll lay."
+
+The postman turned wearily away, and the Master stood looking after him,
+wondering what had come of late to his former cheery friend.
+
+Those two were not the only warnings James Moore received. During
+the weeks immediately preceding the Trials, the danger signal was
+perpetually flaunted beneath his nose.
+
+Twice did Watch, the black cross-bred chained in the straw-yard, hurl a
+brazen challenge on the night air. Twice did the Master, with lantern,
+Sam'l and Owd Bob, sally forth and search every hole and corner on the
+premises--to find nothing. One of the dairy-maids gave notice, avowing
+that the farm was haunted; that, on several occasions in the early
+morning, she had seen a bogie flitting down the slope to the Wastrel--a
+sure portent, Sam'l declared, of an approaching death in the house.
+While once a shearer, coming up from the village, reported having seen,
+in the twilight of dawn, a little ghostly figure, haggard and startled,
+stealing silently from tree to tree in the larch-copse by the lane. The
+Master, however, irritated by these constant alarms, dismissed the story
+summarily.
+
+"One thing I'm sartin o'," said he. "There's not a critter moves on
+Kenmuir at nights but Th' Owd Un knows it."
+
+Yet, even as he said it, a little man, draggled, weary-eyed, smeared
+with dew and dust, was limping in at the door of a house barely a mile
+away. "Nae luck, Wullie, curse it!" he cried, throwing himself into a
+chair, and addressing some one who was not there--"nae luck. An' yet I'm
+sure o't as I am that there's a God in heaven."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+M'Adam had become an old man of late. But little more than fifty, yet he
+looked to have reached man's allotted years. His sparse hair was quite
+white; his body shrunk and bowed; and his thin hand shook like an aspen
+as it groped to the familiar bottle.
+
+In another matter, too, he was altogether changed. Formerly, whatever
+his faults, there had been no harder-working man in the country-side.
+At all hours, in all weathers, you might have seen him with his gigantic
+attendant going his rounds. Now all that was different: he never put his
+hand to the plough, and with none to help him the land was left wholly
+untended; so that men said that, of a surety, there would be a farm to
+let on the March Mere Estate come Michaelmas.
+
+Instead of working, the little man sat all day in the kitchen at home,
+brooding over his wrongs, and brewing vengeance. Even the Sylvester
+Arms knew him no more; for he stayed where he was with his dog and his
+bottle. Only, when the shroud of night had come down to cover him,
+he slipped out and away on some errand on which not even Red Wull
+accompanied him.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+So the time glided on, till the Sunday before the Trials came round.
+
+All that day M'Adam sat in his kitchen, drinking, muttering, hatching
+revenge.
+
+"Curse it, Wullie! curse it! The time's slippin'--slippin'--slippin'!
+Thursday next--but three days mair! and I haena the proof--I haena the
+proof!"--and he rocked to and fro, biting his nails in the agony of his
+impotence.
+
+All day long he never moved. Long after sunset he sat on; long after
+dark had eliminated the features of the room.
+
+"They're all agin us, Wullie. It's you and I alane, lad. M'Adam's to be
+beat somehow, onyhow; and Moore's to win. So they've settled it, and
+so 'twill be--onless, Wullie, onless--but curse it! I've no the
+proof!"--and he hammered the table before him and stamped on the floor.
+
+At midnight he arose, a mad, desperate plan looming through his fuddled
+brain.
+
+"I swore I'd pay him, Wullie, and I will. If I hang for it I'll be even
+wi' him. I haena the proof, but I _know_--I _know_!" He groped his way
+to the mantel piece with blind eyes and swirling brain. Reaching up
+with fumbling hands, he took down the old blunderbuss from above the
+fireplace.
+
+"Wullie," he whispered, chuckling hideously, "Wullie, come on! You and
+I--he! he!" But the Tailless Tyke was not there. At nightfall he had
+slouched silently out of the house on business he best wot of. So his
+master crept out of the room alone--on tiptoe, still chuckling.
+
+The cool night air refreshed him, and he stepped stealthily along,
+his quaint weapon over his shoulder: down the hill; across the Bottom;
+skirting the Pike; till he reached the plank-bridge over the Wastrel.
+
+He crossed it safely, that Providence whose care is drunkards placing
+his footsteps. Then he stole up the slope like a hunter stalking his
+prey.
+
+Arrived at the gate, he raised himself cautiously, and peered over into
+the moonlit yard. There was no sign or sound of living creature. The
+little gray house slept peacefully in the shadow of the Pike, all
+unaware of the man with murder in his heart laboriously climbing the
+yard-gate.
+
+The door of the porch was wide, the chain hanging limply down, unused;
+and the little man could see within, the moon shining on the iron studs
+of the inner door, and the blanket of him who should have slept there,
+and did not.
+
+"He's no there, Wullie! He's no there!" He jumped down from the gate.
+Throwing all caution to the winds, he reeled recklessly across the yard.
+The drunken delirium of battle was on him. The fever of anticipated
+victory flushed his veins. At length he would take toll for the injuries
+of years.
+
+Another moment, and he was in front of the good oak door, battering at
+it madly with clubbed weapon, yelling, dancing, screaming vengeance.
+
+"Where is he? What's he at? Come and tell me that, James Moore! Come
+doon, I say, ye coward! Come and meet me like a man!
+
+     Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
+     Scots wham Bruce has aften led--
+     Welcome to your gory bed
+     Or to victorie!'"
+
+The soft moonlight streamed down on the white-haired madman thundering
+at the door, screaming his war-song.
+
+The quiet farmyard, startled from its sleep, awoke in an uproar. Cattle
+shifted in their stalls; horses whinnied; fowls chattered, aroused by
+the din and dull thudding of the blows: and above the rest, loud and
+piercing, the shrill cry of a terrified child.
+
+Maggie, wakened from a vivid dream of David chasing the police, hurried
+a shawl around her, and in a minute had the baby in her arms and was
+comforting her--vaguely fearing the while that the police were after
+David.
+
+James Moore flung open a window, and, leaning out, looked down on the
+dishevelled figure below him.
+
+M'Adam heard the noise, glanced up, and saw his enemy. Straightway he
+ceased his attack on the door, and, running beneath the window, shook
+his weapon up at his foe.
+
+"There ye are, are ye? Curse ye for a coward! curse ye for a liar! Come
+doon, I say, James Moore! come doon--I daur ye to it! Aince and for a'
+let's settle oor account."
+
+The Master, looking down from above, thought that at length the little
+man's brain had gone.
+
+"What is't yo' want?" he asked, as calmly as he could, hoping to gain
+time.
+
+"What is't I want?" screamed the madman. "Hark to him! He crosses me in
+ilka thing; he plots agin me; he robs me o' ma Cup; he sets ma son agin
+me and pits him on to murder me! And in the end he--"
+
+"Coom, then, coom! I'll--"
+
+"Gie me back the Cup ye stole, James Moore! Gie me back ma son ye've
+took from me! And there's anither thing. What's yer gray dog doin'?
+Where's yer--"
+
+The Master interposed again:
+
+"I'll coom doon and talk things over wi' yo'." he said soothingly. But
+before he could withdraw, M'Adam had jerked his weapon to his shoulder
+and aimed it full at his enemy's head.
+
+The threatened man looked down the gun's great quivering mouth, wholly
+unmoved.
+
+"Yo' mon hold it steadier, little mon, if yo'd hit!" he said grimly.
+"There, I'll coom help yo'!" He withdrew slowly; and all the time was
+wondering where the gray dog was.
+
+In another moment he was downstairs, undoing the bolts and bars of the
+door. On the other side stood M'Adam, his blunderbuss at his shoulder,
+his finger trembling on the trigger, waiting.
+
+"Hi, Master! Stop, or yo're dead!" roared a voice from the loft on the
+other side the yard.
+
+"Feyther! feyther! git yo' back!" screamed Maggie, who saw it all from
+the window above the door.
+
+Their cries were too late! The blunderbuss went off with a roar,
+belching out a storm of sparks and smoke. The shot peppered the door
+like hail, and the whole yard seemed for a moment wrapped in flame.
+
+"Aw! oh! ma gummy! A'm waounded A'm a goner! A'm shot! 'Elp! Murder! Eh!
+Oh!" bellowed a lusty voice--and it was not James Moore's.
+
+The little man, the cause of the uproar, lay quite still upon the
+ground, with another figure standing over him. As he had stood, finger
+on trigger, waiting for that last bolt to be drawn, a gray form,
+shooting whence no one knew, had suddenly and silently attacked him from
+behind, and jerked him backward to the ground. With the shock of the
+fall the blunderbuss had gone off.
+
+The last bolt was thrown back with a clatter, and the Master emerged. In
+a glance he took in the whole scene: the fallen man; the gray dog; the
+still-smoking weapon.
+
+"Yo', was't Bob lad?" he said. "I was wonderin' wheer yo' were. Yo'
+came just at the reet moment, as yo' aye do!" Then, in a loud voice,
+addressing the darkness: "Yo're not hurt, Sam'l Todd--I can tell that
+by yer noise; it was nob'but the shot off the door warmed yo'. Coom away
+doon and gie me a hand."
+
+He walked up to M'Adam, who still lay gasping on the ground. The shock
+of the fall and recoil of the weapon had knocked the breath out of the
+little man's body; beyond that he was barely hurt.
+
+The Master stood over his fallen enemy and looked sternly down at him.
+
+"I've put up wi' more from you, M'Adam, than I would from ony other
+man," he said. "But this is too much--comin' here at night wi' loaded
+arms, scarin' the wimmen and childer oot o' their lives, and I can
+but think meanin' worse. If yo' were half a man I'd gie yo' the finest
+thrashin' iver yo' had in yer life. But, as yo' know well, I could no
+more hit yo' than I could a woman. Why yo've got this down on me yo' ken
+best. I niver did yo' or ony ither mon a harm. As to the Cup, I've got
+it and I'm goin' to do ma best to keep it--it's for yo' to win it from
+me if yo' can o' Thursday. As for what yo' say o' David, yo' know it's a
+lie. And as for what yo're drivin' at wi' yer hints and mysteries, I've
+no more idee than a babe unborn. Noo I'm goin' to lock yo' up, yo're not
+safe abroad. I'm thinkin' I'll ha' to hand ye o'er to the p'lice."
+
+With the help of Sam'l he half dragged, half supported the
+stunned little man across the yard; and shoved him into a tiny
+semi-subterraneous room, used for the storage of coal, at the end of the
+farm-buildings.
+
+"Yo' think it over that side, ma lad," called the Master grimly, as he
+turned the key, "and I will this." And with that he retired to bed.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Early in the morning he went to release his prisoner. But he was a
+minute too late. For scuttling down the slope and away was a little
+black-begrimed, tottering figure with white hair blowing in the wind.
+The little man had broken away a wooden hatchment which covered a
+manhole in the wall of his prison-house, squeezed his small body
+through, and so escaped.
+
+"Happen it's as well," thought the Master, watching the flying figure.
+Then, "Hi, Bob, lad!" he called; for the gray dog, ears back, tail
+streaming, was hurling down the slope after the fugitive.
+
+On the bridge M'Adam turned, and, seeing his pursuer hot upon him,
+screamed, missed his footing, and fell with a loud splash into the
+stream--almost in that identical spot into which, years before, he had
+plunged voluntarily to save Red Wull.
+
+On the bridge Owd Bob halted and looked down at the man struggling in
+the water below. He made a half move as though to leap in to the rescue
+of his enemy; then, seeing it was unnecessary, turned and trotted back
+to his master.
+
+"Yo' nob'but served him right, I'm thinkin'," said the Master. "Like
+as not he came here wi' the intent to mak' an end to yo.' Well, after
+Thursday, I pray God we'll ha' peace. It's gettin' above a joke." The
+two turned back into the yard.
+
+But down below them, along the edge of the stream, for the second time
+in this story, a little dripping figure was tottering homeward. The
+little man was crying--the hot tears mingling on his cheeks with
+the undried waters of the Wastrel--crying with rage, mortification,
+weariness.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXV THE SHEPHERDS' TROPHY
+
+Cup Day.
+
+
+It broke calm and beautiful, no cloud on the horizon, no threat of storm
+in the air; a fitting day on which the Shepherds' Trophy must be won
+outright.
+
+And well it was so. For never since the founding of the Dale Trials had
+such a concourse been gathered together on the North bank of the Silver
+Lea. From the Highlands they came; from the far Campbell country; from
+the Peak; from the county of many acres; from all along the silver
+fringes of the Solway; assembling in that quiet corner of the earth to
+see the famous Gray Dog of Kenmuir fight his last great battle for the
+Shepherds' Trophy.
+
+By noon the gaunt Scaur looked down on such a gathering as it had never
+seen. The paddock at the back of the Dalesman's Daughter was packed with
+a clammering, chattering multitude: animated groups of farmers; bevies
+of solid rustics; sharp-faced townsmen; loud-voiced bookmakers; giggling
+girls; amorous boys,--thrown together like toys in a sawdust bath;
+whilst here and there, on the outskirts of the crowd, a lonely man and
+wise-faced dog, come from afar to wrest his proud title from the best
+sheep-dog in the North.
+
+At the back of the enclosure was drawn up a formidable array of carts
+and carriages, varying as much in quality and character as did their
+owners. There was the squire's landau rubbing axle-boxes with Jem
+Burton's modest moke-cart; and there Viscount Birdsaye's flaring
+barouche side by side with the red-wheeled wagon of Kenmuir.
+
+In the latter, Maggie, sad and sweet in her simple summer garb, leant
+over to talk to Lady Eleanour; while golden-haired wee Anne, delighted
+with the surging crowd around, trotted about the wagon, waving to her
+friends, and shouting from very joyousness.
+
+Thick as flies clustered that motley assembly on the north bank of the
+Silver Lea. While on the other side the stream was a little group of
+judges, inspecting the course.
+
+The line laid out ran thus: the sheep must first be found in the big
+enclosure to the right of the starting flag; then up the slope and away
+from the spectators; around a flag and obliquely down the hill again;
+through a gap in the wall; along the hillside, parrallel to the Silver
+Lea; abruptly to the left through a pair of flags--the trickiest turn of
+them all; then down the slope to the pen, which was set up close to the
+bridge over the stream.
+
+The proceedings began with the Local Stakes, won by Rob Saunderson's
+veteran, Shep. There followed the Open Juveniles, carried off by Ned
+Hoppin's young dog. It was late in the afternoon when, at length, the
+great event of the meeting was reached.
+
+In the enclosure behind the Dalesman's Daughter the clamor of the crowd
+increased tenfold, and the yells of the bookmakers were redoubled.
+
+"Walk up, gen'lemen, walk up! the ole firm! Rasper? Yessir--twenty to
+one bar two! Twenty to one bar two! Bob? What price, Bob? Even money,
+sir--no, not a penny longer, couldn't do it! Red Wull? 'oo says Red
+Wull?"
+
+On the far side the stream is clustered about the starting flag the
+finest array of sheep-dogs ever seen together.
+
+"I've never seen such a field, and I've seen fifty," is Parson Leggy's
+verdict.
+
+There, beside the tall form of his master, stands Owd Bob o' Kenmuir,
+the observed of all. His silvery brush fans the air, and he holds his
+dark head high as he scans his challengers, proudly conscious that
+to-day will make or mar his fame. Below him, the mean-looking,
+smooth-coated black dog is the unbeaten Pip, winner of the renowned
+Cambrian Stakes at Llangollen--as many think the best of all the good
+dogs that have come from sheep-dotted Wales. Beside him that handsome
+sable collie, with the tremendous coat and slash of white on throat
+and face, is the famous MacCallum More, fresh from his victory at the
+Highland meeting. The cobby, brown dog, seeming of many breeds, is from
+the land o' the Tykes--Merry, on whom the Yorkshiremen are laying as
+though they loved him. And Jess, the wiry black-and-tan, is the favorite
+of the men of of the Derwent and Dove. Tupper's big blue Rasper is
+there; Londesley's Lassie; and many more--too many to mention: big and
+small, grand and mean, smooth and rough--and not a bad dog there.
+
+And alone, his back to the others, stands a little bowed, conspicuous
+figure--Adam M'Adam; while the great dog beside him, a hideous
+incarnation of scowling defiance, is Red Wull, the Terror o' the Border.
+
+The Tailless Tyke had already run up his fighting colors. For MacCallum
+More, going up to examine this forlorn great adversary, had conceived
+for him a violent antipathy, and, straightway, had spun at him with
+all the fury of the Highland cateran, who attacks first and explains
+afterward. Red Wull, forthwith, had turned on him with savage, silent
+gluttony; bob-tailed Rasper was racing up to join in the attack; and in
+another second the three would have been locked inseparably--but just in
+time M'Adam intervened. One of the judges came hurrying up.
+
+"Mr. M'Adam," he cried angrily, "if that brute of yours gets fighting
+again, hang me if I don't disqualify him! Only last year at the Trials
+he killed the young Cossack dog."
+
+A dull flash of passion swept across M'Adam's face. "Come here,
+Wullie!" he called. "Gin yon Hielant tyke attacks ye agin, ye're to be
+disqualified."
+
+He was unheeded. The battle for the Cup had begun--little Pip leading
+the dance.
+
+On the opposite slope the babel had subsided now. Hucksters left their
+wares, and bookmakers their stools, to watch the struggle. Every eye
+was intent on the moving figures of man and dog and three sheep over the
+stream.
+
+One after one the competitors ran their course and penned their
+sheep--there was no single failure. And all received their just meed of
+applause, save only Adam M'Adam's Red Wull.
+
+Last of all, when Owd Bob trotted out to uphold his title, there went up
+such a shout as made Maggie's wan cheeks to blush with pleasure, and wee
+Anne to scream right lustily.
+
+His was an incomparable exhibition. Sheep should be humored rather than
+hurried; coaxed, rather than coerced. And that sheep-dog has attained
+the summit of his art who subdues his own personality and leads his
+sheep in pretending to be led. Well might the bosoms of the Dalesmen
+swell with pride as they watched their favorite at his work; well might
+Tammas pull out that hackneyed phrase, "The brains of a mon and the way
+of a woman"; well might the crowd bawl their enthusiasm, and Long Kirby
+puff his cheeks and rattle the money in his trouser pockets.
+
+But of this part it is enough to say that Pip, Owd Bob, and Red Wull
+were selected to fight out the struggle afresh.
+
+The course was altered and stiffened. On the far side the stream it
+remained as before; up the slope; round a flag; down the hill again;
+through the gap in the wall; along the hillside; down through the two
+flags; turn; and to the stream again. But the pen was removed from its
+former position, carried over the bridge, up the near slope, and the
+hurdles put together at the very foot of the spectators.
+
+The sheep had to be driven over the plank bridge, and the penning done
+beneath the very nose of the crowd. A stiff course, if ever there was
+one; and the time allowed, ten short minutes.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The spectators hustled and elbowed in their endeavors to obtain a
+good position. And well they might; for about to begin was the finest
+exhibition of sheep-handling any man there was ever to behold.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Evan Jones and Little Pip led off.
+
+Those two, who had won on many a hard-fought field, worked together
+as they had never worked before. Smooth and swift, like a yacht in
+Southampton Water; round the flag, through the gap, they brought their
+sheep. Down between the two flags--accomplishing right well that awkward
+turn; and back to the bridge.
+
+There they stopped: the sheep would not face that narrow way. Once,
+twice, and again, they broke; and each time the gallant little Pip, his
+tongue out and tail quivering, brought them back to the bridge-head.
+
+At length one faced it; then another, and--it was too late. Time was up.
+The judges signalled; and the Welshman called off his dog and withdrew.
+
+Out of sight of mortal eye, in a dip of the ground, Evan Jones sat down
+and took the small dark head between his knees--and you may be sure the
+dog's heart was heavy as the man's. "We did our pest, Pip," he cried
+brokenly, "but we're peat--the first time ever we've been!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+No time to dally.
+
+James Moore and Owd Bob were off on their last run.
+
+No applause this time; not a voice was raised; anxious faces; twitching
+fingers; the whole crowd tense as a stretched wire. A false turn, a
+wilful sheep, a cantankerous judge, and the gray dog would be beat. And
+not a man there but knew it.
+
+Yet over the stream master and dog went about their business never
+so quiet, never so collected; for all the world as though they were
+rounding up a flock on the Muir Pike.
+
+The old dog found his sheep in a twinkling and a wild, scared trio they
+proved. Rounding the first flag, one bright-eyed wether made a dash
+for the open. He was quick; but the gray dog was quicker: a splendid
+recover, and a sound like a sob from the watchers on the hill.
+
+Down the slope they came for the gap in the wall. A little below the
+opening, James Moore took his stand to stop and turn them; while a
+distance behind his sheep loitered Owd Bob, seeming to follow rather
+than drive, yet watchful of every movement and anticipating it. On he
+came, one eye on his master, the other on his sheep; never hurrying
+them, never flurrying them, yet bringing them rapidly along.
+
+No word was spoken; barely a gesture made; yet they worked, master and
+dog, like one divided.
+
+Through the gap, along the hill parallel to the spectators, playing into
+one another's hands like men at polo.
+
+A wide sweep for the turn at the flags, and the sheep wheeled as though
+at the word of command, dropped through them, and travelled rapidly for
+the bridge.
+
+"Steady!" whispered the crowd.
+
+"Steady, man!" muttered Parson Leggy.
+
+"Hold 'em, for God's sake!" croaked Kirby huskily. "D--n! I knew it! I
+saw it coming!"
+
+The pace down the hill had grown quicker--too quick. Close on the bridge
+the three sheep made an effort to break. A dash--and two were checked;
+but the third went away like the wind, and after him Owd Bob, a gray
+streak against the green.
+
+Tammas was cursing silently; Kirby was white to the lips; and in the
+stillness you could plainly hear the Dalesmen's sobbing breath, as it
+fluttered in their throats.
+
+"Gallop! they say he's old and slow!" muttered the Parson. "Dash! Look
+at that!" For the gray dog, racing like the Nor'easter over the sea, had
+already retrieved the fugitive.
+
+Man and dog were coaxing the three a step at a time toward the bridge.
+
+One ventured--the others followed.
+
+In the middle the leader stopped and tried to turn--and time was flying,
+flying, and the penning alone must take minutes. Many a man's hand was
+at his watch, but no one could take his eyes off the group below him to
+look.
+
+"We're beat! I've won bet, Tammas!" groaned Sam'l. (The two had a
+long-standing wager on the matter.) "I allus knoo hoo 'twould be. I
+allus told yo' th' owd tyke--"
+
+Then breaking into a bellow, his honest face crimson with enthusiasm:
+"Coom on, Master! Good for yo', Owd Un! Yon's the style!"
+
+For the gray dog had leapt on the back of the hindmost sheep; it had
+surged forward against the next, and they were over, and making up the
+slope amidst a thunder of applause.
+
+At the pen it was a sight to see shepherd and dog working together.
+The Master, his face stern and a little whiter than its wont, casting
+forward with both hands, herding the sheep in; the gray dog, his eyes
+big and bright, dropping to hand; crawling and creeping, closer and
+closer.
+
+"They're in!--Nay--Ay--dang me! Stop 'er! Good, Owd Un! Ah-h-h, they're
+in!" And the last sheep reluctantly passed through--on the stroke of
+time.
+
+A roar went up from the crowd; Maggie's white face turned pink; and
+the Dalesmen mopped their wet brows. The mob surged forward, but the
+stewards held them back.
+
+"Back, please! Don't encroach! M'Adam's to come!"
+
+From the far bank the little man watched the scene. His coat and cap
+were off, and his hair gleamed white in the sun; his sleeves were rolled
+up; and his face was twitching but set as he stood--ready.
+
+The hubbub over the stream at length subsided. One of the judges nodded
+to him.
+
+"Noo, Wullie--noo or niver!--'Scots wha hae'! "--and they were off.
+
+"Back, gentlemen! back! He's off--he's coming! M'Adam's coming!"
+
+They might well shout and push; for the great dog was on to his sheep
+before they knew it; and they went away with a rush, with him right on
+their backs. Up the slope they swept and round the first flag, already
+galloping. Down the hill for the gap, and M'Adam was flying ahead to
+turn them. But they passed him like a hurricane, and Red Wull was in
+front with a rush and turned them alone.
+
+"M'Adam wins! Five to four M'Adam! I lay agin Owd Bob!" rang out a clear
+voice in the silence.
+
+Through the gap they rattled, ears back, feet twinkling like the wings
+of driven grouse.
+
+"He's lost 'em! They'll break! They're away!" was the cry.
+
+Sam'l was half up the wheel of the Kenmuir wagon; every man was on his
+toes; ladies were standing in their carriages; even Jim Mason's face
+flushed with momentary excitement.
+
+The sheep were tearing along the hillside, all together, like a white
+scud. After them, galloping like a Waterloo winner, raced Red Wull. And
+last of all, leaping over the ground like a demoniac, making not for the
+two flags, but the plank-bridge, the white-haired figure of M'Adam.
+
+"He's beat! The Killer's beat!" roared a strident voice.
+
+"M'Adam wins! Five to four M'Adam! I lay agin Owd Bob!" rang out the
+clear reply.
+
+Red Wull was now racing parallel to the fugitives and above them. All
+four were travelling at a terrific rate; while the two flags were barely
+twenty yards in front, below the line of flight and almost parallel to
+it. To effect the turn a change of direction must be made almost through
+a right angle.
+
+"He's beat! he's beat! M'Adam's beat! Can't make it nohow!" was the
+roar.
+
+From over the stream a yell--"Turn 'em, Wullie!"
+
+At the word the great dog swerved down on the flying three. They turned,
+still at the gallop, like a troop of cavalry, and dropped, clean and
+neat, between the flags; and down to the stream they rattled, passing
+M'Adam on the way as though he was standing.
+
+"Weel done, Wullie!" came the scream from the far bank; and from the
+crowd went up an involuntary burst of applause.
+
+"Ma word!
+
+"Did yo' see that?"
+
+"By gob!"
+
+It was a turn, indeed, of which the smartest team in the galloping
+horse-gunners might well have been proud. A shade later, and they must
+have overshot the mark; a shade sooner, and a miss.
+
+"He's not been two minutes so far. We're beaten--don't you think so,
+Uncle Leggy?" asked Muriel Sylvester, looking up piteously into the
+parson's face.
+
+"It's not what I think, my dear; it's what the judges think," the parson
+replied; and what he thought their verdict would be was plainly writ on
+his face for all to read.
+
+Right on to the centre of the bridge the leading sheep galloped
+and--stopped abruptly.
+
+Up above in the crowd there was utter silence; staring eyes; rigid
+fingers. The sweat was dripping off Long Kirby's face; and, at the
+back, a green-coated bookmaker slipped his note-book in his pocket, and
+glanced behind him. James Moore, standing in front of them all, was the
+calmest there.
+
+Red Wull was not to be denied. Like his forerunner he leapt on the back
+of the hindmost sheep. But the red dog was heavy where the gray was
+light. The sheep staggered, slipped, and fell.
+
+Almost before it had touched the water, M'Adam, his face afire and eyes
+flaming, was in the stream. In a second he had hold of the struggling
+creature, and, with an almost superhuman effort, had half thrown, half
+shoved it on to the bank.
+
+Again a tribute of admiration, led by James Moore.
+
+The little man scrambled, panting, on to the bank and raced after sheep
+and dog. His face was white beneath the perspiration; his breath came in
+quavering gasps; his trousers were wet and clinging to his legs; he was
+trembling in every limb, and yet indomitable.
+
+They were up to the pen, and the last wrestle began. The crowd, silent
+and motionless, craned forward to watch the uncanny, white-haired little
+man and the huge dog, working so close below them. M'Adam's face was
+white; his eyes staring, unnaturally bright; his bent body projected
+forward; and he tapped with his stick on the ground like a blind man,
+coaxing the sheep in. And the Tailless Tyke, his tongue out and flanks
+heaving, crept and crawled and worked up to the opening, patient as he
+had never been before.
+
+They were in at last.
+
+There was a lukewarm, half-hearted cheer; then silence.
+
+Exhausted and trembling, the little man leant against the pen, one
+hand on it; while Red Wull, his flanks still heaving, gently licked the
+other. Quite close stood James Moore and the gray dog; above was the
+black wall of people, utterly still; below, the judges comparing notes.
+In the silence you could almost hear the panting of the crowd.
+
+Then one of the judges went up to James Moore and shook him by the hand.
+
+The gray dog had won. Owd Bob o' Kenmuir had won the Shepherds' Trophy
+outright.
+
+A second's palpitating silence; a woman's hysterical laugh--and
+a deep-mouthed bellow rent the expectant air: shouts, screams,
+hat-tossings, back-clappings blending in a din that made the
+many-winding waters of the Silver Lea quiver and quiver again.
+
+Owd Bob o' Kenmuir had won the Shepherds' Trophy outright.
+
+Maggie's face flushed a scarlet hue. Wee Anne flung fat arms toward
+her triumphant Bob, and screamed with the best. Squire and parson, each
+red-cheeked, were boisterously shaking hands. Long Kirby, who had not
+prayed for thirty years, ejaculated with heartfelt earnestness, "Thank
+God!" Sam'l Todd bellowed in Tammas's ear, and almost slew him with his
+mighty buffets. Among the Dalesmen some laughed like drunken men; some
+cried like children; all joined in that roaring song of victory.
+
+To little M 'Adam, standing with his back to the crowd, that storm of
+cheering came as the first announcement of defeat.
+
+A wintry smile, like the sun over a March sea, crept across his face.
+
+"We might a kent it, Wullie," he muttered, soft and low. The tension
+loosed, the battle lost, the little man almost broke down. There were
+red dabs of color in his face; his eyes were big; his lips pitifully
+quivering; he was near to sobbing.
+
+An old man--utterly alone he had staked his all on a throw--and lost.
+
+Lady Eleanour marked the forlorn little figure, standing solitary on the
+fringe of the uproarious mob. She noticed the expression on his face;
+and her tender heart went out to the lone man in his defeat.
+
+She went up to him and laid a hand upon his arm.
+
+"Mr. M'Adam," she said timidly, "won't you come and sit down in the
+tent? You look _so_ tired! I can find you a corner where no one shall
+disturb you."
+
+The little man wrenched roughly away. The unexpected kindness, coming
+at that moment, was almost too much for him. A few paces off he turned
+again.
+
+"It's reel kind o' yer ladyship," he said huskily; and tottered away to
+be alone with Red Wull.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Meanwhile the victors stood like rocks in the tideway. About them surged
+a continually changing throng, shaking the man's hand, patting the dog.
+
+Maggie had carried wee Anne to tender her congratulations; Long Kirby
+had come; Tammas, Saunderson, Hoppin, Tupper, Londesley--all but Jim
+Mason; and now, elbowing through the press, came squire and parson.
+
+"Well done, James! well done, indeed! Knew you'd win! told you so eh,
+eh!" Then facetiously to Owd Bob: "Knew you would, Robert, old man!
+Ought to Robert the Dev--musn't be a naughty boy--eh, eh!"
+
+"The first time ever the Dale Cup's been won outright!" said the Parson,
+"and I daresay it never will again. And I think Kenmuir's the very
+fittest place for its final home, and a Gray Dog of Kenmuir for its
+winner."
+
+"Oh, by the by!" burst in the squire. "I've fixed the Manor dinner for
+to-day fortnight, James. Tell Saunderson and Tupper, will you? Want all
+the tenants there." He disappeared into the crowd, but in a minute had
+fought his way back. "I'd forgotten something!" he shouted. "Tell your
+Maggie perhaps you'll have news for her after it eh! eh!" and he was
+gone again.
+
+Last of all, James Moore was aware of a white, blotchy, grinning face at
+his elbow.
+
+"I maun congratulate ye, Mr. Moore. Ye've beat us--you and the
+gentlemen--judges."
+
+"'Twas a close thing, M'Adam," the other answered. "An' yo' made a gran'
+fight. In ma life I niver saw a finer turn than yours by the two flags
+yonder. I hope yo' bear no malice."
+
+"Malice! Me? Is it likely? Na, na. 'Do onto ivery man as he does onto
+you--and somethin' over,' that's my motter. I owe ye mony a good turn,
+which I'll pay ye yet. Na, na; there's nae good fechtin' agin fate--and
+the judges. Weel, I wush you well o' yer victory. Aiblins' twill be oor
+turn next."
+
+Then a rush, headed by Sam'l, roughly hustled the one away and bore the
+other off on its shoulders in boisterous triumph.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In giving the Cup away, Lady Eleanour made a prettier speech than ever.
+Yet all the while she was haunted by a white, miserable face; and all
+the while she was conscious of two black moving dots in the Murk Muir
+Pass opposite her--solitary, desolate, a contrast to the huzzaing crowd
+around.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+That is how the champion challenge Dale Cup, the world-known Shepherds'
+Trophy, came to wander no more; won outright by the last of the Gray
+Dogs of Kenmuir--Owd Bob.
+
+Why he was the last of the Gray Dogs is now to be told.
+
+
+
+
+PART VI THE BLACK KILLER
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXVI RED-HANDED
+
+
+THE SUN was hiding behind the Pike. Over the lowlands the feathery
+breath of night hovered still. And the hillside was shivering in the
+chillness of dawn.
+
+Down on the silvery sward beside the Stony Bottom there lay the ruffled
+body of a dead sheep. All about the victim the dewy ground was dark and
+patchy like dishevelled velvet; bracken trampled down; stones
+displaced as though by straggling feet; and the whole spotted with the
+all-pervading red.
+
+A score yards up the hill, in a writhing confusion of red and gray, two
+dogs at death-grips. While yet higher, a pack of wild-eyed hill-sheep
+watched, fascinated, the bloody drama.
+
+The fight raged. Red and gray, blood-spattered, murderous-eyed; the
+crimson froth dripping from their jaws; now rearing high with arching
+crests and wrestling paws; now rolling over in tumbling, tossing,
+worrying disorder--the two fought out their blood-feud.
+
+Above, the close-packed flock huddled and stamped, ever edging nearer
+to watch the issue. Just so must the women of Rome have craned round the
+arenas to see two men striving in death-struggle.
+
+The first cold flicker of dawn stole across the green. The red eye of
+the morning peered aghast over the shoulder of the Pike. And from the
+sleeping dale there arose the yodling of a man driving his cattle home.
+
+Day was upon them.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+James Moore was waked by a little whimpering cry beneath his window.
+He leapt out of bed and rushed to look; for well he knew 'twas not for
+nothing that the old dog was calling.
+
+"Lord o' mercy! whativer's come to yo', Owd Un?" he cried in anguish.
+And, indeed, his favorite, war-daubed almost past recognition, presented
+a pitiful spectacle.
+
+In a moment the Master was downstairs and out, examining him.
+
+"Poor old lad, yo' have caught it this time!" he cried. There was a
+ragged tear on the dog's cheek; a deep gash in his throat from which the
+blood still welled, staining the white escutcheon on his chest; while
+head and neck were clotted with the red.
+
+Hastily the Master summoned Maggie. After her, Andrew came hurrying
+down. And a little later a tiny, night-clad, naked-footed figure
+appeared in the door, wide-eyed, and then fled, screaming.
+
+They doctored the old warrior on the table in the kitchen. Maggie
+tenderly washed his wounds, and dressed them with gentle, pitying
+fingers; and he stood all the while grateful yet fidgeting, looking up
+into his master's face as if imploring to be gone.
+
+"He mun a had a rare tussle wi' some one--eh, dad?" said the girl, as
+she worked.
+
+"Ay; and wi' whom? 'Twasn't for nowt he got fightin', I war'nt. Nay;
+he's a tale to tell, has The Owd Un, and--A h-h-h! I thowt as much. Look
+'ee!" For bathing the bloody jaws, he had come upon a cluster of tawny
+red hair, hiding in the corners of the lips.
+
+The secret was out. Those few hairs told their own accusing tale. To but
+one creature in the Daleland could they belong--"Th' Tailless Tyke."
+
+"He mun a bin trespassin'!" cried Andrew.
+
+"Ay, and up to some o' his bloody work, I'll lay my life," the Master
+answered. "But Th' Owd Un shall show us."
+
+The old dog's hurts proved less severe than had at first seemed
+possible. His good gray coat, forest-thick about his throat, had never
+served him in such good stead. And at length, the wounds washed and sewn
+up, he jumped down all in a hurry from the table and made for the door.
+
+"Noo, owd lad, yo' may show us," said the Master, and, with Andrew,
+hurried after him down the hill, along the stream, and over Langholm
+How. And as they neared the Stony Bottom, the sheep, herding in groups,
+raised frightened heads to stare.
+
+Of a sudden a cloud of poisonous flies rose, buzzing, up before them;
+and there in a dimple of the ground lay a murdered sheep. Deserted by
+its comrades, the glazed eyes staring helplessly upward, the throat
+horribly worried, it slept its last sleep.
+
+The matter was plain to see. At last the Black Killer had visited
+Kenmuir.
+
+"I guessed as much," said the Master, standing over the mangled body.
+"Well, it's the worst night's work ever the Killer done. I reck'n Th'
+Owd Un come on him while he was at it; and then they fought. And, ma
+word! it munn ha' bin a fight too." For all around were traces of that
+terrible struggle: the earth torn up and tossed, bracken uprooted, and
+throughout little dabs of wool and tufts of tawny hair, mingling with
+dark-stained iron-gray wisps.
+
+James Moore walked slowly over the battlefield, stooping down as though
+he were gleaning. And gleaning he was.
+
+A long time he bent so, and at length raised himself.
+
+"The Killer has killed his last," he muttered; "Red Wull has run his
+course." Then, turning to Andrew: "Run yo' home, lad, and fetch the men
+to carry yon away," pointing to the carcass, "And Bob, lad, yo 'ye done
+your work for to-day, and right well too; go yo' home wi' him. I'm off
+to see to this!"
+
+He turned and crossed the Stony Bottom. His face was set like a rock.
+At length the proof was in his hand. Once and for all the hill-country
+should be rid of its scourge.
+
+As he stalked up the hill, a dark head appeared at his knee. Two big
+grey eyes; half doubting, half penitent, wholly wistful, looked up at
+him, and a silvery brush signalled a mute request.
+
+"Eh, Owd Un, but yo' should ha' gone wi' Andrew," the Master said.
+"Hooiver, as yo' are here, come along." And he strode away up the hill,
+gaunt and menacing, with the gray dog at his heels.
+
+As they approached the house, M'Adam was standing in the door, sucking
+his eternal twig. James Moore eyed him closely as he came, but the sour
+face framed in the door betrayed nothing. Sarcasm, surprise, challenge,
+were all writ there, plain to read; but no guilty consciousness of the
+other's errand, no storm of passion to hide a failing heart. If it was
+acting it was splendidly done.
+
+As man and dog passed through the gap in the hedge, the expression on
+the little man's face changed again. He started forward.
+
+"James Moore, as I live!" he cried, and advanced with both hands
+extended, as though welcoming a long-lost brother. "'Deed and it's a
+weary while sin' ye've honored ma puir hoose." And, in fact, it was nigh
+twenty years. "I tak' it gey kind in ye to look in on a lonely auld man.
+Come ben and let's ha' a crack. James Moore kens weel hoo welcome he aye
+is in ma bit biggin'."
+
+The Master ignored the greeting.
+
+"One o' ma sheep been killed back o' t' Dyke," he announced shortly,
+jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
+
+"The Killer?"
+
+"The Killer."
+
+The cordiality beaming in every wrinkle of the little man's face was
+absorbed in a wondering interest; and that again gave place to sorrowful
+sympathy.
+
+"Dear, dear! it's come to that, has it--at last?" he said gently, and
+his eyes wandered to the gray dog and dwelt mournfully upon him. "Man,
+I'm sorry--I canna tell ye I'm surprised. Masel', I kent it all alang.
+But gin Adam M'Adam had tell't ye, no ha' believed him. Weel, weel, he's
+lived his life, gin ony dog iver did; and noo he maun gang where
+he's sent a many before him. Puir mon! puir tyke!" He heaved a sigh,
+profoundly melancholy, tenderly sympathetic. Then, brightening up a
+little: "Ye'll ha' come for the gun?"
+
+James Moore listened to this harangue at first puzzled. Then he caught
+the other's meaning, and his eyes flashed.
+
+"Ye fool, M'Adam! did ye hear iver tell o' a sheep-dog worryin' his
+master's sheep?"
+
+The little man was smiling and suave again now, rubbing his hands softly
+together.
+
+"Ye're right, I never did. But your dog is not as ither dogs--'There's
+none like him--none,' I've heard ye say so yersel, mony a time. An' I'm
+wi' ye. There's none like him--for devilment." His voice began to quiver
+and his face to blaze. "It's his cursed cunning that's deceived ivery
+one but me--whelp o' Satan that he is!" He shouldered up to his tall
+adversary. "If not him, wha else had done it?" he asked, looking, up
+into the other's face as if daring him to speak.
+
+The Master's shaggy eyebrows lowered. He towered above the other like
+the Muir Pike above its surrounding hills.
+
+"Wha, ye ask?" he replied coldly, "and I answer you. Your Red Wull,
+M'Adam, your Red Wull. It's your Wull's the Black Killer! It's your
+Wull's bin the plague o' the land these months past! It's your Wull's
+killed ma sheep back o'yon!"
+
+At that all the little man's affected good-humor fled.
+
+"Ye lee, mon! ye lee!" he cried in a dreadful scream, dancing up to his
+antagonist. "I knoo hoo 'twad be. I said so. I see what ye're at. Ye've
+found at last--blind that ye've been!--that it's yer ain hell's tyke
+that's the Killer; and noo ye think by yer leein' impitations to throw
+the blame on ma Wullie. Ye rob me o' ma Cup, ye rob me o' ma son, ye
+wrang me in ilka thing; there's but ae thing left me--Wullie. And noo
+ye're set on takin' him awa'. But ye shall not--I'll kill ye first!"
+
+He was all a-shake, bobbing up and down like a stopper in a soda-water
+bottle, and almost sobbing.
+
+"Ha' ye no wranged me enough wi' oo that? Ye lang-leggit liar, wi' yer
+skulkin murderin' tyke!" he cried. "Ye say it's Wullie. Where's yer
+proof?"--and he snapped his fingers in the other's face.
+
+The Master was now as calm as his foe was passionate. "Where?" he
+replied sternly; "why, there!" holding out his right hand. "Yon's proof
+enough to hang a hunner'd." For lying in his broad palm was a little
+bundle of that damning red hair.
+
+"Where?"
+
+"There!"
+
+"Let's see it!" The little man bent to look closer.
+
+"There's for yer proof!" he cried, and spat deliberately down into the
+other's naked palm. Then he stood back, facing his enemy in a manner to
+have done credit to a nobler deed.
+
+James Moore strode forward. It looked as if he was about to make an end
+of his miserable adversary, so strongly was he moved. His chest heaved,
+and the blue eyes blazed. But just as one had thought to see him
+take his foe in the hollow of his hand and crush him, who should come
+stalking round the corner of the house but the Tailless Tyke?
+
+A droll spectacle he made, laughable even at that moment. He limped
+sorely, his head and neck were swathed in bandages, and beneath their
+ragged fringe the little eyes gleamed out fiery and bloodshot.
+
+Round the corner he came, unaware of strangers; then straightway
+recognizing his visitors, halted abruptly. His hackles ran up, each
+individual hair stood on end till his whole body resembled a new-shorn
+wheat-field; and a snarl, like a rusty brake shoved hard down escaped
+from between his teeth. Then he trotted heavily forward, his head
+sinking low and lower as he came.
+
+And Owd Bob, eager to take up the gage of battle, advanced, glad and
+gallant, to meet him. Daintily he picked his way across the yard, head
+and tail erect, perfectly self-contained. Only the long gray hair
+about his neck stood up like the ruff of a lady of the court of Queen
+Elizabeth.
+
+But the war-worn warriors were not to be allowed their will.
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, wad ye!" cried the little man.
+
+"Bob, lad, coom in!" called the other. Then he turned and looked down at
+the man beside him, contempt flaunting in every feature.
+
+"Well?" he said shortly.
+
+M'Adam's hands were opening and shutting; his face was quite white
+beneath the tan; but he spoke calmly.
+
+"I'll tell ye the whole story, and it's the truth," he said slowly. "I
+was up there the morn"--pointing to the window above--"and I see Wullie
+crouchin' down alangside the Stony Bottom. (Ye ken he has the run o'
+ma land o' neets, the same as your dog.) In a minnit I see anither dog
+squatterin' alang on your side the Bottom. He creeps up to the sheep on
+th' hillside, chases 'em, and doons one. The sun was risen by then, and
+I see the dog clear as I see you noo. It was that dog there--I swear
+it!" His voice rose as he spoke, and he pointed an accusing finger at
+Owd Bob.
+
+"Noo, Wullie! thinks I. And afore ye could clap yer hands, Wullie was
+over the Bottom and on to him as he gorged--the bloody-minded murderer!
+They fought and fought--I could hear the roarin' a't where I stood. I
+watched till I could watch nae langer, and, all in a sweat, I rin doon
+the stairs and oot. When I got there, there was yer tyke makin' fu'
+split for Kenmuir, and Wullie comin' up the hill to me. It's God's
+truth, I'm tellin' ye. Tak' him hame, James Moore, and let his dinner be
+an ounce o' lead. 'Twill be the best day's work iver ye done."
+
+The little man must be lying--lying palpably. Yet he spoke with
+an earnestness, a seeming belief in his own story, that might have
+convinced one who knew him less well. But the Master only looked down on
+him with a great scorn.
+
+"It's Monday to-day," he said coldly. "I gie yo' till Saturday. If yo've
+not done your duty by then--and well you know what 'tis--I shall come
+do it for ye. Ony gate, I shall come and see. I'll remind ye agin o'
+Thursday--yo'll be at the Manor dinner, I suppose. Noo I've warned yo',
+and you know best whether I'm in earnest or no. Bob, lad!"
+
+He turned away, but turned again.
+
+"I'm sorry for ye, but I've ma duty to do--so've you. Till Saturday I
+shall breathe no word to ony soul o' this business, so that if you see
+good to put him oot o' the way wi'oot bother, no one need iver know as
+hoo Adam M'Adam's Red Wull was the Black Killer."
+
+He turned away for the second time. But the little man sprang after him,
+and clutched him by the arm.
+
+"Look ye here, James Moore!" he cried in thick, shaky, horrible voice.
+"Ye're big, I'm sma'; ye're strang, I'm weak; ye've ivery one to your
+back, I've niver a one; you tell your story, and they'll believe ye--for
+you gae to church; I'll tell mine, and they'll think I lie--for I dinna.
+But a word in your ear! If iver agin I catch ye on ma land, by--!"--he
+swore a great oath--"I'll no spare ye. You ken best if I'm in earnest or
+no." And his face was dreadful to see in its hideous determinedness.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXVII FOR THE DEFENCE
+
+
+THAT night a vague story was whispered In the Sylvester Arms. But
+Tammas, on being interrogated, pursed his lips and said: "Nay, I'm sworn
+to say nowt." Which was the old man's way of putting that he knew nowt.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On Thursday morning, James Moore and Andrew came down arrayed in all
+their best. It was the day of the squire's annual dinner to his tenants.
+
+The two, however, were not allowed to start upon their way until they
+had undergone a critical inspection by Maggie; for the girl liked her
+mankind to do honor to Kenmuir on these occasions. So she brushed
+up Andrew, tied his scarf, saw his boots and hands were clean, and
+titivated him generally till she had converted the ungainly hobbledehoy
+into a thoroughly "likely young mon."
+
+And all the while she was thinking of that other boy for whom on such
+gala days she had been wont to perform like offices. And her father,
+marking the tears in her eyes, and mindful of the squire's mysterious
+hint, said gently:
+
+"Cheer up, lass. Happen I'll ha' news for you the night!"
+
+The girl nodded, and smiled wanly.
+
+"Happen so, dad," she said. But in her heart she doubted.
+
+Nevertheless it was with a cheerful countenance that, a little later,
+she stood in the door with wee Anne and Owd Bob and waved the travellers
+Godspeed; while the golden-haired lassie, fiercely gripping the old
+dog's tail with one hand and her sister with the other, screamed them a
+wordless farewell.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The sun had reached its highest when the two wayfarers passed through
+the gray portals of the Manor.
+
+In the stately entrance hall, imposing with all the evidences of a long
+and honorable line, were gathered now the many tenants throughout the
+wide March Mere Estate. Weather-beaten, rent-paying sons of the soil;
+most of them native-born, many of them like James Moore, whose fathers
+had for generations owned and farmed the land they now leased at the
+hands of the Sylvesters--there in the old hall they were assembled,
+a mighty host. And apart from the others, standing as though in irony
+beneath the frown of one of those steel-clad warriors who held the door,
+was little M'Adam, puny always, paltry now, mocking his manhood.
+
+The door at the far end of the hall opened, and the squire entered,
+beaming on every one.
+
+"Here you are--eh, eh! How are you all? Glad to see ye! Good-day, James!
+Good-day, Saunderson! Good-day to you all! Bringin' a friend with me eh,
+eh!" and he stood aside to let by his agent, Parson Leggy, and last of
+all, shy and blushing, a fair-haired young giant.
+
+"If it bain't David!" was the cry. "Eh, lad, we's fain to see yo'! And
+yo'm lookin' stout, surely!" And they thronged about the boy, shaking
+him by the hand, and asking him his story.
+
+'Twas but a simple tale. After his flight on the eventful night he had
+gone south, drovering. He had written to Maggie, and been surprised and
+hurt to receive no reply. In vain he had waited, and too proud to write
+again, had remained ignorant of his father's recovery, neither caring
+nor daring to return. Then by mere chance, he had met the squire at the
+York cattle-show; and that kind man, who knew his story, had eased his
+fears and obtained from him a promise to return as soon as the term of
+his engagement had expired. And there he was.
+
+The Dalesmen gathered round the boy, listening to his tale, and in
+return telling him the home news, and chaffing him about Maggie.
+
+Of all the people present, only one seemed unmoved, and that was M'Adam.
+When first David had entered he had started forward, a flush of color
+warming his thin cheeks; but no one had noticed his emotion; and now,
+back again beneath his armor, he watched the scene, a sour smile playing
+about his lips.
+
+"I think the lad might ha' the grace to come and say he's sorry for
+'temptin' to murder me. Hooiver"--with a characteristic shrug--"I
+suppose I'm onraisonable."
+
+Then the gong rang out its summons, and the squire led the way into the
+great dining-hall. At the one end of the long table, heavy with all the
+solid delicacies of such a feast, he took his seat with the Master of
+Kenmuir upon his right. At the other end was Parson Leggy. While down
+the sides the stalwart Dalesmen were arrayed, with M'Adam a little lost
+figure in the centre.
+
+At first they talked but little, awed like children: knives plied,
+glasses tinkled, the carvers had all their work, only the tongues were
+at rest. But the squire's ringing laugh and the parson's cheery tones
+soon put them at their ease; and a babel of voices rose and waxed.
+
+Of them all, only M'Adam sat silent. He talked to no man, and you may
+be sure no one talked to him. His hand crept oftener to his glass than
+plate, till the sallow face began to flush, and the dim eyes to grow
+unnaturally bright.
+
+Toward the end of the meal there was loud tapping on the table, calls
+for silence, and men pushed back their chairs. The squire was on his
+feet to make his annual speech.
+
+He started by telling them how glad he was to see them there. He made
+an allusion to Owd Bob and the Shepherds' Trophy which was heartily
+applauded. He touched on the Black Killer, and said he had a remedy
+to propose: that Th' Owd Un should be set upon the criminal's track--a
+suggestion which was received with enthusiasm, while M'Adam's cackling
+laugh could be heard high above the rest.
+
+From that he dwelt upon the existing condition of agriculture, the
+depression in which he attributed to the late Radical Government. He
+said that now with the Conservatives in office, and a ministry composed
+of "honorable men and gentlemen," he felt convinced that things would
+brighten. The Radicals' one ambition was to set class against class,
+landlord against tenant. Well, during the last five hundred years, the
+Sylvesters had rarely been--he was sorry to have to confess it--good men
+(laughter and dissent); but he never yet heard of the Sylvester--though
+he shouldn't say it--who was a bad landlord (loud applause).
+
+This was a free country, and any tenant of his who was not content (a
+voice, "'Oo says we bain't?")--"thank you, thank you!"--well, there was
+room for him outside. (Cheers.) He thanked God from the bottom of his
+heart that, during the forty years he had been responsible for the
+March Mere Estate, there had never been any friction between him and his
+people (cheers), and he didn't think there ever would be. (Loud cheers.)
+
+"Thank you, thank you!" And his motto was, "Shun a Radical as you do the
+devil!"--and he was very glad to see them all there--very glad; and he
+wished to give them a toast, "The Queen! God bless her!" and--wait a
+minute!--with her Majesty's name to couple--he was sure that gracious
+lady would wish it--that of "Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!" Then he sat down
+abruptly amid thundering applause.
+
+The toasts duly honoured, James Moore, by prescriptive right as Master
+of Kenmuir, rose to answer.
+
+He began by saying that he spoke "as representing all the tenants,"--but
+he was interrupted.
+
+"Na," came a shrill voice from half-way down the table. "Yell except me,
+James Moore. I'd as lief be represented by Judas!"
+
+There were cries of "Hold ye gab, little mon!" and the squire's voice,
+"That'll do, Mr. M'Adam!"
+
+The little man restrained his tongue, but his eyes gleamed like a
+ferret's; and the Master continued his speech.
+
+He spoke briefly and to the point, in short phrases. And all the while
+M'Adam kept up a low-voiced, running commentary. At length he could
+control himself no longer. Half rising from his chair, he leant forward
+with hot face and burning eyes, and cried: "Sit doon, James Moore! Hoo
+daur ye stan' there like an honest man, ye whitewashed sepulchre? Sit
+doon, I say, or"--threateningly--"wad ye hae me come to ye?"
+
+At that the Dalesmen laughed uproariously, and even the Master's grim
+face relaxed. But the squire's voice rang out sharp and stern.
+
+"Keep silence and sit down, Mr. M'Adam! D'you hear me, sir? If I have to
+speak to you again it will be to order you to leave the room."
+
+The little man obeyed, sullen and vengeful, like a beaten cat.
+
+The Master concluded his speech by calling on all present to give three
+cheers for the squire, her ladyship, and the young ladies.
+
+The call was responded to enthusiastically, every man standing. Just as
+the noise was at its zenith, Lady Eleanour herself, with her two fair
+daughters, glided into the gallery at the end of the hall; whereat the
+cheering became deafening.
+
+Slowly the clamor subsided. One by one the tenants sat down. At length
+there was left standing only one solitary figure--M 'Adam.
+
+His face was set, and he gripped the chair in front of him with thin,
+nervous hands.
+
+"Mr. Sylvester," he began in low yet clear voice, "ye said this is a
+free country and we're a' free men. And that bein' so, I'll tak' the
+liberty, wi' yer permission, to say a word. It's maybe the last time
+I'll be wi' ye, so I hope ye'll listen to me."
+
+The Dalesmen looked surprised, and the squire uneasy. Nevertheless he
+nodded assent.
+
+The little man straightened himself. His face was tense as though
+strung up to a high resolve. All the passion had fled from it, all
+the bitterness was gone; and left behind was a strange, enobling
+earnestness. Standing there in the silence of that great hall, with
+every eye upon him, he looked like some prisoner at the bar about to
+plead for his life.
+
+"Gentlemen," he began, "I've bin amang ye noo a score years, and I can
+truly say there's not a man in this room I can ca' 'Friend.'" He looked
+along the ranks of upturned faces. "Ay, David, I see ye, and you, Mr.
+Hornbut, and you, Mr. Sylvester--ilka one o' you, and not one as'd back
+me like a comrade gin a trouble came upon me." There was no rebuke in
+the grave little voice--it merely stated a hard fact.
+
+"There's I doot no one amang ye but has some one--friend or blood--wham
+he can turn to when things are sair wi' him. I've no one.
+
+"'I bear alane my lade o' care'--alane wi' Wullie, who stands to me,
+blaw or snaw, rain or shine. And whiles I'm feared he'll be took from
+me." He spoke this last half to himself, a grieved, puzzled expression
+on his face, as though lately he had dreamed some ill dream.
+
+"Forbye Wuilie, I've no friend on God's earth. And, mind ye, a bad man
+aften mak's a good friend--but ye've never given me the chance. It's a
+sair thing that, gentlemen, to ha' to fight the battle o' life alane: no
+one to pat ye on th' back, no one to say 'Weel done.' It hardly gies
+a man a chance. For gin he does try and yet fails, men never mind the
+tryin', they only mark the failin'."
+
+"I dinna blame ye. There's somethin' bred in me, it seems, as sets ivery
+one agin me. It's the same wi' Wullie and the tykes--they're doon on him
+same as men are on me. I suppose we was made so. Sin' I was a lad it's
+aye bin the same. From school days I've had ivery one agin me."
+
+"In ma life I've had three fiends. Ma mither--and she went; then ma
+wife"--he gave a great swallow--"and she's awa'; and I may say they're
+the only two human bein's as ha' lived on God's earth in ma time that
+iver tried to bear wi' me;--and Wullie. A man's mither--a man's wife--a
+man's dog! it's aften a' he has in this warld; and the more he prizes
+them the more like they are to be took from him." The little earnest
+voice shook, and the dim eyes puckered and filled.
+
+"Sin' I've bin amang ye--twenty-odd years--can any man here mind
+speakin' any word that wasna ill to me?" He paused; there was no reply.
+
+"I'll tell ye. All the time I've lived here I've had one kindly word
+spoke to me, and that a fortnight gone, and not by a man then--by her
+ladyship, God bless her!" He glanced up into the gallery. There was
+no one visible there; but a curtain at one end shook as though it were
+sobbing.
+
+"Weel, I'm thinkin' we'll be gaein' in a wee while noo, Wullie and me,
+alane and thegither, as we've aye done. And it's time we went. Ye've had
+enough o' us, and it's no for me to blame ye. And when I'm gone what'll
+ye say o' me? 'He was a drunkard.' I am. 'He was a sinner.' I am. 'He
+was ilka thing he shouldna be.' I am. 'We're glad he's gone.' That's
+what ye'll say o' me. And it's but ma deserts."
+
+The gentle, condemning voice ceased, and began again.
+
+"That's what I am. Gin things had been differ', aiblins I'd ha' bin
+differ'. D'ye ken Robbie Burns? That's a man I've read, and read, and
+read. D'ye ken why I love him as some o' you do yer Bibles? Because
+there's a humanity about him. A weak man hissel', aye slippin',
+slippin', slippin', and tryin' to haud up; sorrowin' ae minute, sinnin'
+the next; doin' ill deeds and wishin' 'em undone--just a plain human
+man, a sinner. And that's why I'm thinkin he's tender for us as is like
+him. _He understood._ It's what he wrote--after ain o' his tumbles, I'm
+thinkin'--that I was goin' to tell ye:
+
+     'Then gently scan yer brother man,
+     Still gentler sister woman,
+     Though they may gang a kennin' wrang,
+     To step aside is human'--
+
+the doctrine o' Charity. Gie him his chance, says Robbie, though he be
+a sinner. Mony a mon'd be differ', mony bad'd be gude, gin they had but
+their chance. Gie 'em their chance, says he; and I'm wi' him. As 'tis,
+ye see me here--a bad man wi' still a streak o' good in him. Gin I'd had
+ma chance, aiblins 'twad be--a good man wi' just a spice o' the devil in
+him. A' the differ' betune what is and what might ha' bin."
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXVIII THE DEVIL'S BOWL
+
+
+HE sat down. In the great hall there was silence, save for a tiny sound
+from the gallery like a sob suppressed.
+
+The squire rose hurriedly and left the room. After him, one by one,
+trailed the tenants. At length, two only remained--M'Adam, sitting
+solitary with a long array of empty chairs on either hand; and, at the
+far end of the table, Parson Leggy, stern, upright, motionless.
+
+When the last man had left the room the parson rose, and with lips
+tight-set strode across the silent hall.
+
+"M'Adam," he said rapidly and almost roughly, "I've listened to
+what you've said, as I think we all have, with a sore heart. You hit
+hard--but I think you were right. And if I've not done my duty by you as
+I ought--and I fear I've not--it's now my duty as God's minister to be
+the first to say I'm sorry." And it was evident from his face what an
+effort the words cost him.
+
+The little man tilted back his chair, and raised his head.
+
+It was the old M'Adam who looked up. The thin lips were curled; a grin
+was crawling across the mocking face; and he wagged his head gently, as
+he looked at the speaker through the slits of his half-closed eyes.
+
+"Mr. Hornbut, I believe ye thocht me in earnest, 'deed and I do!" He
+leaned back in his chair and laughed softly. "Ye swallered it all
+down like best butter. Dear, dear! to think o' that!" Then, stretching
+forward:
+
+"Mr. Hornbut, I was playin' wi' ye."
+
+The parson's face, as he listened, was ugly to watch. He shot out a hand
+and grabbed the scoffer by his coat; then dropped it again and turned
+abruptly away.
+
+As he passed through the door a little sneering voice called after him:
+
+"Mr. Hornbut, I ask ye hoo you, a minister o' the Church of England,
+can reconcile it to yer conscience to think--though it be but for a
+minute--that there can be ony good in a man and him no churchgoer? Sir,
+ye're a heretic--not to say a heathen!" He sniggered to himself, and his
+hand crept to a half-emptied wine decanter.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+An hour later, James Moore, his business with the squire completed,
+passed through the hall on his way out. Its only occupant was now
+M'Adam, and the Master walked straight up to his enemy.
+
+"M'Adam," he said gruffly, holding out a sinewy hand, "I'd like to
+say--"
+
+The little man knocked aside the token of friendship.
+
+"Na, na. No cant, if ye please, James Moore. That'll aiblins go doon
+wi' the parsons, but not wi' me. I ken you and you ken me, and all the
+whitewash i' th' warld'll no deceive us."
+
+The Master turned away, and his face was hard as the nether millstone.
+But the little man pursued him.
+
+"I was nigh forgettin'," he said. "I've a surprise for ye, James Moore.
+But I hear it's yer birthday on Sunday, and I'll keep it till then--he!
+he!"
+
+"Ye'll see me before Sunday, M'Adam," the other answered. "On Saturday,
+as I told yo', I'm comin' to see if yo've done yer duty."
+
+"Whether ye come, James Moore, is your business. Whether ye'll iver go,
+once there, I'll mak' mine. I've warned ye twice noo--" and the little
+man laughed that harsh, cackling laugh of his.
+
+At the door of the hall the Master met David. "Noo, lad, yo're comin'
+along wi' Andrew and me," he said; "Maggie'll niver forgie us if we
+dinna bring yo' home wi' us."
+
+"Thank you kindly, Mr. Moore," the boy replied. "I've to see squire
+first; and then yo' may be sure I'll be after you."
+
+The Master faltered a moment.
+
+"David, ha'n yo' spoke to yer father yet?" he asked in low voice. "Yo'
+should, lad."
+
+The boy made a gesture of dissent.
+
+"I canna," he said petulantly.
+
+"I would, lad," the other advised. "An' yo' don't yo' may be sorry
+after."
+
+As he turned away he heard the boy's steps, dull and sodden, as he
+crossed the hall; and then a thin, would-be cordial voice in the
+emptiness:
+
+"I declar' if 'tisna David! The return o' the Prodeegal--he! he! So
+ye've seen yer auld dad at last, and the last; the proper place, say
+ye, for yen father--he! he! Eh, lad, but I'm blithe to see ye. D'ye mind
+when we was last thegither? Ye was kneelin' on ma chest: 'Your time's
+come, dad,' says you, and wangs me o'er the face--he! he! I mind it as
+if 'twas yesterday. Weel, weel, we'll say nae mair about it. Boys will
+be boys. Sons will be sons. Accidents will happen. And if at first ye
+don't succeed, why, try, try again--he! he!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Dusk was merging into darkness when the Master and Andrew reached the
+Dalesman's Daughter. It had been long dark when they emerged from the
+cosy parlor of the inn and plunged out into the night.
+
+As they crossed the Silver Lea and trudged over that familiar ground,
+where a fortnight since had been fought out the battle of the Cup, the
+wind fluttered past them in spasmodic gasps.
+
+"There 's trouble in the wind," said the Master.
+
+"Ay," answered his laconic son.
+
+All day there had been no breath of air, and the sky dangerously blue.
+But now a world of black was surging up from the horizon, smothering the
+star-lit night; and small dark clouds, like puffs of smoke, detaching
+themselves from the main body, were driving tempestuously forward--the
+vanguard of the storm.
+
+In the distance was a low rumbling like heavy tumbrils on the floor of
+heaven. All about, the wind sounded hollow like a mighty scythe on corn.
+The air was oppressed with a leaden blackness--no glimmer of light on
+any hand; and as they began the ascent of the Pass they reached out
+blind hands to feel along the rock-face.
+
+A sea-fret, cool and wetting, fell. A few big rain-drops splashed
+heavily down. The wind rose with a leap and roared past them up the
+rocky track. And the water-gates of heaven were flung wide.
+
+Wet and weary, they battled on; thinking sometimes of the cosy parlor
+behind; sometimes of the home in front; wondering whether Maggie, in
+flat contradiction of her father's orders, would be up to welcome them;
+or whether only Owd Bob would come out to meet them.
+
+The wind volleyed past them like salvoes of artillery. The rain stormed
+at them from above; spat at them from the rock-face; and leapt up at
+them from their feet.
+
+Once they halted for a moment, finding a miserable shelter in a crevice
+of the rock.
+
+"It's a Black Killer's night," panted the Master. "I reck'n he's oot."
+
+"Ay," the boy gasped, "reck'n he is." Up and up they climbed through the
+blackness, blind and buffeted. The eternal thunder of the rain was all
+about them; the clamor of the gale above; and far beneath, the roar of
+angry waters.
+
+Once, in a lull in the storm, the Master turned and looked back into the
+blackness along the path they had come.
+
+"Did ye hear onythin'?" he roared above the muffled soughing of the
+wind.
+
+"Nay!" Andrew shouted back.
+
+"I thowt I heard a step!" the Master cried, peering down. But nothing
+could he see.
+
+Then the wind leaped to life again like a giant from his sleep, drowning
+all sound with its hurricane voice; and they turned and bent to their
+task again.
+
+Nearing the summit, the Master turned once more.
+
+"There it was again!" he called; but his words were swept away on the
+storm; and they buckled to the struggle afresh.
+
+Ever and anon the moon gleamed down through the riot of tossing sky.
+Then they could see the wet wall above them, with the water tumbling
+down its sheer face; and far below, in the roaring gutter of the Pass a
+brown-stained torrent. Hardly, however, had they time to glance around
+when a mass of cloud would hurry jealously up, and all again was
+blackness and noise.
+
+At length, nigh spent, they topped the last and steepest pitch of the
+Pass, and emerged into the Devil's Bowl. There, overcome with their
+exertions, they flung themselves on to the soaking ground to draw
+breath.
+
+Behind them, the wind rushed with a sullen roar up the funnel of the
+Pass. It screamed above them as though ten million devils were a-horse;
+and blurted out on to the wild Marches beyond.
+
+As they lay there, still panting, the moon gleamed down in momentary
+graciousness. In front, through the lashing rain, they could discern the
+hillocks that squat, hag-like, round the Devil's Bowl; and lying in its
+bosom, its white waters, usually so still, ploughed now into a thousand
+furrows, the Lone Tarn.
+
+The Master raised his head and craned forward at the ghostly scene. Of
+a sudden he reared himself on to his arms, and stayed motionless awhile.
+Then he dropped as though dead, forcing down Andrew with an iron hand.
+
+"Lad, did'st see?" he whispered.
+
+"Nay; what was't?" the boy replied, roused by his father's tone.
+
+"There!"
+
+But as the Master pointed forward, a blur of cloud intervened and all
+was dark. Quickly it passed; and again the lantern of the night shone
+down. And Andrew, looking with all his eyes, saw indeed.
+
+There, in front, by the fretting waters of the Tarn, packed in a solid
+phalanx, with every head turned in the same direction, was a flock of
+sheep. They were motionless, all-intent, staring with horror-bulging
+eyes. A column of steam rose from their bodies into the rain-pierced
+air. Panting and palpitating, yet they stood with their backs to the
+water, as though determined to sell their lives dearly. Beyond them,
+not fifty yards away, crouched a humpbacked boulder, casting a long,
+misshapen shadow in the moonlight. And beneath it were two black
+objects, one still struggling feebly.
+
+"The Killer!" gasped the boy, and, all ablaze with excitement, began
+forging forward.
+
+"Steady, lad, steady!" urged his father, dropping a restraining hand on
+the boy's shoulder.
+
+Above them a huddle of clouds flung in furious rout across the night,
+and the moon was veiled.
+
+"Follow, lad!" ordered the Master, and began to crawl silently forward.
+As stealthily Andrew pursued. And over the sodden ground they crept, one
+behind the other, like two' night-hawks on some foul errand.
+
+On they crawled, lying prone during the blinks of moon, stealing forward
+in the dark; till, at length, the swish of the rain on the waters of the
+Tarn, and the sobbing of the flock in front, warned them they were near.
+
+They skirted the trembling pack, passing so close as to brush against
+the flanking sheep; and yet unnoticed, for the sheep were soul-absorbed
+in the tragedy in front. Only, when the moon was in, Andrew could hear
+them huddling and stamping in the darkness. And again, as it shone out,
+fearfully they edged closer to watch the bloody play.
+
+Along the Tarn edge the two crept. And still the gracious moon hid their
+approach, and the drunken wind drowned with its revelry the sound of
+their coming.
+
+So they stole on, on hands and knees, with hearts aghast and fluttering
+breath; until, of a sudden, in a lull of wind, they could hear, right
+before them, the smack and slobber of bloody lips, chewing their bloody
+meal.
+
+"Say thy prayers, Red Wull. Thy last minute's come!" muttered the
+Master, rising to his knees. Then, in Andrew's ear: "When I rush, lad,
+follow!" For he thought, when the moon rose, to jump in on the great
+dog, and, surprising him as he lay gorged and unsuspicious, to deal him
+one terrible swashing blow, and end forever the lawless doings of the
+Tailless Tyke.
+
+The moon flung off its veil of cloud. White and cold, it stared down
+into the Devil's Bowl; on murderer and murdered.
+
+Within a hand's cast of the avengers of blood humped the black boulder.
+On the border of its shadow lay a dead sheep; and standing beside the
+body, his coat all ruffled by the hand of the storm--Owd Bob--Owd Bob o'
+Kenmuir.
+
+Then the light went in, and darkness covered the land.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXIX THE DEVIL'S BOWL
+
+
+IT was Owd Bob. There could be no mistaking. In the wide world there
+was but one Owd Bob o' Kenmuir. The silver moon gleamed down on the dark
+head and rough gray coat, and lit the white escutcheon on his chest.
+
+And in the darkness James Moore was lying with his face pressed downward
+that he might not see.
+
+Once he raised himself on his arms; his eyes were shut and face
+uplifted, like a blind man praying. He passed a weary hand across his
+brow; his head dropped again; and he moaned and moaned like a man in
+everlasting pain.
+
+Then the darkness lifted a moment, and he stole a furtive glance, like a
+murderer's at the gallows-tree, at the scene in front.
+
+It was no dream; clear and cruel in the moonlight the humpbacked
+boulder; the dead sheep; and that gray figure, beautiful, motionless,
+damned for all eternity.
+
+The Master turned his face and looked at Andrew, a dumb, pitiful
+entreaty in his eyes; but in the boy's white, horror-stricken
+countenance was no comfort. Then his head lolled down again, and the
+strong man was whimpering.
+
+"He! he! he! 'Scuse ma laffin', Mr. Moore--he! he! he!"
+
+A little man, all wet and shrunk, sat hunching on a mound above them,
+rocking his shrivelled form to and fro in the agony of his merriment.
+
+"Ye raskil--he! he! Ye rogue--he! he!" and he shook his fist waggishly
+at the unconscious gray dog. "I owe ye anither grudge for this--ye've
+anteecipated me"--and he leant back and shook this way and that in
+convulsive mirth.
+
+The man below him rose heavily to his feet, and tumbled toward the
+mocker, his great figure swaying from side to side as though in blind
+delirium, moaning still as he went. And there was that on his face which
+no man can mistake. Boy that he was, Andrew knew it.
+
+"Feyther! feyther! do'ee not!" he pleaded, running after his father and
+laying impotent hands on him.
+
+But the strong man shook him off like a fly, and rolled on, swaying and
+groaning, with that awful expression plain to see in the moonlight.
+
+In front the little man squatted in the rain, bowed double still; and
+took no thought to flee.
+
+"Come on, James Moore! Come on!" he laughed, malignant joy in his voice;
+and something gleamed bright in his right hand, and was hid again. "I've
+bin waitin' this a weary while noo. Come on!"
+
+Then had there been done something worse than sheep-murder in the
+dreadful lonesomeness of the Devil's Bowl upon that night; but of
+a sudden, there sounded the splash of a man's foot, falling heavily
+behind; a hand like a falling tree smote the Master on the shoulder; and
+a voice roared above the noise of the storm:
+
+"Mr. Moore! Look, man! look!"
+
+The Master tried to shake off that detaining grasp; but it pinned him
+where he was, immovable.
+
+"Look, I tell yo'!" cried that great voice again.
+
+A hand pushed past him and pointed; and sullenly he turned, ignoring the
+figure at his side, and looked.
+
+The wind had dropped suddenly as it had risen; the little man on the
+mound had ceased to chuckle; Andrew's sobs were hushed; and in the
+background the huddled flock edged closer. The world hung balanced on
+the pinpoint of the moment. Every eye was in the one direction.
+
+With dull, uncomprehending gaze James Moore stared as bidden. There was
+the gray dog naked in the moonlight, heedless still of any witnesses;
+there the murdered sheep, lying within and without that distorted shade;
+and there the humpbacked boulder.
+
+He stared into the shadow, and still stared.
+
+Then he started as though struck. The shadow of the boulder had moved!
+
+Motionless, with head shot forward and bulging eyes, he gazed.
+
+Ay, ay, ay; he was sure of it--a huge dim outline as of a lion
+_couchant_, in the very thickest of the blackness.
+
+At that he was seized with such a palsy of trembling that he must have
+fallen but for the strong arm about his waist.
+
+Clearer every moment grew that crouching figure; till at length they
+plainly could discern the line of arching loins, the crest, thick as a
+stallion's, the massive, wagging head. No mistake this time. There he
+lay in the deepest black, gigantic, revelling in his horrid debauch--the
+Black Killer!
+
+And they watched him at his feast. Now he burrowed into the spongy
+flesh; now turned to lap the dark pool which glittered in the moonlight
+at his side like claret in a silver cup. Now lifting his head, he
+snapped irritably at the rain-drops, and the moon caught his wicked,
+rolling eye and the red shreds of flesh dripping from his jaw. And
+again, raising his great muzzle as if about to howl, he let the
+delicious nectar trickle down his throat and ravish his palate.
+
+So he went on, all unsuspicious, wisely nodding in slow-mouthed
+gluttony. And in the stillness, between the claps of wind, they could
+hear the smacking of his lips.
+
+While all the time the gray dog stood before him, motionless, as though
+carved in stone.
+
+At last, as the murderer rolled his great head from side to side, he saw
+that still figure. At the sight he leaped back, dismayed. Then with a
+deep-mouthed roar that shook the waters of the Tarn he was up and across
+his victim with fangs bared, his coat standing erect in wet, rigid
+furrows from topknot to tail.
+
+So the two stood, face to face, with perhaps a yard of rain-pierced air
+between them.
+
+The wind hushed its sighing to listen. The moon stared down, white
+and dumb. Away at the back the sheep edged closer. While save for the
+everlasting thunder of the rain, there was utter stillness.
+
+An age, it seemed, they waited so. Then a voice, clear yet low and far
+away, like a bugle in a distant city, broke the silence.
+
+"Eh, Wullie!" it said.
+
+There was no anger in the tones, only an incomparable reproach; the
+sound of the cracking of a man's heart.
+
+At the call the great dog leapt round, snarling in hideous passion. He
+saw the small, familiar figure, clear-cut against the tumbling sky; and
+for the only time in his life Red Wull was afraid.
+
+His blood-foe was forgotten; the dead sheep was forgotten; everything
+was sunk in the agony of that moment. He cowered upon the ground, and
+a cry like that of a lost soul was wrung from him; it rose on the still
+night air and floated, wailing, away; and the white waters of the Tarn
+thrilled in cold pity; out of the lonely hollow; over the desolate
+Marches; into the night.
+
+On the mound above stood his master. The little man's white hair was
+bared to the night wind; the rain trickled down his face; and his hands
+were folded behind his back. He stood there, looking down into the dell
+below him, as a man may stand at the tomb of his lately buried wife. And
+there was such an expression on his face as I cannot describe.
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, to me!" he cried at length; and his voice sounded weak
+and far, like a distant memory.
+
+At that, the huge brute came crawling toward him on his belly,
+whimpering as he came, very pitiful in his distress. He knew his fate as
+every sheep-dog knows it. That troubled him not. His pain, insufferable,
+was that this, his friend and father, who had trusted him, should have
+found him in his sin.
+
+So he crept up to his master's feet; and the little man never moved.
+
+"Wullie--ma Wullie!" he said very gently. "They've aye bin agin me--and
+noo you! A man's mither--a man's wife--a man's dog! they're all I've
+iver had; and noo ain o' they three has turned agin me! Indeed I am
+alone!"
+
+At that the great dog raised himself, and placing his forepaws on his
+master's chest tenderly, lest he should hurt him who was already hurt
+past healing, stood towering above him; while the little man laid his
+two colds hands on the dog's shoulders.
+
+So they stood, looking at one another, like a man and his love.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At M'Adam's word, Owd Bob looked up, and for the first time saw his
+master.
+
+He seemed in nowise startled, but trotted over to him. There was nothing
+fearful in his carriage, no haunting blood-guiltiness in the true gray
+eyes which never told a lie, which never, dog-like, failed to look you
+in the face. Yet his tail was low, and, as he stopped at his master's
+feet, he was quivering. For he, too, knew, and was not unmoved.
+
+For weeks he had tracked the Killer; for weeks he had followed him as he
+crossed Kenmuir, bound on his bloody errands; yet always had lost him on
+the Marches. Now, at last, he had run him to ground. Yet his heart went
+out to his enemy in his distress.
+
+"I thowt t'had been yo', lad," the Master whispered, his hand on the
+dark head at his knee--"I thowt t'had bin yo'!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Rooted to the ground, the three watched the scene between M'Adam and his
+Wull.
+
+In the end the Master was whimpering; Andrew crying; and David turned
+his back.
+
+At length, silent, they moved away.
+
+"Had I--should I go to him" asked David hoarsely, nodding toward his
+father.
+
+"Nay, nay, lad," the Master replied. "Yon's not a matter for a mon's
+friends."
+
+So they marched out of the Devil's Bowl, and left those two alone
+together.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A little later, as they trampled along, James Moore heard little
+pattering, staggering footsteps behind.
+
+He stopped, and the other two went on.
+
+"Man," a voice whispered, and a face, white and pitiful, like a mother's
+pleading for her child, looked into his--"Man, ye'll no tell them a' I'd
+no like 'em to ken 'twas ma Wullie. Think an 't had bin yer ain dog."
+
+"You may trust me!" the other answered thickly.
+
+The little man stretched out a palsied hand.
+
+"Gie us yer hand on't. And G-God bless ye, James Moore!"
+
+So these two shook hands in the moonlight, with none to witness it but
+the God who made them.
+
+And that is why the mystery of the Black Killer is yet unsolved in
+the Daleland. Many have surmised; besides those three only one other
+knows--knows now which of those two he saw upon a summer night was the
+guilty, which the innocent. And Postie Jim tells no man.
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXX. THE TAILLESS TYKE AT BAY
+
+
+ON the following morning there was a sheep-auction at the Dalesman's
+Daughter.
+
+Early as many of the farmers arrived, there was one earlier. Tupper, the
+first man to enter the sand-floored parlor, found M'Adam before him.
+
+He was sitting a little forward in his chair; his thin hands rested on
+his knees; and on his face was a gentle, dreamy expression such as no
+man had ever seen there before. All the harsh wrinkles seemed to have
+fled in the night; and the sour face, stamped deep with the bitterness
+of life, was softened now, as if at length at peace.
+
+"When I coom doon this mornin'," said Teddy Bolstock in a whisper, "I
+found 'im sittin' just so. And he's nor moved nor spoke since."
+
+"Where's th' Terror, then?" asked Tupper, awed somehow into like hushed
+tones.
+
+"In t' paddock at back," Teddy answered, "marchin' hoop and doon, hoop
+and doon, for a' the world like a sentry-soger. And so he was when I
+looked oot o' window when I wake."
+
+Then Londesley entered, and after him, Ned Hoppin, Rob Saunderson, Jim
+Mason, and others, each with his dog. And each man, as he came in and
+saw the little lone figure for once without its huge attendant genius,
+put the same question; while the dogs sniffed about the little man, as
+though suspecting treachery. And all the time M'Adam sat as though
+he neither heard nor saw, lost in some sweet, sad dream; so quite, so
+silent, that more than one thought he slept.
+
+After the first glance, however, the farmers paid him little heed,
+clustering round the publican at the farther end of the room to hear the
+latest story of Owd Bob.
+
+It appeared that a week previously, James Moore with a pack of sheep had
+met the new Grammoch-town butcher at the Dalesmen's Daughter. A bargain
+concluded, the butcher started with the flock for home. As he had no
+dog, the Master offered him Th' Owd Un. "And he'll pick me i' th' town
+to-morrow," said he.
+
+Now the butcher was a stranger in the land. Of course he had heard of
+Owd Bob o' Kenmuir, yet it never struck him that this handsome gentleman
+with the quiet, resolute manner, who handled sheep as he had never seen
+them handled, was that hero--"the best sheep-dog in the North."
+
+Certain it is that by the time the flock was penned in the enclosure
+behind the shop, he coveted the dog--ay, would even offer ten pounds for
+him!
+
+Forthwith the butcher locked him up in an outhouse--summit of indignity;
+resolving to make his offer on the morrow.
+
+When the morrow came he found no dog in the outhouse, and, worse, no
+sheep in the enclosure. A sprung board showed the way of escape of the
+one, and a displaced hurdle that of the other. And as he was making the
+discovery, a gray dog and a flock of sheep, travelling along the road
+toward the Dalesman's Daughter, met the Master.
+
+From the first, Owd Bob had mistrusted the man. The attempt to confine
+him set the seal on his suspicions. His master's sheep were not for such
+a rogue; and he worked his own way out and took the sheep along with
+him.
+
+The story was told to a running chorus of--"Ma word! Good, Owd Un!--Ho!
+ho! did he thot?"
+
+Of them all, only M'Adam sat strangely silent.
+
+Rob Saunderson, always glad to draw the little man, remarked it.
+
+"And what d'yo' think o' that, Mr. M'Adam, for a wunnerfu' story of a
+wunnerfu' tyke?" he asked.
+
+"It's a gude tale, a vera gude tale," the little man answered dreamily.
+"And James Moore didna invent it; he had it from the Christmas number
+o' the _Flock-keeper_ in saxty." (On the following Sunday, old Rob, from
+sheer curiosity, reached down from his shelf the specified number of the
+paper. To his amazement he found the little man was right. There was the
+story almost identically. None the less is it also true of Owd Bob o'
+Kenmuir.)
+
+"Ay, ay," the little man continued, "and in a day or two James Moore'll
+ha' anither tale to tell ye--a better tale, ye'll think it--mair
+laffable. And yet--ay---no---I'll no believe it! I niver loved James
+Moore, but I think, as Mr. Hornbut aince said, he'd rather die than lie.
+Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!" he continued in a whisper. "Up till the end I canna
+shake him aff. Hafflins I think that where I'm gaein' to there'll be
+gray dogs sneakin' around me in the twilight. And they're aye behind and
+behind, and I canna, canna--"
+
+Teddy Bolstock interrupted, lifting his hand for silence.
+
+"D'yo' hear thot?--Thunder!"
+
+They listened; and from without came a gurgling, jarring roar, horrible
+to hear.
+
+"It's comin' nearer!"
+
+"Nay, it's goin' away!"
+
+"No thunder thot!"
+
+"More like the Lea in flood. And yet--Eh, Mr. M'Adam, what is it?"
+
+The little man had moved at last. He was on his feet, staring about him,
+wild-eyed.
+
+"Where's yer dogs?" he almost screamed.
+
+"Here's ma--Nay, by thunder! but he's not!" was the astonished cry.
+
+In the interest of the story no man had noticed that his dog had risen
+from his side; no one had noticed a file of shaggy figures creeping out
+of the room.
+
+"I tell ye it's the tykes! I tell ye it's the tykes! They're on ma
+Wullie--fifty to one they're on him! My God! My God! And me not there!
+Wullie, Wullie! "--in a scream--"I'm wi' ye!"
+
+At the same moment Bessie Boistock rushed in, white-faced.
+
+"Hi! Feyther! Mr. Saunderson! all o' you! T'tykes fightin' mad! Hark!"
+
+There was no time for that. Each man seized his stick and rushed for the
+door; and M'Adam led them all.
+
+A rare thing it was for M'Adam and Red Wull to be apart. So rare, that
+others besides the men in that little tap-room noticed it.
+
+Saunderson's old Shep walked quietly to the back door of the house and
+looked out.
+
+There on the slope below him he saw what he sought, stalking up and
+down, gaunt and grim, like a lion at feeding-time. And as the old dog
+watched, his tail was gently swaying as though he were well pleased.
+
+He walked back into the tap-room just as Teddy began his tale. Twice
+he made the round of the room, silent-footed. From dog to dog he went,
+stopping at each as though urging him on to some great enterprise. Then
+he made for the door again, looking back to see if any followed.
+
+One by one the others rose and trailed out after him: big blue Rasper,
+Londesley's Lassie, Ned Hoppin's young dog; Grip and Grapple, the
+publican's bull-terriers; Jim Mason's Gyp, foolish and flirting even
+now; others there were; and last of all, waddling heavily in the rear,
+that scarred Amazon, the Venus.
+
+Out of the house they pattered, silent and unseen, with murder in their
+hearts. At last they had found their enemy alone. And slowly, in a black
+cloud, like the shadow of death, they dropped down the slope upon him.
+
+And he saw them coming, knew their errand--as who should better than the
+Terror of the Border?--and was glad. Death it might be, and such an
+one as he would wish to die--at least distraction from that long-drawn,
+haunting pain. And he smiled grimly as he looked at the approaching
+crowd, and saw there was not one there but he had humbled in his time.
+
+He ceased his restless pacing, and awaited them. His great head was high
+as he scanned them contemptuously, daring them to come on.
+
+And on they came, marching slow and silent like soldiers at a funeral:
+young and old; bob-tailed and bull; terrier and collie; flocking like
+vultures to the dead. And the Venus, heavy with years, rolled after them
+on her bandy legs panting in her hurry lest she should be late. For had
+she not the blood of her blood to avenge?
+
+So they came about him, slow, certain, murderous, opening out to cut
+him off on every side. There was no need. He never thought to move. Long
+odds 'twould be--crushingly heavy; yet he loved them for it, and was
+trembling already with the glory of the coming fight.
+
+They were up to him now; the sheep-dogs walking round him on their toes,
+stiff and short like cats on coals; their hacks a little humped; heads
+averted; yet eying him askance.
+
+And he remained stock-still nor looked at them. His great chin was
+cocked, and his muzzle wrinkled in a dreadful grin. As he stood there,
+shivering a little, his eyes rolling back, his breath grating in his
+throat to set every bristle on end, he looked a devil indeed.
+
+The Venus ranged alongside him. No preliminary stage for her; she never
+walked where she could stand, or stood where she could lie. But stand
+she must now, breathing hard through her nose, never taking her eyes off
+that pad she had marked for her own. Close beside her were crop-eared
+Grip and Grapple, looking up at the line above them where hairy neck and
+shoulder joined. Behind was big Rasper, and close to him Lassie. Of the
+others, each had marked his place, each taken up his post.
+
+Last of all, old Shep took his stand full in front of his enemy, their
+shoulders almost rubbing, head past head.
+
+So the two stood a moment, as though they were whispering; each
+diabolical, each rolling back his eyes to watch the other. While from
+the little mob there rose a snarling, bubbling snore, like some giant
+wheezing in his sleep.
+
+Then like lightning each struck. Rearing high, they wrestled with
+striving paws and the expression of fiends incarnate. Down they went,
+Shep underneath, and the great dog with a dozen of these wolves of hell
+upon him. Rasper, devilish, was riding on his back; the Venus--well for
+him!--had struck and missed; but Grip and Grapple had their hold; and
+the others, like leaping demoniacs, were plunging into the whirlpool
+vortex of the fight.
+
+And there, where a fortnight before he had fought and lost the battle of
+the Cup, Red Wull now battled for his life.
+
+Long odds! But what cared he? The long-drawn agony of the night was
+drowned in that glorious delirium. The hate of years came bubbling
+forth. In that supreme moment he would avenge his wrongs. And he went in
+to fight, revelling like a giant in the red lust of killing.
+
+Long odds! Never before had he faced such a galaxy of foes. His one
+chance lay in quickness: to prevent the swarming crew getting their hold
+till at least he had diminished their numbers.
+
+Then it was a sight to see the great brute, huge as a bull-calf, strong
+as a bull, rolling over and over and up again, quick as a kitten;
+leaping here, striking there; shaking himself free; swinging his
+quarters; fighting with feet and body and teeth--every inch of him at
+war. More than once he broke right through the mob; only to turn again
+and face it. No flight for him; nor thought of it.
+
+Up and down the slope the dark mass tossed, like some hulk the sport
+of the waves. Black and white, sable and gray, worrying at that great
+centre-piece. Up and down, roaming wide, leaving everywhere a trail of
+red.
+
+Gyp he had pinned and hurled over his shoulder. Grip followed; he shook
+her till she rattled, then flung her afar; and she fell with a horrid
+thud, not to rise. While Grapple, the death to avenge, hung tighter. In
+a scarlet, soaking patch of the ground lay Big Bell's lurcher, doubled
+up in a dreadful ball. And Hoppin's young dog, who three hours before
+had been the children's tender playmate, now fiendish to look on,
+dragged after the huddle up the hill. Back the mob rolled on her. When
+it was passed, she lay quite still, grinning; a handful of tawny hair
+and flesh in her dead mouth.
+
+So they fought on. And ever and anon a great figure rose up from the
+heaving inferno all around; rearing to his full height, his head ragged
+and bleeding, the red foam dripping from his jaws. Thus he would appear
+momentarily, like some dark rock amid a raging sea; and down he would go
+again.
+
+Silent now they fought, dumb and determined. Only you might have heard
+the rend and rip of tearing flesh; a hoarse gurgle as some dog went
+down; the panting of dry throats; and now and then a sob from that
+central figure. For he was fighting for his life. The Terror of the
+Border was at bay.
+
+All who meant it were on him now. The Venus, blinded with blood, had her
+hold at last; and never but once in a long life of battles had she let
+go; Rasper, his breath coming in rattles, had him horribly by the loins;
+while a dozen other devils with red eyes and wrinkled nostrils clung
+still.
+
+Long odds! And down he went, smothered beneath the weight of numbers,
+yet struggled up again. His great head was torn and dripping; his eyes a
+gleam of rolling red and white; the little tail stern and stiff like
+the gallant stump of a flagstaff shot away. He was desperate, but
+indomitable; and he sobbed as he fought doggedly on.
+
+Long odds! It could not last. And down he went at length, silent
+still--never a cry should they wring from him in his agony; the Venus
+glued to that mangled pad; Rasper beneath him now; three at his throat;
+two at his ears; a crowd on flanks and body.
+
+The Terror of the Border was down at last!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Wullie, ma Wullie!" screamed M'Adam, bounding down the slope a crook's
+length in front of the rest. "Wullie! Wullie! to me!"
+
+At the shrill cry the huddle below was convulsed. It heaved and swelled
+and dragged to and fro, like the sea lashed into life by some dying
+leviathan.
+
+A gigantic figure, tawny and red, fought its way to the surface. A great
+tossing head, bloody past recognition, flung out from the ruck. One
+quick glance he shot from his ragged eyes at the little flying form in
+front; then with a roar like a waterfall plunged toward it, shaking off
+the bloody leeches as he went.
+
+"Wullie! Wullie! I'm wi' ye!" cried that little voice, now so near.
+
+Through--through--through!--an incomparable effort and his last. They
+hung to his throat, they clung to his muzzle, they were round and about
+him. And down he went again with a sob and a little suffocating cry,
+shooting up at his master one quick, beseeching glance as the sea of
+blood closed over him--worrying, smothering, tearing, like foxhounds at
+the kill.
+
+They left the dead and pulled away the living. And it was no light task,
+for the pack were mad for blood.
+
+At the bottom of the wet mess of hair and red and flesh was old Shep,
+stone-dead. And as Saunderson pulled the body out, his face was working;
+for no man can lose in a crack the friend of a dozen years, and remain
+unmoved.
+
+The Venus lay there, her teeth clenched still in death; smiling that her
+vengeance was achieved. Big Rasper, blue no longer, was gasping out his
+life. Two more came crawling out to find a quiet spot where they might
+lay them down to die. Before the night had fallen another had gone to
+his account. While not a dog who fought upon that day but carried the
+scars of it with him to his grave.
+
+The Terror o' th' Border, terrible in his life, like Samson, was yet
+more terrible in his dying.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Down at the bottom lay that which once had been Adam M'Adam's Red Wull.
+
+At the sight the little man neither raved nor swore: it was past that
+for him. He sat down, heedless of the soaking ground, and took the
+mangled head in his lap very tenderly.
+
+"They've done ye at last, Wullie--they've done ye at last," he said
+quietly; unalterably convinced that the attack had been organized while
+he was detained in the tap-room.
+
+On hearing the loved little voice, the dog gave one weary wag of his
+stump-tail. And with that the Tailless Tyke, Adam M'Adam's Red Wull, the
+Black Killer, went to his long home.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+One by one the Dalesmen took away their dead, and the little man was
+left alone with the body of his last friend.
+
+Dry-eyed he sat there, nursing the dead dog's head; hour after
+hour--alone--crooning to himself:
+
+     "'Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought,
+     An' wi' the weary warl' fought!
+     An'  mony an anxious day I thought
+     We wad be beat.'
+
+An' noo we are, Wullie--noo we are!"
+
+So he went on, repeating the lines over and over again, always with the
+same sad termination.
+
+"A man's mither--a man's wife--a man's dog! They three are a' little
+M'Adam iver had to back him! D'ye mind the auld mither, Wullie? And her,
+'Niver be down-hearted, Adam; ye've aye got yer mither,' And ae day I
+had not. And Flora, Wullie (ye remember Flora, Wullie? Na, na; ye'd
+not) wi' her laffin' daffin' manner, cryin' to one: 'Adam, ye say ye're
+alane. But ye've me--is that no enough for ony man?' And God kens
+it was--while it lasted!" He broke down and sobbed a while. "And you
+Wullie--and you! the only man friend iver I had!" He sought the dog's
+bloody paw with his right hand.
+
+     "'An' here's a hand, my trusty fier,
+     An gie's a hand o' thine;
+     An'  we'll tak' a right guid willie-waught,
+     For auld lang syne.'"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He sat there, muttering, and stroking the poor head upon his lap,
+bending over it, like a mother over a sick child.
+
+"They've done ye at last, lad--done ye sair. And noo I'm thinkin'
+they'll no rest content till I'm gone. And oh, Wullie!"--he bent down
+and whispered--"I dreamed sic an awfu' thing--that ma Wullie--but there!
+'twas but a dream."
+
+So he sat on, crooning to the dead dog; and no man approached him. Only
+Bessie of the inn watched the little lone figure from afar.
+
+It was long past noon when at length he rose, laying the dog's head
+reverently down, and tottered away toward that bridge which once the
+dead thing on the slope had held against a thousand.
+
+He crossed it and turned; there was a look upon his face, half hopeful,
+half fearful, very piteous to see.
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, to me!" he cried; only the accents, formerly so fiery,
+were now weak as a dying man's.
+
+A while he waited in vain.
+
+"Are ye no comin', Wullie?" he asked at length in quavering tones.
+"Ye've not used to leave me."
+
+He walked away a pace, then turned again and whistled that shrill, sharp
+call, only now it sounded like a broken echo of itself.
+
+"Come to me, Wullie!" he implored, very pitifully. "'Tis the first time
+iver I kent ye not come and me whistlin'. What ails ye, lad?"
+
+He recrossed the bridge, walking blindly like a sobbing child; and yet
+dry-eyed.
+
+Over the dead body he stooped.
+
+"What ails ye, Wullie?" he asked again. "Will you, too, leave me?"
+
+Then Bessie, watching fearfully, saw him bend, sling the great body on
+his back, and stagger away.
+
+Limp and hideous, the carcase hung down from the little man's shoulders.
+The huge head, with grim, wide eyes and lolling tongue, jolted and
+swagged with the motion, seeming to grin a ghastly defiance at the world
+it had left. And the last Bessie saw of them was that bloody, rolling
+head, with the puny legs staggering beneath their load, as the two
+passed out of the world's ken.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the Devil's Bowl, next day, they found the pair: Adam M'Adam and his
+Red Wull, face to face; dead, not divided; each, save for the other,
+alone. The dog, his saturnine expression glazed and ghastly in the
+fixedness of death, propped up against that humpbacked boulder beneath
+which, a while before, the Black Killer had dreed his weird; and, close
+by, his master lying on his back, his dim dead eyes staring up at the
+heaven, one hand still clasping a crumpled photograph; the weary body
+at rest at last, the mocking face--mocking no longer--alight with a
+whole-souled, transfiguring happiness.
+
+
+
+
+POSTSCRIPT
+
+
+Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull lie buried together: one just within, the
+other just without, the consecrated pale.
+
+The only mourners at the funeral were David, James Moore, Maggie, and a
+gray dog peering through the lych-gate.
+
+During the service a carriage stopped at the churchyard, and a lady with
+a stately figure and a gentle face stepped out and came across the grass
+to pay a last tribute to the dead. And Lady Eleanour, as she joined
+the little group about the grave, seemed to notice a more than usual
+solemnity in the parson's voice as he intoned: "Earth to earth--ashes
+to ashes--dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to
+eternal life."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When you wander in the gray hill-country of the North, in the loneliest
+corner of that lonely land you may chance upon a low farmhouse, lying in
+the shadow of the Muir Pike.
+
+Entering, a tall old man comes out to greet you--the Master of Kenmuir.
+His shoulders are bent now; the hair that was so dark is frosted; but
+the blue-gray eyes look you as proudly in the face as of yore.
+
+And while the girl with the glory of yellow hair is preparing food for
+you--they are hospitable to a fault, these Northerners--you will notice
+on the mantelpiece, standing solitary, a massive silver cup, dented.
+
+That is the world-known Shepherds' Trophy, won outright, as the old man
+will tell you, by Owd Bob, last and best of the Gray Dogs of Kenmuir.
+The last because he is the best; because once, for a long-drawn unit of
+time, James Moore had thought him to be the worst.
+
+When at length you take your leave, the old man accompanies you to the
+top of the slope to point you your way.
+
+"Yo' cross the stream; over Langholm How, yonder; past the Bottom; and
+oop th' hill on far side. Yo'll come on th' house o' top. And happen
+yo'll meet Th' Owd Un on the road. Good-day to you, sir, good-day."
+
+So you go as he has bidden you; across the stream, skirting the How,
+over the gulf and up the hill again.
+
+On the way, as the Master has foretold, you come upon an old gray dog,
+trotting soberly along. Th' Owd Un, indeed, seems to spend the evening
+of his life going thus between Kenmuir and the Grange. The black muzzle
+is almost white now; the gait, formerly so smooth and strong, is stiff
+and slow; venerable, indeed, is he of whom men still talk as the best
+sheep-dog in the North.
+
+As he passes, he pauses to scan you. The noble head is high, and one
+foot raised; and you look into two big gray eyes such as you have never
+seen before--soft, a little dim, and infinitely sad.
+
+That is Owd Bob o' Kenmuir, of whom the tales are many as the flowers on
+the May. With him dies the last of the immortal line of the Gray Dogs of
+Kenmuir.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+You travel on up the bill, something pensive, and knock at the door of
+the house on the top.
+
+A woman, comely with the inevitable comeliness of motherhood, opens to
+you. And nestling in her arms is a little boy with golden hair and happy
+face, like one of Correggio's cherubs.
+
+You ask the child his name. He kicks and crows, and looks up at his
+mother; and in the end lisps roguishly, as if it was the merriest joke
+in all this merry world, "Adum Mataddum."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Bob, Son of Battle, by Alfred Ollivant
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+      Bob, Son of Battle, by Alfred Ollivant
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+    .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; }
+    blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}
+    .mynote    {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;}
+    .toc       { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
+    .toc2      { margin-left: 20%;}
+    div.fig    { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; }
+    div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; }
+    .figleft   {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;}
+    .figright  {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;}
+    .pagenum   {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal;
+               margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%;
+               text-align: right;}
+    pre        { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;}
+
+</style>
+  </head>
+  <body>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Bob, Son of Battle, by Alfred Ollivant
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Bob, Son of Battle
+
+Author: Alfred Ollivant
+
+Release Date: December 8, 2008 [EBook #2795]
+Last Updated: March 16, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BOB, SON OF BATTLE ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <br /><br />
+    </p>
+    <h1>
+      BOB, SON OF BATTLE
+    </h1>
+    <p>
+      <br />
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      By Alfred Ollivant
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <blockquote>
+      <p class="toc">
+        <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
+      </p>
+      <p>
+        <br /> <a href="#link2H_PART"> PART I. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;<b>THE COMING OF
+        THE TAILLESS TYKE</b> <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> Chapter I.
+        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE GRAY DOG <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> Chapter
+        II. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A SON OF HAGAR <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003">
+        Chapter III. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;RED WULL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004">
+        Chapter IV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;FIRST BLOOD <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_PART2">
+        PART II. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;<b>THE LITTLE MAN</b> <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0005"> Chapter V. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A MAN'S SON <br /><br />
+        <a href="#link2HCH0006"> Chapter VI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A LICKING OR A LIE
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> Chapter VII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        WHITE WINTER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> Chapter VIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;M'ADAM
+        AND HIS COAT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_PART3"> PART III. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;<b>THE
+        SHEPHERDS' TROPHY</b> <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> Chapter IX.
+        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;RIVALS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> Chapter X.
+        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;RED WULL WINS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011">
+        Chapter XI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;OOR BOB <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012">
+        Chapter XII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;HOW RED WULL HELD THE BRIDGE <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0013"> Chapter XIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE FACE IN THE
+        FRAME <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_PART4"> PART IV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;<b>THE
+        BLACK KILLER</b> <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0014"> Chapter XIV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+        MAD MAN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> Chapter XV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;DEATH
+        ON THE MARCHES <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> Chapter XVI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        BLACK KILLER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> Chapter XVII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+        MAD DOG <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> Chapter XVIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;HOW
+        THE KILLER WAS SINGED <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> Chapter XIX.
+        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;LAD AND LASS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> Chapter
+        XX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE SNAPPING OF THE STRING <br /><br /> <a
+        href="#link2HCH0021"> Chapter XXI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;HORROR OF DARKNESS
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_PART5"> PART V. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;<b>OWD BOB O'
+        KENMUIR</b> <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0022"> Chapter XXII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+        MAN AND A MAID <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0023"> Chapter XXIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;TH'
+        OWD UN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0024"> Chapter XXIV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A
+        SHOT IN THE NIGHT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0025"> Chapter XXV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        SHEPHERDS' TROPHY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_PART6"> PART VI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;<b>THE
+        BLACK KILLER</b> <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0026"> Chapter XXVI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;RED-HANDED
+        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0027"> Chapter XXVII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;FOR
+        THE DEFENCE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0028"> Chapter XXVIII. &nbsp;&nbsp;</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        DEVIL'S BOWL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0029"> Chapter XXIX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        DEVIL'S BOWL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0030"> Chapter XXX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
+        TAILLESS TYKE AT BAY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> POSTSCRIPT.
+        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; <br /><br />
+      </p>
+    </blockquote>
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br />
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_PART" id="link2H_PART">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <h2>
+      PART I THE COMING OF THE TAILLESS TYKE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter I. THE GRAY DOG
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      THE sun stared brazenly down on a gray farmhouse lying, long and low in
+      the shadow of the Muir Pike; on the ruins of peel-tower and barmkyn,
+      relics of the time of raids, it looked; on ranges of whitewashed
+      outbuildings; on a goodly array of dark-thatched ricks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the stack-yard, behind the lengthy range of stables, two men were
+      thatching. One lay sprawling on the crest of the rick, the other stood
+      perched on a ladder at a lower level.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The latter, small, old, with shrewd nut-brown countenance, was Tammas
+      Thornton, who had served the Moores of Kenmuir for more than half a
+      century. The other, on top of the stack, wrapped apparently in gloomy
+      meditation, was Sam'l Todd. A solid Dales&mdash;man, he, with huge hands
+      and hairy arms; about his face an uncomely aureole of stiff, red hair; and
+      on his features, deep-seated, an expression of resolute melancholy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, the Gray Dogs, bless 'em!&rdquo; the old man was saying. &ldquo;Yo' canna beat
+      'em not nohow. Known 'em ony time this sixty year, I have, and niver knew
+      a bad un yet. Not as I say, mind ye, as any on 'em cooms up to Rex son o'
+      Rally. Ah, he was a one, was Rex! We's never won Cup since his day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor niver shall agin, yo' may depend,&rdquo; said the other gloomily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Tammas clucked irritably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;G'long, Sam'! Todd!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;Yo' niver happy onless yo' making'
+      yo'self miser'ble. I niver see sich a chap. Niver win agin? Why, oor young
+      Bob he'll mak' a right un, I tell yo', and I should know. Not as what
+      he'll touch Rex son o' Rally, mark ye! I'm niver saying' so, Sam'l Todd.
+      Ah, he was a one, was Rex! I could tell yo' a tale or two o' Rex. I mind
+      me hoo&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The big man interposed hurriedly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've heard it afore, Tammas, I welly 'ave,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Tammas paused and looked angrily up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo've heard it afore, have yo', Sam'l Todd?&rdquo; he asked sharply. &ldquo;And what
+      have yo' heard afore?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' stories, owd lad&mdash;yo' stories o' Rex son o' Rally.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which on' em
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;All on 'em, Tammas, all on 'em&mdash;mony a time. I'm fair sick on 'em,
+      Tammas, I welly am,&rdquo; he pleaded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man gasped. He brought down his mallet with a vicious smack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll niver tell yo' a tale agin, Sam'l Todd, not if yo' was to go on yo'
+      bended knees for't. Nay; it bain't no manner o' use talkin'. Niver agin,
+      says I.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I niver askt yo',&rdquo; declared honest Sam'l.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor it wouldna ha' bin no manner o' use if yo' had,&rdquo; said the other
+      viciously. &ldquo;I'll niver tell yo' a tale agin if I was to live to be a
+      hunderd.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo'll not live to be a hunderd, Tammas Thornton, nor near it,&rdquo; said Sam'l
+      brutally.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll live as long as some, I warrant,&rdquo; the old man replied with spirit.
+      &ldquo;I'll live to see Cup back i' Kenmuir, as I said afore.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If yo' do,&rdquo; the other declared with emphasis, &ldquo;Sam'l Todd niver spake a
+      true word. Nay, nay, lad; yo're owd, yo're wambly, your time's near run or
+      I'm the more mistook.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For mussy's sake hold yo' tongue, Sam'l Todd! It's clack-clack all day&mdash;&rdquo;
+       The old man broke off suddenly, and buckled to his work with suspicious
+      vigor. &ldquo;Mak' a show yo' bin workin', lad,&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;Here's Master
+      and oor Bob.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As he spoke, a tall gaitered man with weather-beaten face, strong, lean,
+      austere, and the blue-gray eyes of the hill-country, came striding into
+      the yard. And trotting soberly at his heels, with the gravest, saddest
+      eyes ever you saw, a sheep-dog puppy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A rare dark gray he was, his long coat, dashed here and there with lighter
+      touches, like a stormy sea moonlit. Upon his chest an escutcheon of purest
+      white, and the dome of his head showered, as it were, with a sprinkling of
+      snow. Perfectly compact, utterly lithe, inimitably graceful with his
+      airy-fairy action; a gentleman every inch, you could not help but stare at
+      him&mdash;Owd Bob o' Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the foot of the ladder the two stopped. And the young dog, placing his
+      forepaws on a lower rung, looked up, slowly waving his silvery brush.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A proper Gray Dog!&rdquo; mused Tammas, gazing down into the dark face beneath
+      him. &ldquo;Small, yet big; light to get about on backs o' his sheep, yet not
+      too light. Wi' a coat hard a-top to keep oot Daleland weather, soft as
+      sealskin beneath. And wi' them sorrerful eyes on him as niver goes but wi'
+      a good un. Amaist he minds me o' Rex son o' Rally.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, dear! Oh, dear!&rdquo; groaned Sam'l. But the old man heard him not.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did 'Enry Farewether tell yo' hoo he acted this mornin', Master?&rdquo; he
+      inquired, addressing the man at the foot of the ladder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; said the other, his stern eyes lighting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, 'twas this way, it seems,&rdquo; Tammas continued. &ldquo;Young bull gets
+      'isseif loose, somegate and marches oot into yard, o'erturns milkpail, and
+      prods owd pigs i' ribs. And as he stands lookin' about un, thinking' what
+      he shall be up to next, oor Bob sees un 'An' what yo' doin' here, Mr.
+      Bull?' he seems to say, cockin' his ears and trottin' up gay-like. Wi'
+      that bull bloats fit to bust 'isseif, lashes wi's tail, waggles his head,
+      and gets agate o' chargin' 'im. But Bob leaps oot o' way, quick as
+      lightnin' yet cool as butter, and when he's done his foolin drives un back
+      agin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who seed all this?&rdquo; interposed Sam'l, sceptically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Enry Farewether from the loft. So there, Fat'ead!&rdquo; Tammas replied, and
+      continued his tale. &ldquo;So they goes on; bull chargin' and Bob drivin' un
+      back and back, hoppin' in and oot agin, quiet as a cowcumber, yet
+      determined. At last Mr. Bull sees it's no manner o' use that gate, so he
+      turns, rares up, and tries to jump wall. Nary a bit. Young dog jumps in on
+      un and nips him by tail. Wi' that, bull tumbles down in a hurry, turns wi'
+      a kind o' groan, and marches back into stall, Bob after un. And then, dang
+      me!&rdquo;&mdash;the old man beat the ladder as he loosed off this last titbit,&mdash;&ldquo;if
+      he doesna sit' isseif i' door like a sentrynel till 'Enry Farewether coom
+      up. Hoo's that for a tyke not yet a year?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Even Sam'l Todd was moved by the tale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well done, oor Bob!&rdquo; he cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good, lad!&rdquo; said the Master, laying a hand on the dark head at his knee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' may well say that,&rdquo; cried Tammas in a kind of ecstasy. &ldquo;A proper Gray
+      Dog, I tell yo'. Wi' the brains of a man and the way of a woman. Ah, yo'
+      canna beat 'em nohow, the Gray Dogs o' Kenmuir!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The patter of cheery feet rang out on the plank-bridge over the stream
+      below them. Tammas glanced round.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here's David,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Late this mornin' he be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A fair-haired boy came spurring up the slope, his face all aglow with the
+      speed of his running. Straightway the young dog dashed off to meet him
+      with a fiery speed his sober gait belied. The two raced back together into
+      the yard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor lad!&rdquo; said Sam'l gloomily, regarding the newcomer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor heart!&rdquo; muttered Tammas. While the Master's face softened visibly.
+      Yet there looked little to pity in this jolly, rocking lad with the tousle
+      of light hair and fresh, rosy countenance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;G'mornin', Mister Moore! Morn'n, Tammas! Morn'n, Sam'l!&rdquo; he panted as he
+      passed; and ran on through the hay-carpeted yard, round the corner of the
+      stable, and into the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the kitchen, a long room with red-tiled floor and latticed windows, a
+      woman, white-aproned and frail-faced, was bustling about her morning
+      business. To her skirts clung a sturdy, bare-legged boy; while at the oak
+      table in the centre of the room a girl with brown eyes and straggling hair
+      was seated before a basin of bread and milk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So yo've coom at last, David!&rdquo; the woman cried, as the boy entered; and,
+      bending, greeted him with a tender, motherly salutation, which he returned
+      as affectionately. &ldquo;I welly thowt yo'd forgot us this mornin'. Noo sit
+      you' doon beside oor Maggie.&rdquo; And soon he, too, was engaged in a task twin
+      to the girl's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two children munched away in silence, the little bare-legged boy
+      watching them, the while, critically. Irritated by this prolonged stare,
+      David at length turned on him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Weel, little Andrew,&rdquo; he said, speaking in that paternal fashion in which
+      one small boy loves to address another. &ldquo;Weel, ma little lad, yo'm coomin'
+      along gradely.&rdquo; He leant back in his chair the better to criticise his
+      subject. But Andrew, like all the Moores, slow of speech, preserved a
+      stolid silence, sucking a chubby thumb, and regarding his patron a thought
+      cynically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David resented the expression on the boy's countenance, and half rose to
+      his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' put another face on yo', Andrew Moore,&rdquo; he cried threateningly, &ldquo;or
+      I'll put it for yo'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie, however, interposed opportunely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did yo' feyther beat yo' last night?&rdquo; she inquired in a low voice; and
+      there was a shade of anxiety in the soft brown eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; the boy answered; &ldquo;he was a-goin' to, but he never did. Drunk,&rdquo; he
+      added in explanation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What was he goin' to beat yo' for, David?&rdquo; asked Mrs. Moore.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What for? Why, for the fun o't&mdash;to see me squiggle,&rdquo; the boy
+      replied, and laughed bitterly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' shouldna speak so o' your dad, David,&rdquo; reproved the other as severely
+      as was in her nature.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dad! a fine dad! I'd dad him an I'd the chance,&rdquo; the boy muttered beneath
+      his breath. Then, to turn the conversation:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Us should be startin', Maggie,&rdquo; he said, and going to the door. &ldquo;Bob! Owd
+      Bob, lad! Ar't coomin' along?&rdquo; he called.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The gray dog came springing up like an antelope, and the three started off
+      for school together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Moore stood in the doorway, holding Andrew by the hand, and watched
+      the departing trio.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tis a pretty pair, Master, surely,&rdquo; she said softly to her husband, who
+      came up at the moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, he'll be a fine lad if his fether'll let him,&rdquo; the tall man answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tis a shame Mr. M'Adam should lead him such a life,&rdquo; the woman continued
+      indignantly. She laid a hand on her husband's arm, and looked up at him
+      coaxingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Could yo' not say summat to un, Master, think 'ee? Happen he'd 'tend to
+      you,&rdquo; she pleaded. For Mrs. Moore imagined that there could be no one but
+      would gladly heed what James Moore, Master of Kenmuir, might say to him.
+      &ldquo;He's not a bad un at bottom, I do believe,&rdquo; she continued. &ldquo;He never took
+      on so till his missus died. Eh, but he was main fond o' her.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Her husband shook his head &ldquo;Nay, mother,&rdquo; he said &ldquo;'Twould nob' but mak'
+      it worse for t' lad. M'Adam'd listen to no one, let alone me.&rdquo; And,
+      indeed, he was right; for the tenant of the Grange made no secret of his
+      animosity for his straight-going, straight-speaking neighbor.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Owd Bob, in the mean time, had escorted the children to the larch-copse
+      bordering on the lane which leads to the village. Now he crept stealthily
+      back to the yard, and established himself behind the water-butt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      How he played and how he laughed; how he teased old Whitecap till that
+      gray gander all but expired of apoplexy and impotence; how he ran the roan
+      bull-calf, and aroused the bitter wrath of a portly sow, mother of many,
+      is of no account.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last, in the midst of his merry mischief-making, a stern voice arrested
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bob, lad, I see 'tis time we larned you yo' letters.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So the business of life began for that dog of whom the simple farmer-folk
+      of the Daleland still love to talk,&mdash;Bob, son of Battle, last of the
+      Gray Dogs of Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter II. A SON OF HAGAR
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      It is a lonely country, that about the Wastrel-dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Parson Leggy Hornbut will tell you that his is the smallest church in the
+      biggest parish north of the Derwent, and that his cure numbers more square
+      miles than parishioners. Of fells and ghylls it consists, of becks and
+      lakes; with here a scattered hamlet and there a solitary hill sheep-farm.
+      It is a country in which sheep are paramount; and every other Dalesman is
+      engaged in that profession which is as old as Abel. And the talk of the
+      men of the land is of wethers and gimmers, of tup-hoggs, ewe tegs in wool,
+      and other things which are but fearsome names to you and me; and always of
+      the doings or misdoings, the intelligence or stupidity, of their
+      adjutants, the sheep-dogs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of all the Daleland, the country from the Black Water to Grammoch Pike is
+      the wildest. Above the tiny stone-built village of Wastrel-dale the Muir
+      Pike nods its massive head. Westward, the desolate Mere Marches, from
+      which the Sylvesters' great estate derives its name, reach away in mile on
+      mile of sheep infested, wind-swept moorland. On the far side of the
+      Marches is that twin dale where flows the gentle Silver Lea. And it is
+      there in the paddocks at the back of the Dalesman's Daughter, that, in the
+      late summer months, the famous sheep-dog Trials of the North are held.
+      There that the battle for the Dale Cup, the world-known Shepherds' Trophy,
+      is fought out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Past the little inn leads the turnpike road to the market-centre of the
+      district&mdash;Grammoch-town. At the bottom of the paddocks at the back of
+      the inn winds the Silver Lea. Just there a plank bridge crosses the
+      stream, and, beyond, the Murk Muir Pass crawls up the sheer side of the
+      Scaur on to the Mere Marches.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the head of the Pass, before it debouches on to those lonely
+      sheep-walks which divide the two dales, is that hollow, shuddering with
+      gloomy possibilities, aptly called the Devil's Bowl. In its centre the
+      Lone Tarn, weirdly suggestive pool, lifts its still face to the sky. It
+      was beside that black, frozen water, across whose cold surface the storm
+      was swirling in white snow-wraiths, that, many, many years ago (not in
+      this century), old Andrew Moore came upon the mother of the Gray Dogs of
+      Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the North, every one who has heard of the Muir Pike&mdash;and who has
+      not?&mdash;has heard of the Gray Dogs of Kenmuir, every one who has heard
+      of the Shepherd's Trophy&mdash;and who has not?&mdash;knows their fame. In
+      that country of good dogs and jealous masters the pride of place has long
+      been held unchallenged. Whatever line may claim to follow the Gray Dogs
+      always lead the van. And there is a saying in the land: &ldquo;Faithfu' as the
+      Moores and their tykes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      On the top dresser to the right of the fireplace in the kitchen of Kenmuir
+      lies the family Bible. At the end you will find a loose sheet&mdash;the
+      pedigree of the Gray Dogs; at the beginning, pasted on the inside, an
+      almost similar sheet, long since yellow with age&mdash;the family register
+      of the Moores of Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Running your eye down the loose leaf, once, twice, and again it will be
+      caught by a small red cross beneath a name, and under the cross the one
+      word &ldquo;Cup.&rdquo; Lastly, opposite the name of Rex son of Rally, are two of
+      those proud, tell-tale marks. The cup referred to is the renowned Dale Cup&mdash;Champion
+      Challenge Dale Cup, open to the world. Had Rex won it but once again the
+      Shepherds' Trophy, which many men have lived to win, and died still
+      striving after, would have come to rest forever in the little gray house
+      below the Pike.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not to be, however. Comparing the two sheets, you read beneath the
+      dog's name a date and a pathetic legend; and on the other sheet, written
+      in his son's boyish hand, beneath the name of Andrew Moore the same date
+      and the same legend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From that day James Moore, then but a boy, was master of Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So past Grip and Rex and Rally, and a hundred others, until at the foot of
+      the page you come to that last name&mdash;Bob, son of Battle.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      From the very first the young dog took to his work in a manner to amaze
+      even James Moore. For a while he watched his mother, Meg, at her business,
+      and with that seemed to have mastered the essentials of sheep tactics.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Rarely had such fiery élan been seen on the sides of the Pike; and with it
+      the young dog combined a strange sobriety, an admirable patience, that
+      justified, indeed, the epithet. &ldquo;Owd.&rdquo; Silent he worked, and resolute; and
+      even in those days had that famous trick of coaxing the sheep to do his
+      wishes;&mdash;blending, in short, as Tammas put it, the brains of a man
+      with the way of a woman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Parson Leggy, who was reckoned the best judge of a sheep or sheep-dog
+      'twixt Tyne and Tweed, summed him up in the one word &ldquo;Genius.&rdquo; And James
+      Moore himself, cautious man, was more than pleased.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the village, the Dalesmen, who took a personal pride in the Gray Dogs
+      of Kenmuir, began to nod sage heads when &ldquo;oor&rdquo; Bob was mentioned. Jim
+      Mason, the postman, whose word went as far with the villagers as Parson
+      Leggy's with the gentry, reckoned he'd never seen a young un as so took
+      his fancy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That winter it grew quite the recognized thing, when they had gathered of
+      a night round the fire in the Sylvester Arms, with Tammas in the centre,
+      old Jonas Maddox on his right, Rob Saunderson of the Holt on the left, and
+      the others radiating away toward the sides, for some one to begin with:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, and what o' oor Bob, Mr. Thornton?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      To which Tammas would always make reply:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yo' ask Sam'l there. He'll tell yo' better'n me, &ldquo;&mdash;and would
+      forthwith plunge, himself, into a yarn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And the way in which, as the story proceeded, Tupper of Swinsthwaite
+      winked at Ned Hoppin of Fellsgarth, and Long Kirby, the smith, poked Jem
+      Burton, the publican, in the ribs, and Sexton Ross said, &ldquo;Ma word, lad!&rdquo;
+       spoke more eloquently than many words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One man only never joined in the chorus of admiration. Sitting always
+      alone in the background, little M'Adam would listen with an incredulous
+      grin on his sallow face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, ma certes! The devil's in the dog! It's no cannie ava!&rdquo; he would
+      continually exclaim, as Tammas told his tale.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      In the Daleland you rarely see a stranger's face. Wandering in the wild
+      country about the twin dales at the time of this story, you might have met
+      Parson Leggy, striding along with a couple of varmint terriers at his
+      heels, and young Cyril Gilbraith, whom he was teaching to tie flies and
+      fear God, beside him; or Jim Mason, postman by profession, poacher by
+      predilection, honest man and sportsman by nature, hurrying along with the
+      mail-bags on his shoulder, a rabbit in his pocket, and the faithful Betsy
+      a yard behind. Besides these you might have hit upon a quiet shepherd and
+      a wise-faced dog; Squire Sylvester, going his rounds upon a sturdy cob;
+      or, had you been lucky, sweet Lady Eleanour bent upon some errand of mercy
+      to one of the many tenants.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was while the Squire's lady was driving through the village on a visit*
+      to Tammas's slobbering grandson&mdash;it was shortly after Billy
+      Thornton's advent into the world&mdash;that little M'Adam, standing in the
+      door of the Sylvester Arms, with a twig in his mouth and a sneer fading
+      from his lips, made his ever-memorable remark:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sall!&rdquo; he said, speaking in low, earnest voice; &ldquo;'tis a muckle wumman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     Note:* It was this visit which figured in the Grammoch-town
+     <i>Argus</i> (local and radical) under the heading of &ldquo;Alleged
+     Wholesale Corruption by Tory Agents.&rdquo; And that is why, on
+     the following market day, Herbert Trotter, journalist,
+     erstwhile gentleman, and Secretary of the Dale Trials, found
+     himself trying to swim in the public horse-trough.
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What? What be sayin', mon?&rdquo; cried old Jonas, startled out of his usual
+      apathy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam turned sharply on the old man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I said the wumman wears a muckle hat!&rdquo; he snapped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Blotted out as it was, the observation still remains&mdash;a tribute of
+      honest admiration. Doubtless the Recording Angel did not pass it by. That
+      one statement anent the gentle lady of the manor is the only personal
+      remark ever credited to little M'Adam not born of malice and all
+      uncharitableness. And that is why it is ever memorable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little Scotsman with the sardonic face had been the tenant of the
+      Grange these many years; yet he had never grown acclimatized to the land
+      of the Southron. With his shrivelled body and weakly legs he looked among
+      the sturdy, straight-limbed sons of the hill-country like some brown,
+      wrinkled leaf holding its place midst a galaxy of green. And as he
+      differed from them physically, so he did morally.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He neither understood them nor attempted to. The North-country character
+      was an unsolved mystery to him, and that after ten years' study. &ldquo;One-half
+      o' what ye say they doot, and they let ye see it; t'ither half they
+      disbelieve, and they tell ye so,&rdquo; he once said. And that explained his
+      attitude toward them, and consequently theirs toward him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood entirely alone; a son of Hagar, mocking. His sharp, ill tongue
+      was rarely still, and always bitter. There was hardly a man in the land,
+      from Langholm How to the market-cross in Grammoch-town, but had at one
+      time known its sting, endured it in silence&mdash;for they are slow of
+      speech, these men of the fells and meres&mdash;and was nursing his
+      resentment till a day should bring that chance which always comes. And
+      when at the Sylvester Arms, on one of those rare occasions when M'Adam was
+      not present, Tammas summed up the little man in that historic phrase of
+      his, &ldquo;When he's drunk he's wi'lent, and when he bain't he's wicious,&rdquo;
+       there was an applause to gratify the blasé heart of even Tammas Thornton.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet it had not been till his wife's death that the little man had allowed
+      loose rein to his ill-nature. With her firmly gentle hand no longer on the
+      tiller of his life, it burst into fresh being. And alone in the world with
+      David, the whole venom of his vicious temperament was ever directed
+      against the boy's head. It was as though he saw in his fair-haired son the
+      unconscious cause of his ever-living sorrow. All the more strange this,
+      seeing that, during her life, the boy had been to poor Flora M'Adam as her
+      heart's core. And the lad was growing up the very antithesis of his
+      father. Big and hearty, with never an ache or ill in the whole of his
+      sturdy young body; of frank, open countenance; while even his speech was
+      slow and burring like any Dale-bred boy's. And the fact of it all, and
+      that the lad was palpably more Englishman than Scot&mdash;ay, and gloried
+      in it&mdash;exasperated the little man, a patriot before everything, to
+      blows. While, on top of it, David evinced an amazing pertness fit to have
+      tried a better man than Adam M'Adam.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the death of his wife, kindly Elizabeth Moore had, more than once,
+      offered such help to the lonely little man as a woman only can give in a
+      house that knows no mistress. On the last of these occasions, after
+      crossing the Stony Bottom, which divides the two farms, and toiling up the
+      hill to the Grange, she had met M'Adam in the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' maun let me put yo' bit things straight for yo', mister,&rdquo; she had
+      said shyly; for she feared the little man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank ye, Mrs. Moore,&rdquo; he had answered with the sour smile the Dalesmen
+      knew so well, &ldquo;but ye maun think I'm a waefu' cripple.&rdquo; And there he had
+      stood, grinning sardonically, opposing his small bulk in the very centre
+      of the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Mrs. Moore had turned down the hill, abashed and hurt at the reception of
+      her offer; and her husband, proud to a fault, had forbidden her to repeat
+      it. Nevertheless her motherly heart went out in a great tenderness for the
+      little orphan David. She knew well the desolateness of his life; his
+      father's aversion from him, and its inevitable consequences.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It became an institution for the boy to call every morning at Kenmuir, and
+      trot off to the village school with Maggie Moore. And soon the lad came to
+      look on Kenmuir as his true home, and James and Elizabeth Moore as his
+      real parents. His greatest happiness was to be away from the Grange. And
+      the ferret-eyed little man there noted the fact, bitterly resented it, and
+      vented his ill-humor accordingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was this, as he deemed it, uncalled-for trespassing on his authority
+      which was the chief cause of his animosity against James Moore. The Master
+      of Kenmuir it was at whom he was aiming when he remarked one day at the
+      Arms: &ldquo;Masel', I aye prefaire the good man who does no go to church, to
+      the bad man who does. But then, as ye say, Mr. Burton, I'm peculiar.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man's treatment of David, exaggerated as it was by eager
+      credulity, became at length such a scandal to the Dale that Parson Leggy
+      determined to bring him to task on the matter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now M'Adam was the parson's pet antipathy. The bluff old minister, with
+      his brusque manner and big heart, would have no truck with the man who
+      never went to church, was perpetually in liquor, and never spoke good of
+      his neighbors. Yet he entered upon the interview fully resolved not to be
+      betrayed into an unworthy expression of feeling; rather to appeal to the
+      little man's better nature.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The conversation had not been in progress two minutes, however, before he
+      knew that, where he had meant to be calmly persuasive, he was fast become
+      hotly abusive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You, Mr. Hornbut, wi' James Moore to help ye, look after the lad's soul,
+      I'll see to his body,&rdquo; the little man was saying.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The parson's thick gray eyebrows lowered threateningly over his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You ought to be ashamed of yourself to talk like that. Which d'you think
+      the more important, soul or body? Oughtn't you, his father, to be the very
+      first to care for the boy's soul? If not, who should? Answer me, sir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man stood smirking and sucking his eternal twig, entirely
+      unmoved by the other's heat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye're right, Mr. Hornbut, as ye aye are. But my argiment is this: that I
+      get at his soul best through his leetle carcase.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The honest parson brought down his stick with an angry thud.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;M'Adam, you're a brute&mdash;a brute!&rdquo; he shouted. At which outburst the
+      little man was seized with a spasm of silent merriment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A fond dad first, a brute afterward, aiblins&mdash;he! he! Ah, Mr.
+      Hornbut! ye 'ford me vast diversion, ye do indeed, 'my loved, my honored,
+      much-respected friend.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If you paid as much heed to your boy's welfare as you do to the bad
+      poetry of that profligate ploughman&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      An angry gleam shot into the other's eyes. &ldquo;D'ye ken what blasphemy is,
+      Mr. Hornbut?&rdquo; he asked, shouldering a pace forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the first time in the dispute the parson thought he was about to score
+      a point, and was calm accordingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should do; I fancy I've a specimen of the breed before me now. And
+      d'you know what impertinence is?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I should do; I fancy I've&mdash;I awd say it's what gentlemen aften are
+      unless their mammies whipped 'em as lads.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment the parson looked as if about to seize his opponent and shake
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;M'Adam,&rdquo; he roared, &ldquo;I'll not stand your insolences!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man turned, scuttled indoors, and came running back with a
+      chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Permit me!&rdquo; he said blandly, holding it before him like a haircutter for
+      a customer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The parson turned away. At the gap in the hedge he paused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll only say one thing more,&rdquo; he called slowly. &ldquo;When your wife, whom I
+      think we all loved, lay dying in that room above you, she said to you in
+      my presence&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was M'Adam's turn to be angry. He made a step forward with burning
+      face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aince and for a', Mr. Hornbut,&rdquo; he cried passionately, &ldquo;onderstand I'll
+      not ha' you and yer likes lay yer tongues on ma wife's memory whenever it
+      suits ye. You can say what ye like aboot me&mdash;lies, sneers, snash&mdash;and
+      I'll say naethin'. I dinna ask ye to respect me; I think ye might do sae
+      muckle by her, puir lass. She never harmed ye. Gin ye canna let her bide
+      in peace where she lies doon yonder&rdquo;&mdash;he waved in the direction of
+      the churchyard&mdash;&ldquo;ye'll no come on ma land. Though she is dead she's
+      mine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Standing in front of his house, with flushed face and big eyes, the little
+      man looked almost noble in his indignation. And the parson, striding away
+      down the hill, was uneasily conscious that with him was not the victory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter III. RED WULL
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      THE winter came and went; the lambing season was over, and spring already
+      shyly kissing the land. And the back of the year's work broken, and her
+      master well started on a fresh season, M'Adam's old collie, Cuttie Sark,
+      lay down one evening and passed quietly away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little black-and-tan lady, Parson Leggy used to say, had been the only
+      thing on earth M'Adam cared for. Certainly the two had been wondrously
+      devoted; and for many a market-day the Dalesmen missed the shrill,
+      chuckling cry which heralded the pair's approach: &ldquo;Weel done, Cuttie
+      Sark!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man felt his loss acutely, and, according to his wont, vented
+      his ill-feeling on David and the Dalesmen. In return, Tammas, whose forte
+      lay in invective and alliteration, called him behind his back, &ldquo;A wenomous
+      one!&rdquo; and &ldquo;A wiralent wiper!&rdquo; to the applause of tinkling pewters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A shepherd without his dog is like a ship without a rudder, and M'Adam
+      felt his loss practically as well as otherwise. Especially did he
+      experience this on a day when he had to take a batch of draft-ewes over to
+      Grammoch-town. To help him Jem Burton had lent the services of his
+      herring-gutted, herring-hearted, greyhound lurcher, Monkey. But before
+      they had well topped Braithwaite Brow, which leads from the village on to
+      the marches, M'Adam was standing in the track with a rock in his hand, a
+      smile on his face, and the tenderest blandishments in his voice as he
+      coaxed the dog to him. But Master Monkey knew too much for that. However,
+      after gamboling a while longer in the middle of the flock, a boulder,
+      better aimed than its predecessors, smote him on the hinder parts and sent
+      him back to the Sylvester Arms, with a sore tail and a subdued heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the rest, M'Adam would never have won over the sheep-infested marches
+      alone with his convoy had it not been for the help of old Saunderson and
+      Shep, who caught him on the way and aided him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was in a very wrathful mood that on his way home he turned into the
+      Dalesman's Daughter in Silverdale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The only occupants of the tap-room, as he entered, were Teddy Bolstock,
+      the publican, Jim Mason, with the faithful Betsy beneath his chair and the
+      post-bags flung into the corner, and one long-limbed, drover-like man&mdash;a
+      stranger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And he coom up to Mr. Moore,&rdquo; Teddy was saying, &ldquo;and says he, 'I'll gie
+      ye twal' pun for yon gray dog o' yourn.' 'Ah,' says Moore, 'yo' may gie me
+      twal' hunner'd and yet you'll not get ma Bob.'&mdash;Eh, Jim?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And he did thot,&rdquo; corroborated Jim. &ldquo;'Twal' hunner'd,' says he.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;James Moore and his dog agin&rdquo; snapped M'Adam. &ldquo;There's ithers in the
+      warld for bye them twa.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, but none like 'em,&rdquo; quoth loyal Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Na, thanks be. Gin there were there'd be no room for Adam M'Adam in this
+      'melancholy vale.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was silence a moment, and then&mdash;:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You're wantin' a tyke, bain't you, Mr. M'Adam?&rdquo; Jim asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man hopped round all in a hurry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What!&rdquo; he cried in well-affected eagerness, scanning the yellow mongrel
+      beneath the chair. &ldquo;Betsy for sale! Guid life! Where's ma check-book?&rdquo;
+       Whereat Jim, most easily snubbed of men, collapsed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam took off his dripping coat and crossed the room to hang it on a
+      chair-back. The stranger drover followed the meagre, shirt-clad figure
+      with shifty eyes; then he buried his face in his mug.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam reached out a hand for the chair; and as he did so, a bomb in
+      yellow leapt out from beneath it, and, growling horribly, attacked his
+      ankles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Curse ye!&rdquo; cried M'Adam, starting back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye devil, let me alone!&rdquo; Then turning fiercely on the drover, &ldquo;Yours,
+      mister?&rdquo; he asked. The man nodded. &ldquo;Then call him aff, can't ye? D&mdash;n
+      ye!&rdquo; At which Teddy Bolstock withdrew, sniggering; and Jim Mason slung the
+      post-bags on to his shoulder and plunged out into the rain, the faithful
+      Betsy following, disconsolate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The cause of the squall, having beaten off the attacking force, had
+      withdrawn again beneath its chair. M'Adam stooped down, still cursing, his
+      wet coat on his arm, and beheld a tiny yellow puppy, crouching defiant in
+      the dark, and glaring out with fiery light eyes. Seeing itself remarked,
+      it bared its little teeth, raised its little bristles, and growled a
+      hideous menace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A sense of humor is many a man's salvation, and was M'Adam's one redeeming
+      feature. The laughableness of the thing&mdash;this ferocious atomy defying
+      him&mdash;struck home to the little man. Delighted at such a display of
+      vice in so tender a plant, he fell to chuckling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye leetle devil!&rdquo; he laughed. &ldquo;He! he! ye leetle devil!&rdquo; and flipped
+      together finger and thumb in vain endeavor to coax the puppy to him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But it growled, and glared more terribly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stop it, ye little snake, or I'll flatten you!&rdquo; cried the big drover, and
+      shuffled his feet threateningly. Whereat the puppy, gurgling like hot
+      water in a kettle, made a feint as though to advance and wipe them out,
+      these two bad men.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam laughed again, and smote his leg.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Keep a ceevil tongue and yer distance,&rdquo; says he, &ldquo;or I'll e'en ha' to
+      mak' ye. Though he is but as big as a man's thumb, a dog's a dog for a'
+      that&mdash;he! he! the leetle devil.&rdquo; And he fell to flipping finger and
+      thumb afresh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye're maybe wantin' a dog?&rdquo; inquired the stranger. &ldquo;Yer friend said as
+      much.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ma friend lied; it's his way,&rdquo; M'Adam replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm willin' to part wi' him,&rdquo; the other pursued.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man yawned. &ldquo;Weel, I'll tak' him to oblige ye,&rdquo; he said
+      indifferently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The drover rose to his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's givin' 'im ye, fair givin' im ye, mind! But I'll do it!&rdquo;&mdash;he
+      smacked a great fist into a hollow palm. &ldquo;Ye may have the dog for a pun'&mdash;I'll
+      only ask <i>you</i> a pun',&rdquo; and he walked away to the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam drew back, the better to scan his would-be benefactor; his lower
+      jaw dropped, and he eyed the stranger with a drolly sarcastic air.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A poun', man! A pouxi'&mdash;for yon noble dorg!&rdquo; he pointed a crooked
+      forefinger at the little creature, whose scowling mask peered from beneath
+      the chair. &ldquo;Man, I couldna do it. Na, na; ma conscience wadna permit me.
+      'Twad be fair robbin' ye. Ah, ye Englishmen!&rdquo; he spoke half to himself,
+      and sadly, as if deploring the unhappy accident of his nationality; &ldquo;it's
+      yer grand, open-hairted generosity that grips a puir Scotsman by the
+      throat. A poun'! and for yon!&rdquo; He wagged his head mournfully, cocking it
+      sideways the better to scan his subject.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Take him or leave him,&rdquo; ordered the drover truculently, still gazing out
+      of the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wi' yer permission I'll leave him,&rdquo; M'Adam answered meekly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm short o' the ready,&rdquo; the big man pursued, &ldquo;or I wouldna part with
+      him. Could I bide me time there's many'd be glad to give me a tenner for
+      one o' that bree&mdash;&rdquo; he caught himself up hastily&mdash;&ldquo;for a dog sic
+      as that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And yet ye offer him me for a poun'! Noble indeed!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Nevertheless the little man had pricked his ears at the other's slip and
+      quick correction. Again he approached the puppy, dangling his coat before
+      him to protect his ankles; and again that wee wild beast sprang out,
+      seized the coat in its small jaw, and worried it savagely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam stooped quickly and picked up his tiny assailant; and the puppy,
+      suspended by its neck, gurgled and slobbered; then, wriggling desperately
+      round, made its teeth meet in its adversary's shirt. At which M'Adam shook
+      it gently and laughed. Then he set to examining it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Apparently some six weeks old; a tawny coat, fiery eyes, a square head
+      with small, cropped ears, and a comparatively immense jaw; the whole
+      giving promise of great strength, if little beauty. And this effect was
+      enhanced by the manner of its docking. For the miserable relic of a tail,
+      yet raw, looked little more than a red button adhering to its wearer's
+      stern.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam's inspection was as minute as it was apparently absorbing; he
+      omitted nothing from the square muzzle to the lozenge-like scut. And every
+      now and then he threw a quick glance at the man at the window, who was
+      watching the careful scrutiny a thought uneasily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye've cut him short,&rdquo; he said at length, swinging round on the drover.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay; strengthens their backs,&rdquo; the big man answered with averted gaze.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam's chin went up in the air; his mouth partly opened and his eyelids
+      partly closed as he eyed his informant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, ay,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gie him back to me,&rdquo; ordered the drover surlily. He took the puppy and
+      set it on the floor; whereupon it immediately resumed its former fortified
+      position. &ldquo;Ye're no buyer; I knoo that all along by that face on ye,&rdquo; he
+      said in insulting tones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye wad ha' bought him yerseif', nae doot?&rdquo; M'Adam inquired blandly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In course; if you says so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or airblins ye bred him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Appen I did.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye'll no be from these parts?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will I no?&rdquo; answered the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A smile of genuine pleasure stole over M'Adam's face. He laid his hand on
+      the other's arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Man,&rdquo; he said gently, &ldquo;ye mind me o' hame.&rdquo; Then almost in the same
+      breath: &ldquo;Ye said ye found him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the stranger's turn to laugh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ha! ha! Ye teekle me, little mon. Found 'im? Nay; I was give 'im by a
+      friend. But there's nowt amiss wi' his breedin', ye may believe me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The great fellow advanced to the chair under which the puppy lay. It leapt
+      out like a lion, and fastened on his huge boot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A rare bred un, look 'ee! a rare game un. Ma word, he's a big-hearted un!
+      Look at the back on him; see the jaws to him; mark the pluck of him!&rdquo; He
+      shook his booted foot fiercely, tossing his leg to and fro like a tree in
+      a wind. But the little creature, now raised ceilingward, now dashed to the
+      ground, held on with incomparable doggedness, till its small jaw was all
+      bloody and muzzle wrinkled with the effort.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, ay, that'll do,&rdquo; M'Adam interposed, irritably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The drover ceased his efforts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Now, I'll mak' ye a last offer.&rdquo; He thrust his head down to a level with
+      the other's, shooting out his neck. &ldquo;It's throwin' him at ye, mind.
+      'Tain't buyin' him ye'll be&mdash;don't go for to deceive yourself. Ye may
+      have him for fifteen shillin'. Why do I do it, ye ask? Why, 'cos I think
+      ye'll be kind to him,&rdquo; as the puppy retreated to its chair, leaving a
+      spotted track of red along its route.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, ye wadna be happy gin ye thocht he'd no a comfortable hame,
+      conseederate man?&rdquo; M'Adam answered, eyeing the dark track on the floor.
+      Then he put on his coat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Na, na, he's no for me. Weel, I'll no detain ye. Good-nicht to ye,
+      mister!&rdquo; and he made for the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A gran' worker he'll be,&rdquo; called the drover after him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay; muckle wark he'll mak' amang the sheep wi' sic a jaw and sic a
+      temper. Weel, I maun be steppin'. Good-nicht to ye.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye'll niver have sich anither chanst.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor niver wush to. Na, na; he'll never mak' a sheep-dog&rdquo;; and the little
+      man turned up the collar of his coat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will he not?&rdquo; cried the other scornfully. &ldquo;There niver yet was one o'
+      that line&mdash;&rdquo; he stopped abruptly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man spun round.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Iss?&rdquo; he said, as innocent as any child; &ldquo;ye were sayin'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The other turned to the window and watched the rain falling monotonously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye'll be wantin' wet,&rdquo; he said adroitly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, we could do wi' a drappin'. And he'll never mak' a sheep-dog.&rdquo; He
+      shoved his cap down on his head. &ldquo;Weel, good-nicht to ye!&rdquo; and he stepped
+      out into the rain.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      It was long after dark when the bargain was finally struck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Adam M'Adam's Red Wull became that little man's property for the following
+      realizable assets: ninepence in cash&mdash;three coppers and a doubtful
+      sixpence; a plug of suspicious tobacco in a well-worn pouch; and an old
+      watch.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's clean givin' 'im ye,&rdquo; said the stranger bitterly, at the end of the
+      deal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's mair the charity than aught else mak's me sae leeberal,&rdquo; the other
+      answered gently. &ldquo;I wad not like to see ye pinched.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank ye kindly,&rdquo; the big man replied with some acerbity, and plunged out
+      into the darkness and rain. Nor was that long-limbed drover-man ever again
+      seen in the countryside. And the puppy's previous history&mdash;whether he
+      was honestly come by or no, whether he was, indeed, of the famous Red
+      McCulloch* strain, ever remained a mystery in the Daleland.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     *N. B.&mdash;You may know a Red McCulloch anywhere by the ring of
+     white upon his tail some two inches from the root.
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter IV. FIRST BLOOD
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      AFTER that first encounter in the Dalesman's Daughter, Red Wull, for so
+      M'Adam called him, resigned himself complacently to his lot; recognizing,
+      perhaps, his destiny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thenceforward the sour little man and the vicious puppy grew, as it were,
+      together. The two were never apart. Where M'Adam was, there was sure to be
+      his tiny attendant, bristling defiance as he kept ludicrous guard over his
+      master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man and his dog were inseparable. M'Adam never left him even at
+      the Grange.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+&ldquo;I couldna trust ma Wullie at hame alone wi' the dear lad,&rdquo; was his
+explanation. &ldquo;I ken weel I'd come back to find a wee corpse on the
+floor, and David singin':
+
+     'My heart is sair, I daur na tell,
+     My heart is sair for somebody.'
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      Ay, and he'd be sair elsewhere by the time I'd done wi' him&mdash;he! he!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The sneer at David's expense was as characteristic as it was unjust. For
+      though the puppy and the boy were already sworn enemies, yet the lad would
+      have scorned to harm so small a foe. And many a tale did David tell at
+      Kenmuir of Red Wull's viciousness, of his hatred of him (David), and his
+      devotion to his master; how, whether immersed in the pig-bucket or chasing
+      the fleeting rabbit, he would desist at once, and bundle, panting, up at
+      his master's call; how he routed the tomcat and drove him from the
+      kitchen; and how he clambered on to David's bed and pinned him murderously
+      by the nose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of late the relations between M'Adam and James Moore had been unusually
+      strained. Though they were neighbors, communications between the two were
+      of the rarest; and it was for the first time for many a long day that, on
+      an afternoon shortly after Red Wull had come into his possession, M'Adam
+      entered the yard of Kenmuir, bent on girding at the master for an alleged
+      trespass at the Stony Bottom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wi' yer permission, Mr. Moore,&rdquo; said the little man, &ldquo;I'll wheestle ma
+      dog,&rdquo; and, turning, he whistled a shrill, peculiar note like the cry of a
+      disturbed peewit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Straightway there came scurrying desperately up, ears back, head down,
+      tongue out, as if the world depended on his speed, a little tawny beetle
+      of a thing, who placed his forepaws against his master's ankles and looked
+      up into his face; then, catching sight of the strangers, hurriedly he took
+      up his position between them and M'Adam, assuming his natural attitude of
+      grisly defiance. Such a laughable spectacle he made, that martial mite,
+      standing at bay with bristles up and teeth bared, that even James Moore
+      smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ma word! Ha' yo' brought his muzzle, man?&rdquo; cried old Tammas, the
+      humorist; and, turning, climbed all in a heat on to an upturned bucket
+      that stood by. Whereat the puppy, emboldened by his foe's retreat,
+      advanced savagely to the attack, buzzing round the slippery pail like a
+      wasp on a windowpane, in a vain attempt to reach the old man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Tammas stood on the top, hitching his trousers and looking down on his
+      assailant, the picture of mortal fear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Elp! Oh, 'elp!&rdquo; he bawled. &ldquo;Send for the sogers! Fetch the p'lice! For
+      lawk-amussy's sake call him off, man!&rdquo; Even Sam'l Todd, watching the scene
+      from the cart-shed, was tickled and burst into a loud guffaw, heartily
+      backed by 'Enry and oor Job. While M'Adam remarked: &ldquo;Ye're fitter for a
+      stage than a stable-bucket, Mr. Thornton.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;How didst come by him?&rdquo; asked Tammas, nodding at the puppy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Found him,&rdquo; the little man replied, sucking his twig. &ldquo;Found him in ma
+      stockin' on ma birthday. A present from ma leetle David for his auld dad,
+      I doot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So do I,&rdquo; said Tammas, and was seized with sudden spasm of seemingly
+      causeless merriment. For looking up as M'Adam was speaking, he had caught
+      a glimpse of a boy's fair head, peering cautiously round the cow-shed,
+      and, behind, the flutter of short petticoats. They disappeared as silently
+      as they had come; and two small figures, just returned from school, glided
+      away and sought shelter in the friendly darkness of a coal-hole.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Coom awa', Maggie, coom awa'! 'Tis th' owd un, 'isself,&rdquo; whispered a
+      disrespectful voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam looked round suspiciously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's that?&rdquo; he asked sharply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the moment, however, Mrs. Moore put her head out of the kitchen window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Coom thy ways in, Mister M'Adam, and tak' a soop o' tea,&rdquo; she called
+      hospitably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank ye kindly, Mrs. Moore, I will,&rdquo; he answered, politely for him. And
+      this one good thing must be allowed of Adam M'Adam: that, if there was
+      only one woman of whom he was ever known to speak well, there was also
+      only one, in the whole course of his life, against whom he ever insinuated
+      evil&mdash;and that was years afterward, when men said his brain was
+      sapped. Flouts and jeers he had for every man, but a woman, good or bad,
+      was sacred to him. For the sex that had given him his mother and his wife
+      he had that sentiment of tender reverence which, if a man still preserve,
+      he cannot be altogether bad. As he turned into the house he looked back at
+      Red Wull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, we may leave him,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;That is, gin ye're no afraid, Mr.
+      Thornton?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Of what happened while the men were within doors, it is enough to tell two
+      things. First, that Owd Bob was no bully. Second, this: In the code of
+      sheep-dog honor there is written a word in stark black letters; and
+      opposite it another word, writ large in the color of blood. The first is
+      &ldquo;Sheep-murder&rdquo;; the second, &ldquo;Death.&rdquo; It is the one crime only to be wiped
+      away in blood; and to accuse of the crime is to offer the one unpardonable
+      insult. Every sheep-dog knows it, and every shepherd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That afternoon, as the men still talked, the quiet echoes of the farm rung
+      with a furious animal cry, twice repeated: &ldquo;Shot for sheep-murder&rdquo;&mdash;&ldquo;Shot
+      for sheep-murder&rdquo;; followed by a hollow stillness.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      The two men finished their colloquy. The matter was concluded peacefully,
+      mainly owing to the pacifying influence of Mrs. Moore. Together the three
+      went out into the yard; Mrs. Moore seizing the opportunity to shyly speak
+      on David's behalf.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's such a good little lad, I do think,&rdquo; she was saying.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye should ken, Mrs. Moore,&rdquo; the little man answered, a thought bitterly;
+      &ldquo;ye see enough of him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' mun be main proud of un, mester,&rdquo; the woman continued, heedless of
+      the sneer: &ldquo;an' 'im growin' such a gradely lad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam shrugged his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I barely ken the lad,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;By sight I know him, of course, but
+      barely to speak to. He's but seldom at hame.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An' hoo proud his mother'd be if she could see him,&rdquo; the woman continued,
+      well aware of his one tender place. &ldquo;Eh, but she was fond o' him, so she
+      was.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      An angry flush stole over the little man's face. Well he understood the
+      implied rebuke; and it hurt him like a knife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, ay, Mrs. Moore,&rdquo; he began. Then breaking off, and looking about him&mdash;&ldquo;Where's
+      ma Wullie?&rdquo; he cried excitedly. &ldquo;James Moore!&rdquo; whipping round on the
+      Master, &ldquo;ma Wullie's gone&mdash;gone, I say!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Elizabeth Moore turned away indignantly. &ldquo;I do declar' he tak's more fash
+      after yon little yaller beastie than iver he does after his own flesh,&rdquo;
+       she muttered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie, ma we doggie! Wullie, where are ye? James Moore, he's gone&mdash;ma
+      Wullie's gone!&rdquo; cried the little man, running about the yard, searching
+      everywhere.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cannot 'a' gotten far,&rdquo; said the Master, reassuringly, looking about him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Niver no tellin',&rdquo; said Sam'l, appearing on the scene, pig-bucket in
+      hand. &ldquo;I misdoot yo'll iver see your dog agin, mister.&rdquo; He turned
+      sorrowfully to M'Adam.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That little man, all dishevelled, and with the perspiration standing on
+      his face, came hurrying out of the cow-shed and danced up to the Master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's robbed I am&mdash;robbed, I tell ye!&rdquo; he cried recklessly. &ldquo;Ma wee
+      Wull's bin stolen while I was ben your hoose, James Moore!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' munna say that, ma mon. No robbin' at Kenmuir,&rdquo; the Master answered
+      sternly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then where is he? It's for you to say.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've ma own idee, I 'aye,&rdquo; Sam'l announced opportunely, pig-bucket
+      uplifted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam turned on him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, man? What is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I misdoot yo'll iver see your dog agin, mister,&rdquo; Sam'l repeated, as if he
+      was supplying the key to the mystery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Noo, Sam'l, if yo' know owt tell it,&rdquo; ordered his master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sam'l grunted sulkily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wheer's oor Bob, then?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At that M'Adam turned on the Master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tis that, nae doot. It's yer gray dog, James Moore, yer &mdash;&mdash;
+      dog. I might ha' kent it,&rdquo;&mdash;and he loosed off a volley of foul words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sweerin' will no find him,&rdquo; said the Master coldly. &ldquo;Noo, Sam'l.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The big man shifted his feet, and looked mournfully at M'Adam.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Twas 'appen 'aif an hour agone, when I sees oor Bob goin' oot o' yard
+      wi' little yaller tyke in his mouth. In a minnit I looks agin&mdash;and
+      theer! little yaller 'un was gone, and oor Bob a-sittin' a-lickin' his
+      chops. Gone foriver, I do reck'n. Ah, yo' may well take on, Tammas
+      Thornton!&rdquo; For the old man was rolling about the yard, bent double with
+      merriment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam turned on the Master with the resignation of despair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Man, Moore,&rdquo; he cried piteously, &ldquo;it's yer gray dog has murdered ma wee
+      Wull! Ye have it from yer ain man.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nonsense,&rdquo; said the Master encouragingly. &ldquo;'Tis but yon girt oof.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Sam'l tossed his head and snorted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Coom, then, and i'll show yo',&rdquo; he said, and led the way out of the yard.
+      And there below them on the slope to the stream, sitting like Justice at
+      the Courts of Law, was Owd Bob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Straightway Sam'l whose humor was something of the calibre of old Ross's,
+      the sexton, burst into horse-merriment. &ldquo;Why's he sittin' so still, think
+      'ee? Ho! Ho! See un lickin' his chops&mdash;ha! ha!&rdquo;&mdash;and he roared
+      afresh. While from afar you could hear the distant rumbling of 'Enry and
+      oor Job.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the sight, M'Adam burst into a storm of passionate invective, and would
+      have rushed on the dog had not James Moore forcibly restrained him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bob, lad,&rdquo; called the Master, &ldquo;coom here!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But even as he spoke, the gray dog cocked his ears, listened a moment, and
+      then shot down the slope. At the same moment Tammas hallooed: &ldquo;Theer he
+      be! yon's yaller un coomin' oot o' drain! La, Sam'l!&rdquo; And there, indeed,
+      on the slope below them, a little angry, smutty-faced figure was crawling
+      out of a rabbit-burrow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye murderin' devil, wad ye duar touch ma Wullie?&rdquo; yelled M'Adam, and,
+      breaking away, pursued hotly down the hill; for the gray dog had picked up
+      the puppy, like a lancer a tent-peg, and was sweeping on, his captive in
+      his mouth, toward the stream.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Behind, hurried James Moore and Sam'l, wondering what the issue of the
+      comedy would be. After them toddled old Tammas, chuckling. While over the
+      yard-wall was now a little cluster of heads: 'Enry, oor Job, Maggie and
+      David, and Vi'let Thornton, the dairy-maid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Straight on to the plank-bridge galloped Owd Bob. In the middle he halted,
+      leant over, and dropped his prisoner; who fell with a cool plop into the
+      running water beneath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Another moment and M'Adam had reached the bank of the stream. In he
+      plunged, splashing and cursing, and seized the struggling puppy; then
+      waded back, the waters surging about his waist, and Red Wull, limp as a
+      wet rag, in his hand. The little man's hair was dripping, for his cap was
+      gone; his clothes clung to him, exposing the miserableness of his figure;
+      and his eyes blazed like hot ashes in his wet face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He sprang on to the bank, and, beside himself with passion, rushed at Owd
+      Bob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Curse ye for a &mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stan' back, or yo'll have him at your throat!&rdquo; shouted the Master,
+      thundering up. &ldquo;Stan' back, I say, yo' fule!&rdquo; And, as the little man still
+      came madly on, he reached forth his hand and hurled him back; at the same
+      moment, bending, he buried the other hand deep in Owd Bob's shaggy neck.
+      It was but just in time; for if ever the fierce desire of battle gleamed
+      in gray eyes, it did in the young dog's as M'Adam came down on him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man staggered, tottered, and fell heavily. At the shock, the
+      blood gushed from his nose, and, mixing with the water on his face, ran
+      down in vague red streams, dripping off his chin; while Red Wull, jerked
+      from his grasp, was thrown afar, and lay motionless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Curse ye!&rdquo; M'Adam screamed, his face dead-white save for the running red
+      about his jaw. &ldquo;Curse ye for a cowardly Englishman!&rdquo; and, struggling to
+      his feet, he made at the Master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But Sam'l interposed his great bulk between the two.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Easy, little mon,&rdquo; he said leisurely, regarding the small fury before him
+      with mournful interest. &ldquo;Eh, but thee do be a little spit-cat, surely!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore stood, breathing deep, his hand still buried in Owd Bob's
+      coat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If yo'd touched him,&rdquo; he explained, &ldquo;I couldna ha' stopped him. He'd ha'
+      mauled yo' afore iver I could ha' had him off. They're bad to hold, the
+      Gray Dogs, when they're roosed.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, ma word, that they are!&rdquo; corroborated Tammas, speaking from the
+      experience of sixty years. &ldquo;Once on, yo' canna get 'em off.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man turned away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye're all agin me,&rdquo; he said, and his voice shook. A pitiful figure he
+      made, standing there with the water dripping from him. A red stream was
+      running slowly from his chin; his head was bare, and face working.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore stood eyeing him with some pity and some contempt. Behind was
+      Tammas, enjoying the scene. While Sam'l regarded them all with an
+      impassive melancholy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam turned and bent over Red Wull, who still lay like a dead thing. As
+      his master handled him, the button-tail quivered feebly; he opened his
+      eyes, looked about him, snarled faintly, and glared with devilish hate at
+      the gray dog and the group with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man picked him up, stroking him tenderly. Then he turned away
+      and on to the bridge. Half-way across he stopped. It rattled feverishly
+      beneath him, for he still trembled like a palsied man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Man, Moore!&rdquo; he called, striving to quell the agitation in his voice&mdash;&ldquo;I
+      wad shoot yon dog.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Across the bridge he turned again. &ldquo;Man, Moore!&rdquo; he called and paused.
+      &ldquo;Ye'll not forget this day.&rdquo; And with that the blood flared up a dull
+      crimson into his white face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_PART2" id="link2H_PART2">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      PART II THE LITTLE MAN
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter V. A MAN'S SON
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      THE storm, long threatened, having once burst, M'Adam allowed loose rein
+      to his bitter animosity against James Moore.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two often met. For the little man frequently returned home from the
+      village by the footpath across Kenmuir. It was out of his way, but he
+      preferred it in order to annoy his enemy and keep a watch upon his doings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He haunted Kenmuir like its evil genius. His sallow face was perpetually
+      turning up at inopportune moments. When Kenmuir Queen, the prize
+      short-horn heifer, calved unexpectedly and unattended in the dip by the
+      lane, Tammas and the Master, summoned hurriedly by Owd Bob, came running
+      up to find the little man leaning against the stile, and shaking with
+      silent merriment. Again, poor old Staggy, daring still in his dotage, took
+      a fall while scrambling on the steep banks of the Stony Bottom. There he
+      lay for hours, unnoticed and kicking, until James Moore and Owd Bob came
+      upon him at length, nearly exhausted. But M'Adam was before them. Standing
+      on the far bank with Red Wull by his side, he called across the gulf with
+      apparent concern: &ldquo;He's bin so sin' yesternight.&rdquo; Often James Moore, with
+      all his great strength of character, could barely control himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There were two attempts to patch up the feud. Jim Mason, who went about
+      the world seeking to do good, tried in his shy way to set things right.
+      But M'Adam and his Red Wull between them soon shut him and Betsy up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You mind yer letters and yer wires, Mr. Poacher-Postman. Ay, I saw 'em
+      baith: th' ain doon by the Haughs, t'ither in the Bottom. And there's
+      Wullie, the humorsome chiel, havin' a rare game wi' Betsy.&rdquo; There, indeed,
+      lay the faithful Betsy, suppliant on her back, paws up, throat exposed,
+      while Red Wull, now a great-grown puppy, stood over her, his habitually
+      evil expression intensified into a fiendish grin, as with wrinkled muzzle
+      and savage wheeze he waited for a movement as a pretext to pin: &ldquo;Wullie,
+      let the leddy be&mdash;ye've had yer dinner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Parson Leggy was the other would-be mediator; for he hated to see the two
+      principal parishioners of his tiny cure at enmity. First he tackled James
+      Moore on the subject; but that laconic person cut him short with, &ldquo;I've
+      nowt agin the little mon,&rdquo; and would say no more. And, indeed, the quarrel
+      was none of his making.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of the parson's interview with M'Adam, it is enough to say here that, in
+      the end, the angry old minister would of a surety have assaulted his
+      mocking adversary had not Cyril Gilbraith forcibly withheld him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And after that the vendetta must take its course unchecked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David was now the only link between the two farms. Despite his father's
+      angry commands, the boy clung to his intimacy with the Moores with a
+      doggedness that no thrashing could overcome. Not a minute of the day when
+      out of school, holidays and Sundays included, but was passed at Kenmuir.
+      It was not till late at night that he would sneak back to the Grange, and
+      creep quietly up to his tiny bare room in the roof&mdash;not supperless,
+      indeed, motherly Mrs. Moore had seen to that. And there he would lie awake
+      and listen with a fierce contempt as his father, hours later, lurched into
+      the kitchen below, lilting liquorishly:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;We are na fou, we're nae that fou,
+     But just a drappie in our e'e;
+     The cock may craw, the day may daw',
+     And ay we'll taste the barley bree!&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      And in the morning the boy would slip quietly out of the house while his
+      father still slept; only Red Wull would thrust out his savage head as the
+      lad passed, and snarl hungrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sometimes father and son would go thus for weeks without sight of one
+      another. And that was David's aim&mdash;to escape attention. It was only
+      his cunning at this game of evasion that saved him a thrashing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man seemed devoid of all natural affection for his son. He
+      lavished the whole fondness of which his small nature appeared capable on
+      the Tailless Tyke, for so the Dalesmen called Red Wull. And the dog he
+      treated with a careful tenderness that made David smile bitterly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man and his dog were as alike morally as physically they were
+      contrasted. Each owed a grudge against the world and was determined to pay
+      it. Each was an Ishmael among his kind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      You saw them thus, standing apart, leper-like, in the turmoil of life; and
+      it came quite as a revelation to happen upon them in some quiet spot of
+      nights, playing together, each wrapped in the game, innocent, tender,
+      forgetful of the hostile world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two were never separated except only when M'Adam came home by the path
+      across Kenmuir. After that first misadventure he never allowed his friend
+      to accompany him on the journey through the enemy's country; for well he
+      knew that sheep-dogs have long memories.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To the stile in the lane, then, Red Wull would follow him. There he would
+      stand, his great head poked through the bars, watching his master out of
+      sight; and then would turn and trot, self-reliant and defiant, sturdy and
+      surly, down the very centre of the road through the village&mdash;no
+      playing, no enticing away, and woe to that man or dog who tried to stay
+      him in his course! And so on, past Mother Ross's shop, past the Sylvester
+      Arms, to the right by Kirby's smithy, over the Wastrel by the Haughs, to
+      await his master at the edge of the Stony Bottom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man, when thus crossing Kenmuir, often met Owd Bob, who had the
+      free run of the farm. On these occasions he passed discreetly by; for,
+      though he was no coward, yet it is bad, single-handed, to attack a Gray
+      Dog of Kenmuir; while the dog trotted soberly on his way, only a steely
+      glint in the big gray eyes betraying his knowledge of the presence of his
+      foe. As surely, however, as the little man, in his desire to spy out the
+      nakedness of the land, strayed off the public path, so surely a gray
+      figure, seeming to spring from out the blue, would come fiercely, silently
+      driving down on him; and he would turn and run for his life, amid the
+      uproarious jeers of any of the farm-hands who were witness to the
+      encounter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On these occasions David vied with Tammas in facetiousness at his father's
+      expense.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Good on yo', little un!&rdquo; he roared from behind a wall, on one such
+      occurrence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bain't he a runner, neither?&rdquo; yelled Tammas, not to be outdone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;See un skip it&mdash;ho! ho! Look to his knees a-wamblin'! from the
+      undutiful son in ecstasy. An' I'd knees like yon, I'd wear petticoats.&rdquo; As
+      he spoke, a swinging box on the ear nearly knocked the young reprobate
+      down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;D'yo' think God gave you a dad for you to jeer at? Y'ought to be ashamed
+      o' yo'self. Serve yo' right if he does thrash yo' when yo' get home.&rdquo; And
+      David, turning round, found James Moore close behind him, his heavy
+      eyebrows lowering over his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Luckily, M'Adam had not distinguished his son's voice among the others.
+      But David feared he had; for on the following morning the little man said
+      to him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;David, ye'll come hame immediately after school to-day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will I?&rdquo; said David pertly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      ''Ye will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Because I tell ye to, ma lad&rdquo;; and that was all the reason he would give.
+      Had he told the simple fact that he wanted help to drench a &ldquo;husking&rdquo; ewe,
+      things might have gone differently. As it was, David turned away defiantly
+      down the hill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The afternoon wore on. Schooltime was long over; still there was no David.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man waited at the door of the Grange, fuming, hopping from one
+      leg to the other, talking to Red Wull, who lay at his feet, his head on
+      his paws, like a tiger waiting for his prey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length he could restrain himself no longer; and started running down
+      the hill, his heart burning with indignation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wait till we lay hands on ye, ma lad,&rdquo; he muttered as he ran. &ldquo;We'll warm
+      ye, we'll teach ye.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the edge of the Stony Bottom he, as always, left Red Wull. Crossing it
+      himself, and rounding Langholm How, he espied James Moore, David, and Owd
+      Bob walking away from him and in the direction of Kenmuir. The gray dog
+      and David were playing together, wrestling, racing, and rolling. The boy
+      had never a thought for his father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man ran up behind them, unseen and unheard, his feet softly
+      pattering on the grass. His hand had fallen on David's shoulder before the
+      boy had guessed his approach.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did I bid ye come hame after school, David?&rdquo; he asked, concealing his
+      heat beneath a suspicious suavity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maybe. Did I say I would come?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The pertness of tone and words, alike, fanned his father's resentment into
+      a blaze. In a burst of passion he lunged forward at the boy with his
+      stick. But as he smote, a gray whirlwind struck him fair on the chest, and
+      he fell like a snapped stake, and lay, half stunned, with a dark muzzle an
+      inch from his throat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Git back, Bob!&rdquo; shouted James Moore, hurrying up. &ldquo;Git back, I tell yo'!&rdquo;
+       He bent over the prostrate figure, propping it up anxiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are yo' hurt, M'Adam? Eh, but I am sorry. He thought yo' were going for
+      to strike the lad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David had now run up, and he, too, bent over his father with a very scared
+      face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are yo' hurt, feyther?&rdquo; he asked, his voice trembling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man rose unsteadily to his feet and shook off his supporters.
+      His face was twitching, and he stood, all dust-begrimed, looking at his
+      son.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye're content, aiblins, noo ye've seen yer father's gray head bowed in
+      the dust,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Twas an accident,&rdquo; pleaded James Moore. &ldquo;But I <i>am</i> sorry. He
+      thought yo' were goin' to beat the lad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So I was&mdash;so I will.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If ony's beat it should be ma Bob here tho' he nob'but thought he was
+      doin' right. An' yo' were aff the path.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man looked at his enemy, a sneer on his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye canna thrash him for doin' what ye bid him. Set yer dog on me, if ye
+      will, but dinna beat him when he does yer biddin'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did not set him on yo', as you know,&rdquo; the Master replied warmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam shrugged his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll no argie wi' ye, James Moore,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I'll leave you and what ye
+      call yer conscience to settle that. My business is not wi' you.&mdash;David!&rdquo;
+       turning to his son.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A stranger might well have mistaken the identity of the boy's father. For
+      he stood now, holding the Master's arm; while a few paces above them was
+      the little man, pale but determined, the expression on his face betraying
+      his consciousness of the irony of the situation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will ye come hame wi' me and have it noo, or stop wi' him and wait till
+      ye get it?&rdquo; he asked the boy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;M'Adam, I'd like yo' to&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;None o' that, James Moore.&mdash;David, what d'ye say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David looked up into his protector's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo'd best go wi' your feyther, lad,&rdquo; said the Master at last, thickly.
+      The boy hesitated, and clung tighter to the shielding arm; then he walked
+      slowly over to his father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A bitter smile spread over the little man's face as he marked this new
+      test of the boy's obedience to the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;To obey his frien' he foregoes the pleasure o' disobeyin' his father,&rdquo; he
+      muttered. &ldquo;Noble!&rdquo; Then he turned homeward, and the boy followed in his
+      footsteps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore and the gray dog stood looking after them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know yo'll not pay off yer spite agin me on the lad's head, M'Adam,&rdquo; he
+      called, almost appealingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll do ma duty, thank ye, James Moore, wi'oot respect o' persons,&rdquo; the
+      little man cried back, never turning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Father and son walked away, one behind the other, like a man and his dog,
+      and there was no word said between them. Across the Stony Bottom, Red
+      Wull, scowling with bared teeth at David, joined them. Together the three
+      went up the bill to the Grange.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the kitchen M'Adam turned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Noo, I'm gaein' to gie ye the gran'est thrashin' ye iver dreamed of. Tak'
+      aff yer coat!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy obeyed, and stood up in his thin shirt, his face white and set as
+      a statue's. Red Wull seated himself on his haunches close by, his ears
+      pricked, licking his lips, all attention.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man suppled the great ash-plant in his hands and raised it. But
+      the expression on the boy's face arrested his arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say ye're sorry and I'll let yer aff easy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One mair chance&mdash;yer last! Say yer 'shamed o' yerself'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man brandished his cruel, white weapon, and Red Wull shifted a
+      little to obtain a better view.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Git on wi' it,&rdquo; ordered David angrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man raised the stick again and&mdash;threw it into the farthest
+      corner of the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It fell with a rattle on the floor, and M'Adam turned away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye're the pitifulest son iver a man had,&rdquo; he cried brokenly. &ldquo;Gin a man's
+      son dinna haud to him, wha can he expect to?&mdash;no one. Ye're
+      ondootiful, ye're disrespectfu', ye're maist ilka thing ye shouldna be;
+      there's but ae thing I thocht ye were not&mdash;a coward. And as to that,
+      ye've no the pluck to say ye're sorry when, God knows, ye might be. I
+      canna thrash ye this day. But ye shall gae nae mair to school. I send ye
+      there to learn. Ye'll not learn&mdash;ye've learnt naethin' except
+      disobedience to me&mdash;ye shall stop at hame and work.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      His father's rare emotion, his broken voice and working face, moved David
+      as all the stripes and jeers had failed to do. His conscience smote him.
+      For the first time in his life it dimly dawned on him that, perhaps, his
+      father, too, had some ground for complaint; that, perhaps, he was not a
+      good son.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He half turned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Feyther&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Git oot o' ma sight!&rdquo; M'Adam cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And the boy turned and went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter VI. A LICKING OR A LIE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      THENCEFORWARD David buckled down to work at home, and in one point only
+      father and son resembled&mdash;industry. A drunkard M'Adam was, but a
+      drone, no.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy worked at the Grange with tireless, indomitable energy; yet he
+      could never satisfy his father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man would stand, a sneer on his face and his thin lips
+      contemptuously curled, and flout the lad's brave labors.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is he no a gran' worker, Wullie? 'Tis a pleasure to watch him, his hands
+      in his pockets, his eyes turned heavenward!&rdquo; as the boy snatched a
+      hard-earned moment's rest. &ldquo;You and I, Wullie, we'll brak' oorsel's
+      slavin' for him while he looks on and laffs.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And so on, the whole day through, week in, week out; till he sickened with
+      weariness of it all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In his darkest hours David thought sometimes to run away. He was miserably
+      alone on the cold bosom of the world. The very fact that he was the son of
+      his father isolated him in the Daleland. Naturally of a reserved
+      disposition, he had no single friend outside Kenmuir. And it was only the
+      thought of his friends there that withheld him. He could not bring himself
+      to part from them; they were all he had in the world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So he worked on at the Grange, miserably, doggedly, taking blows and abuse
+      alike in burning silence. But every evening, when work was ended, he
+      stepped off to his other home beyond the Stony Bottom. And on Sundays and
+      holidays&mdash;for of these latter he took, unasking, what he knew to be
+      his due&mdash;all day long, from cock-crowing to the going down of the
+      sun, he would pass at Kenmuir. In this one matter the boy was invincibly
+      stubborn. Nothing his father could say or do sufficed to break him of the
+      habit. He endured everything with white-lipped, silent doggedness, and
+      still held on his way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once past the Stony Bottom, he threw his troubles behind him with a
+      courage that did him honor. Of all the people at Kenmuir two only ever
+      dreamed the whole depth of his unhappiness, and that not through David.
+      James Moore suspected something of it all, for he knew more of M'Adam than
+      did the others. While Owd Bob knew it as did no one else. He could tell it
+      from the touch of the boy's hand on his head; and the story was writ large
+      upon his face for a dog to read. And he would follow the lad about with a
+      compassion in his sad gray eyes greater than words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David might well compare his gray friend at Kenmuir with that other at the
+      Grange.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Tailless Tyke had now grown into an immense dog, heavy of muscle and
+      huge of bone. A great bull head; undershot jaw, square and lengthy and
+      terrible; vicious, yellow-gleaming eyes; cropped ears; and an expression
+      incomparably savage. His coat was a tawny, lion-like yellow, short, harsh,
+      dense; and his back, running up from shoulder to loins, ended abruptly in
+      the knob-like tail. He looked like the devil of a dogs' hell. And his
+      reputation was as bad as his looks. He never attacked unprovoked; but a
+      challenge was never ignored, and he was greedy of insults. Already he had
+      nigh killed Rob Saunderson's collie, Shep; Jem Burton's Monkey fled
+      incontinently at the sound of his approach; while he had even fought a
+      round with that redoubtable trio, the Vexer, Venus, and Van Tromp.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nor, in the matter of war, did he confine himself to his own kind. His
+      huge strength and indomitable courage made him the match of almost
+      anything that moved. Long Kirby once threatened him with a broomstick; the
+      smith never did it again. While in the Border Ram he attacked Big Bell,
+      the Squire's underkeeper, with such murderous fury that it took all the
+      men in the room to pull him off.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      More than once had he and Owd Bob essayed to wipe out mutual memories, Red
+      Wull, in this case only, the aggressor. As yet, however, while they fenced
+      a moment for that deadly throat-grip, the value of which each knew so
+      well, James Moore had always seized the chance to intervene.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's right, hide him ahint yer petticoats,&rdquo; sneered M'Adam on one of
+      these occasions.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hide? It'll not be him I'll hide, I warn you, M'Adam,&rdquo; the Master
+      answered grimly, as he stood, twirling his good oak stick between the
+      would-be duellists. Whereat there was a loud laugh at the little man's
+      expense.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It seemed as if there were to be other points of rivalry between the two
+      than memories. For, in the matter of his own business&mdash;the handling
+      of sheep&mdash;Red Wull bid fair to be second only throughout the Daleland
+      to the Gray Dog of Kenmuir. And M'Adam was patient and painstaking in the
+      training of his Wullie in a manner to astonish David. It would have been
+      touching, had it not been so unnatural in view of his treatment of his own
+      blood, to watch the tender carefulness with which the little man moulded
+      the dog beneath his hands. After a promising display he would stand,
+      rubbing his palms together, as near content as ever he was.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+&ldquo;Weel done, Wullie! Weel done. Bide a wee and we'll show 'em a thing or
+two, you and I, Wullie.
+
+     &ldquo;'The warld's wrack we share o't,
+     The warstle and the care o't.'
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      For it's you and I alane, lad.&rdquo; And the dog would trot up to him, place
+      his great forepaws on his shoulders, and stand thus with his great head
+      overtopping his master's, his ears back, and stump tail vibrating.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      You saw them at their best when thus together, displaying each his one
+      soft side to the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From the very first David and Red Wull were open enemies: under the
+      circumstances, indeed, nothing else was possible. Sometimes the great dog
+      would follow on the lad's heels with surly, greedy eyes, never leaving him
+      from sunrise to sundown, till David could hardly hold his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So matters went on for a never-ending year. Then there came a climax.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One evening, on a day throughout which Red Wull had dogged him thus
+      hungrily, David, his work finished, went to pick up his coat, which he had
+      left hard by. On it lay Red Wull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Git off ma coat!&rdquo; the boy ordered angrily, marching up. But the great dog
+      never stirred: he lifted a lip to show a fence of white, even teeth, and
+      seemed to sink lower in the ground; his head on his paws, his eyes in his
+      forehead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come and take it!&rdquo; he seemed to say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now what, between master and dog, David had endured almost more than he
+      could bear that day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' won't, won't yo', girt brute!&rdquo; he shouted, and bending, snatched a
+      corner of the coat and attempted to jerk it away. At that, Red Wull rose,
+      shivering, to his feet, and with a low gurgle sprang at the boy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David, quick as a flash, dodged, bent, and picked up an ugly stake, lying
+      at his feet. Swinging round, all in a moment, he dealt his antagonist a
+      mighty buffet on the side of the head. Dazed with the blow, the great dog
+      fell; then, recovering himself, with a terrible, deep roar he sprang
+      again. Then it must have gone hard with the boy, fine-grown, muscular
+      young giant though he was. For Red Wull was now in the first bloom of that
+      great strength which earned him afterward an undying notoriety in the
+      land.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As it chanced, however, M'Adam had watched the scene from the kitchen. And
+      now he came hurrying out of the house, shrieking commands and curses at
+      the combatants. As Red Wull sprang, he interposed between the two, head
+      back and eyes flashing. His small person received the full shock of the
+      charge. He staggered, but recovered, and in an imperative voice ordered
+      the dog to heel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he turned on David, seized the stake from his hand, and began
+      furiously belaboring the boy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll teach ye to strike&mdash;a puir&mdash;dumb&mdash;harmless&mdash;creetur,
+      ye&mdash;cruel&mdash;cruel&mdash;-lad!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Hoo daur ye strike&mdash;ma&mdash;&mdash;Wullie?
+      yer&mdash;father's&mdash;&mdash;Wullie? Adam&mdash;M 'Adam's&mdash;Red
+      Wull?&rdquo; He was panting from his exertions, and his eyes were blazing. &ldquo;I
+      pit up as best I can wi' all manner o' disrespect to masel'; but when it
+      comes to takin' ma puir Wullie, I canna thole it. Ha' ye no heart?&rdquo; he
+      asked, unconscious of the irony of the question.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As much as some, I reck'n,&rdquo; David muttered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, what's that? What d'ye say?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye may thrash me till ye're blind; and it's nob'but yer duty; but if only
+      one daurs so much as to look at yer Wullie ye're mad,&rdquo; the boy answered
+      bitterly. And with that he turned away defiantly and openly in the
+      direction of Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam made a step forward, and then stopped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll see ye agin, ma lad, this evenin',&rdquo; he cried with cruel
+      significance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I doot but yo'll be too drunk to see owt&mdash;except, 'appen, your
+      bottle,&rdquo; the boy shouted back; and swaggered down the hill.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      At Kenmuir that night the marked and particular kindness of Elizabeth
+      Moore was too much for the overstrung lad. Overcome by the contrast of her
+      sweet motherliness, he burst into a storm of invective against his father,
+      his home, his life&mdash;everything.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't 'ee, Davie, don't 'ee, dearie!&rdquo; cried Mrs. Moore, much distressed.
+      And taking him to her she talked to the great, sobbing boy as though he
+      were a child. At length he lifted his face and looked up; and, seeing the
+      white, wan countenance of his dear comforter, was struck with tender
+      remorse that he had given way and pained her, who looked so frail and thin
+      herself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He mastered himself with an effort; and, for the rest of the evening, was
+      his usual cheery self. He teased Maggie into tears; chaffed stolid little
+      Andrew; and bantered Sam'l Todd until that generally impassive man
+      threatened to bash his snout for him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet it was with a great swallowing at his throat that, later, he turned
+      down the slope for home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore and Parson Leggy accompanied him to the bridge over the
+      Wastrel, and stood a while watching as he disappeared into the summer
+      night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yon's a good lad,&rdquo; said the Master half to himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; the parson replied; &ldquo;I always thought there was good in the boy, if
+      only his father'd give him a chance. And look at the way Owd Bob there
+      follows him. There's not another soul outside Kenmuir he'd do that for.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, sir,&rdquo; said the Master. &ldquo;Bob knows a mon when he sees one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He does,&rdquo; acquiesced the other. &ldquo;And by the by, James, the talk in the
+      village is that you've settled not to run him for the Cup. Is, that so?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master nodded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It is, sir. They're all mad I should, but I mun cross 'em. They say he's
+      reached his prime&mdash;and so he has o' his body, but not o' his brain.
+      And a sheep-dog&mdash;unlike other dogs&mdash;is not at his best till his
+      brain is at its best&mdash;and that takes a while developin', same as in a
+      mon, I reck'n.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, well,&rdquo; said the parson, pulling out a favorite phrase, &ldquo;waiting's
+      winning&mdash;waiting's winning.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      David slipped up into his room and into bed unseen, he hoped. Alone with
+      the darkness, he allowed himself the rare relief of tears; and at length
+      fell asleep. He awoke to find his father standing at his bedside. The
+      little man held a feeble dip-candle in his hand, which lit his sallow face
+      in crude black and white. In the doorway, dimly outlined, was the great
+      figure of Red Wull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whaur ha' ye been the day?&rdquo; the little man asked. Then, looking down on
+      the white stained face beneath him, he added hurriedly: &ldquo;If ye like to
+      lie, I'll believe ye.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David was out of bed and standing up in his night-shirt. He looked at his
+      father contemptuously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I ha' bin at Kenmuir. I'll not lie for yo' or your likes,&rdquo; he said
+      proudly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man shrugged his shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tell a lee and stick to it,' is my rule, and a good one, too, in honest
+      England. I for one 'll no think ony the worse o' ye if yer memory plays
+      yer false.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;D'yo' think I care a kick what yo' think o' me?&rdquo; the boy asked brutally.
+      &ldquo;Nay; there's 'nough liars in this fam'ly wi'oot me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The candle trembled and was still again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A lickin' or a lie&mdash;tak' yer choice!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy looked scornfully down on his father. Standing on his naked feet,
+      he already towered half a head above the other and was twice the man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;D'yo' think I'm fear'd o' a thrashin' fra yo'? Goo' gracious me!&rdquo; he
+      sneered. &ldquo;Why, I'd as lief let owd Grammer Maddox lick me, for all I
+      care.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A reference to his physical insufficiencies fired the little man as surely
+      as a lighted match powder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye maun be cauld, standin' there so. Rin ye doon and fetch oor little
+      frien'&rdquo;&mdash;a reference to a certain strap hanging in the kitchen. &ldquo;I'll
+      see if I can warm ye.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David turned and stumbled down the unlit, narrow stairs. The hard, cold
+      boards struck like death against his naked feet. At his heels followed Red
+      Wull, his hot breath fanning the boy's bare legs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So into the kitchen and back up the stairs, and Red Wull always following.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll no despair yet o' teachin' ye the fifth commandment, though I kill
+      masel' in doin' it!&rdquo; cried the little man, seizing the strap from the
+      boy's numb grasp.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      When it was over, M'Adam turned, breathless, away. At the threshold of the
+      room he stopped and looked round: a little, dim-lit, devilish figure,
+      framed in the door; while from the blackness behind, Red Wull's eyes
+      gleamed yellow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Glancing back, the little man caught such an expression on David's face
+      that for once he was fairly afraid. He banged the door and hobbled
+      actively down the stairs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter VII. THE WHITE WINTER
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      M'ADAM&mdash;in his sober moments at least&mdash;never touched David
+      again; instead, he devoted himself to the more congenial exercise of the
+      whiplash of his tongue. And he was wise; for David, who was already nigh a
+      head the taller of the two, and comely and strong in proportion, could, if
+      he would, have taken his father in the hollow of his hand and crumpled him
+      like a dry leaf. Moreover, with his tongue, at least, the little man
+      enjoyed the noble pleasure of making the boy wince. And so the war was
+      carried on none the less vindictively.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile another summer was passing away, and every day brought fresh
+      proofs of the prowess of Owd Bob. Tammas, whose stock of yarns anent Rex
+      son of Rally had after forty years' hard wear begun to pall on the loyal
+      ears of even old Jonas, found no lack of new material now. In the
+      Dalesman's Daughter in Silverdale and in the Border Ram at Grammoch-town,
+      each succeeding market day brought some fresh tale. Men told how the gray
+      dog had outdone Gypsy Jack, the sheep-sneak; how he had cut out a Kenmuir
+      shearling from the very centre of Londesley's pack; and a thousand like
+      stories.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Gray Dogs of Kenmuir have always been equally heroes and favorites in
+      the Daleland. And the confidence of the Dalesmen in Owd Bob was now
+      invincible. Sometimes on market days he would execute some unaccountable
+      maneuvre, and... strange shepherd would ask: &ldquo;What's the gray dog at?&rdquo; To
+      which the nearest Dalesman would reply: &ldquo;Nay, I canno tell ye! But he's
+      reet enough. Yon's Owd Bob o' Kenmuir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Whereon the stranger would prick his ears and watch with close attention.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yon's Owd Bob o' Kenmuir, is he?&rdquo; he would say; for already among the
+      faculty the name was becoming known. And never in such a case did the
+      young dog fail to justify the faith of his supporters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It came, therefore, as a keen disappointment to every Dalesman, from
+      Herbert Trotter, Secretary of the Trials, to little Billy Thornton, when
+      the Master persisted in his decision not to run the dog for the Cup in the
+      approaching Dale Trials; and that though parson, squire, and even Lady
+      Eleanour essayed to shake his purpose. It was nigh fifty years since Rex
+      son o' Rally had won back the Trophy for the land that gave it birth; it
+      was time, they thought, for a Daleland dog, a Gray Dog of Kenmuir&mdash;the
+      terms are practically synonymous&mdash;to bring it home again. And Tammas,
+      that polished phrase-maker, was only expressing the feelings of every
+      Dalesman in the room when, one night at the Arms, he declared of Owd Bob
+      that &ldquo;to ha' run was to ha' won.&rdquo; At which M'Adam sniggered audibly and
+      winked at Red Wull. &ldquo;To ha' run was to ha' one&mdash;lickin'; to rin next
+      year'll be to&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Win next year.&rdquo; Tammas interposed dogmatically. &ldquo;Onless&rdquo;&mdash;with
+      shivering sarcasm&mdash;&ldquo;you and yer Wullie are thinkin' o' winnin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man rose from his solitary seat at the back of the room and
+      pattered across. &ldquo;Wullie and I are thinkin' o' t,&rdquo; he whispered loudly in
+      the old man's ear. &ldquo;And mair: what Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull think o'
+      doin', that, ye may remairk, Mr. Thornton, they do. Next year we rin, and
+      next year&mdash;we win. Come, Wullie, we'll leave 'em to chew that&rdquo;; and
+      he marched out of the room amid the jeers of the assembled topers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When quiet was restored, it was Jim Mason who declared: &ldquo;One thing
+      certain, win or no, they'll not be far off.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile the summer ended abruptly. Hard on the heels of a sweltering
+      autumn the winter came down. In that year the Daleland assumed very early
+      its white cloak. The Silver Mere was soon ice-veiled; the Wastrel rolled
+      sullenly down below Kenmuir, its creeks and quiet places tented with
+      jagged sheets of ice; while the Scaur and Muir Pike raised hoary heads
+      against the frosty blue. It was the season still remembered in the North
+      as the White Winter&mdash;the worst, they say, since the famous 1808.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For days together Jim Mason was stuck with his bags in the Dalesman's
+      Daughter, and there was no communication between the two Dales. On the
+      Mere Marches the snow massed deep and impassable in thick, billowy drifts.
+      In the Devil's Bowl men said it lay piled some score feet deep. And sheep,
+      seeking shelter in the ghylls and protected spots, were buried and lost in
+      their hundreds.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That is the time to test the hearts of shepherds and sheep-dogs, when the
+      wind runs ice-cold across the waste of white, and the low woods on the
+      upland walks shiver black through a veil of snow, and sheep must be found
+      and folded or lost: a trial of head as well as heart, of resource as well
+      as resolution.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In that winter more than one man and many a dog lost his life in the quiet
+      performance of his duty, gliding to death over the slippery snow-shelves,
+      or overwhelmed beneath an avalanche of the warm, suffocating white:
+      &ldquo;smoored,&rdquo; as they call it. Many a deed was done, many a death died,
+      recorded only in that Book which holds the names of those&mdash;men or
+      animals, souls or no souls&mdash;who tried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They found old Wrottesley, the squire's head shepherd, lying one morning
+      at Gill's foot, like a statue in its white bed, the snow gently blowing
+      about the venerable face, calm and beautiful in death. And stretched upon
+      his bosom, her master's hands blue, and stiff, still clasped about her
+      neck, his old dog Jess. She had huddled there, as a last hope, to keep the
+      dear, dead master warm, her great heart riven, hoping where there was no
+      hope.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That night she followed him to herd sheep in a better land. Death from
+      exposure, Dingley, the vet., gave it; but as little M'Adam, his eyes
+      dimmer than their wont, declared huskily; &ldquo;We ken better, Wullie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Cyril Gilbraith, a young man not overburdened with emotions, told with a
+      sob in his voice how, at the terrible Rowan Rock, Jim Mason had stood,
+      impotent, dumb, big-eyed, watching Betsy&mdash;Betsy, the friend and
+      partner of the last ten years&mdash;slipping over the ice-cold surface,
+      silently appealing to the hand that had never failed her before&mdash;sliding
+      to Eternity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the Daleland that winter the endurance of many a shepherd and his dog
+      was strained past breaking-point. From the frozen Black Water to the
+      white-peaked Grammoch Pike two men only, each always with his shaggy
+      adjutant, never owned defeat; never turned back; never failed in a thing
+      attempted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the following spring, Mr. Tinkerton, the squire's agent, declared that
+      James Moore and Adam M'Adam&mdash;Owd Bob, rather, and Red Wull&mdash;had
+      lost between them fewer sheep than any single farmer on the whole March
+      Mere Estate&mdash;a proud record.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of the two, many a tale was told that winter. They were invincible,
+      incomparable; worthy antagonists.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was Owd Bob who, when he could not drive the band of Black Faces over
+      the narrow Razorback which led to safety, induced them to <i>follow</i>
+      him across that ten-inch death-track, one by one, like children behind
+      their mistress. It was Red Wull who was seen coming down the precipitous
+      Saddler's How, shouldering up that grand old gentleman, King o' the Dale,
+      whose leg was broken.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The gray dog it was who found Cyril Gilbraith by the White Stones, with a
+      cigarette and a sprained ankle, on the night the whole village was out
+      with lanterns searching for the well-loved young scapegrace. It was the
+      Tailless Tyke and his master who one bitter evening came upon little Mrs.
+      Burton, lying in a huddle beneath the lea of the fast-whitening Druid's
+      Pillar with her latest baby on her breast. It was little M'Adam who took
+      off his coat and wrapped the child in it; little M'Adam who unwound his
+      plaid, threw it like a breastband across the dog's great chest, and tied
+      the ends round the weary woman's waist. Red Wull it was who dragged her
+      back to the Sylvester Arms and life, straining like a giant through the
+      snow, while his master staggered behind with the babe in his arms. When
+      they reached the inn it was M'Adam who, with a smile on his face, told the
+      landlord what he thought of him for sending <i>his</i> wife across the
+      Marches on such a day and on his errand. To which: &ldquo;I'd a cauld,&rdquo; pleaded
+      honest Jem.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For days together David could not cross the Stony Bottom to Kenmuir. His
+      enforced confinement to the Grange led, however, to no more frequent
+      collisions than usual with his father. For M'Adam and Red Wull were out,
+      at all hours, in all weathers, night and day, toiling at their work of
+      salvation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last, one afternoon, David managed to cross the Bottom at a point where
+      a fallen thorn-tree gave him a bridge over the soft snow. He stayed but a
+      little while at Kenmuir, yet when he started for home it was snowing
+      again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By the time he had crossed the ice-draped bridge over the Wastrel, a
+      blizzard was raging. The wind roared past him, smiting him so that he
+      could barely stand; and the snow leaped at him so that he could not see.
+      But he held on doggedly; slipping, sliding, tripping, down and up again,
+      with one arm shielding his face. On, on, into the white darkness, blindly
+      on sobbing, stumbling, dazed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length, nigh dead, he reached the brink of the Stony Bottom. He looked
+      up and he looked down, but nowhere in that blinding mist could he see the
+      fallen thorn-tree. He took a step forward into the white morass, and 'sank
+      up to his thigh. He struggled feebly to free himself, and sank deeper. The
+      snow wreathed, twisting, round him like a white flame, and he collapsed,
+      softly crying, on that soft bed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I canna&mdash;I canna!&rdquo; he moaned.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Little Mrs. Moore, her face whiter and frailer than ever, stood at the
+      window, looking out into the storm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I canna rest for thinkin' o' th' lad,&rdquo; she said. Then, turning, she saw
+      her husband, his fur cap down over his ears, buttoning his pilot-coat
+      about his throat, while Owd Bob stood at his feet, waiting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye're no goin', James?&rdquo; she asked, anxiously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I am, lass,&rdquo; he answered; and she knew him too well to say more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So those two went quietly out to save life or lose it, nor counted the
+      cost.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Down a wind-shattered slope&mdash;over a spar of ice&mdash;up an eternal
+      hill&mdash;a forlorn hope.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a whirlwind chaos of snow, the tempest storming at them, the white
+      earth lashing them, they fought a good fight. In front, Owd Bob, the snow
+      clogging his shaggy coat, his hair cutting like lashes of steel across
+      eyes, his head lowered as he followed the finger of God; and close behind,
+      James Moore, his back stern against the storm, stalwart still, yet swaying
+      like a tree before the wind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So they battled through to the brink of the Stony Bottom&mdash;only to
+      arrive too late.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For, just as the Master peering about him, had caught sight of a shapeless
+      lump lying motionless in front, there loomed across the snow-choked gulf
+      through the white riot of the storm a gigantic figure forging, doggedly
+      forward, his great head down to meet the hurricane. And close behind,
+      buffeted and bruised, stiff and staggering, a little dauntless figure
+      holding stubbornly on, clutching with one hand at the gale; and a shrill
+      voice, whirled away on the trumpet tones of the wind, crying:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     'Noo, Wullie, wi' me!
+     Scots wha' hae wi' Wallace bled!
+     Scots wham Bruce has often led!
+     Welcome to &mdash;&mdash;!'
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here he is, Wullie!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     '&mdash;or to victorie!&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      The brave little voice died away. The quest; was over; the lost sheep
+      found. And the last James Moore saw of them was the same small, gallant
+      form, half carrying, half dragging the rescued boy out of the Valley of
+      the Shadow and away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David was none the worse for his adventure, for on reaching home M'Adam
+      produced a familiar bottle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here's something to warm yer inside, and&rdquo;&mdash;making a feint at the
+      strap on the walls&mdash;' &ldquo;here's something to do the same by yer &mdash;&mdash;.
+      But, Wullie, oot again!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And out they went&mdash;unreckoned heroes.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      It was but a week later, in the very heart of the bitter time, that there
+      came a day when, from gray dawn to grayer eve, neither James Moore nor Owd
+      Bob stirred out into the wintry white. And the Master's face was hard and
+      set as it always was in time of trouble.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Outside, the wind screamed down the Dale; while the snow fell
+      relentlessly; softly fingering the windows, blocking the doors, and piling
+      deep against the walls. Inside the house there was a strange quiet; no
+      sound save for hushed voices, and upstairs the shuffling of muffled feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Below, all day long, Owd Bob patrolled the passage like some silent, gray
+      spectre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once there came a low knocking at the door; and David, his face and hair
+      and cap smothered in the all-pervading white, came in with an eddy of
+      snow. He patted Owd Bob, and moved on tiptoe into the kitchen. To him came
+      Maggie softly, shoes in hand, with white, frightened face. The two
+      whispered anxiously awhile like brother and sister as they were; then the
+      boy crept quietly away; only a little pool of water on the floor and wet,
+      treacherous foot-dabs toward the door testifying to the visitor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Toward evening the wind died down, but the mourning flakes still fell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With the darkening of night Owd Bob retreated to the porch and lay down on
+      his blanket. The light from the lamp at the head of the stairs shone
+      through the crack of open door on his dark head and the eyes that never
+      slept.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The hours passed, and the gray knight still kept his vigil. Alone in the
+      darkness&mdash;alone, it almost seemed, in the house&mdash;he watched. His
+      head lay motionless along his paws, but the steady gray eyes never
+      flinched or drooped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Time tramped on on leaden foot, and still he waited; and ever the pain of
+      hovering anxiety was stamped deeper in the gray eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length it grew past bearing; the hollow stillness of the house overcame
+      him. He rose, pushed open the door, and softly pattered across the
+      passage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the foot of the stairs he halted, his forepaws on the first step, his
+      grave face and pleading eyes uplifted, as though he were praying. The dim
+      light fell on the raised head; and the white escutcheon on his breast
+      shone out like the snow on Salmon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length, with a sound like a sob, he dropped to the ground, and stood
+      listening, his tail dropping and head raised. Then he turned and began
+      softly pacing up and down, like some velvet-footed sentinel at the gate of
+      death.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Up and down, up and down, softly as the falling snow, for a weary, weary
+      while.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again he stopped and stood, listening intently, at the foot of the stairs;
+      and his gray coat quivered as though there were a draught.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of a sudden, the deathly stillness of the house was broken. Upstairs, feet
+      were running hurriedly. There was a cry, and again silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A life was coming in; a life was going out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The minutes passed; hours passed; and, at the sunless dawn, a life passed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And all through that night of age-long agony the gray figure stood, still
+      as a statue, at the foot of the stairs. Only, when, with the first chill
+      breath of the morning, a dry, quick-quenched sob of a strong man sorrowing
+      for the helpmeet of a score of years, and a tiny cry of a new-born child
+      wailing because its mother was not, came down to his ears, the Gray
+      Watchman dropped his head upon his bosom, and, with a little whimpering
+      note, crept back to his blanket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A little later the door above opened, and James Moore tramped down the
+      stairs. He looked taller and gaunter than his wont, but there was no trace
+      of emotion on his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the foot of the stairs Owd Bob stole out to meet him. He came crouching
+      up, head and tail down, in a manner no man ever saw before or since. At
+      his master's feet he stopped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, for one short moment, James Moore's whole face quivered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, lad,&rdquo; he said, quite low, and his voice broke; &ldquo;she's awa'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      That was all; for they were an undemonstrative couple.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then they turned and went out together into the bleak morning.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter VIII. M'ADAM AND HIS COAT
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      To David M'Adam the loss of gentle Elizabeth Moore was as real a grief as
+      to her children. Yet he manfully smothered his own aching heart and
+      devoted himself to comforting the mourners at Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the days succeeding Mrs. Moore's death the boy recklessly neglected his
+      duties at the Grange. But little M'Adam forbore to rebuke him. At times,
+      indeed, he essayed to be passively kind. David, however, was too deeply
+      sunk in his great sorrow to note the change.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The day of the funeral came. The earth was throwing off its ice-fetters;
+      and the Dale was lost in a mourning mist.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the afternoon M'Adam was standing at the window of the kitchen,
+      contemplating the infinite weariness of the scene, when the door of the
+      house opened and shut noiselessly. Red Wull raised himself on to the sill
+      and growled, and David hurried past the window making for Kenmuir. M'Adam
+      watched the passing figure indifferently; then with an angry oath sprang
+      to the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bring me back that coat, ye thief!&rdquo; he cried, tapping fiercely on the
+      pane. &ldquo;Tak' it aff at onst, ye muckle gowk, or I'll come and tear it aff
+      ye. D'ye see him, Wullie? the great coof has ma coat&mdash;me black coat,
+      new last Michaelmas, and it rainin' 'nough to melt it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He threw the window up with a bang and leaned out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bring it back, I tell ye, ondootiful, or I'll summons ye. Though ye've no
+      respect for me, ye might have for ma claithes. Ye're too big for yer ain
+      boots, let alane ma coat. D'ye think I had it cut for a elephant? It's
+      burst-in', I tell ye. Tak' it aff! Fetch it here, or I'll e'en send Wullie
+      to bring it!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David paid no heed except to begin running heavily down the hill. The coat
+      was stretched in wrinkled agony across his back; his big, red wrists
+      protruded like shank-bones from the sleeves; and the little tails flapped
+      wearily in vain attempts to reach the wearer's legs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam, bubbling over with indignation, scrambled half through the open
+      window. Then, tickled at the amazing impudence of the thing, he paused,
+      smiled, dropped to the ground again, and watched the uncouth, retreating
+      figure with chuckling amusement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did ye ever see the like o' that, Wullie?&rdquo; he muttered. &ldquo;Ma puir coat&mdash;puir
+      wee coatie! it gars me greet to see her in her pain. A man's coat, Wullie,
+      is aften unco sma' for his son's back; and David there is strainin' and
+      stretchin' her nigh to brakin', for a' the world as he does ma
+      forbearance. And what's he care aboot the one or t'ither?&mdash;not a
+      finger-flip.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As he stood watching the disappearing figure there began the slow tolling
+      of the minute-bell in the little Dale church. Now near, now far, now loud,
+      now low, its dull chant rang out through the mist like the slow-dropping
+      tears of a mourning world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam listened, almost reverently, as the bell tolled on, the only sound
+      in the quiet Dale. Outside, a drizzling rain was falling; the snow
+      dribbled down the hill in muddy tricklets; and trees and roofs and windows
+      dripped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And still the bell tolled on, calling up relentlessly sad memories of the
+      long ago.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was on just such another dreary day, in just such another December, and
+      not so many years gone by, that the light had gone forever out of his
+      life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The whole picture rose as instant to his eyes as if it had been but
+      yesterday. That insistent bell brought the scene surging back to him: the
+      dismal day; the drizzle; the few mourners; little David decked out in
+      black, his fair hair contrasting with his gloomy clothes, his face swollen
+      with weeping; the Dale hushed, it seemed in death, save for the tolling of
+      the bell; and his love had left him and gone to the happy land the
+      hymn-books talk of.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Red Wull, who had been watching him uneasily, now came up and shoved his
+      muzzle into his master's hand. The cold touch brought the little man back
+      to earth. He shook himself, turned wearily away from the window, and went
+      to the door of the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood there looking out; and all round him was the eternal drip, drip
+      of the thaw. The wind lulled, and again the minute-bell tolled out clear
+      and inexorable, resolute to recall what was and what had been.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a choking gasp the little man turned into the house, and ran up the
+      stairs and into his room. He dropped on his knees beside the great chest
+      in the corner, and unlocked the bottom drawer, the key turning noisily in
+      its socket.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the drawer he searched with feverish fingers, and produced at length a
+      little paper packet wrapped about with a stained yellow ribbon. It was the
+      ribbon she had used to weave on Sundays into her soft hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Inside the packet was a cheap, heart-shaped frame, and in it a photograph.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Up there it was too dark to see. The little man ran down the stairs, Red
+      Wull jostling him as he went, and hurried to the window in the kitchen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a sweet, laughing face that looked up at him from the frame, demure
+      yet arch, shy yet roguish&mdash;a face to look at and a face to love.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he looked a wintry smile, wholly tender, half tearful, stole over the
+      little man's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lassie,&rdquo; he whispered, and his voice was infinitely soft, &ldquo;it's lang sin'
+      I've daured look at ye. But it's no that ye're forgotten, dearie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he covered his eyes with his hand as though he were blinded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dinna look at me sae, lass!&rdquo; he cried, and fell on his knees, kissing the
+      picture, hugging it to him and sobbing passionately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Red Wull came up and pushed his face compassionately into his master's;
+      but the little man shoved him roughly away, and the dog retreated into a
+      corner, abashed and reproachful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Memories swarmed back on the little man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was more than a decade ago now, and yet he dared barely think of that
+      last evening when she had lain so white and still in the little room
+      above.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Pit the bairn on the bed, Adam man,&rdquo; she had said in low tones. &ldquo;I'll be
+      gaein' in a wee while noo. It's the lang good-by to you&mdash;and him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He had done her bidding and lifted David up. The tiny boy lay still a
+      moment, looking at this white-faced mother whom he hardly recognized.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Minnie!&rdquo; he called piteously. Then, thrusting a small, dirty hand into
+      his pocket, he pulled out a grubby sweet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Minnie, ha' a sweetie&mdash;ain o' Davie's sweeties!&rdquo; and he held it out
+      anxiously in his warm plump palm, thinking it a certain cure for any ill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eat it for mither,&rdquo; she said, smiling tenderly; and then: &ldquo;Davie, ma
+      heart, I'm leavin' ye.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy ceased sucking the sweet, and looked at her, the corners of his
+      mouth drooping pitifully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye're no gaein' awa', mither?&rdquo; he asked, his face all working. &ldquo;Ye'll no
+      leave yen wee laddie?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, laddie, awa'&mdash;reet awa'. HE's callin' me.&rdquo; She tried to smile;
+      but her mother's heart was near to bursting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye'll tak' yen wee Davie wi' ye mither!&rdquo; the child pleaded, crawling up
+      toward her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The great tears rolled, unrestrained, down her wan cheeks, and M'Adam, at
+      the head of the bed, was sobbing openly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, ma bairn, ma bairn, I'm sair to leave ye!&rdquo; she cried brokenly. &ldquo;Lift
+      him for me, Adam.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He placed the child in her arms; but she was too weak to hold him. So he
+      laid him upon his mother's pillows; and the boy wreathed his soft arms
+      about her neck and sobbed tempestuously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And the two lay thus together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Just before she died, Flora turned her head and whispered:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Adam, ma man, ye'll ha' to be mither and father baith to the lad noo&rdquo;;
+      and she looked at him with tender confidence in her dying eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wull! afore God as I stan' here I wull!&rdquo; he declared passionately. Then
+      she died, and there was a look of ineffable peace upon her face.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mither and father baith!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man rose to his feet and flung the photograph from him. Red
+      Wull pounced upon it; but M'Adam leapt at him as he mouthed it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Git awa', ye devil!&rdquo; he screamed; and, picking it up, stroked it lovingly
+      with trembling fingers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Maither and father baith!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      How had he fulfilled his love's last wish? How!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh God! &ldquo;&mdash;and he fell upon his knees at the table-side, hugging the
+      picture, sobbing and praying.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Red Wull cowered in the far corner of the room, and then crept whining up
+      to where his master knelt. But M'Adam heeded him not, and the great dog
+      slunk away again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There the little man knelt in the gloom of the winter's afternoon, a
+      miserable penitent. His gray-flecked head was bowed upon his arms; his
+      hands clutched the picture; and he prayed aloud in gasping, halting tones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gie me grace, O God! 'Father and mither baith,' ye said, Flora&mdash;and
+      I ha'na done it. But 'tis no too late&mdash;say it's no, lass. Tell me
+      there's time yet, and say ye forgie me. I've tried to bear wi' him mony
+      and mony a time. But he's vexed me, and set himself agin me, and stiffened
+      my back, and ye ken hoo I was aye quick to tak' offence. But I'll mak' it
+      up to him&mdash;mak' it up to him, and mair. I'll humble masel' afore him,
+      and that'll be bitter enough. And I'll be father and mither baith to him.
+      But there's bin none to help me; and it's bin sair wi'oot ye. And&mdash;.
+      but, eh, lassie, I'm wearyin' for ye!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      It was a dreary little procession that wound in the drizzle from Kenmuir
+      to the little Dale Church. At the head stalked James Moore, and close
+      behind David in his meagre coat. While last of all, as if to guide the
+      stragglers in the weary road, come Owd Bob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a full congregation in the tiny church now. In the squire's pew
+      were Cyril Gilbraith, Muriel Sylvester, and, most conspicuous, Lady
+      Eleanour. Her slender figure was simply draped in gray, with gray fur
+      about the neck and gray fur edging sleeves and jacket; her veil was
+      lifted, and you could see the soft hair about her temples, like waves
+      breaking on white cliffs, and her eyes big with tender sympathy as she
+      glanced toward the pew upon her right.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For there were the mourners from Kenmuir: the Master, tall, grim, and
+      gaunt; and beside him Maggie, striving to be calm, and little Andrew, the
+      miniature of his father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alone, in the pew behind, David M'Adam in his father's coat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The back of the church was packed with farmers from the whole March Mere
+      Estate; friends from Silverdale and Grammoch-town; and nearly every soul
+      in Wastrel-dale, come to show their sympathy for the living and reverence
+      for the dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last the end came in the wet dreariness of the little churchyard, and
+      slowly the mourners departed, until at length were left only the parson,
+      the Master, and Owd Bob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The parson was speaking in rough, short accents, digging nervously at the
+      wet ground. The other, tall and gaunt, his face drawn and half-averted,
+      stood listening. By his side was Owd Bob, scanning his master's
+      countenance, a wistful compassion deep in the sad gray eyes; while close
+      by, one of the parson's terriers was nosing inquisitively in the wet
+      grass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of a sudden, James Moore, his face still turned away, stretched out a
+      hand. The parson, broke off abruptly and grasped it. Then the two men
+      strode away in opposite directions, the terrier hopping on three legs and
+      shaking the rain off his hard coat.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      David's steps sounded outside. M'Adam rose from his knees. The door of the
+      house opened, and the boy's feet shuffled in the passage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;David!&rdquo; the little man called in a tremulous voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood in the half-light, one hand on the table, the other clasping the
+      picture. His eyes were bleared, his thin hair all tossed, and he was
+      shaking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;David,&rdquo; he called again; &ldquo;I've somethin' I wush to say to ye!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy burst into the room. His face was stained with tears and rain; and
+      the new black coat was wet and slimy all down the front, and on the elbows
+      were green-brown, muddy blots. For, on his way home, he had flung himself
+      down in the Stony Bottom just as he was, heedless of the wet earth and his
+      father's coat, and, lying on his face thinking of that second mother lost
+      to him, had wept his heart out in a storm of passionate grief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now he stood defiantly, his hand upon the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What d'yo' want?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man looked from him to the picture in his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Help me, Flora&mdash;he'll no,&rdquo; he prayed. Then raising his eyes, he
+      began: &ldquo;I'd like to say&mdash;I've bin thinkin'&mdash;I think I should
+      tell ye&mdash;it's no an easy thing for a man to say&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He broke off short. The self-imposed task was almost more than he could
+      accomplish.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked appealingly at David. But there was no glimmer of understanding
+      in that white, set countenance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O God, it's maist mair than I can do!&rdquo; the little man muttered; and the
+      perspiration stood upon his forehead. Again he began: &ldquo;David, after I saw
+      ye this afternoon steppin' doon the hill&mdash;&rdquo; Again he paused. His
+      glance rested unconsciously upon the coat. David mistook the look; mistook
+      the dimness in his father's eyes; mistook the tremor in his voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here 'tis! tak' yo' coat!&rdquo; he cried passionately; and, tearing it off,
+      flung it down at his father's feet. &ldquo;Tak' it&mdash;and&mdash;-and&mdash;curse
+      yo'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He banged out of the room and ran upstairs; and, locking himself in, threw
+      himself on to his bed and sobbed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Red Wull made a movement to fly at the retreating figure; then turned to
+      his master, his stump-tail vibrating with pleasure. But little M'Adam was
+      looking at the wet coat now lying in a wet bundle at his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Curse ye,&rdquo; he repeated softly. &ldquo;Curse ye&mdash;ye heard him. Wullie?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A bitter smile crept across his face. He looked again at the picture now
+      lying crushed in his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye canna say I didna try; ye canna ask me to agin,&rdquo; he muttered, and
+      slipped it into his pocket. &ldquo;Niver agin, Wullie; not if the Queen were to
+      ask it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he went out into the gloom and drizzle, still smiling the same bitter
+      smile.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      That night, when it came to closing-time at the Sylvester Arms, Jem Burton
+      found a little gray-haired figure lying on the floor in the tap-room. At
+      the little man's head lay a great dog.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' beast!&rdquo; said the righteous publican, regarding the figure of his best
+      customer with fine scorn. Then catching sight of a photograph in the
+      little man's hand:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, yo're that sort, are yo', foxy?&rdquo; he leered. &ldquo;Gie us a look at 'er,&rdquo;
+       and he tried to disengage the picture from the other's grasp. But at the
+      attempt the great dog rose, bared his teeth, and assumed such a diabolical
+      expression that the big landlord retreated hurriedly behind the bar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Two on ye!&rdquo; he shouted viciously, rattling his heels; &ldquo;beasts baith!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_PART3" id="link2H_PART3">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      PART III THE SHEPHERDS' TROPHY
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter IX. RIVALS
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      M'ADAM never forgave his son. After the scene on the evening of the
+      funeral there could be no alternative but war for all time. The little man
+      had attempted to humble himself, and been rejected; and the bitterness of
+      defeat, when he had deserved victory, rankled like a poisoned barb in his
+      bosom.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet the heat of his indignation was directed not against David, but
+      against the Master of Kenmuir. To the influence and agency of James Moore
+      he attributed his discomfiture, and bore himself accordingly. In public or
+      in private, in tap-room or market, he never wearied of abusing his enemy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Feel the loss o' his wife, d'ye say?&rdquo; he would cry. &ldquo;Ay, as muckle as I
+      feel the loss o' my hair. James Moore can feel naethin', I tell ye,
+      except, aiblins, a mischance to his meeserable dog.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      When the two met, as they often must, it was always M'Adam's endeavor to
+      betray his enemy into an unworthy expression of feeling. But James Moore,
+      sorely tried as he often was, never gave way. He met the little man's
+      sneers with a quelling silence, looking down on his asp-tongued antagonist
+      with such a contempt flashing from his blue-gray eyes as hurt his
+      adversary more than words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only once was he spurred into reply. It was in the tap-room of the
+      Dalesman's Daughter on the occasion of the big spring fair in
+      Grammoch-town, when there was a goodly gathering of farmers and their dogs
+      in the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam was standing at the fireplace with Red Wull at his side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a noble pairt ye play, James Moore,&rdquo; he cried loudly across the
+      room, &ldquo;settin' son against father, and dividin' hoose against hoose. It's
+      worthy o' ye we' yer churchgoin', and yer psalm-singin', and yer
+      godliness.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master looked up from the far end of the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Happen yo're not aware, M'Adam,&rdquo; he said sternly, &ldquo;that, an' it had not
+      bin for me, David'd ha' left you years agone&mdash;and 'twould nob'but ha'
+      served yo' right, I'm thinkin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man was beaten on his own ground, so he changed front.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dinna shout so, man&mdash;I have ears to hear, Forbye ye irritate
+      Wullie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Tailless Tyke, indeed, had advanced from the fireplace, and now stood,
+      huge and hideous, in the very centre of the room. There was distant
+      thunder in his throat, a threat upon his face, a challenge in every
+      wrinkle. And the Gray Dog stole gladly out from behind his master to take
+      up the gage of battle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Straightway there was silence; tongues ceased to wag, tankards to clink.
+      Every man and every dog was quietly gathering about those two central
+      figures. Not one of them all but had his score to wipe off against the
+      Tailless Tyke; not one of them but was burning to join in, the battle once
+      begun. And the two gladiators stood looking past one another, muzzle to
+      muzzle, each with a tiny flash of teeth glinting between his lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the fight was not to be; for the twentieth time the Master intervened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bob, lad, coom in!&rdquo; he called, and, bending, grasped his favorite by the
+      neck.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam laughed softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie, Wullie, to me!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;The look o' you's enough for that
+      gentleman.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If they get fightin' it'll no be Bob here I'll hit, I warn yo', M'Adam,&rdquo;
+       said the Master grimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gin ye sae muckle as touched Wullie d'ye ken what I'd do, James Moore?&rdquo;
+       asked the little man very smoothly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes&mdash;sweer,&rdquo; the other replied, and strode out of the room amid a
+      roar of derisive laughter at M'Adam's expense.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Owd Bob had now attained wellnigh the perfection of his art. Parson Leggy
+      declared roundly that his like had not been seen since the days of Rex son
+      of Rally. Among the Dalesmen he was a heroic favorite, his prowess and
+      gentle ways winning him friends on every hand. But the point that told
+      most heavily for him was that in all things he was the very antithesis of
+      Red Wull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Barely a man in the country-side but owed that ferocious savage a grudge;
+      not a man of them all who dared pay it. Once Long Kirby, full of beer and
+      valor, tried to settle his account. Coming on M'Adam and Red Wull as he
+      was driving into Grammoch-town, he leant over and with his thong dealt the
+      dog a terrible sword-like slash that raised an angry ridge of red from hip
+      to shoulder; and was twenty yards down the road before the little man's
+      shrill curse reached his ear, drowned in a hideous bellow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood up and lashed the colt, who, quick on his legs for a young un,
+      soon settled to his gallop. But, glancing over his shoulder, he saw a
+      hounding form behind, catching him as though he were walking. His face
+      turned sickly white; he screamed; he flogged; he looked back. Right
+      beneath the tail-board was the red devil in the dust; while racing a
+      furlong behind on the turnpike road was the mad figure of M'Adam.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The smith struck back and flogged forward. It was of no avail. With a
+      tiger-like bound the murderous brute leapt on the flying trap. At the
+      shock of the great body the colt was thrown violently on his side; Kirby
+      was tossed over the hedge; and Red Wull pinned beneath the debris.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam had time to rush up and save a tragedy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've a mind to knife ye, Kirby,&rdquo; he panted, as he bandaged the smith's
+      broken head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After that you may be sure the Dalesmen preferred to swallow insults
+      rather than to risk their lives; and their impotence only served to fan
+      their hatred to white heat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The working methods of the antagonists were as contrasted as their
+      appearances. In a word, the one compelled where the other coaxed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His enemies said the Tailless Tyke was rough; not even Tammas denied he
+      was ready. His brain was as big as his body, and he used them both to some
+      purpose. &ldquo;As quick as a cat, with the heart of a lion and the temper of
+      Nick's self,&rdquo; was Parson Leggy's description.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      What determination could effect, that could Red Wall; but achievement by
+      inaction&mdash;supremest of all strategies&mdash;was not for him. In
+      matters of the subtlest handling, where to act anything except
+      indifference was to lose, with sheep restless, fearful forebodings hymned
+      to them by the wind, panic hovering unseen above them, when an
+      ill-considered movement spelt catastrophe&mdash;then was Owd Bob o'
+      Kenmuir incomparable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Men still tell how, when the squire's new thrashing-machine ran amuck in
+      Grammoch-town, and for some minutes the market square was a turbulent sea
+      of blaspheming men, yelping dogs, and stampeding sheep, only one flock
+      stood calm as a mill-pond by the bull-ring, watching the riot with almost
+      indifference. And in front, sitting between them and the storm, was a
+      quiet gray dog, his mouth stretched in a capacious yawn: to yawn was to
+      win, and he won.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the worst of the uproar was over, many a glance of triumph was shot
+      first at that one still pack, and then at M'Adam, as he waded through the
+      disorder of huddling sheep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And wheer's your Wullie noo?&rdquo; asked Tapper scornfully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Weel,&rdquo; the little man answered with a quiet smile, &ldquo;at this minute he's
+      killin' your Rasper doon by the pump.&rdquo; Which was indeed the case; for big
+      blue Rasper had interfered with the great dog in the performance of his
+      duty, and suffered accordingly.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Spring passed into summer; and the excitement as to the event of the
+      approaching Trials, when at length the rivals would be pitted against one
+      another, reached such a height as old Jonas Maddox, the octogenarian,
+      could hardly recall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Down in the Sylvester Arms there was almost nightly a conflict between
+      M'Adam and Tammas Thornton, spokesman of the Dales men. Many a long-drawn
+      bout of words had the two anent the respective merits and Cup chances of
+      red and gray. In these duels Tammas was usually worsted. His temper would
+      get the better of his discretion; and the cynical debater would be lost in
+      the hot-tongued partisan.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      During these encounters the others would, as a rule, maintain a rigid
+      silence. Only when their champion was being beaten, and it was time for
+      strength of voice to vanquish strength of argument, they joined in right
+      lustily and roared the little man down, for all the world like the
+      gentlemen who rule the Empire at Westminster.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Tammas was an easy subject for M'Adam to draw, but David was an easier.
+      Insults directed at himself the boy bore with a stolidity born of long
+      use. But a poisonous dart shot against his friends at Kenmuir never failed
+      to achieve its object. And the little man evinced an amazing talent for
+      the concoction of deft lies respecting James Moore.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm hearin',&rdquo; said he, one evening, sitting in the kitchen, sucking his
+      twig; &ldquo;I'm hearin' James Moore is gaein' to git married agin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo're hearin' lies&mdash;or mair-like tellin' 'em,&rdquo; David answered
+      shortly. For he treated his father now with contemptuous indifference.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Seven months sin' his wife died,&rdquo; the little man continued meditatively.
+      &ldquo;Weel, I'm on'y 'stonished he's waited sae lang. Ain buried, anither come
+      on&mdash;that's James Moore.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David burst angrily out of the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gaein' to ask him if it's true?&rdquo; called his father after him. &ldquo;Gude luck
+      to ye&mdash;and him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David had now a new interest at Kenmuir. In Maggie he found an endless
+      source of study. On the death of her mother the girl had taken up the
+      reins of government at Kenmuir; and gallantly she played her part, whether
+      in tenderly mothering the baby, wee Anne, or in the sterner matters of
+      household work. She did her duty, young though she was, with a surprising,
+      old-fashioned womanliness that won many a smile of approval from her
+      father, and caused David's eyes to open with astonishment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And he soon discovered that Maggie, mistress of Kenmuir, was another
+      person from his erstwhile playfellow and servant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The happy days when might ruled right were gone, never to be recalled.
+      David often regretted them, especially when in a conflict of tongues,
+      Maggie, with her quick answers and teasing eyes, was driving him sulky and
+      vanquished from the field. The two were perpetually squabbling now. In the
+      good old days, he remembered bitterly, squabbles between them were
+      unknown. He had never permitted them; any attempt at independent thought
+      or action was as sternly quelled as in the Middle Ages. She must follow
+      where he led on&mdash;&ldquo;Ma word!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Now she was mistress where he had been master; hers was to command, his to
+      obey. In consequence they were perpetually at war. And yet he would sit
+      for hours in the kitchen and watch her, as she went about her business,
+      with solemn, interested eyes, half of admiration, half of amusement. In
+      the end Maggie always turned on him with a little laugh touched with
+      irritation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Han't yo' got nothin' better'n that to do, nor lookin' at me?&rdquo; she asked
+      one Saturday about a month before Cup Day.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, I han't,&rdquo; the pert fellow rejoined.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I wish yo' had. It mak's me fair jumpety yo' watchin' me so like ony
+      cat a mouse.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Niver yo' fash yo'sel' account o' me, ma wench,&rdquo; he answered calmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' wench, indeed!&rdquo; she cried, tossing her head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, or will be,&rdquo; he muttered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's that?&rdquo; she cried, springing round, a flush of color on her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nowt, my dear. Yo'll know so soon as I want yo' to, yo' may be sure, and
+      no sooner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl resumed her baking, half angry, half suspicious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I dunno' what yo' mean, Mr. M'Adam,&rdquo; she said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Don't yo', Mrs. M'A&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The rest was lost in the crash of a falling plate; whereat David laughed
+      quietly, and asked if he should help pick up the bits.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      On the same evening at the Sylvester Arms an announcement was made that
+      knocked the breath out of its hearers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the debate that night on the fast-approaching Dale Trials and the
+      relative abilities of red and gray, M'Adam on the one side, and Tammas,
+      backed by Long Kirby and the rest, on the other, had cudgelled each other
+      with more than usual vigor. The controversy rose to fever-heat; abuse
+      succeeded argument; and the little man again and again was hooted into
+      silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's easy laffin',&rdquo; he cried at last, &ldquo;but ye'll laff t'ither side o' yer
+      ugly faces on Cup Day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will us, indeed? Us'll see,&rdquo; came the derisive chorus.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll whip ye till ye're deaf, dumb, and blind, Wullie and I.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      ''Yo'll not!''
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We will!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The voices were rising like the east wind in March.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo'll not, and for a very good reason too,&rdquo; asseverated Tammas loudly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gie us yer reason, ye muckle liar,&rdquo; cried the little man, turning on him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Becos&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; began Jim Mason and stopped to rub his nose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' 'old yo' noise, Jim,&rdquo; recommended Rob Saunderson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Becos&mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; it was Tammas this time who paused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Git on wi' it, ye stammerin' stirk!&rdquo; cried M'Adam. &ldquo;Why?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Becos&mdash;Owd Bob'll not rin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Tammas sat back in his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What!&rdquo; screamed the little man, thrusting forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's that!&rdquo; yelled Long Kirby, leaping to his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mon, say it agin!&rdquo; shouted Rob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's owd addled eggs tellin'?&rdquo; cried Liz Burton.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dang his 'ead for him!&rdquo; shouts Tupper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fill his eye!&rdquo; says Ned Hoppin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They jostled round the old man's chair: M'Adam in front; Jem Burton and
+      Long Kirby leaning over his shoulder; Liz behind her father; Saunderson
+      and Tupper tackling him on either side; while the rest peered and elbowed
+      in the rear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The announcement had fallen like a thunderbolt among them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Tammas looked slowly up at the little mob of eager faces above him. Pride
+      at the sensation caused by his news struggled in his countenance with
+      genuine sorrow for the matter of it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, yo' may well 'earken all on yo'. Tis enough to mak' the deadies
+      listen. I says agin: We's'll no rin oor Bob fot' Cup. And yo' may guess
+      why. Bain't every mon, Mr. M'Adam, as'd pit aside his chanst o' the Cup,
+      and that 'maist a gift for him&rdquo;&mdash;M'Adam's tongue was in his cheek&mdash;&ldquo;and
+      it a certainty,&rdquo; the old man continued warmly, &ldquo;oot o' respect for his
+      wife's memory.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The news was received in utter silence. The shock of the surprise, coupled
+      with the bitterness of the disappointment, froze the slow tongues of his
+      listeners.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Only one small voice broke the stillness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, the feelin' man! He should git a reduction o' rent for sic a display
+      o' proper speerit. I'll mind Mr. Hornbut to let auld Sylvester ken o't.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Which he did, and would have got a thrashing for his pains had not Cyril
+      Gilbraith thrown him out of the parsonage before the angry cleric could
+      lay hands upon him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter X. RED WULL WINS
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      TAMMAS had but told the melancholy truth. Owd Bob was not to run for the
+      cup. And this self-denying ordinance speaks more for James Moore's love of
+      his lost wife than many a lordly cenotaph.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To the people of the Daleland, from the Black Water to the market-cross in
+      Grammoch-town, the news came with the shock of a sudden blow. They had set
+      their hearts on the Gray Dog's success; and had felt serenely confident of
+      his victory. But the sting of the matter lay in this: that now the
+      Tailless Tyke might well win.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam, on the other hand, was plunged into a fervor of delight at the
+      news. For to win the Shepherds' Trophy was the goal of his ambition. David
+      was now less than nothing to the lonely little man, Red Wull everything to
+      him. And to have that name handed down to posterity, gallantly holding its
+      place among those of the most famous sheep-dogs of all time, was his
+      heart's desire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As Cup Day drew near, the little man, his fine-drawn temperament strung to
+      the highest pitch of nervousness, was tossed on a sea of apprehension. His
+      hopes and fears ebbed and flowed on the tide of the moment. His moods were
+      as uncertain as the winds in March; and there was no dependence on his
+      humor for a unit of time. At one minute he paced up and down the kitchen,
+      his face already flushed with the glow of victory, chanting:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the next he was down at the table, his head buried in his hands, his
+      whole figure shaking, as he cried in choking voice: &ldquo;Eh, Wullie, Wullie,
+      they're all agin us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David found that life with his father now was life with an unamiable
+      hornet. Careless as he affected to be of his father's vagaries, he was
+      tried almost to madness, and fled away at every moment to Kenmuir; for, as
+      he told Maggie, &ldquo;I'd sooner put up wi' your h'airs and h'imperences, miss,
+      than wi' him, the wemon that he be!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      At length the great day came. Fears, hopes, doubts, dismays, all dispersed
+      in the presence of the reality.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Cup Day is always a general holiday in the Daleland, and every soul crowds
+      over to Silverdale. Shops were shut; special trains ran in to
+      Grammoch-town; and the road from the little town was dazed with
+      char-a-bancs, brakes, wagonettes, carriages, carts, foot-passengers,
+      wending toward the Dalesman's Daughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And soon the paddock below that little inn was humming with the crowd of
+      sportsmen and spectators come to see the battle for the Shepherd's Trophy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There, very noticeable with its red body and yellow wheels, was the great
+      Kenmuir wagon. Many an eye was directed on the handsome young pair who
+      stood in it, conspicuous and unconscious, above the crowd: Maggie, looking
+      in her simple print frock as sweet and fresh as any mountain flower; while
+      David's fair face was all gloomy and his brows knit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In front of the wagon was a black cluster of Dalesmen, discussing M'Adam's
+      chances. In the centre was Tammas holding forth. Had you passed close to
+      the group you might have heard: &ldquo;A man, d'yo say, Mr. Maddox? A h'ape, I
+      call him&rdquo;; or: &ldquo;A dog? more like an 'og, I tell yo'.&rdquo; Round the old orator
+      were Jonas, 'Enry, and oor Job, Jem Burton, Rob Saunderson, Tupper, Jim
+      Mason, Hoppin, and others; while on the outskirts stood Sam'l Todd
+      prophesying rain and M'Adam's victory. Close at hand Bessie Bolstock, who
+      was reputed to have designs on David, was giggling spitefully at the pair
+      in the Kenmuir wagon, and singing:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let a lad aloan, lass, Let a lad a-be.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      While her father, Teddy, dodged in and out among the crowd with tray and
+      glasses: for Cup Day was the great day of the year for him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Past the group of Dalesmen and on all sides was a mass of bobbing heads&mdash;Scots,
+      Northerners, Yorkshiremen, Taffies. To right and left a long array of
+      carriages and carts, ranging from the squire's quiet landau and Viscount
+      Birdsaye's gorgeous barouche to Liz Burton's three-legged moke-cart with
+      little Mrs. Burton, the twins, young Jake (who should have walked), and
+      Monkey (ditto) packed away inside. Beyond the Silver Lea the gaunt Scaur
+      raised its craggy peak, and the Pass, trending along its side, shone white
+      in the sunshine.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the back of the carriages were booths, cocoanut-shies, Aunt Sallies,
+      shows, bookmakers' stools, and all the panoply of such a meeting. Here
+      Master Launcelot Bilks and Jacky Sylvester were fighting; Cyril Gilbraith
+      was offering to take on the boxing man; Long Kirby was snapping up the
+      odds against Red Wull; and Liz Burton and young Ned Hoppin were being
+      photographed together, while Melia Ross in the background was pretending
+      she didn't care.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the far bank of the stream was a little bevy of men and dogs, observed
+      of all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Juvenile Stakes had been run and won; Londesley's Lassie had carried
+      off the Locals; and the fight for the Shepherds' Trophy was about to
+      begin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo're not lookin' at me noo,&rdquo; whispered Maggie to the silent boy by her
+      side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay; nor niver don't wush to agin.&rdquo; David answered roughly. His gaze was
+      directed over the array of heads in front to where, beyond the Silver Lea,
+      a group of shepherds and their dogs was clustered. While standing apart
+      from the rest, in characteristic isolation, was the bent figure of his
+      father, and beside him the Tailless Tyke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Doest'o not want yo' feyther to win?&rdquo; asked Maggie softly, following his
+      gaze.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm prayin' he'll be beat,&rdquo; the boy answered moodily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, Davie, hoo can ye?&rdquo; cried the girl, shocked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's easy to say, 'Eh, David,'&rdquo; he snapped. &ldquo;But if yo' lived along o'
+      them two &ldquo;&mdash;he nodded toward the stream&mdash;&ldquo;'appen yo'd understand
+      a bit.... 'Eh, David,' indeed! I never did!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I know it, lad,&rdquo; she said tenderly; and he was appeased.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He'd give his right hand for his bless'd Wullie to win; I'd give me right
+      arm to see him beat.... And oor Bob there all the while,&rdquo;&mdash;he nodded
+      to the far left of the line, where stood James Moore and Owd Bob, with
+      Parson Leggy and the Squire.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When at length Red Wull came out to run his course, he worked with the
+      savage dash that always characterized him. His method was his own; but the
+      work was admirably done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Keeps right on the back of his sheep,&rdquo; said the parson, watching
+      intently. &ldquo;Strange thing they don't break!&rdquo; But they didn't. There was no
+      waiting, no coaxing; it was drive and devilry all through. He brought his
+      sheep along at a terrific rate, never missing a turn, never faltering,
+      never running out. And the crowd applauded, for the crowd loves a dashing
+      display. While little M'Adam, hopping agilely about, his face ablaze with
+      excitement, handled dog and sheep with a masterly precision that compelled
+      the admiration even of his enemies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;M'Adam wins!&rdquo; roared a bookmaker. &ldquo;Twelve to one agin the field!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He wins, dang him!&rdquo; said David, low.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wull wins!&rdquo; said the parson, shutting his lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And deserves too!&rdquo; said James Moore.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wull wins!&rdquo; softly cried the crowd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We don't!&rdquo; said Sam'l gloomily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And in the end Red Wull did Win; and there were none save Tammas, the
+      bigot, and Long Kirby, who had lost a good deal of his wife's money and a
+      little of his own, to challenge the justice of the verdict.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The win had but a chilling reception. At first there was faint cheering;
+      but it sounded like the echo of an echo, and soon died of inanition. To
+      get up an ovation, there must be money at the back, or a few roaring
+      fanatics to lead the dance. Here there was neither; ugly stories,
+      disparaging remarks, on every hand. And the hundreds who did not know took
+      their tone, as always, from those who said they did.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam could but remark the absence of enthusiasm as he pushed up through
+      the throng toward the committee tent. No single voice hailed him victor;
+      no friendly hand smote its congratulations. Broad backs were turned;
+      contemptuous glances levelled; spiteful remarks shot. Only the foreign
+      element looked curiously at the little bent figure with the glowing face,
+      and shrank back at the size and savage aspect of the great dog at his
+      heels.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But what cared he? His Wullie was acknowledged champion, the best
+      sheep-dog of the year; and the little man was happy. They could turn their
+      backs on him; but they could not alter that; and he could afford to be
+      indifferent. &ldquo;They dinna like it, lad&mdash;he! he! But they'll e'en ha'
+      to thole it. Ye've won it, Wullie&mdash;won it fair.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He elbowed through the press, making for the rope-guarded inclosure in
+      front of the committee tent, round which the people were now packing. In
+      the door of the tent stood the secretary, various stewards, and members of
+      the committee. In front, alone in the roped-off space, was Lady Eleanour,
+      fragile, dainty, graceful, waiting with a smile upon her face to receive
+      the winner. And on a table beside her, naked and dignified, the Shepherd's
+      Trophy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There it stood, kingly and impressive; its fair white sides inscribed with
+      many names; cradled in three shepherds' crooks; and on the top, as if to
+      guard the Cup's contents, an exquisitely carved collie's head. The
+      Shepherds' Trophy, the goal of his life's race, and many another man's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He climbed over the rope, followed by Red Wull, and took off his hat with
+      almost courtly deference to the fair lady before him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he walked up to the table on which the Cup stood, a shrill voice,
+      easily recognizable, broke the silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You'd like it better if 'twas full and yo' could swim in it, you and yer
+      Wullie,&rdquo; it called. Whereat the crowd giggled, and Lady Eleanour looked
+      indignant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man turned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll mind drink yer health, Mr. Thornton, never fear, though I ken ye'd
+      prefaire to drink yer ain,&rdquo; he said. At which the crowd giggled afresh;
+      and a gray head at the back, which had hoped itself unrecognized,
+      disappeared suddenly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man stood there in the stillness, sourly smiling, his face
+      still wet from his exertions; while the Tailless Tyke at his side fronted
+      defiantly the serried ring of onlookers, a white fence of teeth faintly
+      visible between his lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lady Eleanour looked uneasy. Usually the lucky winner was unable to hear
+      her little speech, as she gave the Cup away, so deafening was the
+      applause. Now there was utter silence. She glanced up at the crowd, but
+      there was no response to her unspoken appeal in that forest of hostile
+      faces. And her gentle heart bled for the forlorn little man before her. To
+      make it up she smiled on him so sweetly as to more than compensate him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm sure you deserve your success, Mr. M'Adam,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;You and Red
+      Wull there worked splendidly&mdash;everybody says so.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've heard naethin' o't,&rdquo; the little man answered dryly. At which some
+      one in the crowd sniggered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And we all know what a grand dog he is; though&rdquo;&mdash;with a reproving
+      smile as she glanced at Red Wull's square, truncated stern&mdash;&ldquo;he's not
+      very polite.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;His heart is good, your Leddyship, if his manners are not,&rdquo; M'Adam
+      answered, smiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Liar!&rdquo; came a loud voice in the silence. Lady Eleanour looked up, hot
+      with indignation, and half rose from her seat. But M'Adam merely smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie, turn and mak' yer bow to the leddy,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;They'll no hurt us
+      noo we're up; it's when we're doon they'll flock like corbies to the
+      carrion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At that Red Wull walked up to Lady Eleanour, faintly wagging his tail; and
+      she put her hand on his huge bull head and said, &ldquo;Dear old Ugly!&rdquo; at which
+      the crowd cheered in earnest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After that, for some moments, the only sound was the gentle ripple of the
+      good lady's voice and the little man's caustic replies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, last winter the country was full of Red Wull's doings and yours. It
+      was always M'Adam and his Red Wull have done this and that and the other.
+      I declare I got quite tired of you both, I heard such a lot about you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man, cap in hand, smiled, blushed and looked genuinely pleased.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And when it wasn't you it was Mr. Moore and Owd Bob.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Owd Bob, bless him!&rdquo; called a stentorian voice. &ldquo;There cheers for oor
+      Bob!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Ip! 'ip! 'ooray!&rdquo; It was taken up gallantly, and cast from mouth to
+      mouth; and strangers, though they did not understand, caught the contagion
+      and cheered too; and the uproar continued for some minutes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When it was ended Lady Eleanour was standing up, a faint flush on her
+      cheeks and her eyes flashing dangerously, like a queen at bay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; she cried, and her clear voice thrilled through the air like a
+      trumpet. &ldquo;Yes; and now three cheers for Mr. M'Adam and his Red Wull! Hip!
+      hip&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hooray!&rdquo; A little knowt of stalwarts at the back&mdash;James Moore,
+      Parson Leggy, Jim Mason, and you may be sure in heart, at least, Owd Bob&mdash;responded
+      to the call right lustily. The crowd joined in; and, once off, cheered and
+      cheered again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Three cheers more for Mr. M'Adam!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But the little man waved to them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dinna be bigger heepocrites than ye can help,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Ye've done
+      enough for one day, and thank ye for it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Lady Eleanour handed him the Cup.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. M'Adam, I present you with the Champion Challenge Dale Cup, open to
+      all comers. Keep it, guard it, love it as your own, and win it again if
+      you can. Twice more and it's yours, you know, and it will stop forever
+      beneath the shadow of the Pike. And the right place for it, say I&mdash;the
+      Dale Cup for Dalesmen.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man took the Cup tenderly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It shall no leave the Estate or ma hoose, yer Leddyship, gin Wullie and I
+      can help it,&rdquo; he said emphatically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lady Eleanour retreated into the tent, and the crowd swarmed over the
+      ropes and round the little man, who held the Cup beneath his arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Long Kirby laid irreverent hands upon it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dinna finger it!&rdquo; ordered M'Adam.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shall!''
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shan't! Wullie, keep him aff.&rdquo; Which the great dog proceeded to do amid
+      the laughter of the onlookers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Among the last, James Moore was borne past the little man. At sight of
+      him, M'Adam's face assumed an expression of intense concern.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Man, Moore!&rdquo; he cried, peering forward as though in alarm; &ldquo;man, Moore,
+      ye're green&mdash;positeevely verdant. Are ye in pain?&rdquo; Then, catching
+      sight of Owd Bob, he started back in affected horror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And, ma certes! so's yer dog! Yer dog as was gray is green. Oh, guid
+      life! &ldquo;&mdash;and he made as though about to fall fainting to the ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, in bantering tones: &ldquo;Ah, but ye shouldna covet &mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He'll ha' no need to covet it long, I can tell yo',&rdquo; interposed Tammas's
+      shrill accents.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And why for no?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Becos next year he'll win it fra yo'. Oor Bob'll win it, little mon. Why?
+      thot's why.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The retort was greeted with a yell of applause from the sprinkling of
+      Dalesmen in the crowd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But M'Adam swaggered away into the tent, his head up, the Cup beneath his
+      arm, and Red Wull guarding his rear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;First of a' ye'll ha' to beat Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull!&rdquo; he cried
+      back proudly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XI. OOR BOB
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      M'ADAM'S pride in the great Cup that now graced his kitchen was supreme.
+      It stood alone in the very centre of the mantelpiece, just below the old
+      bell-mouthed blunderbuss that hung upon the wall. The only ornament in the
+      bare room, it shone out in its silvery chastity like the moon in a gloomy
+      sky.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For once the little man was content. Since his mother's death David had
+      never known such peace. It was not that his father became actively kind;
+      rather that he forgot to be actively unkind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not as I care a brazen button one way or t'ither,&rdquo; the boy informed
+      Maggie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then yo' should,&rdquo; that proper little person replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam was, indeed, a changed being. He forgot to curse James Moore; he
+      forgot to sneer at Owd Bob; he rarely visited the Sylvester Arms, to the
+      detriment of Jem Burton's pocket and temper; and he was never drunk.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Soaks 'isseif at home, instead,&rdquo; suggested Tammas, the prejudiced. But
+      the accusation was untrue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Too drunk to git so far,&rdquo; said Long Kirby, kindly man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reck'n the Cup is kind o' company to him,&rdquo; said Jim Mason. &ldquo;Happen it's
+      lonesomeness as drives him here so much.&rdquo; And happen you were right,
+      charitable Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Best mak' maist on it while he has it, 'cos he'll not have it for long,&rdquo;
+       Tammas remarked amid applause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even Parson Leggy allowed&mdash;rather reluctantly, indeed, for he was but
+      human&mdash;that the little man was changed wonderfully for the better.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I am afraid it may not last,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;We shall see what happens
+      when Owd Bob beats him for the Cup, as he certainly will. That'll be the
+      critical moment.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As things were, the little man spent all his spare moments with the Cup
+      between his knees, burnishing it and crooning to Wullie:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;I never saw a fairer,
+     I never lo'ed a dearer,
+     And neist my heart I'll wear her,
+     For fear my jewel tine.&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There, Wullie! look at her! is she no bonnie? She shines like a twinkle&mdash;twinkle
+      in the sky.&rdquo; And he would hold it out at arm's length, his head cocked
+      sideways the better to scan its bright beauties.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man was very jealous for his treasure. David might not touch
+      it; might not smoke in the kitchen lest the fumes should tarnish its
+      glory; while if he approached too closely he was ordered abruptly away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;As if I wanted to touch his nasty Cup!&rdquo; he complained to Maggie. &ldquo;I'd
+      sooner ony day&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hands aff, Mr. David, immediate!&rdquo; she cried indignantly. &ldquo;'Pertinence,
+      indeed!&rdquo; as she tossed her head clear of the big fingers that were
+      fondling her pretty hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So it was that M'Adam, on coming quietly into the kitchen one day, was
+      consumed with angry resentment to find David actually handling the object
+      of his reverence; and the manner of his doing it added a thousandfold to
+      the offence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy was lolling indolently against the mantelpiece, his fair head
+      shoved right into the Cup, his breath dimming its lustre, and his two
+      hands, big and dirty, slowly revolving it before his eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Bursting with indignation, the little man crept up behind the boy. David
+      was reading through the long list of winners.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Theer's the first on 'em,&rdquo; he muttered, shooting out his tongue to
+      indicate the locality: &ldquo;'Andrew Moore's Rough, 178&mdash;.' And theer agin&mdash;'
+      James Moore's Pinch, 179&mdash;.' And agin&mdash;'Beck, 182&mdash;.' Ah,
+      and theer's 'im Tammas tells on! 'Rex, 183&mdash;,' and Rex, 183&mdash;.'
+      Ay, but he was a rare un by all tell-in's! If he'd nob'but won but onst
+      agin! Ah, and theer's none like the Gray Dogs&mdash;they all says that,
+      and I say so masel'; none like the Gray Dogs o' Kenmuir, bless 'em! And
+      we'll win agin too&mdash;&rdquo; he broke off short; his eye had travelled down
+      to the last name on the list.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'M'Adam's Wull'!&rdquo; he read with unspeakable contempt, and put his great
+      thumb across the name as though to wipe it out. &ldquo;'M'Adam's Wull'! Goo'
+      gracious sakes! P-hg-h-r-r! &ldquo;&mdash;and he made a motion as though to spit
+      upon the ground.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But a little shoulder was into his side, two small fists were beating at
+      his chest, and a shrill voice was yelling: &ldquo;Devil! devil! stan' awa'!&rdquo;&mdash;and
+      he was tumbled precipitately away from the mantelpiece, and brought up
+      abruptly against the side-wall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The precious Cup swayed on its ebony stand, the boy's hands, rudely
+      withdrawn, almost overthrowing it. But the little man's first impulse,
+      cursing and screaming though he was, was to steady it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'M'Adam's Wull'! I wish he was here to teach ye, ye snod-faced, ox-limbed
+      profleegit!&rdquo; he cried, standing in front of the Cup, his eyes blazing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, 'M'Adam's Wull'! And why not 'M'Adam's Wull'? Ha' ye ony objections
+      to the name?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I didn't know yo' was theer,&rdquo; said David, a thought sheepishly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Na; or ye'd not ha' said it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd ha' thought it, though,&rdquo; muttered the boy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Luckily, however, his father did not hear. He stretched his hands up
+      tenderly for the Cup, lifted it down, and began reverently to polish the
+      dimmed sides with his handkerchief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye're thinkin', nae doot,&rdquo; he cried, casting up a vicious glance at
+      David, &ldquo;that Wullie's no gude enough to ha' his name alangside o' they
+      cursed Gray Dogs. Are ye no? Let's ha' the truth for aince&mdash;for a
+      diversion.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reck'n he's good enough if there's none better,&rdquo; David replied
+      dispassionately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And wha should there be better? Tell me that, ye muckle gowk.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, but that'd be long tellin', he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what wad ye mean by that?&rdquo; his father cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay; I was but thinkin' that Mr. Moore's Bob'll look gradely writ under
+      yon.&rdquo; He pointed to the vacant space below Red Wull's name.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man put the Cup back on its pedestal with hurried hands. The
+      handkerchief dropped unconsidered to the floor; he turned and sprang
+      furiously at the boy, who stood against the wall, still smiling; and,
+      seizing him by the collar of his coat, shook him to and fro with fiery
+      energy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So ye're hopin', prayin', nae doot, that James Moore&mdash;curse him!&mdash;will
+      win ma Cup awa' from me, yer ain dad. I wonder ye're no 'shamed to crass
+      ma door! Ye live on me; ye suck ma blood, ye foul-mouthed leech. Wullie
+      and me brak' oorsel's to keep ye in hoose and hame&mdash;and what's yer
+      gratitude? Ye plot to rob us of oor rights.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He dropped the boy's coat and stood back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No rights about it,&rdquo; said David, still keeping his temper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I win is it no ma right as muckle as ony Englishman's?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Red Wull, who had heard the rising voices, came trotting in, scowled at
+      David, and took his stand beside his master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, <i>if</i> yo' win it,&rdquo; said David, with significant emphasis on the
+      conjunction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And wha's to beat us?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David looked at his father in well-affected surprise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell yo' Owd Bob's rinin',&rdquo; he answered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what if he is?&rdquo; the other cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, even yo' should know so much,&rdquo; the boy sneered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man could not fail to understand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So that's it!&rdquo; he said. Then, in a scream, with one finger pointing to
+      the great dog: &ldquo;And what o' him? What'll ma Wullie be doin' the while?
+      Tell me that, and ha' a care! Mind ye, he stan's here hearkenin'!&rdquo; And,
+      indeed, the Tailless Tyke was bristling for battle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David did not like the look of things; and edged away toward the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What'll Wullie be doin', ye chicken-hearted brock?&rdquo; his father cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Im?&rdquo; said the boy, now close on the door. &ldquo;Im!&rdquo; he said, with a slow
+      contempt that made the red bristles quiver on the dog's neck. &ldquo;Lookin' on,
+      I should think&mdash;lookin' on. What else is he fit for? I tell yo' oor
+      Bob&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&mdash;'Oor Bob'!&rdquo; screamed the little man darting forward. &ldquo;'Oor Bob'!
+      Hark to him. I'll 'oor&mdash;' At him, Wullie! at him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But the Tailless Tyke needed no encouragement. With a harsh roar he sprang
+      through the air, only to crash against the closing door!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The outer door banged, and in another second a mocking finger tapped on
+      the windowpane.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Better luck to the two on yo' next time!&rdquo; laughed a scornful voice; and
+      David ran down the hill toward Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XII. HOW RED WULL HELD THE BRIDGE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      FROM that hour the fire of M'Adam's jealousy blazed into a mighty flame.
+      The winning of the Dale Cup had become a mania with him. He had won it
+      once, and would again despite all the Moores, all the Gray Dogs, all the
+      undutiful sons in existence; on that point he was resolved. The fact of
+      his having tasted the joys of victory served to whet his desire. And now
+      he felt he could never be happy till the Cup was his own&mdash;won
+      outright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At home David might barely enter the room There the trophy stood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll not ha' ye touch ma Cup, ye dirty-fingered, ill-begotten wastrel.
+      Wullie and me won it&mdash;you'd naught to do wi' it. Go you to James
+      Moore and James Moore's dog.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, and shall I tak' Cup wi' me? or will ye bide till it's took from ye?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So the two went on; and every day the tension approached nearer
+      breaking-point.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the Dale the little man met with no sympathy. The hearts of the
+      Dalesmen were to a man with Owd Bob and his master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Whereas once at the Sylvester Arms his shrill, ill tongue had been rarely
+      still, now he maintained a sullen silence; Jem Burton, at least, had no
+      cause of complaint. Crouched away in a corner, with Red Wull beside him,
+      the little man would sit watching and listening as the Dalesmen talked of
+      Owd Bob's doings, his staunchness, sagacity, and coming victory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sometimes he could restrain himself no longer. Then he would spring to his
+      feet, and stand, a little swaying figure, and denounce them passionately
+      in almost pathetic eloquence. These orations always concluded in set
+      fashion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye're all agin us!&rdquo; the little man would cry in quivering voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We are that,&rdquo; Tammas would answer complacently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Fair means or foul, ye're content sae lang as Wullie and me are beat. I
+      wonder ye dinna poison him&mdash;a little arsenic, and the way's clear for
+      your Bob.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'The way is clear enough wi'oot that,&rdquo; from Tammas caustically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then a lengthy silence, only broken by that exceeding bitter cry: &ldquo;Eh,
+      Wullie, Wullie, they're all agin us!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      And always the rivals&mdash;red and gray&mdash;went about seeking their
+      opportunity. But the Master, with his commanding presence and stern eyes,
+      was ever ready for them. Toward the end, M'Adam, silent and sneering,
+      would secretly urge on Red Wull to the attack; until, one day in
+      Grammoch-town, James Moore turned on him, his blue eyes glittering. &ldquo;D'yo'
+      think, yo' little fule,&rdquo; he cried in that hard voice of his, &ldquo;that onst
+      they got set we should iver git either of them off alive?&rdquo; It seemed to
+      strike the little man as a novel idea; for, from that moment, he was ever
+      the first in his feverish endeavors to oppose his small form, buffer-like,
+      between the would-be combatants.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Curse as M'Adam might, threaten as he might, when the time came Owd Bob
+      won.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The styles of the rivals were well contrasted: the patience, the
+      insinuating eloquence, combined with the splendid dash, of the one; and
+      the fierce, driving fury of the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The issue was never in doubt. It may have been that the temper of the
+      Tailless Tyke gave in the time of trial; it may have been that his sheep
+      were wild, as M'Adam declared; certainly not, as the little man alleged in
+      choking voice, that they had been chosen and purposely set aside to ruin
+      his chance. Certain it is that his tactics scared them hopelessly: and he
+      never had them in hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Act for Owd Bob, his dropping, his driving, his penning, aroused the
+      loud-tongued admiration of crowd and competitors alike. He was patient yet
+      persistent, quiet yet firm, and seemed to coax his charges in the right
+      way in that inimitable manner of his own.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When, at length, the verdict was given, and it was known that, after an
+      interval of half a century, the Shepherds' Trophy was won again by a Gray
+      Dog of Kenmuir, there was such a scene as has been rarely witnessed on the
+      slope behind the Dalesman's Daughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Great fists were slapped on mighty backs; great feet were stamped on the
+      sun-dried banks of the Silver Lea; stalwart lungs were strained to their
+      uttermost capacity; and roars of &ldquo;Moore!&rdquo; &ldquo;Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!&rdquo; &ldquo;The Gray
+      Dogs!&rdquo; thundered up the hillside, and were flung, thundering, back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Even James Moore was visibly moved as he worked his way through the
+      cheering mob; and Owd Bob, trotting alongside him in quiet dignity, seemed
+      to wave his silvery brush in acknowledgment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Master Jacky Sylvester alternately turned cart-wheels and felled the Hon.
+      Launcelot Bilks to the ground. Lady Eleanour, her cheeks flushed with
+      pleasure, waved her parasol, and attempted to restrain her son's
+      exuberance. Parson Leggy danced an unclerical jig, and shook hands with
+      the squire till both those fine old gentlemen were purple in the face.
+      Long Kirby selected a small man in the crowd, and bashed his hat down over
+      his eyes. While Tammas, Rob Saunderson, Tupper, Hoppin, Londesley, and the
+      rest joined hands and went raving round like so many giddy girls.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of them all, however, none was so uproarious in the mad heat of his
+      enthusiasm as David M'Adam. He stood in the Kenmuir wagon beside Maggie, a
+      conspicuous figure above the crowd, as he roared in hoarse ecstasy:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Weel done, oor Bob! Weel done, Mr. Moore! Yo've knocked him! Knock him
+      agin! Owd Bob o' Kenmuir! Moore! Moore o' Kenmuir! Hip! Hip!&rdquo; until the
+      noisy young giant attracted such attention in his boisterous delight that
+      Maggie had to lay a hand upon his arm to restrain his violence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Alone, on the far bank of the stream, stood the vanquished pair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man was trembling slightly; his face was still hot from his
+      exertions; and as he listened to the ovation accorded to his conqueror,
+      there was a piteous set grin upon his face. In front stood the defeated
+      dog, his lips wrinkling and hackles rising, as he, too, saw and heard and
+      understood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a gran' thing to ha' a dutiful son. Wullie,&rdquo; the little man
+      whispered, watching David's waving figure. &ldquo;He's happy&mdash;and so are
+      they a'&mdash;not sae much that James Moore has won, as that you and I are
+      beat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, breaking down for a moment:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, Wullie, Wullie! They're all agin us. It's you and I alane, lad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again, seeing the squire followed by Parson Leggy, Viscount Birdsaye, and
+      others of the gentry, forcing their way through the press to shake hands
+      with the victor, he continued:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's good to be in wi' the quality, Wullie. Niver mak' a friend of a man
+      beneath ye in rank, nor an enemy of a man aboon ye: that's a soond
+      principle, Wullie, if ye'd get on in honest England.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood there, alone with his dog, watching the crowd on the far slope as
+      it surged upward in the direction of the committee tent. Only when the
+      black mass had packed itself in solid phalanges about that ring, inside
+      which, just a year ago, he had stood in very different circumstances, and
+      was at length still, a wintry smile played for a moment about his lips. He
+      laughed a mirthless laugh.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;Bide a wee, Wullie&mdash;he! he! Bide a wee.
+     'The best-laid schemes o' mice and men
+     Gang aft agley.'&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      As he spoke, there came down to him, above the tumult, a faint cry of
+      mingled surprise and anger. The cheering ceased abruptly. There was
+      silence; then there burst on the stillness a hurricane of indignation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The crowd surged forward, then turned. Every eye was directed across the
+      stream. A hundred damning fingers pointed at the solitary figure there.
+      There were hoarse yells of: &ldquo;There he be Yon's him! What's he done wi' it?
+      Thief! Throttle him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The mob came lumbering down the slope like one man, thundering their
+      imprecations on a thousand throats. They looked dangerous, and their wrath
+      was stimulated by the knot of angry Dalesmen who led the van. There was
+      more than one white face among the women at the top of the slope as they
+      watched the crowd blundering blindly down the hill. There were more men
+      than Parson Leggy, the squire, James Moore, and the local constables in
+      the thick of it all, striving frantically with voice and gesture, ay, and
+      stick too, to stem the advance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was useless; on the dark wave rolled, irresistible.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the far bank stood the little man, motionless, awaiting them with a
+      grin upon his face. And a little farther in front was the Tailless Tyke,
+      his back and neck like a new-shorn wheat-field, as he rumbled a vast
+      challenge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come on, gentlemen!&rdquo; the little man cried. &ldquo;Come on! I'll bide for ye,
+      never fear. Ye're a thousand to one and a dog. It's the odds ye like,
+      Englishmen a'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And the mob, with murder in its throat, accepted the invitation and came
+      on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the moment, however, from the slope above, clear above the tramp of the
+      multitude, a great voice bellowed: &ldquo;Way! Way! Way for Mr. Trotter!&rdquo; The
+      advancing host checked and opened out; and the secretary of the meeting
+      bundled through.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was a small, fat man, fussy at any time, and perpetually perspiring.
+      Now his face was crimson with rage and running; he gesticulated wildly;
+      vague words bubbled forth, as his short legs twinkled down the slope.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The crowd paused to admire. Some one shouted a witticism, and the crowd
+      laughed. For the moment the situation was saved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The fat secretary hurried on down the slope, unheeding of any insult but
+      the one. He bounced over the plank-bridge: and as he came closer, M'Adam
+      saw that in each hand brandished a brick.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hoots, man! dinna throw!&rdquo; he cried, making a feint as though to turn in
+      sudden terror.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's this? What's this?&rdquo; gasped the secretary, waving his arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bricks, 'twad seem,&rdquo; the other answered, staying his flight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The secretary puffed up like a pudding in a hurry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where's the Cup? Champion, Challenge, etc.,&rdquo; he jerked out. &ldquo;Mind, sir,
+      you're responsible! wholly responsible! Dents, damages, delays! What's it
+      all mean, sir? These&mdash;these monstrous creations &ldquo;&mdash;he brandished
+      the bricks, and M'Adam started back&mdash;&ldquo;wrapped, as I live, in straw,
+      sir, in the Cup case, sir! the Cup case! No Cup! Infamous! Disgraceful!
+      Insult me&mdash;meeting&mdash;committee&mdash;every one! What's it mean,
+      sir?&rdquo; He paused to pant, his body filling and emptying like a bladder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam approached him with one eye on the crowd, which was heaving forward
+      again, threatening still, but sullen and silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I pit 'em there,&rdquo; he whispered; and drew back to watch the effect of his
+      disclosure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The secretary gasped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You&mdash;you not only do this&mdash;amazing thing&mdash;these
+      monstrosities&rdquo;&mdash;he hurled the bricks furiously on the unoffending
+      ground&mdash;&ldquo;but you dare to tell me so!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man smiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Do wrang and conceal it, do right and confess it,' that's Englishmen's
+      motto, and mine, as a rule; but this time I had ma reasons.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Reasons, sir! No reasons can justify such an extraordinary breach of all
+      the&mdash;the decencies. Reasons? the reasons of a maniac. Not to say
+      more, sir. Fraudulent detention&mdash;fraudulent, I say, sir! What were
+      your precious reasons?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The mob with Tammas and Long Kirby at their head had now well nigh reached
+      the plank-bridge. They still looked dangerous, and there were isolated
+      cries of:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Duck him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Chuck him in!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An' the dog!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wi' one o' they bricks about their necks!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There are my reasons!&rdquo; said M'Adam, pointing to the forest of menacing
+      faces. &ldquo;Ye see I'm no beloved amang yonder gentlemen, and&rdquo;&mdash;in a
+      stage whisper in the other's ear&mdash;&ldquo;I thocht maybe I'd be 'tacked on
+      the road.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Tammas foremost of the crowd, had now his foot upon the first plank.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye robber! ye thief! Wait till we set hands on ye, you and yer gorilla!&rdquo;
+       he called.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam half turned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie,&rdquo; he said quietly, &ldquo;keep the bridge.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the order the Tailless Tyke shot gladly forward, and the leaders on the
+      bridge as hastily back. The dog galloped on to the rattling plank, took
+      his post fair and square in the centre of the narrow way, and stood facing
+      the hostile crew like Cerberus guarding the gates of hell: his bull-head
+      was thrust forward, hackles up, teeth glinting, and a distant rumbling in
+      his throat, as though daring them to come on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' first, ole lad!&rdquo; said Tammas, hopping agilely behind Long Kirby.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay; the old uns lead!&rdquo; cried the big smith, his face gray-white. He
+      wrenched round, pinned the old man by the arms, and held him forcibly
+      before him as a covering shield. There ensued an unseemly struggle betwixt
+      the two valiants, Tammas bellowing and kicking in the throes of mortal
+      fear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Jim Mason'll show us,&rdquo; he suggested at last.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; said honest Jim; &ldquo;I'm fear'd.&rdquo; He could say it with impunity; for
+      the pluck of Postie Jim was a matter long past dispute.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Jem Burton'd go first?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nay; Jem had a lovin' wife and dear little kids at 'ome.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Big Bell?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Big Bell'd see 'isseif further first.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A tall figure came forcing through the crowd, his face a little paler than
+      its wont, and a formidable knob-kerry in his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm goin'!&rdquo; said David.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But yo're not,&rdquo; answered burly Sam'l, gripping the boy from behind with
+      arms like the roots of an oak. &ldquo;Your time'll coom soon enough by the look
+      on yo' wi' niver no hurry.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And the sense of the Dalesmen was with the big man; for, as old Rob
+      Saunderson said:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I reck'n he'd liefer claw on to your throat, lad, nor ony o' oors.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As there was no one forthcoming to claim the honor of the lead, Tammas
+      came forward with cunning counsel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell yo' what, lads, we'd best let 'em as don't know nowt at all aboot
+      him go first. And onst they're on, mind, we winna let 'em off; but keep
+      a-shovin' and a-bovin 'on 'em forra'd. <i>Then</i> us'll foller.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      By this time there was a little naked space of green round the
+      bridge-head, like a fairy circle, into which the uninitiated might not
+      penetrate. Round this the mob hedged: the Dalesmen in front, striving
+      knavishly back and bawling to those behind to leggo that shovin'; and
+      these latter urging valorously forward, yelling jeers and contumely at the
+      front rank. &ldquo;Come on! 'O's afraid? Lerrus through to 'em, then, ye Royal
+      Stan'-backs!&rdquo;&mdash;for well they knew the impossibility of their demand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And as they wedged and jostled thus, there stole out from their midst as
+      gallant a champion as ever trod the grass. He trotted out into the ring,
+      the observed of all, and paused to gaze at the gaunt figure on the bridge.
+      The sun lit the sprinkling of snow on the dome of his head; one forepaw
+      was off the ground; and he stood there, royally alert, scanning his
+      antagonist.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Th' Owd Un!&rdquo; went up in a roar fit to split the air as the hero of the
+      day was recognized. And the Dalesmen gave a pace forward spontaneously as
+      the gray knight-errant stole across the green.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oor Bob'll fetch him!&rdquo; they roared, their blood leaping to fever heat,
+      and gripped their sticks, determined in stern reality to follow now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The gray champion trotted up on to the bridge, and paused again, the long
+      hair about his neck rising like a ruff, and a strange glint in his eyes;
+      and the holder of the bridge never moved. Red and Gray stood thus, face to
+      face: the one gay yet resolute, the other motionless, his great head
+      slowly sinking between his forelegs, seemingly petrified.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no shouting now: it was time for deeds, not words. Only, above
+      the stillness, came a sound from the bridge like the snore of a giant in
+      his sleep, and blending, with it, a low, deep, purring thunder like some
+      monster cat well pleased.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie,&rdquo; came a solitary voice from the far side, &ldquo;keep the bridge!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      One ear went back, one ear was still forward; the great head was low and
+      lower between his forelegs and the glowing eyes rolled upward so that the
+      watchers could see the murderous white.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Forward the gray dog stepped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, for the second time that afternoon, a voice, stern and hard, came
+      ringing down from the slope above over the heads of the many.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bob, lad, coom back!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He! he! I thocht that was comin',&rdquo; sneered the small voice over the
+      stream.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The gray dog heard, and checked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bob, lad, coom in, I say!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At that he swung round and marched slowly back, gallant as he had come,
+      dignified still in his mortification.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Red Wull threw back his head and bellowed a paean of victory&mdash;challenge,
+      triumph, scorn, all blended in that bull-like, blood-chilling blare.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      In the mean time, M'Adam and the secretary had concluded their business.
+      It had been settled that the Cup was to be delivered over to James Moore
+      not later than the following Saturday.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Saturday, see! at the latest!&rdquo; the secretary cried as he turned and
+      trotted off.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Trotter,&rdquo; M'Adam called after him. &ldquo;I'm sorry, but ye maun bide this
+      side the Lea till I've reached the foot o' the Pass. Gin they gentlemen&rdquo;&mdash;nodding
+      toward the crowd&mdash;&ldquo;should set hands on me, why&mdash;&rdquo; and he
+      shrugged his shoulders significantly. &ldquo;Forbye, Wullie's keepin' the
+      bridge.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With that the little man strolled off leisurely; now dallying to pick a
+      flower, now to wave a mocking hand at the furious mob, and so slowly on to
+      the foot of the Muirk Muir Pass.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There he turned and whistled that shrill peculiar note.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie, Wullie, to me!&rdquo; he called.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At that, with one last threat thrown at the' thousand souls he had held at
+      bay for thirty minutes, the Tailless Tyke swung about and galloped after
+      his lord.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XIII. THE FACE IN THE FRAME
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      ALL Friday M'Adam never left the kitchen. He sat opposite the Cup, in a
+      coma, as it were; and Red Wull lay motionless at his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Saturday came, and still the two never budged. Toward the evening the
+      little man rose, all in a tremble, and took the Cup down from the
+      mantelpiece; then he sat down again with it in his arms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, Wullie, Wullie, is it a dream? Ha' they took her fra us? Eh, but it's
+      you and I alane, lad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He hugged it to him, crying silently, and rocking to and fro like a mother
+      with a dying child. And Red Wull sat up on his haunches, and weaved from
+      side to side in sympathy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As the dark was falling, David looked in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the sound of the opening door the little man swung round noiselessly,
+      the Cup nursed in his arms, and glared, sullen and suspicious, at the boy;
+      yet seemed not to recognize him. In the half-light David could see the
+      tears coursing down the little wizened face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Pon ma life, he's gaein' daft!&rdquo; was his comment as he turned away to
+      Kenmuir. And again the mourners were left alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A few hours noo, Wullie,&rdquo; the little man wailed, &ldquo;and she'll be gane. We
+      won her, Wullie, you and I, won her fair: she's lit the hoose for us;
+      she's softened a' for us&mdash;and God kens we needed it; she was the ae
+      thing we had to look to and love. And noo they're takin' her awa', and
+      'twill be night agin. We've cherished her, we've garnished her, we've
+      loved her like oor ain; and noo she maun gang to strangers who know her
+      not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose to his feet, and the great dog rose with him. His voice heightened
+      to a scream, and he swayed with the Cup in his arms till it seemed he must
+      fall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did they win her fair, Wullie? Na; they plotted, they conspired, they
+      worked ilka ain o' them agin us, and they beat us. Ay, and noo they're
+      robbin' us&mdash;robbin' us! But they shallna ha' her. Oor's or naebody's,
+      Wullie! We'll finish her sooner nor that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He banged the Cup down on the table and rushed madly out of the room, Red
+      Wull at his heels. In a moment he came running back, brandishing a great
+      axe about his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come on, Wullie!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;'Scots wha hae'! Noo's the day and noo's the
+      hour! Come on!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On the table before him, serene and beautiful, stood the target of his
+      madness. The little man ran at it, swinging his murderous weapon like a
+      flail.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oor's or naebody's Wullie! Come on! 'Lay the proud usurpers low'!&rdquo; He
+      aimed a mighty buffet; and the Shepherds' Trophy&mdash;the Shepherds'
+      Trophy which had won through the hardships of a hundred years&mdash;was
+      almost gone. It seemed to quiver as the blow fell. But the cruel steel
+      missed, and the axe-head sank into the wood, clean and deep, like a spade
+      in snow.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+Red Wull had leapt on to the table, and in his cavernous voice was
+grumbling a chorus to his master's yells. The little man danced up and
+down, tugging and straining at the axe-handle.
+
+     &ldquo;You and I, Wullie!
+     'Tyrants fall in every foe!
+     Liberty's in every blow!'&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      The axe-head was as immoveable as the Muir Pike.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;'Let us do or die!'&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      The shaft snapped, and the little man tottered back. Red Wull jumped down
+      from the table, and, in doing so, brushed against the Cup. It toppled*
+      over on to the floor, and rolled tinkling away in the dust. And the little
+      man fled madly out of the house, still screaming his war-song.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     *N.B.&mdash;You may see the dent in the Cup's white sides to this
+     day.
+
+</pre>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      When, late that night, M'Adam returned home, the Cup was gone. Down on his
+      hands and knees he traced out its path, plain to see, where it had rolled
+      along the dusty floor. Beyond that there was no sign.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At first he was too much overcome to speak. Then he raved round the room
+      like a derelict ship, Red Wull following uneasily behind. He cursed; he
+      blasphemed; he screamed and beat the walls with feverish hands. A
+      stranger, passing, might well have thought this was a private Bedlam. At
+      last, exhausted, he sat down and cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's David, Wullie, ye may depend; David that's robbed his father's
+      hoose. Oh, it's a grand thing to ha' a dutiful son!&rdquo;&mdash;and he bowed
+      his gray head in his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David, indeed, it was. He had come back to the Grange during his father's
+      absence, and, taking the Cup from its grimy bed, had marched it away to
+      its rightful home. For that evening at Kenmuir, James Moore had said to
+      him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;David, your father's not sent the Cup. I shall come and fetch it
+      to-morrow.&rdquo; And David knew he meant it. Therefore, in order to save a
+      collision between his father and his friend&mdash;a collision the issue of
+      which he dared hardly contemplate, knowing, as he did, the unalterable
+      determination of the one and the lunatic passion of the other&mdash;the
+      boy had resolved to fetch the Cup himself, then and there, in the teeth,
+      if needs be, of his father and the Tailless Tyke. And he had done it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When he reached home that night he marched, contrary to his wont, straight
+      into the kitchen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There sat his father facing the door, awaiting him, his hands upon his
+      knees. For once the little man was alone; and David, brave though he was,
+      thanked heaven devoutly that Red Wull was elsewhere.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a while father and son kept silence, watching one another like two
+      fencers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Twas you as took ma Cup?&rdquo; asked the little man at last, leaning forward
+      in his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Twas me as took Mr. Moore's Cup,&rdquo; the boy replied. &ldquo;I thowt yo' mun ha'
+      done wi' it&mdash;I found it all bashed upon the floor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You took it&mdash;pit up to it, nae doot, by James Moore.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David made a gesture of dissent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, by James Moore,&rdquo; his father continued. &ldquo;He dursena come hissel' for
+      his ill-gotten spoils, so he sent the son to rob the father. The coward!&rdquo;&mdash;his
+      whole frame shook with passion. &ldquo;I'd ha' thocht James Moore'd ha' bin man
+      enough to come himself for what he wanted. I see noo I did him a wrang&mdash;I
+      misjudged him. I kent him a heepocrite; ain o' yer unco gudes; a man as
+      looks one thing, says anither, and does a third; and noo I ken he's a
+      coward. He's fear'd o' me, sic as I am, five foot twa in ma stockin's.&rdquo; He
+      rose from his chair and drew himself up to his full height.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Moore had nowt to do wi' it,&rdquo; David persisted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye're lyin'. James Moore pit ye to it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell yo' he did not.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye'd ha' bin willin' enough wi'oot him, if ye'd thocht o't, I grant ye.
+      But ye've no the wits. All there is o' ye has gane to mak' yer muckle
+      body. Hooiver, that's no matter. I'll settle wi' James Moore anither time.
+      I'll settle wi' you noo, David M'Adam.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He paused, and looked the boy over from bead to foot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So, ye're not only an idler! a wastrel! a liar!&rdquo;&mdash;he spat the words
+      out. &ldquo;Ye're&mdash;God help ye&mdash;a thief!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm no thief!&rdquo; the boy returned hotly. &ldquo;I did but give to a mon what ma
+      feyther&mdash;shame on him!&mdash;wrongfully kept from him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wrangfully?&rdquo; cried the little man, advancing with burning face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Twas honorably done, keepin' what wasna your'n to keep! Holdin' back his
+      rights from a man! Ay, if ony one's the thief, it's not me: it's you, I
+      say, you!&rdquo;&mdash;and he looked his father in the face with flashing eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm the thief, am I?&rdquo; cried the other, incoherent with passion. &ldquo;Though
+      ye're three times ma size, I'll teach ma son to speak so to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old strap, now long disused, hung in the chimney corner. As he spoke
+      the little man sprang back, ripped it from the wall, and, almost before
+      David realized what he was at, had brought it down with a savage slash
+      across his son's shoulders; and as he smote he whistled a shrill,
+      imperative note:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie, Wullie, to me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David felt the blow through his coat like a bar of hot iron laid across
+      his back. His passion seethed within him; every vein throbbed; every nerve
+      quivered. In a minute he would wipe out, once and for all, the score of
+      years; for the moment, however, there was urgent business on hand. For
+      outside he could hear the quick patter of feet hard-galloping, and the
+      scurry of a huge creature racing madly to a call.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With a bound he sprang at the open door; and again the strap came lashing
+      down, and a wild voice:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Quick, Wullie! For God's sake, quick!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David slammed the door to. It shut with a rasping snap; and at the same
+      moment a great body from without thundered against it with terrific
+      violence, and a deep voice roared like the sea when thwarted of its prey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Too late, agin!&rdquo; said David, breathing hard; and shot the bolt home with
+      a clang. Then he turned on his father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Noo,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;man to man!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; cried the other, &ldquo;father to son!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man half turned and leapt at the old musketoon hanging on the
+      wall. He missed it, turned again, and struck with the strap full at the
+      other's face. David caught the falling arm at the wrist, hitting it aside
+      with such tremendous force that the bone all but snapped. Then he smote
+      his father a terrible blow on the chest, and the little man staggered
+      back, gasping, into the corner; while the strap dropped from his numbed
+      fingers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Outside Red Wull whined and scratched; but the two men paid no heed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David strode forward; there was murder in his face. The little man saw it:
+      his time was come; but his bitterest foe never impugned Adam M'Adam's
+      courage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood huddled in the corner, all dishevelled, nursing one arm with the
+      other, entirely unafraid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mind, David,&rdquo; he said, quite calm, &ldquo;murder 'twill be, not manslaughter.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Murder 'twill be,&rdquo; the boy answered, in thick, low voice, and was across
+      the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Outside Red Wull banged and clawed high up on the door with impotent pats.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man suddenly slipped his hand in his pocket, pulled out
+      something, and flung it. The missile pattered on his son's face like a
+      rain-drop on a charging bull, and David smiled as he came on. It dropped
+      softly on the table at his side; he looked down and&mdash;it was the face
+      of his mother which gazed up at him!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mither!&rdquo; he sobbed, stopping short. &ldquo;Mither! Ma God, ye saved him&mdash;and
+      me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood there, utterly unhinged, shaking and whimpering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was some minutes before he pulled himself together; then he walked to
+      the wall, took down a pair of shears, and seated himself at the table,
+      still trembling. Near him lay the miniature, all torn and crumpled, and
+      beside it the deep-buried axe-head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He picked up the strap and began cutting it into little pieces.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There! and there! and there!&rdquo; he said with each snip. &ldquo;An' ye hit me agin
+      there may be no mither to save ye.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam stood huddling in the corner. He shook like an aspen leaf; his eyes
+      blazed in his white face; and he still nursed one arm with the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Honor yer father,&rdquo; he quoted in small, low voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_PART4" id="link2H_PART4">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      PART IV THE BLACK KILLER
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XIV. A MAD MAN
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      TAMMAS is on his feet in the tap-room of the Arms, brandishing a pewter
+      mug.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gen'lemen!&rdquo; he cries, his old face flushed; &ldquo;I gie you a toast. Stan'
+      oop!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The knot of Dalesmen round the fire rises like one. The old man waves his
+      mug before him, reckless of the good ale that drips on to the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The best sheep-dog i' th' North&mdash;Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!&rdquo; he cries. In
+      an instant there is uproar: the merry applause of clinking pewters; the
+      stamping of feet; the rattle of sticks. Rob Saunderson and old Jonas are
+      cheering with the best; Tupper and Ned Hoppin are bellowing in one
+      another's ears; Long Kirby and Jem Burton are thumping each other on the
+      back; even Sam'l Todd and Sexton Ross are roused from their habitual
+      melancholy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here's to Th' Owd Un! Here's to oor Bob!&rdquo; yell stentorian voices; while
+      Rob Saunderson has jumped on to a chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wi' the best sheep-dog i' th' North I gie yo' the Shepherd's Trophy!&mdash;won
+      outreet as will be!&rdquo; he cries. Instantly the clamor redoubles.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Dale Cup and Th' Owd Un! The Trophy and oor Bob! 'Ip, 'ip, for the
+      gray dogs! 'Ip, 'ip, for the best sheep-dog as ever was or will be!
+      'Ooray, 'ooray!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It is some minutes before the noise subsides; and slowly the enthusiasts
+      resume their seats with hoarse throats and red faces.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gentlemen a'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A little unconsidered man is standing up at the back of the room. His face
+      is aflame, and his hands twitch spasmodically; and, in front, with hackles
+      up and eyes gleaming, is a huge, bull-like dog.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Noo,&rdquo; cries the little man, &ldquo;I daur ye to repeat that lie!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lie!&rdquo; screams Tammas; &ldquo;lie! I'll gie 'im lie! Lemme at im', I say!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man in his fury is half over the surrounding ring of chairs before
+      Jim Mason on the one hand and Jonas Maddox on the other can pull him back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Coom, Mr. Thornton,&rdquo; soothes the octogenarian, &ldquo;let un be. Yo' surely
+      bain't angered by the likes o' 'im!&rdquo;&mdash;and he jerks contemptuously
+      toward the solitary figure at his back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Tammas resumes his seat unwillingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man in the far corner of the room remains silent, waiting for
+      his challenge to be taken up. It is in vain. And as he looks at the range
+      of broad, impassive backs turned on him, he smiles bitterly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They dursen't Wullie, not a man of them a'!&rdquo; he cries. &ldquo;They're one&mdash;two&mdash;three&mdash;four&mdash;eleven
+      to one, Wullie, and yet they dursen't. Eleven of them, and every man a
+      coward! Long Kirby&mdash;Thornton&mdash;Tupper&mdash;Todd&mdash;Hoppin&mdash;Ross&mdash;Burton&mdash;and
+      the rest, and not one but's a bigger man nor me, and yet&mdash;Weel, we
+      might ha' kent it. We should ha' kent Englishmen by noo. They're aye the
+      same and aye have bin. They tell lies, black lies&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Tammas is again half out his chair and, only forcibly restrained by the
+      men on either hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;&mdash;and then they ha' na the courage to stan' by 'em. Ye're English,
+      ivery man o' ye, to yer marrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man's voice rises as he speaks. He seizes the tankard from the
+      table at his side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Englishmen!&rdquo; he cries, waving it before him. &ldquo;Here's a health! The best
+      sheep-dog as iver penned a flock&mdash;Adam M'Adam's Red Wull!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He pauses, the pewter at his lips, and looks at his audience with flashing
+      eyes. There is no response from them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie, here's to you!&rdquo; he cries. &ldquo;Luck and life to ye, ma trusty fier!
+      Death and defeat to yer enemies!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;'The warld's warld's wrack we share o't,
+     The warstle and the care o't;&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      He raises the tankard and drains it to its uttermost dreg.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then drawing himself up, he addresses his audience once more:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An' noo I'll warn ye aince and for a', and ye may tell James Moore I said
+      it: He may plot agin us, Wullie and me; he may threaten us; he may win the
+      Cup outright for his muckle favorite; but there was niver a man or dog yet
+      as did Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull a hurt but in the end he wush't his
+      mither hadna borne him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A little later, and he walks out of the inn, the Tailless Tyke at his
+      heels.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After he is gone it is Rob Saunderson who says: &ldquo;The little mon's mad;
+      he'll stop at nothin&rdquo;; and Tammas who answers:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay; not even murder.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      The little man had aged much of late. His hair was quite white, his eyes
+      unnaturally bright, and his hands were never still, as though he were in
+      everlasting pain. He looked the picture of disease.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After Owd Bob's second victory he had become morose and untalkative. At
+      home he often sat silent for hours together, drinking and glaring at the
+      place where the Cup had been. Sometimes he talked in low, eerie voice to
+      Red Wull; and on two occasions, David, turning, suddenly, had caught his
+      father glowering stealthily at him with such an expression on his face as
+      chilled the boy's blood. The two never spoke now; and David held this
+      silent, deadly enmity far worse than the old-time perpetual warfare.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the same at the Sylvester Arms. The little man sat alone with Red
+      Wull, exchanging words with no man, drinking steadily, brooding over his
+      wrongs, only now and again galvanized into sudden action.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Other people than Tammas Thornton came to the conclusion that M'Adam would
+      stop at nothing in the undoing of James Moore or the gray dog. They said
+      drink and disappointment had turned his head; that he was mad and
+      dangerous. And on New Year's day matters seemed coming to a crisis; for it
+      was reported that in the gloom of a snowy evening he had drawn a knife on
+      the Master in the High Street, but slipped before he could accomplish his
+      fell purpose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Most of them all, David was haunted with an ever-present anxiety as to the
+      little man's intentions. The boy even went so far as to warn his friend
+      against his father. But the Master only smiled grimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank ye, lad,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;But I reck'n we can 'fend for oorsel's, Bob and
+      I. Eh, Owd Un?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Anxious as David might be, he was not so anxious as to be above taking a
+      mean advantage of this state of strained apprehension to work on Maggie's
+      fears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One evening he was escorting her home from church, when, just before they
+      reached the larch copse: &ldquo;Goo' sakes! What's that?&rdquo; he ejaculated in
+      horror-laden accents, starting back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What, Davie?&rdquo; cried the girl, shrinking up to him all in a tremble.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Couldna say for sure. It mought be owt, or agin it mought be nowt. But
+      yo' grip my arm, I'll grip yo' waist.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie demurred.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Canst see onythin'?&rdquo; she asked, still in a flutter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Be'ind the 'edge.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wheer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Theer! &ldquo;&mdash;pointing vaguely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I canna see nowt.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, theer, lass. Can yo' not see? Then yo' pit your head along o' mine&mdash;so&mdash;closer&mdash;closer.&rdquo;
+       Then, in aggrieved tones: &ldquo;Whativer is the matter wi' yo', wench? I might
+      be a leprosy.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But the girl was walking away with her head high as the snow-capped Pike.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So long as I live, David M'Adam,&rdquo; she cried, &ldquo;I'll niver go to church wi'
+      you agin!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Iss, but you will though&mdash;onst,&rdquo; he answered low.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie whisked round in a flash, superbly indignant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What d'yo' mean, sir-r-r?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' know what I mean, lass,&rdquo; he replied sheepish and shuffling before her
+      queenly anger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She looked him up and down, and down and up again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll niver speak to you agin, Mr. M'Adam,&rdquo; she cried; &ldquo;not if it was ever
+      so&mdash;Nay, I'll walk home by myself, thank you. I'll ha' nowt to do wi'
+      you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So the two must return to Kenmuir, one behind the other, like a lady and
+      her footman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David's audacity had more than once already all but caused a rupture
+      between the pair. And the occurrence behind the hedge set the cap on his
+      impertinences. That was past enduring and Maggie by her bearing let him
+      know it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David tolerated the girl's new attitude for exactly twelve minutes by the
+      kitchen clock. Then: &ldquo;Sulk wi' me, indeed! I'll teach her!&rdquo; and he marched
+      out of the door, &ldquo;Niver to cross it agin, ma word!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Afterward, however, he relented so far as to continue his visits as
+      before; but he made it clear that he only came to see the Master and hear
+      of Owd Bob's doings. On these occasions he loved best to sit on the
+      window-sill outside the kitchen, and talk and chaff with Tammas and the
+      men in the yard, feigning an uneasy bashfulness when reference made to
+      Bessie Bolstock. And after sitting thus for some time, he would half turn,
+      look over his shoulder, and remark in indifferent tones to the girl
+      within: &ldquo;Oh, good-evenin'! I forgot yo', &ldquo;&mdash;and then resume his
+      conversation. While the girl within, her face a little pinker, her lips a
+      little tighter, and her chin a little higher, would go about her business,
+      pretending neither to hear nor care.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The suspicions that M'Adam nourished dark designs against James Moore were
+      somewhat confirmed in that, on several occasions in the bitter dusks of
+      January afternoons, a little insidious figure was reported to have been
+      seen lurking among the farm-buildings of Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once Sam'l Todd caught the little man fairly, skulking away in the
+      woodshed. Sam'l took him up bodily and carried him down the slope to the
+      Wastrel, shaking him gently as he went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Across the stream he put him on his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If I catches yo' cadgerin' aroun' the farm agin, little mon,&rdquo; he
+      admonished, holding up a warning finger; &ldquo;I'll tak' yo' and drap yo' in t'
+      Sheep-wash, I warn yo' fair. I'd ha' done it noo an' yo'd bin a bigger and
+      a younger mon. But theer! yo'm sic a scrappety bit. Noo, rin whoam.&rdquo; And
+      the little man slunk silently away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a time he appeared there no more. Then, one evening when it was almost
+      dark, James Moore, going the round of the outbuildings, felt Owd Bob
+      stiffen against his side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's oop, lad&rdquo; he whispered, halting; and, dropping his hand on the old
+      dog's neck felt a ruff of rising hair beneath it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Steady, lad, steady,&rdquo; he whispered; &ldquo;what is 't?&rdquo; He peered forward into
+      the gloom; and at length discerned a little familiar figure huddled away
+      in the crevice between two stacks.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's yo, is it, M'Adam?&rdquo; he said, and, bending, seized a wisp of Owd
+      Bob's coat in a grip like a vice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, in a great voice, moved to rare anger:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oot o' this afore I do ye a hurt, ye meeserable spyin' creetur&rdquo; he
+      roared. &ldquo;Yo' mun wait till dark cooms to hide yo', yo' coward, afore yo
+      daur coom crawlin' aboot ma hoose, frightenin' the women-folk and up to
+      yer devilments. If yo've owt to say to me, coom like a mon in the open
+      day. Noo git aff wi' yo', afore I lay hands to yo'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood there in the dusk, tall and mighty, a terrible figure, one hand
+      pointing to the gate, the other still grasping the gray dog.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man scuttled away in the half-light, and out of the yard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the plank-bridge he turned and shook his fist at the darkening house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Curse ye, James Moore!&rdquo; he sobbed, &ldquo;I'll be even wi' ye yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XV. DEATH ON THE MARCHES
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      ON the top of this there followed an attempt to poison Th' Owd Un. At
+      least there was no other accounting for the affair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the dead of a long-remembered night James Moore was waked by a low
+      moaning beneath his room. He leapt out of bed and ran to the window to see
+      his favorite dragging about the moonlit yard, the dark head down, the
+      proud tail for once lowered, the lithe limbs wooden, heavy, unnatural&mdash;altogether
+      pitiful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a moment he was downstairs and out to his friend's assistance.
+      &ldquo;Whativer is't, Owd Un?&rdquo; he cried in anguish.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the sound of that dear voice the old dog tried to struggle to him,
+      could not, and fell, whimpering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a second the Master was with him, examining him tenderly, and crying
+      for Sam'l, who slept above the stables.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was every symptom of foul play: the tongue was swollen and almost
+      black; the breathing labored; the body twitched horribly; and the soft
+      gray eyes all bloodshot and straining in agony.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With the aid of Sam'l and Maggie, drenching first and stimulants after,
+      the Master pulled him around for the moment. And soon Jim Mason and Parson
+      Leggy, hurriedly summoned, came running hot-foot to the rescue.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Prompt and stringent measures saved the victim&mdash;but only just. For a
+      time the best sheep-dog in the North was pawing at the Gate of Death. In
+      the end, as the gray dawn broke, the danger passed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The attempt to get at him, if attempt it was, aroused passionate
+      indignation in the countryside. It seemed the culminating-point of the
+      excitement long bubbling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There were no traces of the culprit; not a vestige to lead to
+      incrimination, so cunningly had the criminal accomplished his foul task.
+      But as to the perpetrator, if there where no proofs there were yet fewer
+      doubts.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the Sylvester Arms, Long Kirby asked M'Adam point-blank for his
+      explanation of the matter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hoo do I 'count for it?&rdquo; the little man cried. &ldquo;I dinna 'count for it
+      ava.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then hoo did it happen?&rdquo; asked Tammas with asperity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I dinna believe it did happen,&rdquo; the little man replied. &ldquo;It's a lee o'
+      James Moore's&mdash;a characteristic lee.&rdquo; Whereon they chucked him out
+      incontinently; for the Terror for once was elsewhere.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now that afternoon is to be remembered for threefold causes. Firstly,
+      because, as has been said, M'Adam was alone. Secondly, because, a few
+      minutes after his ejectment, the window of the tap-room was thrown open
+      from without, and the little man looked in. He spoke no word, but those
+      dim, smouldering eyes of his wandered from face to face, resting for a
+      second on each, as if to burn them on his memory. &ldquo;I'll remember ye,
+      gentlemen,&rdquo; he said at length quietly, shut the window, and was gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thirdly, for a reason now to be told.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Though ten days had elapsed since the attempt on him, the gray dog had
+      never been his old self since. He had attacks of shivering; his vitality
+      seemed sapped; he tired easily, and, great heart, would never own it. At
+      length on this day, James Moore, leaving the old dog behind him, had gone
+      over to Grammoch-town to consult Dingley, the vet. On his way home he met
+      Jim Mason with Gyp, the faithful Betsy's unworthy successor, at the
+      Dalesman's Daughter. Together they started for the long tramp home over
+      the Marches. And that journey is marked with a red stone in this story.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All day long the hills had been bathed in impenetrable fog. Throughout
+      there had been an accompanying drizzle; and in the distance the wind had
+      moaned a storm-menace. To the darkness of the day was added the sombreness
+      of falling night as the three began the ascent of the Murk Muir Pass. By
+      the time they emerged into the Devil's Bowl it was altogether black and
+      blind. But the threat of wind had passed, leaving utter stillness; and
+      they could hear the splash of an otter on the far side of the Lone Tarn as
+      they skirted that gloomy water's edge. When at length the last steep rise
+      on to the Marches had been topped, a breath of soft air smote them
+      lightly, and the curtain of fog began drifting away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two men swung steadily through the heather with that reaching stride
+      the birthright of moor-men and highlanders. They talked but little, for
+      such was their nature: a word or two on sheep and the approaching
+      lambing-time; thence on to the coming Trials; the Shepherds' Trophy; Owd
+      Bob and the attempt on him; and from that to M'Adam and the Tailless Tyke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;D'yo' reck'n M'Adam had a hand in't?&rdquo; the postman was asking.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay; there's no proof.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ceptin' he's mad to get shut o' Th' Owd Un afore Cup Day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Im or me&mdash;it mak's no differ. For a dog is disqualified from
+      competing for the Trophy who has changed hands during the six months prior
+      to the meeting. And this holds good though the change be only from father
+      to son on the decease of the former.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim looked up inquiringly at his companion.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;D'yo' think it'll coom to that?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why&mdash;murder.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not if I can help it,&rdquo; the other answered grimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The fog had cleared away by now, and the moon was up. To their right, on
+      the crest of a rise some two hundred yards away, a low wood stood out
+      black against the sky. As they passed it, a blackbird rose up screaming,
+      and a brace of wood-pigeons winged noisily away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hullo! hark to the yammerin'!&rdquo; muttered Jim, stopping; &ldquo;and at this time
+      o' night too!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Some rabbits, playing in the moonlight on the outskirts of the wood, sat
+      up, listened, and hopped back into security. At the same moment a big
+      hill-fox slunk out of the covert. He stole a pace forward and halted,
+      listening with one ear back and one pad raised; then cantered silently
+      away in the gloom, passing close to the two men and yet not observing
+      them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's up, I wonder?&rdquo; mused the postman.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The fox set 'em clackerin', I reck'n,&rdquo; said the Master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not he; he was scared 'maist oot o' his skin,&rdquo; the other answered. Then
+      in tones of suppressed excitement, with his hands on James Moore's arm:
+      &ldquo;And, look'ee, theer's ma Gyp a-beckonin' on us!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There, indeed, on the crest of the rise beside the wood, was the little
+      lurcher, now looking back at his master, now creeping stealthily forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ma word! theer's summat wrong yonder!&rdquo; cried Jim, and jerked the
+      post-bags off his shoulder. &ldquo;Coom on, Master! &ldquo;&mdash;and he set off
+      running toward the dog; while James Moore, himself excited now, followed
+      with an agility that belied his years.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Some score yards from the lower edge of the spinney, upon the farther side
+      of the ridge, a tiny beck babbled through its bed of peat. The two men, as
+      they topped the rise, noticed a flock of black-faced mountain-sheep
+      clustered in the dip 'twixt wood and stream. They stood martialled in
+      close array, facing half toward the wood, half toward the newcomers, heads
+      up, eyes glaring, handsome as sheep only look when scared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the crest of the ridge the two men halted beside Gyp. The postman stood
+      with his head a little forward, listening intently. Then he dropped in the
+      heather like a dead man, pulling the other with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Doon, mon!&rdquo; he whispered, clutching at Gyp with his spare hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is't, Jim?&rdquo; asked the Master, now thoroughly roused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Summat movin' i' th' wood,&rdquo; the other whispered, listening weasel-eared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So they lay motionless for a while; but there came no sound from the
+      copse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Appen 'twas nowt,&rdquo; the postman at length allowed, peering cautiously
+      about. &ldquo;And yet I thowt&mdash;I dunno reetly what I thowt.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, starting to his knees with a hoarse cry of terror: &ldquo;Save us! what's
+      yon theer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then for the first time the Master raised his head and noticed, lying in
+      the gloom between them and the array of sheep, a still, white heap.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore was a man of deeds, not words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's past waitin'!&rdquo; he said, and sprang forward, his heart in his mouth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sheep stamped and shuffled as he came, and yet did not break.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ah, thanks be!&rdquo; he cried, dropping beside the motionless body; &ldquo;it's
+      nob'but a sheep.&rdquo; As he spoke his hands wandered deftly over the carcase.
+      &ldquo;But what's this?&rdquo; he called. &ldquo;Stout* she was as me. Look at her fleece&mdash;crisp,
+      close, strong; feel the flesh&mdash;firm as a rock. And ne'er a bone
+      broke, ne're a scrat on her body a pin could mak'. As healthy as a mon&mdash;and
+      yet dead as mutton!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     *N.B. Stout&mdash;Hearty.
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      Jim, still trembling from the horror of his fear, came up, and knelt
+      beside his friend. &ldquo;Ah, but there's bin devilry in this!&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;I
+      reck'ned they sheep had bin badly skeared, and not so long agone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sheep-murder, sure enough!&rdquo; the other answered. &ldquo;No fox's doin'&mdash;a
+      girt-grown two-shear as could 'maist knock a h'ox.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim's hands travelled from the body to the dead creature's throat. He
+      screamed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By gob, Master! look 'ee theer!&rdquo; He held his hand up in the moonlight,
+      and it dripped red. &ldquo;And warm yet! warm!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tear some bracken, Jim!&rdquo; ordered the other, &ldquo;and set alight. We mun see
+      to this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The postman did as bid. For a moment the fern smouldered and smoked, then
+      the flame ran crackling along and shot up in the darkness, weirdly
+      lighting the scene: to the right the low wood, a block of solid blackness
+      against the sky; in front the wall of sheep, staring out of the gloom with
+      bright eyes; and as centre-piece that still, white body, with the kneeling
+      men and lurcher sniffing tentatively round.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The victim was subjected to a critical examination. The throat, and that
+      only, had been hideously mauled; from the raw wounds the flesh hung in
+      horrid shreds; on the ground all about were little pitiful dabs of wool,
+      wrenched off apparently in a struggle; and, crawling among the fern-roots,
+      a snake-like track of red led down to the stream.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A dog's doin', and no mistakin' thot,&rdquo; said Jim at length, after a minute
+      inspection.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; declared the Master with slow emphasis, &ldquo;and a sheep-dog's too, and
+      an old un's, or I'm no shepherd.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The postman looked up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why thot?&rdquo; he asked, puzzled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Becos,&rdquo; the Master answered, &ldquo;'im as did this killed for blood&mdash;and
+      for blood only. If had bin ony other dog&mdash;greyhound, bull, tarrier,
+      or even a young sheep-dog&mdash;d'yo' think he'd ha' stopped wi' the one?
+      Not he; he'd ha' gone through 'em, and be runnin' 'em as like as not yet,
+      nippin' 'em, pullin' 'em down, till he'd maybe killed the half. But 'im as
+      did this killed for blood, I say. He got it&mdash;killed just the one, and
+      nary touched the others, d'yo 'see, Jim?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The postman whistled, long and low.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's just what owd Wrottesley'd tell on,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I never nob'but half
+      believed him then&mdash;I do now though. D'yo' mind what th' owd lad'd
+      tell, Master?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore nodded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thot's it. I've never seen the like afore myself, but I've heard ma
+      grandad speak o't mony's the time. An owd dog'll git the cravin' for
+      sheep's blood on him, just the same as a mon does for the drink; he creeps
+      oot o' nights, gallops afar, hunts his sheep, downs 'er, and satisfies the
+      cravin'. And he nary kills but the one, they say, for he knows the value
+      o' sheep same as you and me. He has his gallop, quenches the thirst, and
+      then he's for home, maybe a score mile away, and no one the wiser i' th'
+      mornin'. And so on, till he cooms to a bloody death, the murderin'
+      traitor.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If he does!&rdquo; said Jim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And he does, they say, nigh always. For he gets bolder and bolder wi' not
+      bein' caught, until one fine night a bullet lets light into him. And some
+      mon gets knocked nigh endways when they bring his best tyke home i' th'
+      mornin', dead, wi' the sheep's wool yet stickin' in his mouth.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The postman whistled again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's what owd Wrottesley'd tell on to a tick. And he'd say, if ye mind,
+      Master, as hoo the dog'd niver kill his master's sheep&mdash;kind o'
+      conscience-like.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, I've heard that,&rdquo; said the Master. &ldquo;Queer too, and 'im bein' such a
+      bad un!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim Mason rose slowly from his knees.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ma word,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;I wish Th' Owd Un was here. He'd 'appen show us
+      summat!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I nob'but wish he was, pore owd lad!&rdquo; said the Master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he spoke there was a crash in the wood above them; a sound as of some
+      big body bursting furiously through brushwood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two men rushed to the top of the rise. In the darkness they could see
+      nothing; only, standing still and holding their breaths, they could hear
+      the faint sound, ever growing fainter, of some creature splashing in a
+      hasty gallop over the wet moors.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yon's him! Yon's no fox, I'll tak' oath. And a main big un, too, hark to
+      him!&rdquo; cried Jim. Then to Gyp, who had rushed off in hot pursuit: &ldquo;Coom
+      back, chunk-'ead. What's use o' you agin a gallopin' potamus?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Gradually the sounds died away and away, and were no more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thot's 'im, the devil!&rdquo; said the Master at length.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay; the devil has a tail, they do say,&rdquo; replied Jim thoughtfully. For
+      already the light of suspicion was focusing its red glare.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Noo I reck'n we're in for bloody times amang the sheep for a while,&rdquo; said
+      the Master, as Jim picked up his bags.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Better a sheep nor a mon,&rdquo; answered the postman, still harping on the old
+      theme.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XVI. THE BLACK KILLER
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      THAT, as James Moore had predicted, was the first only of a long
+      succession of such solitary crimes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Those who have not lived in a desolate country like that about the Muir
+      Pike, where sheep are paramount and every other man engaged in the
+      profession pastoral, can barely imagine the sensation aroused. In market
+      place, tavern, or cottage, the subject of conversation was always the
+      latest sheep-murder and the yet-undetected criminal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sometimes there would be a lull, and the shepherds would begin to breathe
+      more freely. Then there would come a stormy night, when the heavens were
+      veiled in the cloak of crime, and the wind moaned fitfully over meres and
+      marches, and another victim would be added to the lengthening list.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was always such black nights, nights of wind and weather, when no man
+      would be abroad, that the murderer chose for his bloody work; and that was
+      how he became known from the Red Screes to the Muir Pike as the Black
+      Killer. In the Daleland they still call a wild, wet night &ldquo;A Black
+      Killer's night:&rdquo; for they say: &ldquo;His ghaist'll be oot the night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was hardly a farm in the countryside but was marked with the seal of
+      blood. Kenmuir escaped, and the Grange; Rob Saunderson at the Holt, and
+      Tupper at Swinsthwaite; and they were about the only lucky ones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As for Kenmuir, Tammas declared with a certain grim pride: &ldquo;He knows
+      better'n to coom wheer Th' Owd Un be.&rdquo; Whereat M'Adam was taken with a fit
+      of internal spasms, rubbing his knees and cackling insanely for a
+      half-hour afterward. And as for the luck of the Grange&mdash;well, there
+      was a reason for that too, so the Dalesmen said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Though the area of crime stretched from the Black Water to Grammoch-town,
+      twenty-odd miles, there was never a sign of the perpetrator. The Killer
+      did his bloody work with a thoroughness and a devilish cunning that defied
+      detection.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was plain that each murder might be set down to the same agency. Each
+      was stamped with the same unmistakable sign-manual: one sheep killed, its
+      throat torn into red ribands, and the others untouched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was at the instigation of Parson Leggy that the squire imported a
+      bloodhound to track the Killer to his doom. Set on at a fresh killed
+      carcase at the One Tree Knowe, he carried the line a distance in the
+      direction of the Muir Pike; then was thrown out by a little bustling beck,
+      and never acknowledged the scent again. Afterward he became unmanageable,
+      and could be no further utilized. Then there was talk of inducing Tommy
+      Dobson and his pack to come over from Eskdale, but that came to nothing.
+      The Master of the Border Hunt lent a couple of foxhounds, who effected
+      nothing; and there were a hundred other attempts and as many failures. Jim
+      Mason set a cunning trap or two and caught his own bob-tailed
+      tortoise-shell and a terrible wigging from his missus; Ned Hoppin sat up
+      with a gun two nights over a new slain victim and Londesley of the Home
+      Farm poisoned a carcase. But the Killer never returned to the kill, and
+      went about in the midst of the all, carrying on his infamous traffic and
+      laughing up his sleeve.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the meanwhile the Dalesmen raged and swore vengeance; their impotence,
+      their unsuccess, and their losses heating their wrath to madness. And the
+      bitterest sting of it all lay in this; that though they could not detect
+      him, they were nigh to positive as to the culprit.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Many a time was the Black Killer named in low-voiced conclave; many a time
+      did Long Kirby, as he stood in the Border Ram and watched M'Adam and the
+      Terror walking down the High, nudge Jim Mason and whisper:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Theer's the Killer&mdash;oneasy be his grave!&rdquo; To which practical Jim
+      always made the same retort:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, theer's the Killer; but wheer's the proof?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And therein lay the crux. There was scarcely a man in the countryside who
+      doubted the guilt of the Tailless Tyke; but, as Jim said, where was the
+      proof? They could but point to his well-won nickname; his evil notoriety;
+      say that, magnificent sheep-dog as he was, he was known even in his work
+      as a rough handler of stock; and lastly remark significantly that the
+      grange was one of the few farms that had so far escaped unscathed. For
+      with the belief that the Black Killer was a sheep-dog they held it as an
+      article of faith that he would in honour spare his master's flock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There may, indeed, have been prejudice in their judgement. For each has
+      his private grudge against the Terror; and nigh every man bore on his own
+      person, or his clothes, or on the body of his dog, the mark of that huge
+      savage.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Proof?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, he near killed ma Lassie!&rdquo; cries Londesley.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And he did kill the Wexer!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And Wan Tromp!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And see pore old Wenus!&rdquo; says John Swan, and pulls out that fair Amazon,
+      battered almost past recognition, but a warrioress still.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's Red Wull&mdash;bloody be his end!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And he laid ma Rasper by for nigh three weeks!&rdquo; continues Tupper,
+      pointing to the yet-unhealed scars on the neck of the big bobtail. &ldquo;See
+      thisey&mdash;his work.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And look here!&rdquo; cries Saunderson, exposing a ragged wound in Shep's
+      throat; &ldquo;thot's the Terror&mdash;black be his fa'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; says Long Kirby with an oath; &ldquo;the tykes love him nigh as much as we
+      do.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; says Tammas. &ldquo;Yo' jest watch!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man slips out of the tap-room; and in another moment from the road
+      without comes a heavy, regular pat-pat-pat, as of some big creature
+      approaching, and, blending with the sound, little shuffling footsteps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In an instant every dog in the room has risen to his feet and stands
+      staring at the door with sullen, glowing eyes; lips wrinkling, bristles
+      rising, throats rumbling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An unsteady hand fumbles at the door; a reedy voice calls, &ldquo;Wullie, come
+      here!&rdquo; and the dogs move away, surly to either side of the fireplace,
+      tails down, ears back, grumbling still; the picture of cowed passion. Then
+      the door opens; Tammas enters, grinning; and each, after a moment's
+      scrutiny, resumes his former position before the fire.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile over M'Adam, seemingly all unsuspicious of these suspicions, a
+      change had come. Whether it was that for the time he heard less of the
+      best sheep-dog in the North, or for some more occult reason, certain it is
+      that he became his old self. His tongue wagged as gayly and bitterly as
+      ever, and hardly a night passed but he infuriated Tammas almost to blows
+      with his innuendoes and insidious sarcasms.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Old Jonas Maddox, one evening at the Sylvester Arms, inquired of him what
+      his notion was as to the identity of the Killer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hae ma suspicions, Mr. Maddox; I hae ma suspicions,&rdquo; the little man
+      replied, cunningly wagging his head and giggling. But more than that they
+      could not elicit from him. A week later, however, to the question:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what are yo' thinkin' o' this black Killer, Mr. M'adam?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why <i>black?</i>&rdquo; the little man asked earnestly; &ldquo;why <i>black</i> mair
+      than white&mdash;or <i>gray</i> we'll say?&rdquo; Luckily for him, however, the
+      Dalesmen are slow of wit as of speech.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David, too, marked the difference in his father, who nagged at him now and
+      then with all the old spirit. At first he rejoiced in then change,
+      preferring his outward and open warfare to that aforetime stealthy enmity.
+      But soon he almost wished the other back; for the older he grew the more
+      difficult did he find it to endure calmly these everlasting bickerings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For one reason he was truly glad of the altered condition of affairs; he
+      believed that, for the nonce, at least his father had abandoned any ill
+      designs he might have cherished against James Moore; those sneaking visits
+      to Kenmuir were, he hoped, discontinued.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet Maggie Moore, had she been on speaking terms with him, could have
+      undeceived him. For, one night, when alone in the kitchen, on suddenly
+      looking up, she had seen to her horror a dim, moonlike face glued against
+      the windowpane. In the first mad panic of the moment she almost screamed,
+      and dropped her work; then&mdash;a true Moore&mdash;controlled herself and
+      sat feigning to work, yet watching all the while.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was M'Adam, she recognized that: the face pale in its framework of
+      black; the hair lying dank and dark on his forehead; and the white eyelids
+      blinking, slow, regular, horrible. She thought of the stories she had
+      heard of his sworn vengeance on her father, and her heart stood still,
+      though she never moved. At length with a gasp of relief she discerned that
+      the eyes were not directed on her. Stealthily following their gaze, she
+      saw they rested on the Shepherds' Trophy; and on the Cup they remained
+      fixed, immovable, while she sat motionless and watched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An hour, it seemed to her, elapsed before they shifted their direction,
+      and wandered round the room. For a second they dwelt upon her; then the
+      face withdrew into the night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie told no one what she had seen. Knowing well how terrible her father
+      was in his anger, she deemed it wiser to keep silence. While as for David
+      M'Adam, she would never speak to him again!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And not for a moment did that young man surmise whence his father came
+      when, on the night in question, M'Adam returned to the Grange, chuckling
+      to himself. David was growing of late accustomed to these fits of silent,
+      unprovoked merriment; and when his father began giggling and muttering to
+      Red Wull, at first he paid no heed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He! he! Wullie. Aiblins we'll beat him yet. There's many a slip twixt Cup
+      and lip&mdash;eh, Wullie, he! he!&rdquo; And he made allusion to the flourishing
+      of the wicked and their fall; ending always with the same refrain: &ldquo;He!
+      he! Wullie. Aiblins we'll beat him yet.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In this strain he continued until David, his patience exhausted, asked
+      roughly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is't yo' mumblin' aboot? Wha is it yo'll beat, you and yer Wullie?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The lad's tone was as contemptuous as his words. Long ago he had cast
+      aside any semblance of respect for his father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam only rubbed his knees and giggled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hark to the dear lad, Wullie! Listen hoo pleasantly he addresses his auld
+      dad!&rdquo; Then turning on his son, and leering at him: &ldquo;What is it, ye ask?
+      Wha should it be but the Black Killer? Wha else is there I'd be wushin' to
+      hurt?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Black Killer!&rdquo; echoed the boy, and looked at his father in amazement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now David was almost the only man in Wastrel-dale who denied Red Wull's
+      identity with the Killer. &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; he said once; &ldquo;he'd kill me, given half a
+      chance, but a sheep&mdash;no.&rdquo; Yet, though himself of this opinion, he
+      knew well what the talk was, and was astonished accordingly at his
+      father's remark.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Black Killer, is it? What d'you know o' the Killer?&rdquo; he inquired.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why <i>black</i>, I wad ken? Why <i>black?</i>&rdquo; the little man asked,
+      leaning forward in his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now David, though repudiating in the village Red Wull's complicity with
+      the crimes, at home was never so happy as when casting cunning innuendoes
+      to that effect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What would you have him then?&rdquo; he asked. &ldquo;Red, yaller, muck-dirt colour?&rdquo;&mdash;and
+      he stared significantly at the Tailless Tyke, who was lying at his
+      master's feet. The little man ceased rubbing his knees and eyed the boy.
+      David shifted uneasily beneath that dim, persistent stare.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; he said at length gruffly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man giggled, and his two thin hands took up their task again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aiblins his puir auld doited fool of a dad kens mair than the dear lad
+      thinks for, ay, or wushes&mdash;eh, Wullie, he! he!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then what is it you do know, or think yo' know?&rdquo; David asked irritably.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man nodded and chuckled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Naethin' ava, laddie, naethin' worth the mention. Only aiblins the
+      Killer'll be caught afore sae lang.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David smiled incredulously, wagging his head in offensive scepticism.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo'll catch him yo'self, I s'pose, you and yer Wullie? Tak' a chair on to
+      the Marches, whistle a while, and when the Killer comes, why! pit a pinch
+      o' salt upon his tail&mdash;if he had one.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the last words, heavily punctuated by the speaker, the little man
+      stopped his rubbing as though shot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What wad ye mean by that?&rdquo; he asked softly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What wad I?&rdquo; the boy replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I dinna ken for sure,&rdquo; the little man answered; &ldquo;and it's aiblins just as
+      well for you, dear lad&rdquo;&mdash;in fawning accents&mdash;&ldquo;that I dinna.&rdquo; He
+      began rubbing and giggling afresh. &ldquo;It's a gran' thing, Wullie, to ha' a
+      dutiful son; a shairp lad wha has no silly sens o' shame aboot sharpenin'
+      his wits at his auld dad's expense. And yet, despite oor facetious lad
+      there, aiblins we will ha' a hand in the Killer's catchin', you and I,
+      Wullie&mdash;he! he!&rdquo; And the great dog at his feet wagged his stump tail
+      in reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David rose from his chair and walked across the room to where his father
+      sat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If yo' know sic a mighty heap,&rdquo; he shouted, &ldquo;happen you'll just tell me
+      what yo' do know!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam stopped stroking Red Wull's massive head, and looked up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tell ye? Ay, wha should I tell if not ma dear David? Tell? Ay, I'll tell
+      ye this&rdquo;&mdash;with a sudden snarl of bitterness&mdash;&ldquo;That you'd be the
+      vairy last person I wad tell.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XVII. A MAD DOG
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      DAVID and Maggie, meanwhile, were drifting further and further apart. He
+      now thought the girl took too much upon herself; that this assumption of
+      the woman and the mother was overdone. Once, on a Sunday, he caught her
+      hearing Andrew his catechism. He watched the performance through a crack
+      in the door, and listened, giggling, to her simple teaching. At length his
+      merriment grew so boisterous that she looked up, saw him, and, straightway
+      rising to her feet, crossed the room and shut the door; tendering her
+      unspoken rebuke with such a sweet dignity that he slunk away for once
+      decently ashamed. And the incident served to add point to his hostility.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Consequently he was seldom at Kenmuir, and more often at home, quarrelling
+      with his father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Since that day, two years before, when the boy had been an instrument in
+      the taking of the Cup from him, father and son had been like two vessels
+      charged with electricity, contact between which might result at any moment
+      in a shock and a flash. This was the outcome not of a moment, but of
+      years.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of late the contest had raged markedly fierce; for M'Adam noticed his
+      son's more frequent presence at home, and commented on the fact in his
+      usual spirit of playful raillery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's come to ye, David?&rdquo; he asked one day. &ldquo;Yer auld dad's head is nigh
+      turned wi' yer condescension. Is James Moore feared ye'll steal the Cup
+      fra him, as ye stole it from me, that he'll not ha' ye at Kenmuir? or what
+      is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thought I could maybe keep an eye on the Killer gin I stayed here,&rdquo;
+       David answered, leering at Red Wull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye'd do better at Kenmuir&mdash;eh, Wullie!&rdquo; the little man replied.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; the other answered, &ldquo;he'll not go to Kenmuir. There's Th' Owd Un to
+      see to him there o' nights.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man whipped round.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are ye so sure he is there o' nights, ma lad?&rdquo; he asked with slow
+      significance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He was there when some one&mdash;I dinna say who, though I have ma
+      thoughts&mdash;tried to poison him,&rdquo; sneered the boy, mimicking his
+      father's manner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam shook his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If he was poisoned, and noo I think aiblins he was, he didna pick it up
+      at Kenmuir, I tell ye that,&rdquo; he said, and marched out of the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the mean time the Black Killer pursued his bloody trade unchecked. The
+      public, always greedy of a new sensation, took up the matter. In several
+      of the great dailies, articles on the &ldquo;Agrarian Outrages&rdquo; appeared,
+      followed by lengthy correspondence. Controversy raged high; each
+      correspondent had his own theory and his own solution of the problem; and
+      each waxed indignant as his were discarded for another's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Terror had reigned already two months when, with the advent of the
+      lambing-time, matters took a yet more serious aspect.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was bad enough to lose one sheep, often the finest in the pack; but the
+      hunting of a flock at a critical moment, which was incidental to the
+      slaughter of the one, the scaring of these woolly mothers-about-to-be
+      almost out of their fleeces, spelt for the small farmers something akin to
+      ruin, for the bigger ones a loss hardly bearable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Such a woful season had never been known; loud were the curses, deep the
+      vows of revenge. Many a shepherd at that time patrolled all night through
+      with his dogs, only to find in the morning that the Killer had slipped him
+      and havocked in some secluded portion of his beat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was heartrending work; and all the more so in that, though his
+      incrimination seemed as far off as ever, there was still the same
+      positiveness as to the culprit's identity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Long Kirby, indeed, greatly daring, went so far on one occasion as to say
+      to the little man: &ldquo;And d'yo' reck'n the Killer is a sheep-dog, M'Adam?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I do,&rdquo; the little man replied with conviction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And that he'll spare his own sheep?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Niver a doubt of it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then,&rdquo; said the smith with a nervous cackle, &ldquo;it must lie between you and
+      Tupper and Saunderson.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man leant forward and tapped the other on the arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or Kenmuir, ma friend,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;Ye've forgot Kenmuir.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So I have,&rdquo; laughed the smith, &ldquo;so I have.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then I'd not anither time,&rdquo; the other continued, still tapping. &ldquo;I'd mind
+      Kenmuir, d'ye see, Kirby?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      It was about the middle of the lambing-time, when the Killer was working
+      his worst, that the Dalesmen had a lurid glimpse of Adam M'Adam as he
+      might be were he wounded through his Wullie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thus it came about: It was market-day in Grammoch-town, and in the Border
+      Ram old Rob Saunderson was the centre of interest. For on the previous
+      night Rob, who till then had escaped unscathed, had lost a sheep to the
+      Killer: and&mdash;far worse&mdash;his flock of Herdwicks, heavy in lamb,
+      had been galloped with disastrous consequences.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old man, with tears in his eyes, was telling how on four nights that
+      week he had been up with Shep to guard against mishap; and on the fifth,
+      worn out with his double labor, had fallen asleep at his post. But a very
+      little while he slumbered; yet when, in the dawn, he woke and hurried on
+      his rounds, he quickly came upon a mangled sheep and the pitiful relic of
+      his flock. A relic, indeed! For all about were cold wee lambkins and their
+      mothers, dead and dying of exhaustion and their unripe travail&mdash;a
+      slaughter of the innocents.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Dalesmen were clustered round the old shepherd, listening with
+      lowering countenances, when a dark gray head peered in at the door and two
+      wistful eyes dwelt for a moment on the speaker.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Talk o' the devil!&rdquo; muttered M'Adam, but no man heard him. For Red Wull,
+      too, had seen that sad face, and, rising from his master's feet, had leapt
+      with a roar at his enemy, toppling Jim Mason like a ninepin in the fury of
+      his charge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a second every dog in the room, from the battered Venus to Tupper's big
+      Rasper, was on his feet, bristling to have at the tyrant and wipe out past
+      injuries, if the gray dog would but lead the dance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not to be, however. For Long Kirby was standing at the door with a
+      cup of hot coffee in his hand. Barely had he greeted the gray dog with&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ullo, Owd Un!&rdquo; when hoarse yells of &ldquo;'Ware, lad! The Terror!&rdquo; mingled
+      with Red Wull's roar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Half turning, he saw the great dog bounding to the attack. Straightway he
+      flung the boiling contents of his cup full in that rage-wracked
+      countenance. The burning liquid swished against the huge bull-head.
+      Blinding, bubbling, scalding, it did its fell work well; nothing escaped
+      that merciless torrent. With a cry of agony, half bellow, half howl, Red
+      Wull checked in his charge. From without the door was banged to; and again
+      the duel was postponed. While within the tap-room a huddle of men and dogs
+      were left alone with a mad man and a madder brute.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Blind, demented, agonized, the Tailless Tyke thundered about the little
+      room gnashing, snapping, oversetting; men, tables, chairs swirled off
+      their legs as though they had been dolls. He spun round like a monstrous
+      teetotum; he banged his tortured head against the wall; he burrowed into
+      the unyielding floor. And all the while M'Adam pattered after him, laying
+      hands upon him only to be flung aside as a terrier flings a rat. Now up,
+      now down again, now tossed into a corner, now dragged upon the floor, yet
+      always following on and crying in supplicating tones, &ldquo;Wullie, Wullie, let
+      me to ye! let yer man ease ye!&rdquo; and then, with a scream and a murderous
+      glance, &ldquo;By &mdash;&mdash;, Kirby, I'll deal wi' you later!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The uproar was like hell let loose. You could hear the noise of oaths and
+      blows, as the men fought for the door, a half-mile away. And above it the
+      horrid bellowing and the screaming of that shrill voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Long Kirby was the first man out of that murder-hole; and after him the
+      others toppled one by one&mdash;men and dogs jostling one another in the
+      frenzy of their fear. Big Bell, Londesley, Tupper, Hoppin, Teddy Bolstock,
+      white-faced and trembling; and old Saunderson they pulled out by his
+      heels. Then the door was shut with a clang, and the little man and mad dog
+      were left alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the street was already a big-eyed crowd, attracted by the uproar; while
+      at the door was James Moore, seeking entrance. &ldquo;Happen I could lend the
+      little mon a hand,&rdquo; said he; but they withheld him forcibly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Inside was pandemonium: bangings like the doors of hell; the bellowing of
+      that great voice; the patter of little feet; the slithering of a body on
+      the floor; and always that shrill, beseeching prayer, &ldquo;Wullie, Wullie, let
+      me to ye!&rdquo; and, in a scream, &ldquo;By &mdash;&mdash;, Kirby, I'll be wi' ye
+      soon!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Jim Mason it was who turned, at length, to the smith and whispered,
+      &ldquo;Kirby, lad, yo'd best skip it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The big man obeyed and ran. The stamp-stamp of his feet on the hard road
+      rang above the turmoil. As the long legs vanished round the corner and the
+      sound of the fugitive died away, a panic seized the listening crowd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A woman shrieked; a girl fainted; and in two minutes the street was as
+      naked of men as the steppes of Russia in winter: here a white face at a
+      window; there a door ajar; and peering round a far corner a frightened
+      boy. One man only scorned to run. Alone, James Moore stalked down the
+      centre of the road, slow and calm, Owd Bob trotting at his heels.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a long half-hour before the door of the inn burst open, and M'Adam
+      came out with a run, flinging the door behind him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rushed into the middle of the road; his sleeves were rolled at the
+      wrist like a surgeon's; and in his right hand was a black-handled
+      jack-knife.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Noo, by &mdash;&mdash;!&rdquo; he cried in a terrible voice, &ldquo;where is he?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He looked up and down the road, darting his fiery glances everywhere; and
+      his face was whiter than his hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he turned and hunted madly down the whole length of the High, nosing
+      like a weasel in every cranny, stabbing at the air as he went, and
+      screaming, &ldquo;By &mdash;&mdash;, Kirby, wait till I get ye!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XVIII. HOW THE KILLER WAS SINGED
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      No further harm came of the incident; but it served as a healthy
+      object-lesson for the Dalesmen.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A coincidence it may have been, but, as a fact, for the fortnight
+      succeeding Kirby's exploit there was a lull in the crimes. There followed,
+      as though to make amends, the seven days still remembered in the Daleland
+      as the Bloody Week.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the Sunday the Squire lost a Cheviot ewe, killed not a hundred yards
+      from the Manor wall. On the Monday a farm on the Black Water was marked
+      with the red cross. On Tuesday&mdash;a black night&mdash;Tupper at
+      Swinsthwaite came upon the murderer at his work; he fired into the
+      darkness without effect; and the Killer escaped with a scaring. On the
+      following night Viscount Birdsaye lost a shearling ram, for which he was
+      reported to have paid a fabulous sum. Thursday was the one blank night of
+      the week. On Friday Tupper was again visited and punished heavily, as
+      though in revenge for that shot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the Saturday afternoon a big meeting was held at the Manor to discuss
+      measures. The Squire presided; gentlemen and magistrates were there in
+      numbers, and every farmer in the country-side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To start the proceedings the Special Commissioner read a futile letter
+      from the Board of Agriculture. After him Viscount Birdsaye rose and
+      proposed that a reward more suitable to the seriousness of the case than
+      the paltry 5 pounds of the Police should be offered, and backed his
+      proposal with a 25 pound cheque. Several others spoke, and, last of all,
+      Parson Leggy rose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He briefly summarized the history of the crimes; reiterated his belief
+      that a sheep-dog was the criminal; declared that nothing had occurred to
+      shake his conviction; and concluded by offering a remedy for their
+      consideration. Simple it was, so he said, to laughableness; yet, if their
+      surmise was correct, it would serve as an effectual preventive if not
+      cure, and would at least give them time to turn round. He paused.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;My suggestion is: That every man-jack of you who owns a sheep-dog ties
+      him up at night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The farmers were given half an hour to consider the proposal, and
+      clustered in knots talking it over. Many an eye was directed on M'Adam;
+      but that little man appeared all unconscious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Weel, Mr. Saunderson,&rdquo; he was saying in, shrill accents, &ldquo;and shall ye
+      tie Shep?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What d'yo' think?&rdquo; asked Rob, eying the man at whom the measure was
+      aimed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, it's this way, I'm thinkin',&rdquo; the little man replied. &ldquo;Gin ye haud
+      Shep's the guilty one I <i>wad</i>, by all manner o' means&mdash;or
+      shootin'd be aiblins better. If not, why&rdquo;&mdash;he shrugged his shoulders
+      significantly; and having shown his hand and driven the nail well home,
+      the little man left the meeting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore stayed to see the Parson's resolution negatived, by a large
+      majority, and then he too quitted the hall. He had foreseen the result,
+      and, previous to the meeting, had warned the Parson how it would be.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tie up!&rdquo; he cried almost indignantly, as Owd Bob came galloping up to his
+      whistle; &ldquo;I think I see myself chainin' yo', owd lad, like any murderer.
+      Why, it's yo' has kept the Killer off Kenmuir so far, I'll lay.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the lodge-gate was M'Adam, for once without his familiar spirit,
+      playing with the lodge-keeper's child; for the little man loved all
+      children but his own, and was beloved of them. As the Master approached he
+      looked up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Weel, Moore,&rdquo; he called, &ldquo;and are you gaein' to tie yer dog?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will if you will yours,&rdquo; the Master answered grimly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Na,&rdquo; the little man replied, &ldquo;it's Wullie as frichts the Killer aff the
+      Grange. That's why I've left him there noo.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's the same wi' me,&rdquo; the Master said. &ldquo;He's not come to Kenmuir yet,
+      nor he'll not so long as Th' Owd Un's loose, I reck'n.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Loose or tied, for the matter o' that,&rdquo; the little man rejoined,
+      &ldquo;Kenmuir'll escape.&rdquo; He made the statement dogmatically, snapping his
+      lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master frowned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why that?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ha' ye no heard what they're sayin'?&rdquo; the little man inquired with raised
+      eyebrows.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay; what?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, that the mere repitation o' th' best sheep-dog in the North' should
+      keep him aff. An' I guess they're reet,&rdquo; and he laughed shrilly as he
+      spoke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master passed on, puzzled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Which road are ye gaein' hame?&rdquo; M'Adam called after him. &ldquo;Because,&rdquo; with
+      a polite smile, &ldquo;I'll tak' t'ither.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm off by the Windy Brae,&rdquo; the Master answered, striding on. &ldquo;Squire
+      asked me to leave a note wi' his shepherd t'other side o' the Chair.&rdquo; So
+      he headed away to the left, making for home by the route along the Silver
+      Mere.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It is a long sweep of almost unbroken moorland, the well-called Windy
+      Brae; sloping gently down in mile on mile of heather from the Mere Marches
+      on the top to the fringe of the Silver Mere below. In all that waste of
+      moor the only break is the quaint-shaped Giant's Chair, puzzle of
+      geologists, looking as though plumped down by accident in the heathery
+      wild. The ground rises suddenly from the uniform grade of the Brae; up it
+      goes, ever growing steeper, until at length it runs abruptly into a sheer
+      curtain of rock&mdash;the Fall&mdash;which rises perpendicular some forty
+      feet, on the top of which rests that tiny grassy bowl&mdash;not twenty
+      yards across&mdash;they call the Scoop.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Scoop forms the seat of the Chair and reposes on its collar of rock,
+      cool and green and out of the world, like wine in a metal cup; in front is
+      the forty-foot Fall; behind, rising sheer again, the wall of rock which
+      makes the back of the Chair. Inaccessible from above, the only means of
+      entrance to that little dell are two narrow sheep-tracks, which crawl
+      dangerously up between the sheer wall on the one hand and the sheer Fall
+      on the other, entering it at opposite sides.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It stands out clear-cut from the gradual incline, that peculiar eminence;
+      yet as the Master and Owd Bob debouched on to the Brae it was already
+      invisible in the darkening night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Through the heather the two swung, the Master thinking now with a smile of
+      David and Maggie; wondering what M'Adam had meant; musing with a frown on
+      the Killer; pondering on his identity&mdash;for he was half of David's
+      opinion as to Red Wull's innocence; and thanking his stars that so far
+      Kenmuir had escaped, a piece of luck he attributed entirely to the
+      vigilance of Th' Owd Un, who, sleeping in the porch, slipped out at all
+      hours and went his rounds, warding off danger. And at the thought he
+      looked down for the dark head which should be travelling at his knee; yet
+      could not see it, so thick hung the pall of night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So he brushed his way along, and ever the night grew blacker; until, from
+      the swell of the ground beneath his feet, he knew himself skirting the
+      Giant's Chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now as he sped along the foot of the rise, of a sudden there burst on his
+      ear the myriad patter of galloping feet. He turned, and at the second a
+      swirl of sheep almost bore him down. It was velvet-black, and they fled
+      furiously by, yet he dimly discovered, driving at their trails, a vague
+      hound-like form.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Killer, by thunder!&rdquo; he ejaculated, and, startled though he was,
+      struck down at that last pursuing shape, to miss and almost fall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bob, lad!&rdquo; he cried, &ldquo;follow on!&rdquo; and swung round; but in the darkness
+      could not see if the gray dog had obeyed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The chase swept on into the night, and, far above him on the hill-side, he
+      could now hear the rattle of the flying feet. He started hotly in pursuit,
+      and then, recognizing the futility of following where he could not see his
+      hand, desisted. So he stood motionless, listening and peering into the
+      blackness, hoping Th' Owd Un was on the villain's heels.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He prayed for the moon; and, as though in answer, the lantern of the night
+      shone out and lit the dour face of the Chair above him. He shot a glance
+      at his feet; and thanked heaven on finding the gray dog was not beside
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he looked up. The sheep had broken, and were scattered over the steep
+      hill-side, still galloping madly. In the rout one pair of darting figures
+      caught and held his gaze: the foremost dodging, twisting, speeding upward,
+      the hinder hard on the leader's heels, swift, remorseless, never changing.
+      He looked for a third pursuing form; but none could he discern.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He mun ha' missed him in the dark,&rdquo; the Master muttered, the sweat
+      standing on his brow, as he strained his eyes upward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Higher and higher sped those two dark specks, far out-topping the
+      scattered remnant of the flock. Up and up, until of a sudden the sheer
+      Fall dropped its relentless barrier in the path of the fugitive. Away,
+      scudding along the foot of the rock-wall struck the familiar track leading
+      to the Scoop, and up it, bleating pitifully, nigh spent, the Killer hard
+      on her now.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He'll doon her in the Scoop!&rdquo; cried the Master hoarsely, following with
+      fascinated eyes. &ldquo;Owd Un! Owd Un! wheer iver are yo' gotten to?&rdquo; he called
+      in agony; but no Owd Un made reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As they reached the summit, just as he had prophesied, the two black dots
+      were one; and down they rolled together into the hollow of the Scoop, out
+      of the Master's ken. At the same instant the moon, as though loth to watch
+      the last act of the bloody play, veiled her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was his chance. &ldquo;Noo!&rdquo;&mdash;and up the hillside he sped like a young
+      man, girding his loins for the struggle. The slope grew steep and steeper;
+      but on and on he held in the darkness, gasping painfully, yet running
+      still, until the face of the Fall blocked his way too.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There he paused a moment, and whistled a low call. Could he but dispatch
+      the old dog up the one path to the Scoop, while he took the other, the
+      murderer's one road to safety would be blocked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He waited, all expectant; but no cold muzzle was shoved into his hand.
+      Again he whistled. A pebble from above almost dropped on him, as if the
+      criminal up there had moved to the brink of the Fall to listen; and he
+      dared no more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He waited till all was still again, then crept, cat-like, along the
+      rock-foot, and hit, at length, the track up which a while before had fled
+      Killer and victim. Up that ragged way he crawled on hands and knees. The
+      perspiration rolled off his face; one elbow brushed the rock perpetually;
+      one hand plunged ever and anon into that naked emptiness on the other
+      side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He prayed that the moon might keep in but a little longer; that his feet
+      might be saved from falling, where a slip might well mean death, certain
+      destruction to any chance of success. He cursed his luck that Th' Owd Un
+      had somehow missed him in the dark; for now he must trust to chance, his
+      own great strength, and his good oak stick. And as he climbed, he laid his
+      plan: to rush in on the Killer as he still gorged and grapple with him. If
+      in the darkness he missed&mdash;and in that narrow arena the contingency
+      was improbable&mdash;the murderer might still, in the panic of the moment,
+      forget the one path to safety and leap over the Fall to his destruction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length he reached the summit and paused to draw breath. The black void
+      before him was the Scoop, and in its bosom&mdash;not ten yards away&mdash;must
+      be lying the Killer and the killed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He crouched against the wet rock-face and listened. In that dark silence,
+      poised 'twixt heaven and earth, he seemed a million miles apart from
+      living soul.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No sound, and yet the murderer must be there. Ay, there was the tinkle of
+      a dislodged stone; and again, the tread of stealthy feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Killer was moving; alarmed; was off.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Quick!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He rose to his full height; gathered himself, and leapt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Something collided with him as he sprang; something wrestled madly with
+      him; something wrenched from beneath him; and in a clap he heard the thud
+      of a body striking ground far below, and the slithering and splattering of
+      some creature speeding furiously down the hill-side and away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Who the blazes?&rdquo; roared he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What the devil?&rdquo; screamed a little voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The moon shone out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Moore!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;M'Adam!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And there they were still struggling over the body of a dead sheep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a second they had disengaged and rushed to the edge of the Fall. In the
+      quiet they could still hear the scrambling hurry of the fugitive far below
+      them. Nothing was to be seen, however, save an array of startled sheep on
+      the hill-side, mute witnesses of the murderer's escape.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two men turned and eyed each other; the one grim, the other sardonic:
+      both dishevelled and suspicious.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?''
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Weel?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A pause and, careful scrutiny.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's blood on your coat.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And on yours.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Together they walked hack into the little moonlit hollow. There lay the
+      murdered sheep in a pool of blood. Plain it was to see whence the marks on
+      their coats came. M'Adam touched the victim's head with his foot. The
+      movement exposed its throat. With a shudder he replaced it as it was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two men stood back and eyed one another.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What are yo' doin' here?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;After the Killer. What are you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;After the Killer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hoo did you come?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Up this path,&rdquo; pointing to the one behind him. &ldquo;Hoo did you?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Up this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Silence; then again:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd ha' had him but for yo'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did have him, but ye tore me aff,&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A pause again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where's yer gray dog?&rdquo; This time the challenge was unmistakable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I sent him after the Killer. Wheer's your Red Wull?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;At hame, as I tell't ye before.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' mean yo' left him there?&rdquo; M'Adam's fingers twitched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's where I left him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore shrugged his shoulders. And the other began:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When did yer dog leave ye?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When the Killer came past.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye wad say ye missed him then?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I say what I mean.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye say he went after the Killer. Noo the Killer was here,&rdquo; pointing to
+      the dead sheep. &ldquo;Was your dog here, too?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If he had been he'd been here still.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Onless he went over the Fall!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That was the Killer, yo' fule.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Or your dog.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There was only <i>one</i> beneath me. I felt him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just so,&rdquo; said M'Adam, and laughed. The other's brow contracted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An' that was a big un,&rdquo; he said slowly. The little man stopped his
+      cackling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There ye lie,&rdquo; he said, smoothly. &ldquo;He was small.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They looked one another full in the eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's a matter of opinion,&rdquo; said the Master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a matter of fact,&rdquo; said the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two stared at one another, silent and stern, each trying to fathom the
+      other's soul; then they turned again to the brink of the Fall. Beneath
+      them, plain to see, was the splash and furrow in the shingle marking the
+      Killer's line of retreat. They looked at one another again, and then each
+      departed the way he had come to give his version of the story.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'If Th' Owd Un had kept wi' me, I should ha' had him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell ye I did have him, but James Moore pulled me aff. Strange, too,
+      his dog not bein' wi' him!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XIX. LAD AND LASS
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      AN immense sensation this affair of the Scoop created in the Daleland. It
+      spurred the Dalesmen into fresh endeavors. James Moore and M'Adam were
+      examined and re-examined as to the minutest details of the matter. The
+      whole country-side was placarded with huge bills, offering 100 pounds
+      reward for the capture of the criminal dead or alive. While the vigilance
+      of the watchers was such that in a single week they bagged a donkey, an
+      old woman, and two amateur detectives.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In Wastrel-dale the near escape of the Killer, the collision between James
+      Moore and Adam, and Owd Bob's unsuccess, who was not wont to fail, aroused
+      intense excitement, with which was mingled a certain anxiety as to their
+      favorite.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For when the Master had reached home that night, he had found the old dog
+      already there; and he must have wrenched his foot in the pursuit or run a
+      thorn into it, for he was very lame. Whereat, when it was reported at the
+      Sylvester Arms, M'Adam winked at Red Wull and muttered, &ldquo;Ah, forty foot is
+      an ugly tumble.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A week later the little man called at Kenmuir. As he entered the yard,
+      David was standing outside the kitchen window, looking very glum and
+      miserable. On seeing his father, however, the boy started forward, all
+      alert.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What d'yo' want here?&rdquo; he cried roughly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Same as you, dear lad,&rdquo; the little man giggled, advancing. &ldquo;I come on a
+      visit.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Your visits to Kenmuir are usually paid by night, so I've heard,&rdquo; David
+      sneered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man affected not to hear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So they dinna allow ye indoors wi' the Cup,&rdquo; he laughed. &ldquo;They know yer
+      little ways then, David.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, I'm not wanted in there,&rdquo; David answered bitterly, but not so loud
+      that his father could hear. Maggie within the kitchen heard, however, but
+      paid no heed; for her heart was hard against the boy, who of late, though
+      he never addressed her, had made himself as unpleasant in a thousand
+      little ways as only David M'Adam could.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At that moment the Master came stalking into the yard, Owd Bob preceding
+      him; and as the old dog recognized his visitor he bristled involuntarily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the sight of the Master M'Adam hurried forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I did but come to ask after the tyke,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;Is he gettin' over his
+      lameness?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore looked surprised; then his stern face relaxed into a cordial
+      smile. Such generous anxiety as to the welfare of Red Wull's rival was a
+      wholly new characteristic in the little man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tak' it kind in yo', M'Adam,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;to come and inquire.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is the thorn oot?&rdquo; asked the little man with eager interest, shooting his
+      head forward to stare closely at the other.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It came oot last night wi' the poulticin',&rdquo; the Master answered,
+      returning the other's gaze, calm and steady.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm glad o' that,&rdquo; said the little man, still staring. But his yellow,
+      grinning face said as plain words, &ldquo;What a liar ye are, James Moore.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      The days passed on. His father's taunts and gibes, always becoming more
+      bitter, drove David almost to distraction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He longed to make it up with Maggie; he longed for that tender sympathy
+      which the girl had always extended to him when his troubles with his
+      father were heavy on him. The quarrel had lasted for months now, and he
+      was well weary of it, and utterly ashamed. For, at least, he had the good
+      grace to acknowledge that no one was to blame but himself; and that it had
+      been fostered solely by his ugly pride.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length he could endure it no longer, and determined to go to the girl
+      and ask forgiveness. It would be a bitter ordeal to him; always unwilling
+      to acknowledge a fault, even to himself, how much harder would it be to
+      confess it to this strip of a girl. For a time he thought it was almost
+      more than he could do. Yet, like his father, once set upon a course,
+      nothing could divert him. So, after a week of doubts and determinations,
+      of cowardice and courage, he pulled himself together and off he set.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An hour it took him from the Grange to the bridge over the Wastrel&mdash;an
+      hour which had wont to be a quarter. Now, as he walked on up the slope
+      from the stream, very slowly, heartening himself for his penance, he was
+      aware of a strange disturbance in the yard above him: the noisy cackling
+      of hens, the snorting of pigs disturbed, and above the rest the cry of a
+      little child ringing out in shrill distress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He set to running, and sped up the slope as fast as his long legs would
+      carry him. As he took the gate in his stride, he saw the white-clad figure
+      of Wee Anne fleeing with unsteady, toddling steps, her fair hair streaming
+      out behind, and one bare arm striking wildly back at a great pursuing sow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David shouted as he cleared the gate, but the brute paid no heed, and was
+      almost touching the fugitive when Owd Bob came galloping round the corner,
+      and in a second had flashed between pursuer and pursued. So close were the
+      two that as he swung round on the startled sow, his tail brushed the baby
+      to the ground; and there she lay kicking fat legs to heaven and calling on
+      all her gods.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David, leaving the old dog to secure the warrior pig, ran round to her;
+      but he was anticipated. The whole matter had barely occupied a minute's
+      time; and Maggie, rushing from the kitchen, now had the child in her arms
+      and was hurrying back with her to the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, ma pet, are yo' hurted, dearie?&rdquo; David could hear her asking
+      tearfully, as he crossed the yard and established himself in the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well,&rdquo; said he, in bantering tones, &ldquo;yo'm a nice wench to ha' charge o'
+      oor Annie!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a sore subject with the girl, and well he knew it. Wee Anne, that
+      golden-haired imp of mischief, was forever evading her sister-mother's eye
+      and attempting to immolate herself. More than once she had only been saved
+      from serious hurt by the watchful devotion of Owd Bob, who always found
+      time, despite his many labors, to keep a guardian eye on his well-loved
+      lassie. In the previous winter she had been lost on a bitter night on the
+      Muir Pike; once she had climbed into a field with the Highland bull, and
+      barely escaped with her life, while the gray dog held the brute in check;
+      but a little while before she had been rescued from drowning by the
+      Tailless Tyke; there had been numerous other mischances; and now the
+      present mishap. But the girl paid no heed to her tormentor in her joy at
+      finding the child all unhurt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Theer! yo' bain't so much as scratted, ma precious, is yo'?&rdquo; she cried.
+      &ldquo;Rin oot agin, then,&rdquo; and the baby toddled joyfully away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie rose to her feet and stood with face averted. David's eyes dwelt
+      lovingly upon her, admiring the pose of the neat head with its thatch of
+      pretty brown hair; the slim figure, and slender ankles, peeping modestly
+      from beneath her print frock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ma word! if yo' dad should hear tell o' hoo his Anne&mdash;&rdquo; he broke off
+      into a long-drawn whistle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie kept silence; but her lips quivered, and the flush deepened on her
+      cheek.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm fear'd I'll ha' to tell him,&rdquo; the boy continued, &ldquo;'Tis but ma duty.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' may tell wham yo' like what yo' like,&rdquo; the girl replied coldly; yet
+      there was a tremor in her voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;First yo' throws her in the stream,&rdquo; David went on remorselessly; &ldquo;then
+      yo' chucks her to the pig, and if it had not bin for me&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo', indeed!&rdquo; she broke in contemptuously. &ldquo;Yo'! 'twas Owd Bob reskied
+      her. Yo'd nowt' to do wi' it, 'cept lookin' on&mdash;'bout what yo're fit
+      for.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell yo',&rdquo; David pursued stubbornly, &ldquo;an it had not bin for me yo'
+      wouldn't have no sister by noo. She'd be lyin', she would, pore little
+      lass, cold as ice, pore mite, wi' no breath in her. An' when yo' dad coom
+      home there'd be no Wee Anne to rin to him, and climb on his knee, and
+      yammer to him, and beat his face. An he'd say, 'What's gotten to oor
+      Annie, as I left wi' yo'?' And then yo'd have to tell him, 'I never took
+      no manner o' fash after her, dad; d'reckly yo' back was turned, I&mdash;'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl sat down, buried her face in her apron, and indulged in the rare
+      luxury of tears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo're the cruellest mon as iver was, David M'Adam,&rdquo; she sobbed, rocking
+      to and fro.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was at her side in a moment, tenderly bending over her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, Maggie, but I am sorry, lass&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She wrenched away from beneath his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hate yo',&rdquo; she cried passionately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He gently removed her hands from before her tear-stained face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was nob'but laffin', Maggie,&rdquo; he pleaded; &ldquo;say yo' forgie me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't,&rdquo; she cried, struggling. &ldquo;I think yo're the hatefullest lad as
+      iver lived.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The moment was critical; it was a time for heroic measures.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, yo' don't, lass,&rdquo; he remonstrated; and, releasing her wrists, lifted
+      the little drooping face, wet as it was, like the earth after a spring
+      shower, and, holding it between his two big hands, kissed it twice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' coward!&rdquo; she cried, a flood of warm red crimsoning her cheeks; and
+      she struggled vainly to be free.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' used to let me,&rdquo; he reminded her in aggrieved tones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I niver did!&rdquo; she cried, more indignant than truthful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yo' did, when we was little uns; that is, yo' was allus for kissin'
+      and I was allus agin it. And noo,&rdquo; with whole-souled bitterness, &ldquo;I mayn't
+      so much as keek at yo' over a stone wall.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      However that might be, he was keeking at her from closer range now; and in
+      that position&mdash;for he held her firmly still&mdash;she could not help
+      but keek back. He looked so handsome&mdash;humble for once; penitent yet
+      reproachful; his own eyes a little moist; and, withal, his old audacious
+      self&mdash;that, despite herself, her anger grew less hot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say yo' forgie me and I'll let yo' go.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I don't, nor niver shall,&rdquo; she answered firmly; but there was less
+      conviction in her heart than voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Iss yo' do, lass,&rdquo; he coaxed, and kissed her again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She struggled faintly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hoo daur yo'?&rdquo; she cried through her tears. But he was not to be moved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will yo' noo?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She remained dumb, and he kissed her again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Impidence!&rdquo; she cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; said he, closing her mouth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I wonder at ye, Davie!&rdquo; she said, surrendering.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      After that Maggie must needs give in; and it was well understood, though
+      nothing definite had been said, that the boy and girl were courting. And
+      in the Dale the unanimous opinion was that the young couple would make &ldquo;a
+      gradely pair, surely.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam was the last person to hear the news, long after it had been common
+      knowledge in the village. It was in the Sylvester Arms he first heard it,
+      and straightway fell into one of those foaming frenzies characteristic of
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The dochter o' Moore o' Kenmuir, d'ye say? sic a dochter o' sic a man!
+      The dochter o' th' one man in the warld that's harmed me aboon the rest!
+      I'd no ha' believed it gin ye'd no tell't me. Oh, David, David! I'd no ha'
+      thocht it even o' you, ill son as ye've aye bin to me. I think he might
+      ha' waited till his auld dad was gone, and he'd no had to wait lang the
+      noo.&rdquo; Then the little man sat down and burst into tears. Gradually,
+      however, he resigned himself, and the more readily when he realized that
+      David by his act had exposed a fresh wound into which he might plunge his
+      barbed shafts. And he availed himself to the full of his new
+      opportunities. Often and often David was sore pressed to restrain himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is't true what they're sayin' that Maggie Moore's nae better than she
+      should be?&rdquo; the little man asked one evening with anxious interest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They're not sayin' so, and if they were 'twad be a lie,&rdquo; the boy answered
+      angrily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam leant back in his chair and nodded his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, they tell't me that gin ony man knew 'twad be David M'Adam.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David strode across the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No, no mair o' that,&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;Y'ought to be 'shamed, an owd mon like
+      you, to speak so o' a lass.&rdquo; The little man edged close up to his son, and
+      looked up into the fair flushed face towering above him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;David,&rdquo; he said in smooth soft tones, &ldquo;I'm 'stonished ye dinna strike yen
+      auld dad.&rdquo; He stood with his hands clasped behind his back as if daring
+      the young giant to raise a finger against him. &ldquo;Ye maist might noo,&rdquo; he
+      continued suavely. &ldquo;Ye maun be sax inches taller, and a good four stane
+      heavier. Hooiver, aiblins ye're wise to wait. Anither year twa I'll be an
+      auld man, as ye say, and feebler, and Wullie here'll be gettin' on, while
+      you'll be in the prime o' yer strength. Then I think ye might hit me wi'
+      safety to your person, and honor to yourself.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He took a pace back, smiling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Feyther,&rdquo; said David, huskily, &ldquo;one day yo'll drive me too far.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XX. THE SNAPPING OF THE STRING
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      THE spring was passing, marked throughout with the bloody trail of the
+      Killer. The adventure in the Scoop scared him for a while into
+      innocuousness; then he resumed his game again with redoubled zest. It
+      seemed likely he would harry the district till some lucky accident carried
+      him off, for all chance there was of arresting him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      You could still hear nightly in the Sylvester Arms and elsewhere the
+      assertion, delivered with the same dogmatic certainty as of old, &ldquo;It's the
+      Terror, I tell yo'!&rdquo; and that irritating, inevitable reply: &ldquo;Ay; but
+      wheer's the proof?&rdquo; While often, at the same moment, in a house not far
+      away, a little lonely man was sitting before a low-burnt fire, rocking to
+      and fro, biting his nails, and muttering to the great dog whose head lay
+      between his knees: &ldquo;If we had but the proof, Wullie! if we had but the
+      proof! I'd give ma right hand aff my arm gin we had the proof to-morrow.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Long Kirby, who was always for war when some one else was to do the
+      fighting, suggested that David should be requested, in the name of the
+      Dalesmen, to tell M'Adam that he must make an end to Red Wull. But Jim
+      Mason quashed the proposal, remarking truly enough that there was too much
+      bad blood as it was between father and son; while Tammas proposed with a
+      sneer that the smith should be his own agent in the matter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Whether it was this remark of Tammas's which stung the big man into
+      action, or whether it was that the intensity of his hate gave him unusual
+      courage, anyhow, a few days later, M'Adam caught him lurking in the
+      granary of the Grange.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man may not have guessed his murderous intent; yet the
+      blacksmith's white-faced terror, as he crouched away in the darkest
+      corner, could hardly have escaped remark; though&mdash;and Kirby may thank
+      his stars for it&mdash;the treacherous gleam of a gun-barrel,
+      ill-concealed behind him, did.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hullo, Kirby!&rdquo; said M'Adam cordially, &ldquo;ye'll stay the night wi' me?&rdquo; And
+      the next thing the big man heard was a giggle on the far side the door,
+      lost in the clank of padlock and rattle of chain. Then&mdash;through a
+      crack&mdash;&ldquo;Good-night to ye. Hope ye'll be comfie.&rdquo; And there he stayed
+      that night, the following day and next night&mdash;thirty-six hours in
+      all, with swedes for his hunger and the dew off the thatch for his thirst.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile the struggle between David and his father seemed coming to a
+      head. The little man's tongue wagged more bitterly than ever; now it was
+      never at rest&mdash;searching out sores, stinging, piercing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Worst of all, he was continually dropping innuendoes, seemingly innocent
+      enough, yet with a world of subtile meaning at their back, respecting
+      Maggie. The leer and wink with which, when David came home from Kenmuir at
+      nights, he would ask the simple question, &ldquo;And was she kind, David&mdash;eh,
+      eh?&rdquo; made the boy's blood boil within him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And the more effective the little man saw his shots to be, the more
+      persistently he plied them. And David retaliated in kind. It was a war of
+      reprisals. There was no peace; there were no truces in which to bury the
+      dead before the opponents set to slaying others. And every day brought the
+      combatants nearer to that final struggle, the issue of which neither cared
+      to contemplate.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      There came a Saturday, toward the end of the spring, long to be remembered
+      by more than David in the Dale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For that young man the day started sensationally. Rising before cock-crow,
+      and going to the window, the first thing he saw in the misty dawn was the
+      gaunt, gigantic figure of Red Wull, hounding up the hill from the Stony
+      Bottom; and in an instant his faith was shaken to its foundation.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The dog was travelling up at a long, slouching trot; and as he rapidly
+      approached the house, David saw that his flanks were all splashed with red
+      mud, his tongue out, and the foam dripping from his jaws, as though he had
+      come far and fast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He slunk up to the house, leapt on to the sill of the unused back-kitchen,
+      some five feet from the ground, pushed with his paw at the cranky old
+      hatchment, which was its only covering; and, in a second, the boy,
+      straining out of the window the better to see, heard the rattle of the
+      boards as the dog dropped within the house.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For the moment, excited as he was, David held his peace. Even the Black
+      Killer took only second place in his thoughts that morning. For this was
+      to be a momentous day for him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That afternoon James Moore and Andrew would, he knew, be over at
+      Grammoch-town, and, his work finished for the day, he was resolved to
+      tackle Maggie and decide his fate. If she would have him&mdash;well, he
+      would go next morning and thank God for it, kneeling beside her in the
+      tiny village church; if not, he would leave the Grange and all its
+      unhappiness behind, and straightway plunge out into the world.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All through a week of stern work he had looked forward to this hard-won
+      half-holiday. Therefore, when, as he was breaking off at noon, his father
+      turned to him and said abruptly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;David, ye're to tak' the Cheviot lot o'er to Grammoch-town at once,&rdquo; he
+      answered shortly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' mun tak' 'em yo'sel', if yo' wish 'em to go to-day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Na,&rdquo; the little man answered; &ldquo;Wullie and me, we're busy. Ye're to tak'
+      'em, I tell ye.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll not,&rdquo; David replied. &ldquo;If they wait for me, they wait till Monday,&rdquo;
+       and with that he left the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see what 'tis,&rdquo; his father called after him; &ldquo;she's give ye a tryst at
+      Kenmuir. Oh, ye randy David!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' tend yo' business; I'll tend mine,&rdquo; the boy answered hotly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now it happened that on the previous day Maggie had given him a photograph
+      of herself, or, rather, David had taken it and Maggie had demurred. As he
+      left the room it dropped from his pocket. He failed to notice his loss,
+      but directly he was gone M'Adam pounced on it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He! he! Wullie, what's this?&rdquo; he giggled, holding the photograph into his
+      face. &ldquo;He! he! it's the jade hersel', I war'nt; it's Jezebel!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He peered into the picture.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;She kens what's what, I'll tak' oath, Wullie. See her eyes&mdash;sae saft
+      and languishin'; and her lips&mdash;such lips, Wullie!&rdquo; He held the
+      picture down for the great dog to see: then walked out of the room, still
+      sniggering, and chucking the face insanely beneath its cardboard chin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Outside the house he collided against David. The boy had missed his
+      treasure and was hurrying back for it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What yo' got theer?&rdquo; he asked suspiciously.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Only the pictur' o' some randy quean,&rdquo; his father answered, chucking away
+      at the inanimate chin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gie it me!&rdquo; David ordered fiercely. &ldquo;It's mine.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Na, na,&rdquo; the little man replied. &ldquo;It's no for sic douce lads as dear
+      David to ha' ony touch wi' leddies sic as this.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gie it me, I tell ye, or I'll tak' it!&rdquo; the boy shouted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Na, na; it's ma duty as yer dad to keep ye from sic limmers.&rdquo; He turned,
+      still smiling, to Red Wull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There ye are, Wullie!&rdquo; He threw the photograph to the dog. &ldquo;Tear her,
+      Wullie, the Jezebel!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Tailless Tyke sprang on the picture, placed one big paw in the very
+      centre of the face, forcing it into the muck, and tore a corner off; then
+      he chewed the scrap with unctious, slobbering gluttony, dropped it, and
+      tore a fresh piece.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David dashed forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Touch it, if ye daur, ye brute!&rdquo; he yelled; but his father seized him and
+      held him back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'And the dogs o' the street,'&rdquo; he quoted. David turned furiously on him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've half a mind to brak' ivery bone in yer body!&rdquo; he shouted, &ldquo;robbin'
+      me o' what's mine and throwin' it to yon black brute!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whist, David, whist!&rdquo; soothed the little man. &ldquo;Twas but for yer ain good
+      yer auld dad did it. 'Twas that he had at heart as he aye has. Rin aff wi'
+      ye noo to Kenmuir. She'll mak' it up to ye, I war'nt. She's leeberal wi'
+      her favors, I hear. Ye've but to whistle and she'll come.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David seized his father by the shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An' yo' gie me much more o' your sauce,&rdquo; he roared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sauce, Wullie,&rdquo; the little man echoed in a gentle voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll twist yer neck for yo'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He'll twist my neck for me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll gang reet awa', I warn yo', and leave you and yer Wullie to yer
+      lone.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man began to whimper.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It'll brak' yer auld dad's heart, lad,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay; yo've got none. But 'twill ruin yo', please God. For yo' and yer
+      Wullie'll get ne'er a soul to work for yo'&mdash;yo' cheeseparin',
+      dirty-tongued Jew.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man burst into an agony of affected tears, rocking to and fro,
+      his face in his hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Waesucks, Wullue! d'ye hear him? He is gaein' to leave us&mdash;the son
+      o' my bosom! my Benjamin! my little Davie! he's gaein' awa'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David turned away down the hill; and M'Adam lifted his stricken face and
+      waved a hand at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Adieu, dear amiable youth!'&rdquo; he cried in broken voice; and straightway
+      set to sobbing again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Half-way down to the Stony Bottom David turned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll gie yo' a word o' warnin',&rdquo; he shouted back. &ldquo;I'd advise yo' to keep
+      a closer eye to yer Wullie's goings on, 'specially o' nights, or happen
+      yo'll wake to a surprise one mornin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      In an instant the little man ceased his fooling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And why that?&rdquo; he asked, following down the hill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll tell yo'. When I wak' this mornin' I walked to the window, and what
+      d'yo' think I see? Why, your Wullie gollopin' like a good un up from the
+      Bottom, all foamin', too, and red-splashed, as if he'd coom from the
+      Screes. What had he bin up to, I'd like to know?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What should he be doin',&rdquo; the little man replied, &ldquo;but havin' an eye to
+      the stock? and that when the Killer might be oot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David laughed harshly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, the Killer was oot, I'll go bail, and yo' may hear o't afore the
+      evenin', ma man,&rdquo; and with that he turned away again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he had foreseen, David found Maggie alone. But in the heat of his
+      indignation against his father he seemed to have forgotten his original
+      intent, and instead poured his latest troubles into the girl's sympathetic
+      ear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's but one mon in the world he wishes worse nor me,&rdquo; he was saying.
+      It was late in the afternoon, and he was still inveighing against his
+      father and his fate. Maggie sat in her father's chair by the fire,
+      knitting; while he lounged on the kitchen table, swinging his long legs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And who may that be?&rdquo; the girl asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, Mr. Moore, to be sure, and Th' Owd Un, too. He'd do either o' them a
+      mischief if he could.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But why, David?&rdquo; she asked anxiously. &ldquo;I'm sure dad niver hurt him, or
+      ony ither mon for the matter o' that.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David nodded toward the Dale Cup which rested on the mantelpiece in
+      silvery majesty.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's yon done it,&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;And if Th' Owd Un wins agin, as win he will,
+      bless him! why, look out for 'me and ma Wullie'; that's all.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie shuddered, and thought of the face at the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Me and ma Wullie,'&rdquo; David continued; &ldquo;I've had about as much of them as
+      I can swaller. It's aye the same&mdash;'Me and ma Wullie,' and 'Wullie and
+      me,' as if I never put ma hand to a stroke! Ugh!&rdquo;&mdash;he made a gesture
+      of passionate disgust&mdash;&ldquo;the two on 'em fair madden me. I could strike
+      the one and throttle t'other,&rdquo; and he rattled his heels angrily together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hush, David,&rdquo; interposed the girl; &ldquo;yo' munna speak so o' your dad; it's
+      agin the commandments.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Tain't agin human nature,&rdquo; he snapped in answer. &ldquo;Why, 'twas nob'but
+      yester' morn' he says in his nasty way, 'David, ma gran' fellow, hoo ye
+      work! ye 'stonish me!' And on ma word, Maggie&rdquo;&mdash;there were tears in
+      the great boy's eyes&mdash;&ldquo;ma back was nigh broke wi' toilin'. And the
+      Terror, he stands by and shows his teeth, and looks at me as much as to
+      say, 'Some day, by the grace o' goodness, I'll ha' my teeth in your
+      throat, young mon.'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie's knitting dropped into her lap and she looked up, her soft eyes
+      for once flashing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's cruel, David; so 'tis!&rdquo; she cried. &ldquo;I wonder yo' bide wi' him. If he
+      treated me so, I'd no stay anither minute. If it meant the House for me
+      I'd go,&rdquo; and she looked as if she meant it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David jumped off the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Han' yo' niver guessed why I stop, lass, and me so happy at home?&rdquo; he
+      asked eagerly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie's eyes dropped again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hoo should I know?&rdquo; she asked innocently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor care, neither, I s'pose,&rdquo; he said in reproachful accents. &ldquo;Yo' want
+      me me to go and leave yo', and go reet awa'; I see hoo 'tis. Yo' wouldna
+      mind, not yo', if yo' was niver to see pore David agin. I niver thowt yo'
+      welly like me, Maggie; and noo I know it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' silly lad,&rdquo; the girl murmured, knitting steadfastly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then yo' do,&rdquo; he cried, triumphant, &ldquo;I knew yo' did.&rdquo; He approached close
+      to her chair, his face clouded with eager anxiety.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But d'yo' like me more'n just <i>likin''</i>, Maggie? d'yo',&rdquo; he bent and
+      whispered in the little ear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl cuddled over her work so that he could not see her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If yo' won't tell me yo' can show me,&rdquo; he coaxed. &ldquo;There's other things
+      besides words.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He stood before her, one hand on the chair-back on either side. She sat
+      thus, caged between his arms, with drooping eyes and heightened color.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not so close, David, please,&rdquo; she begged, fidgeting uneasily; but the
+      request was unheeded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do'ee move away a wee,&rdquo; she implored.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not till yo've showed me,&rdquo; he said, relentless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I canna, Davie,&rdquo; she cried with laughing, petulance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes, yo' can, lass.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tak' your hands away, then.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay; not till yo've showed me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do'ee, Davie,&rdquo; she supplicated.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And&mdash;
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Do'ee,&rdquo; he pleaded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She tilted her face provokingly, but her eyes were still down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's no manner o' use, Davie.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Iss, 'tis,&rdquo; he coaxed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Niver.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Please.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A lengthy pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well, then&mdash;&rdquo; She looked up, at last, shy, trustful, happy; and the
+      sweet lips were tilted further to meet his.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+And thus they were situated, lover-like, when a low, rapt voice broke in
+on them,&mdash;
+
+ 'A dear-lov'd lad, convenience snug,
+A treacherous inclination.'
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, Wullie, I wush you were here!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was little M'Adam. He was leaning in at the open window, leering at the
+      young couple, his eyes puckered, an evil expression on his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The creetical moment! and I interfere! David, ye'll never forgie me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy jumped round with an oath; and Maggie, her face flaming, started
+      to her feet. The tone, the words, the look of the little man at the window
+      were alike insufferable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By thunder! I'll teach yo' to come spyin' on me!&rdquo; roared David. Above him
+      on the mantelpiece blazed the Shepherds' Trophy. Searching any missile in
+      his fury, he reached up a hand for it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, gie it me back, Ye robbed me o't,&rdquo; the little man cried, holding out
+      his arms as if to receive it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dinna, David,&rdquo; pleaded Maggie, with restraining hand on her lover's arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By the Lord! I'll give him something!&rdquo; yelled the boy. Close by there
+      stood a pail of soapy water. He seized it, swung it, and slashed its
+      contents at the leering face in the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man started back, but the dirty torrent caught him and soused
+      him through. The bucket followed, struck him full on the chest, and rolled
+      him over in the mud. After it with a rush came David.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll let yo' know, spyin' on me!&rdquo; he yelled. &ldquo;I'll&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie, whose face was as white now as it had been crimson, clung to him,
+      hampering him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dinna, David, dinna!&rdquo; she implored. &ldquo;He's yer ain dad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll dad him! I'll learn him!&rdquo; roared David half through the window.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the moment Sam'l Todd came floundering furiously round the corner,
+      closely followed by 'Enry and oor Job.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is he dead?&rdquo; shouted Sam'l seeing the prostrate form.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ho! ho!&rdquo; went the other two.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They picked up the draggled little man and hustled him out of the yard
+      like a thief, a man on either side and a man behind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As they forced him through the gate, he struggled round.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By Him that made ye! ye shall pay for this, David M'Adam, you and yer&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But Sam'l's big hand descended on his mouth, and he was borne away before
+      that last ill word had flitted into being.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXI. HORROR OF DARKNESS
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      IT was long past dark that night when M'Adam staggered home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All that evening at the Sylvester Arms his imprecations against David had
+      made even the hardest shudder. James Moore, Owd Bob, and the Dale Cup were
+      for once forgotten as, in his passion, he cursed his son.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Dalesmen gathered fearfully away from the little dripping madman. For
+      once these men, whom, as a rule, no such geyser outbursts could quell,
+      were dumb before him; only now and then shooting furtive glances in his
+      direction, as though on the brink of some daring enterprise of which he
+      was the objective. But M'Adam noticed nothing, suspected nothing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When, at length, he lurched into the kitchen of the Grange, there was no
+      light and the fire burnt low. So dark was the room that a white riband of
+      paper pinned on to the table escaped his remark.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man sat down heavily, his clothes still sodden, and resumed his
+      tireless anathema.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've tholed mair fra him, Wullie, than Adam M'Adam ever thocht to thole
+      from ony man. And noo it's gane past bearin'. He struck me, Wullie! struck
+      his ain father. Ye see it yersel', Wullie. Na, ye werena there. Oh, gin ye
+      had but bin, Wullie! Him and his madam! But I'll gar him ken Adam M'Adam.
+      I'll stan' nae mair!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He sprang to his feet and, reaching up with trembling hands, pulled down
+      the old bell-mouthed blunderbuss that hung above the mantelpiece.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We'll mak' an end to't, Wullie, so we will, aince and for a'!&rdquo; And he
+      banged the weapon down upon the table. It lay right athwart that slip of
+      still condemning paper, yet the little man saw it not.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Resuming his seat, he prepared to wait. His hand sought the pocket of his
+      coat, and fingered tenderly a small stone bottle, the fond companion of
+      his widowhood. He pulled it out, uncorked it, and took a long pull; then
+      placed it on the table by his side.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Gradually the gray head lolled; the shrivelled hand dropped and hung
+      limply down, the finger-tips brushing the floor; and he dozed off into a
+      heavy sleep, while Red Wull watched at his feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was not till an hour later that David returned home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he approached the lightless house, standing in the darkness like a body
+      with the spirit fled, he could but contrast this dreary home of his with
+      the bright kitchen and cheery faces he had left.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Entering the house, he groped to the kitchen door and opened it; then
+      struck a match and stood in the doorway peering in.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Not home, bain't he?&rdquo; he muttered, the tiny light above his head. &ldquo;Wet
+      inside as well as oot by noo, I'll lay. By gum! but 'twas a lucky thing
+      for him I didna get ma hand on him this evenin'. I could ha' killed him.&rdquo;
+       He held the match above his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Two yellow eyes, glowing in the darkness like cairngorms, and a small dim
+      figure bunched up in a chair, told him his surmise was wrong. Many a time
+      had he seen his father in such case before, and now he muttered
+      contemptuously:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Drunk; the leetle swab! Sleepin' it off, I reck'n.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he saw his mistake. The hand that hung above the floor twitched and
+      was still again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a clammy silence. A mouse, emboldened by the quiet, scuttled
+      across the hearth. One mighty paw lightly moved; a lightning tap, and the
+      tiny beast lay dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again that hollow stillness: no sound, no movement; only those two
+      unwinking eyes fixed on him immovable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length a small voice from the fireside broke the quiet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Drunk&mdash;the&mdash;leetle&mdash;swab!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again a clammy silence, and a life-long pause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thowt yo' was sleepin',&rdquo; said David, at length, lamely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, so ye said. 'Sleepin' it aff'; I heard ye.&rdquo; Then, still in the same
+      small voice, now quivering imperceptibly, &ldquo;Wad ye obleege me, sir, by
+      leetin' the lamp? Or, d'ye think, Wullie, 'twad be soilin' his dainty
+      fingers? They're mair used, I'm told, to danderin' with the bonnie brown
+      hair o' his&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll not ha' ye talk o' ma Maggie so,&rdquo; interposed the boy passionately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;<i>His</i> Maggie, mark ye, Wullie&mdash;<i>his</i>! I thocht 'twad soon
+      get that far.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Tak' care, dad! I'll stan' but little more,&rdquo; the boy warned him in
+      choking voice; and began to trim the lamp with trembling fingers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam forthwith addressed himself to Red Wull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I suppose no man iver had sic a son as him, Wullie. Ye ken what I've done
+      for him, an' ye ken hoo he's repaid it. He's set himsel' agin me; he's
+      misca'd me; he's robbed me o' ma Cup; last of all, he struck me&mdash;struck
+      me afore them a'. We've toiled for him, you and I, Wullie; we've slaved to
+      keep him in hoose an' hame, an' he's passed his time, the while, in
+      riotous leevin', carousin' at Kenmuir, amusin' himself' wi' his&mdash;&rdquo; He
+      broke off short. The lamp was lit, and the strip of paper, pinned on to
+      the table, naked and glaring, caught his eye.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What's this?&rdquo; he muttered; and unloosed the nail that clamped it down.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This is what he read:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Adam Mackadam yer warned to mak' an end to yer Red Wull will be best for
+      him and the Sheep. This is the first yo'll have two more the third will be
+      the last&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was written in pencil, and the only signature was a dagger, rudely
+      lined in red.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam read the paper once, twice, thrice. As he slowly assimilated its
+      meaning, the blood faded from his face. He stared at it and still stared,
+      with whitening face and pursed lips. Then he stole a glance at David's
+      broad back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What d'ye ken o' this, David?&rdquo; he asked, at length, in a dry thin voice,
+      reaching forward in his chair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O' what?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;O' this,&rdquo; holding up the slip. &ldquo;And ye'el obleege me by the truth for
+      once.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David turned, took up the paper, read it, and laughed harshly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's coom to this, has it?&rdquo; he said, still laughing, and yet with
+      blanching face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye ken what it means. I daresay ye pit it there; aiblins writ it. Ye'll
+      explain it.&rdquo; The little man spoke in the same small, even voice, and his
+      eyes never moved off his son's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've heard naethin'.... I'd like the truth, David, if ye can tell it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy smiled a forced, unnatural smile, looking from his father to the
+      paper in his hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' shall have it, but yo'll not like it. It's this: Tupper lost a sheep
+      to the Killer last night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what if he did?&rdquo; The little man rose smoothly to his feet. Each
+      noticed the others' face&mdash;dead-white.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, he&mdash;lost&mdash;it&mdash;on&mdash;Wheer d'yo' think?&rdquo; He drawled
+      the words out, dwelling almost lovingly on each.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On&mdash;the&mdash;Red&mdash;Screes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The crash was coming&mdash;inevitable now. David knew it, knew that
+      nothing could avert it, and braced himself to meet it. The smile had fled
+      from his face, and his breath fluttered in his throat like the wind before
+      a thunderstorm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What of it?&rdquo; The little man's voice was calm as a summer sea.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Why, your Wullie&mdash;as I told yo'&mdash;was on the Screes last night.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go on, David.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And this,&rdquo; holding up the paper, &ldquo;tells you that they ken as I ken noo,
+      as maist o' them ha' kent this mony a day, that your Wullie, Red Wull&mdash;the
+      Terror&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Go on.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Is&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yes.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Black Killer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was spoken.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The frayed string was snapped at last. The little man's hand flashed to
+      the bottle that stood before him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye&mdash;liar!&rdquo; he shrieked, and threw it with all his strength at the
+      boy's head. David dodged and ducked, and the bottle hurtled over his
+      shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Crash! it whizzed into the lamp behind, and broke on the wall beyond, its
+      contents trickling down the wall to the floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For a moment, darkness. Then the spirits met the lamp's smouldering wick
+      and blazed into flame.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By the sudden light David saw his father on the far side the table,
+      pointing with crooked forefinger. By his side Red Wull was standing alert,
+      hackles up, yellow fangs bared, eyes lurid; and, at his feet, the wee
+      brown mouse lay still and lifeless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oot o' ma hoose! Back to Kenmuir! Back to yer &mdash;&mdash;&rdquo; The
+      unpardonable word, unmistakable, hovered for a second on his lips like
+      some foul bubble, and never burst.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No mither this time!&rdquo; panted David, racing round the table.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Terror leapt to the attack; but David overturned the table as he ran,
+      the blunderbuss crashing to the floor; it fell, opposing a momentary
+      barrier in the dog's path.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Stan' off, ye&mdash;!&rdquo; screeched the little man, seizing a chair in both
+      hands; &ldquo;stan' off, or I'll brain ye!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But David was on him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie, Wullie, to me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Again the Terror came with a roar like the sea. But David, with a mighty
+      kick catching him full on the jaw, repelled the attack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he gripped his father round the waist and lifted him from the ground.
+      The little man, struggling in those iron arms, screamed, cursed, and
+      battered at the face above him, kicking and biting in his frenzy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Killer! wad ye ken wha's the Killer? Go and ask 'em at Kenmuir! Ask
+      yer &mdash;&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      David swayed slightly, crushing the body in his arms till it seemed every
+      rib must break; then hurled it from him with all the might of passion. The
+      little man fell with a crash and a groan.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The blaze in the corner flared, flickered, and died. There was hell-black
+      darkness, and silence of the dead.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David stood against the wall, panting, every nerve tightstrung as the
+      hawser of a straining ship.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the corner lay the body of his father, limp and still; and in the room
+      one other living thing was moving.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He clung close to the wall, pressing it with wet hands. The horror of it
+      all, the darkness, the man in the corner, that moving something, petrified
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Feyther!&rdquo; he whispered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no reply. A chair creaked at an invisible touch. Something was
+      creeping, stealing, crawling closer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      David was afraid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Feyther!&rdquo; he whispered in hoarse agony, &ldquo;are yo' hurt?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The words were stifled in his throat. A chair overturned with a crash; a
+      great body struck him on the chest; a hot, pestilent breath volleyed in
+      his face, and wolfish teeth were reaching for his throat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come on, Killer!&rdquo; he screamed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The horror of suspense was past. It had come, and with it he was himself
+      again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Back, back, back, along the wall he was borne. His hands entwined
+      themselves around a hairy throat; he forced the great head with its horrid
+      lightsome eyes from him; he braced himself for the effort, lifted the huge
+      body at his breast, and heaved it from him. It struck the wall and fell
+      with a soft thud.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he recoiled a hand clutched his ankle and sought to trip him. David
+      kicked back and down with all his strength. There was one awful groan, and
+      he staggered against the door and out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There he paused, leaning against the wall to' breathe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He struck a match and lifted his foot to see where the hand had clutched
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      God! there was blood on his heel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then a great fear laid hold on him. A cry was suffocated in his breast by
+      the panting of his heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He crept back to the kitchen door and listened.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Not a sound.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Fearfully he opened it a crack.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Silence of the tomb.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He banged it to. It opened behind him, and the fact lent wings to his
+      feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned and plunged out into the night, and ran through the blackness
+      for his life. And a great owl swooped softly by and hooted mockingly:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;For your life! for your life! for your life!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_PART5" id="link2H_PART5">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      PART V OWD BOB O' KENMUIR
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXII A MAN AND A MAID
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      IN the village even the Black Killer and the murder on the Screes were
+      forgotten in this new sensation. The mystery in which the affair was
+      wrapped, and the ignorance as to all its details, served to whet the
+      general interest. There had been a fight; M'Adam and the Terror had been
+      mauled; and David had disappeared&mdash;those were the facts. But what was
+      the origin of the affray no one could say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One or two of the Dalesmen had, indeed, a shrewd suspicion. Tupper looked
+      guilty; Jem Burton muttered, &ldquo;I knoo hoo 'twould be&rdquo;; while as for Long
+      Kirby, he vanished entirely, not to reappear till three months had sped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Injured as he had been, M'Adam was yet sufficiently recovered to appear in
+      the Sylvester Arms on the Saturday following the battle. He entered the
+      tap-room silently with never a word to a soul; one arm was in a sling and
+      his head bandaged. He eyed every man present critically; and all, except
+      Tammas, who was brazen, and Jim Mason, who was innocent, fidgeted beneath
+      the stare. Maybe it was well for Long Kirby he was not there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Onythin' the matter?&rdquo; asked Jem, at length, rather lamely, in view of the
+      plain evidences of battle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Na, na; naethin' oot o' the ordinar',&rdquo; the little man replied, giggling.
+      &ldquo;Only David set on me, and me sleepin'. And,&rdquo; with a shrug, &ldquo;here I am
+      noo.&rdquo; He sat down, wagging his bandaged head and grinning. &ldquo;Ye see he's
+      sae playfu', is Davie. He wangs ye o'er the head wi' a chair, kicks ye in
+      the jaw, stamps on yer wame, and all as merry as May.&rdquo; And nothing further
+      could they get from him, except that if David reappeared it was his firm
+      resolve to hand him over to the police for attempted parricide.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Brutal assault on an auld man by his son!' 'Twill look well in the
+      Argus; he! he! They couldna let him aff under two years, I'm thinkin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam's version of the affair was received with quiet incredulity. The
+      general verdict was that he had brought his punishment entirely on his own
+      head. Tammas, indeed, who was always rude when he was not witty, and, in
+      fact, the difference between the two things is only one of degree, told
+      him straight: &ldquo;It served yo' well reet. An' I nob'but wish he'd made an
+      end to yo'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He did his best, puir lad,&rdquo; M'Adam reminded him gently.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We've had enough o' yo',&rdquo; continued the uncompromising old man. &ldquo;I'm fair
+      grieved he didna slice yer throat while he was at it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At that M'Adam raised his eyebrows, stared, and then broke into a low
+      whistle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's it, is it?&rdquo; he muttered, as though a new light was dawning on him.
+      &ldquo;Ah, noo I see.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      The days passed on. There was still no news of the missing one, and
+      Maggie's face became pitifully white and haggard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of course she did not believe that David had attempted to murder his
+      father, desperately tried as she knew he had been. Still, it was a
+      terrible thought to her that he might at any moment be arrested; and her
+      girlish imagination was perpetually conjuring up horrid pictures of a
+      trial, conviction, and the things that followed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Sam'l started a wild theory that the little man had murdered his son,
+      and thrown the mangled body down the dry well at the Grange. The story
+      was, of course, preposterous, and, coming from such a source, might well
+      have been discarded with the ridicule it deserved. Yet it served to set
+      the cap on the girl's fears; and she resolved, at whatever cost, to visit
+      the Grange, beard M'Adam, and discover whether he could not or would not
+      allay her gnawing apprehension.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her intent she concealed from her father, knowing well that were she to
+      reveal it to him, he would gently but firmly forbid the attempt; and on an
+      afternoon some fortnight after David's disappearance, choosing her
+      opportunity, she picked up a shawl, threw it over her head, and fled with
+      palpitating heart out of the farm and down the slope to the Wastrel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little plank-bridge rattled as she tripped across it; and she fled
+      faster lest any one should have heard and come to look. And, indeed, at
+      the moment it rattled again behind her, and she started guiltily round. It
+      proved, however, to be only Owd Bob, sweeping after, and she was glad.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Comin' wi' me, lad?&rdquo; she asked as the old dog cantered up, thankful to
+      have that gray protector with her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Round Langholm now fled the two conspirators; over the summer-clad lower
+      slopes of the Pike, until, at length, they reached the Stony Bottom. Down
+      the bramble-covered bank of the ravine the girl slid; picked her way from
+      stone to stone across the streamlet tinkling in that rocky bed; and
+      scrambled up the opposite bank.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the top she halted and looked back. The smoke from Kenmuir was winding
+      slowly up against the sky; to her right the low gray cottages of the
+      village cuddled in the bosom of the Dale; far away over the Marches
+      towered the gaunt Scaur; before her rolled the swelling slopes of the Muir
+      Pike; while behind&mdash;she glanced timidly over her shoulder&mdash;was
+      the hill, at the top of which squatted the Grange, lifeless, cold,
+      scowling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her heart failed her. In her whole life she had never spoken to M'Adam.
+      Yet she knew him well enough from all David's accounts&mdash;ay, and hated
+      him for David's sake. She hated him and feared him, too; feared him
+      mortally&mdash;this terrible little man. And, with a shudder, she recalled
+      the dim face at the window, and thought of his notorious hatred of her
+      father. But even M'Adam could hardly harm a girl coming, broken-hearted,
+      to seek her lover. Besides, was not Owd Bob with her?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And, turning, she saw the old dog standing a little way up the hill,
+      looking back at her as though he wondered why she waited. &ldquo;Am I not
+      enough?&rdquo; the faithful gray eyes seemed to say.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lad, I'm fear'd,&rdquo; was her answer to the unspoken question.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet that look determined her. She clenched her little teeth, drew the
+      shawl about her, and set off running up the hill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Soon the run dwindled to a walk, the walk to a crawl, and the crawl to a
+      halt. Her breath was coming painfully, and her heart pattered against her
+      side like the beatings of an imprisoned bird. Again her gray guardian
+      looked up, encouraging her forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Keep close, lad,&rdquo; she whispered, starting forward afresh. And the old dog
+      ranged up beside her, shoving into her skirt, as though to let her feel
+      his presence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So they reached the top of the hill; and the house stood before them,
+      grim, unfriendly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl's face was now quite white, yet set; the resemblance to her
+      father was plain to see. With lips compressed and breath quick-coming, she
+      crossed the threshold, treading softly as though in a house of the dead.
+      There she paused and lifted a warning finger at her companion, bidding him
+      halt without; then she turned to the door on the left of the entrance and
+      tapped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She listened, her head buried in the shawl, close to the wood panelling.
+      There was no answer; she could only hear the drumming of her heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She knocked again. From within came the scraping of a chair cautiously
+      shoved back, followed by a deep-mouthed cavernous growl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Her heart stood still, but she turned the handle and entered, leaving a
+      crack open behind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the far side the room a little man was sitting. His head was swathed in
+      dirty bandages, and a bottle was on the table beside him. He was leaning
+      forward; his face was gray, and there was a stare of naked horror in his
+      eyes. One hand grasped the great dog who stood at his side, with yellow
+      teeth glinting, and muzzle hideously wrinkled; with the other he pointed a
+      palsied finger at her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ma God! wha are ye?&rdquo; he cried hoarsely.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl stood hard against the door, her fingers still on the handle;
+      trembling like an aspen at the sight of that uncannie pair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That look in the little man's eyes petrified her: the swollen pupils;
+      lashless lids, yawning wide; the broken range of teeth in that gaping
+      mouth, froze her very soul. Rumors of the man's insanity tided back on her
+      memory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm&mdash;I&mdash;&rdquo; the words came in trembling gasps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the first utterance, however, the little man's hand dropped; he leant
+      back in his chair and gave a soul-bursting sigh of relief.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No woman had crossed that threshold since his wife died; and, for a
+      moment, when first the girl had entered silent-footed, aroused from
+      dreaming of the long ago, he had thought this shawl-clad figure with the
+      pale face and peeping hair no earthly visitor; the spirit, rather, of one
+      he had loved long since and lost, come to reproach him with a broken
+      troth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Speak up, I canna hear,&rdquo; he said, in tones mild compared with those last
+      wild words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I&mdash;I'm Maggie Moore,&rdquo; the girl quavered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Moore! Maggie Moore, d'ye say?&rdquo; he cried, half rising from his chair, a
+      flush of color sweeping across his face, &ldquo;the dochter o' James Moore?&rdquo; He
+      paused for an answer, glowering at her; and she shrank, trembling, against
+      the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man leant back in his chair. Gradually a grim smile crept
+      across his countenance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Weel, Maggie Moore,&rdquo; he said, halfamused, &ldquo;ony gate ye're a good plucked
+      un.&rdquo; And his wizened countenance looked at her almost kindly from beneath
+      its dirty crown of bandages.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At that the girl's courage returned with a rush. After all this little man
+      was not so very terrible. Perhaps he would be kind. And in the relief of
+      the moment, the blood swept back into her face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was not to be peace yet, however. The blush was still hot upon her
+      cheeks, when she caught the patter of soft steps in the passage without. A
+      dark muzzle flecked with gray pushed in at the crack of the door; two
+      anxious gray eyes followed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Before she could wave him back, Red Wull had marked the intruder. With a
+      roar he tore himself from his master's restraining hand, and dashed across
+      the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Back, Bob!&rdquo; screamed Maggie, and the dark head withdrew. The door slammed
+      with a crash as the great dog flung himself against it, and Maggie was
+      hurled, breathless and white-faced, into a corner.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam was on his feet, pointing with a shrivelled finger, his face
+      diabolical.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did you bring him? did you bring <i>that</i> to ma door?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie huddled in the corner in a palsy of trepidation. Her eyes gleamed
+      big and black in the white face peering from the shawl.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Red Wull was now beside her snarling horribly. With nose to the bottom of
+      the door and busy paws he was trying to get out; while, on the other side,
+      Owd Bob, snuffling also at the crack, scratched and pleaded to get in.
+      Only two miserable wooden inches separated the pair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I brought him to protect me. I&mdash;I was afraid.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam sat down and laughed abruptly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Afraid! I wonder ye were na afraid to bring him here. It's the first time
+      iver he's set foot on ma land, and 't had best be the last&rdquo; He turned to
+      the great dog. &ldquo;Wullie, Wullie, wad ye?&rdquo; he called. &ldquo;Come here. Lay ye
+      doon&mdash;so&mdash;under ma chair&mdash;good lad. Noo's no the time to
+      settle wi' him&rdquo;&mdash;nodding toward the door. &ldquo;We can wait for that,
+      Wullie; we can wait.&rdquo; Then, turning to Maggie, &ldquo;Gin ye want him to mak' a
+      show at the Trials two months hence, he'd best not come here agin. Gin he
+      does, he'll no leave ma land alive; Wullie'll see to that. Noo, what is 't
+      ye want o'me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl in the corner, scared almost out of her senses by this last
+      occurrence, remained dumb.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam marked her hesitation, and grinned sardonically.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I see hoo 'tis,&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;yer dad's sent ye. Aince before he wanted
+      somethin' o' me, and did he come to fetch it himself like a man? Not he.
+      He sent the son to rob the father.&rdquo; Then, leaning forward in his chair and
+      glaring at the girl, &ldquo;Ay, and mair than that! The night the lad set on me
+      he cam'&rdquo;&mdash;with hissing emphasis&mdash;&ldquo;straight from Kenmuir!&rdquo; He
+      paused and stared at her intently, and she was still dumb before him. &ldquo;Gin
+      I'd ben killed, Wullie'd ha' bin disqualified from competin' for the Cup.
+      With Adam M'Adam's Red Wull oot o' the way&mdash;noo d'ye see? Noo d'ye
+      onderstan'?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      She did not, and he saw it and was satisfied. What he had been saying she
+      neither knew nor cared. She only remembered the object of her mission; she
+      only saw before her the father of the man she loved; and a wave of emotion
+      surged up in her breast.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She advanced timidly toward him, holding out her hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, Mr. M'Adam,&rdquo; she pleaded, &ldquo;I come to ask ye after David.&rdquo; The shawl
+      had slipped from her head, and lay loose upon her shoulders; and she stood
+      before him with her sad face, her pretty hair all tossed, and her eyes big
+      with unshed tears&mdash;a touching suppliant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will ye no tell me wheer he is? I'd not ask it, I'd not trouble yo', but
+      I've bin waitin' a waefu' while, it seems, and I'm wearyin' for news o'
+      him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man looked at her curiously. &ldquo;Ah, noo I mind me,&rdquo;&mdash;this to
+      himself. &ldquo;You' the lass as is thinkin' o' marryin' him?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We're promised,&rdquo; the girl answered simply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Weel,&rdquo; the other remarked, &ldquo;as I said afore, ye're a good plucked un.&rdquo;
+       Then, in a tone in which, despite the cynicism, a certain indefinable
+      sadness was blended, &ldquo;Gin he mak's you as good husband as he mad' son to
+      me, ye'll ha' made a maist remairkable match, my dear.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie fired in a moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A good feyther makes a good son,&rdquo; she answered almost pertly; and then,
+      with infinite tenderness, &ldquo;and I'm prayin' a good wife'll make a good
+      husband.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He smiled scoffingly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm feared that'll no help ye much,&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the girl never heeded this last sneer, so set was she on her purpose.
+      She had heard of the one tender place in the heart of this little man with
+      the tired face and mocking tongue, and she resolved to attain her end by
+      appealing to it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' loved a lass yo'sel' aince, Mr. M'Adam,&rdquo; she said. &ldquo;Hoo would yo' ha'
+      felt had she gone away and left yo'? Yo'd ha' bin mad; yo' know yo' would.
+      And, Mr. M'Adam, I love the lad yer wife loved.&rdquo; She was kneeling at his
+      feet now with both hands on his knees, looking up at him. Her sad face and
+      quivering lips pleaded for her more eloquently than any words.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man was visibly touched.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, ay, lass, that's enough,&rdquo; he said, trying to avoid those big
+      beseeching eyes which would not be avoided.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Will ye no tell me?&rdquo; she pleaded.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I canna tell ye, lass, for why, I dinna ken,&rdquo; he answered querulously. In
+      truth, he was moved to the heart by her misery.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl's last hopes were dashed. She had played her last card and
+      failed. She had clung with the fervor of despair to this last resource,
+      and now it was torn from her. She had hoped, and now there was no hope. In
+      the anguish of her disappointment she remembered that this was the man
+      who, by his persistent cruelty, had driven her love into exile.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She rose to her feet and stood back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nor ken, nor care!&rdquo; she cried bitterly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the words all the softness fled from the little man's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye do me a wrang, lass; ye do indeed,&rdquo; he said, looking up at her with an
+      assumed ingenuousness which, had she known him better, would have warned
+      her to beware. &ldquo;Gin I kent where the lad was I'd be the vairy first to let
+      you, and the p'lice, ken it too; eh, Wullie! he! he!&rdquo; He chuckled at his
+      wit and rubbed his knees, regardless of the contempt blazing in the girl's
+      face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I canna tell ye where he is now, but ye'd aiblins care to hear o' when I
+      saw him last.&rdquo; He turned his chair the better to address her.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Twas like so: I was sittin' in this vairy chair it was, asleep, when he
+      crep' up behind an' lep' on ma back. I knew naethin' o't till I found
+      masel' on the floor an' him kneelin' on me. I saw by the look on him he
+      was set on finishin' me, so I said&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl waved her hand at him, superbly disdainful.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' ken yo're lyin', ivery word o't,&rdquo; she cried.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man hitched his trousers, crossed his legs, and yawned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An honest lee for an honest purpose is a matter ony man may be proud of,
+      as you'll ken by the time you're my years, ma lass.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl slowly crossed the room. At the door she turned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then ye'll no tell me wheer he is?&rdquo; she asked with a heart-breaking trill
+      in her voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On ma word, lass, I dinna ken,&rdquo; he cried, half passionately.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;On your word, Mr. M'Adam&rdquo; she said with a quiet scorn in her voice that
+      might have stung Iscariot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man spun round in his chair, an angry red dyeing his cheeks. In
+      another moment he was suave and smiling again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I canna tell ye where he is noo,&rdquo; he said, unctuously; &ldquo;but aiblins, I
+      could let ye know where he's gaein' to.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Can yo'? will yo'?&rdquo; cried the simple girl all unsuspecting. In a moment
+      she was across the room and at his knees.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Closer, and I'll whisper.&rdquo; The little ear, peeping from its nest of
+      brown, was tremblingly approached to his lips. The little man lent forward
+      and whispered one short, sharp word, then sat back, grinning, to watch the
+      effect of his disclosure.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He had his revenge, an unworthy revenge on such a victim. And, watching
+      the girl's face, the cruel disappointment merging in the heat of her
+      indignation, he had yet enough nobility to regret his triumph.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She sprang from him as though he were unclean.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An' yo' his father!&rdquo; she cried, in burning tones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She crossed the room, and at the door paused. Her face was white again and
+      she was quite composed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If David did strike you, you drove him to it,&rdquo; she said, speaking in
+      calm, gentle accents. &ldquo;Yo' know, none so well, whether yo've bin a good
+      feyther to him, and him no mither, poor laddie! Whether yo've bin to him
+      what she'd ha' had yo' be. Ask yer conscience, Mr. M'Adam. An' if he was a
+      wee aggravatin' at times, had he no reason? He'd a heavy cross to bear,
+      had David, and yo' know best if yo' helped to ease it for him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man pointed to the door; but the girl paid no heed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;D'yo' think when yo' were cruel to him, jeerin' and fleerin', he never
+      felt it, because he was too proud to show ye? He'd a big saft heart, had
+      David, beneath the varnish. Mony's the time when mither was alive, I've
+      seen him throw himsel' into her arms, sobbin', and cry, 'Eh, if I had but
+      mither! 'Twas different when mither was alive; he was kinder to me then.
+      An' noo I've no one; I'm alone.' An' he'd sob and sob in mither's arms,
+      and she, weepin' hersel', would comfort him, while he, wee laddie, would
+      no be comforted, cryin' broken-like, 'There's none to care for me noo; I'm
+      alone. Mither's left me and eh! I'm prayin' to be wi' her!'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The clear, girlish voice shook. M'Adam, sitting with face averted, waved
+      to her, mutely ordering her to be gone. But she held on, gentle,
+      sorrowful, relentless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;An' what'll yo' say to his mither when yo meet her, as yo' must soon noo,
+      and she asks yo', 'An what o' David? What o' th' lad I left wi' yo', Adam,
+      to guard and keep for me, faithful and true, till this Day?' And then
+      yo'll ha' to speak the truth, God's truth; and yo'll ha' to answer, 'Sin'
+      the day yo' left me I niver said a kind word to the lad. I niver bore wi'
+      him, and niver tried to. And in the end I drove him by persecution to try
+      and murder me.' Then maybe she'll look at yo'&mdash;yo' best ken hoo&mdash;and
+      she'll say, 'Adam, Adam! is this what I deserved fra yo'?'&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The gentle, implacable voice ceased. The girl turned and slipped softly
+      out of the room; and M'Adam was left alone to his thoughts and his dead
+      wife's memory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mither and father, baith! Mither and father, baith!&rdquo; rang remorselessly
+      in his ears.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXIII TH' OWD UN
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      THE Black Killer still cursed the land. Sometimes there would be a
+      cessation in the crimes; then a shepherd, going his rounds, would notice
+      his sheep herding together, packing in unaccustomed squares; a raven,
+      gorged to the crop, would rise before him and flap wearily away, and he
+      would come upon the murderer's latest victim.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Dalesmen were in despair, so utterly futile had their efforts been.
+      There was no proof; no hope, no apparent probability that the end was
+      near. As for the Tailless Tyke, the only piece of evidence against him had
+      flown with David, who, as it chanced, had divulged what he had seen to no
+      man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The 100 pound reward offered had brought no issue. The police had done
+      nothing. The Special Commissioner had been equally successful. After the
+      affair in the Scoop the Killer never ran a risk, yet never missed a
+      chance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then, as a last resource, Jim Mason made his attempt. He took a holiday
+      from his duties and disappeared into the wilderness. Three days and three
+      nights no man saw him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the morning of the fourth he reappeared, haggard, unkempt, a furtive
+      look haunting his eyes, sullen for once, irritable, who had never been
+      irritable before&mdash;to confess his failure. Cross-examined further, he
+      answered with unaccustomed fierceness: &ldquo;I seed nowt, I tell ye. Who's the
+      liar as said I did?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But that night his missus heard him in his sleep conning over something to
+      himself in slow, fearful whisper, &ldquo;Two on 'em; one ahint t'other. The
+      first big&mdash;bull-like; t'ither&mdash;&rdquo; At which point Mrs. Mason smote
+      him a smashing blow in the ribs, and he woke in a sweat, crying terribly,
+      &ldquo;Who said I seed&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      The days were slipping away; the summer was hot upon the land, and with it
+      the Black Killer was forgotten; David was forgotten; everything sank into
+      oblivion before the all-absorbing interest of the coming Dale trials.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The long-anticipated battle for the Shepherds' Trophy was looming close;
+      soon everything that hung upon the issue of that struggle would be decided
+      finally. For ever the justice of Th' Owd Un' claim to his proud title
+      would be settled. If he won, he won outright&mdash;a thing unprecedented
+      in the annals of the Cup; if he won, the place of Owd Bob o' Kenmuir as
+      first in his profession was assured for all time. Above all, it was the
+      last event in the six years' struggle 'twixt Red and Gray It was the last
+      time those two great rivals would meet in battle. The supremacy of one
+      would be decided once and for all. For win or lose, it was the last public
+      appearance of the Gray Dog of Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And as every hour brought the great day nearer, nothing else was talked of
+      in the country-side. The heat of the Dalesmen's enthusiasm was only
+      intensified by the fever of their apprehension. Many a man would lose more
+      than he cared to contemplate were Th' Owd Un beat. But he'd not be! Nay;
+      owd, indeed, he was&mdash;two years older than his great rival; there were
+      a hundred risks, a hundred chances; still: &ldquo;What's the odds agin Owd Bob
+      o' Kenmuir? I'm takin' 'em. Who'll lay agin Th' Owd Un?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And with the air saturated with this perpetual talk of the old dog, these
+      everlasting references to his certain victory; his ears drumming with the
+      often boast that the gray dog was the best in the North, M'Adam became the
+      silent, ill-designing man of six months since&mdash;morose, brooding,
+      suspicious, muttering of conspiracy, plotting revenge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The scenes at the Sylvester Arms were replicas of those of previous years.
+      Usually the little man sat isolated in a far corner, silent and glowering,
+      with Red Wull at his feet. Now and then he burst into a paroxysm of insane
+      giggling, slapping his thigh, and muttering, &ldquo;Ay, it's likely they'll beat
+      us, Wullie. Yet aiblins there's a wee somethin'&mdash;a somethin' we ken
+      and they dinna, Wullie,&mdash;eh! Wullie, he! he!&rdquo; And sometimes he would
+      leap to his feet and address his pot-house audience, appealing to them
+      passionately, satirically, tearfully, as the mood might be on him; and his
+      theme was always the same: James Moore, Owd Bob, the Cup, and the plots
+      agin him and his Wullie; and always he concluded with that hint of the
+      surprise to come.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Meantime, there was no news of David; he had gone as utterly as a ship
+      foundered in mid-Atlantic. Some said he'd 'listed; some, that he'd gone to
+      sea. And &ldquo;So he 'as,&rdquo; corroborated Sam'l, &ldquo;floatin', 'eels uppards.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With no gleam of consolation, Maggie's misery was such as to rouse
+      compassion in all hearts. She went no longer blithely singing about her
+      work; and all the springiness had fled from her gait. The people of
+      Kenmuir vied with one another in their attempts to console their young
+      mistress.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Maggie was not the only one in whose life David's absence had created a
+      void. Last as he would have been to own it, M'Adam felt acutely the boy's
+      loss. It may have been he missed the ever-present butt; it may have been a
+      nobler feeling. Alone with Red Wull, too late he felt his loneliness.
+      Sometimes, sitting in the kitchen by himself, thinking of the past, he
+      experienced sharp pangs of remorse; and this was all the more the case
+      after Maggie's visit. Subsequent to that day the little man, to do him
+      justice, was never known to hint by word or look an ill thing of his
+      enemy's daughter. Once, indeed, when Melia Ross was drawing on a dirty
+      imagination with Maggie for subject, M'Adam shut her up with: &ldquo;Ye're a
+      maist amazin' big liar, Melia Ross.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet, though for the daughter he had now no evil thought, his hatred for
+      the father had never been so uncompromising.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He grew reckless in his assertions. His life was one long threat against
+      James Moore's. Now he openly stated his conviction that, on the eventful
+      night of the fight, James Moore, with object easily discernible, had egged
+      David on to murder him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Then why don't yo' go and tell him so, yo' muckle liar?&rdquo; roared Tammas at
+      last, enraged to madness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I will!&rdquo; said M'Adam. And he did.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      It was on the day preceding the great summer sheep fair at Grammoch-town
+      that he fulfilled his vow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That is always a big field-day at Kenmuir; and on this occasion James
+      Moore and Owd Bob had been up and working on the Pike from the rising of
+      the sun. Throughout the straggling lands of Kenmuir the Master went with
+      his untiring adjutant, rounding up, cutting out, drafting. It was already
+      noon when the flock started from the yard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the gate by the stile, as the party came up, sat M'Adam.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've a word to say to you, James Moore,&rdquo; he announced, as the Master
+      approached.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say it then, and quick. I've no time to stand gossipin' here, if yo'
+      have,&rdquo; said the Master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam strained forward till he nearly toppled off the gate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Queer thing, James Moore, you should be the only one to escape this
+      Killer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' forget yoursel', M'Adam.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, there's me,&rdquo; acquiesced the little man. &ldquo;But you&mdash;hoo d'yo'
+      'count for <i>your</i> luck?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore swung round and pointed proudly at the gray dog, now
+      patrolling round the flock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's my luck!&rdquo; he said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam laughed unpleasantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;So I thought,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;so I thought! And I s'pose ye're thinkin' that
+      yer luck,&rdquo; nodding at the gray dog, &ldquo;will win you the Cup for certain a
+      month hence.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I hope so!&rdquo; said the Master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Strange if he should not after all,&rdquo; mused the little man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore eyed him suspiciously. &ldquo;What d'yo' mean?&rdquo; he asked sternly.
+      M'Adam shrugged his shoulders. &ldquo;There's mony a slip 'twixt Cup and lip,
+      that's a'. I was thinkin' some mischance might come to him.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master's eyes flashed dangerously. He recalled the many rumors he had
+      heard, and the attempt on the old dog early in the year.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I canna think ony one would be coward enough to murder him,&rdquo; he said,
+      drawing himself up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam leant forward. There was a nasty glitter in his eye, and his face
+      was all a-tremble.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye'd no think ony one 'd be cooard enough to set the son to murder the
+      father. Yet some one did&mdash;set the lad on to 'sassinate me. He failed
+      at me, and next, I suppose, he'll try at Wullie!&rdquo; There was a flush on the
+      sallow face, and a vindictive ring in the thin voice. &ldquo;One way or t'ither,
+      fair or foul, Wullie or me, ain or baith, has got to go afore Cup Day, eh,
+      James Moore! eh?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master put his hand on the latch of the gate, &ldquo;That'll do, M'Adam,&rdquo; he
+      said. &ldquo;I'll stop to hear no more, else I might get angry wi' yo'. Noo git
+      off this gate, yo're trespassin' as 'tis.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He shook the gate. M'Adam tumbled off, and went sprawling into the sheep
+      clustered below. Picking himself up, he dashed on through the flock,
+      waving his arms, kicking fantastically, and scattering confusion
+      everywhere.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Just wait till I'm thro' wi' 'em, will yo'?&rdquo; shouted the Master, seeing
+      the danger.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a request which, according to the etiquette of shepherding, one man
+      was bound to grant another. But M'Adam rushed on regardless, dancing and
+      gesticulating. Save for the lightning vigilance of Owd Bob, the flock must
+      have broken.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think yo' might ha' waited!&rdquo; remonstrated the Master, as the little man
+      burst his way through.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Noo, I've forgot somethin'!&rdquo; the other cried, and back he started as he
+      had gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was more than human nature could tolerate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bob, keep him off!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A flash of teeth; a blaze of gray eyes; and the old dog had leapt forward
+      to oppose the little man's advance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Shift oot o' ma light!&rdquo; cried he, striving to dash past.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold him, lad!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And hold him the old dog did, while his master opened the gate and put the
+      flock through, the opponents dodging in front of one another like opposing
+      three-quarter-backs at the Rugby game.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oot o' ma path, or I'll strike!&rdquo; shouted the little man in a fury, as the
+      last sheep passed through the gate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'd not,&rdquo; warned the Master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;But I will!&rdquo; yelled M'Adam; and, darting forward as the gate swung to,
+      struck furiously at his opponent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He missed, and the gray dog charged at him like a mail-train.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hi! James Moore&mdash;&rdquo; but over he went like a toppled wheelbarrow,
+      while the old dog turned again, raced at the gate, took it magnificently
+      in his stride, and galloped up the lane after his master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At M'Adam's yell, James Moore had turned.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Served yo' properly!&rdquo; he called back. &ldquo;He'll larn ye yet it's not wise to
+      tamper wi' a gray dog or his sheep. Not the first time he's downed ye, I'm
+      thinkin'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man raised himself painfully to his elbow and crawled toward
+      the gate. The Master, up the lane, could hear him cursing as he dragged
+      himself. Another moment, and a head was poked through the bars of the
+      gate, and a devilish little face looked after him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Downed me, by&mdash;, he did!&rdquo; the little man cried passionately. &ldquo;I owed
+      ye baith somethin' before this, and noo, by &mdash;&mdash;, I owe ye
+      somethin' more. An' mind ye, Adam M'Adam pays his debts!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've heard the contrary,&rdquo; the Master replied drily, and turned away up
+      the lane toward the Marches.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXIV A SHOT IN THE NIGHT
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      IT was only three short weeks before Cup Day that one afternoon Jim Mason
+      brought a letter to Kenmuir. James Moore opened it as the postman still
+      stood in the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was from Long Kirby&mdash;still in retirement&mdash;begging him for
+      mercy's sake to keep Owd Bob safe within doors at nights; at all events
+      till after the great event was over. For Kirby knew, as did every
+      Dalesman, that the old dog slept in the porch, between the two doors of
+      the house, of which the outer was only loosely closed by a chain, so that
+      the ever-watchful guardian might slip in and out and go his rounds at any
+      moment of the night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This was how the smith concluded his ill-spelt note: &ldquo;Look out for M'Adam
+      i tell you i <i>know</i> hel tri at thowd un afore cup day&mdash;failin im
+      you if the ole dog's bete i'm a ruined man i say so for the luv o' God
+      keep yer eyes wide.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master read the letter, and handed it to the postman, who perused it
+      carefully.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell yo' what,&rdquo; said Jim at length, speaking with an earnestness that
+      made the other stare, &ldquo;I wish yo'd do what he asks yo': keep Th' Owd Un in
+      o' nights, I mean, just for the present.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master shook his head and laughed, tearing the letter to pieces.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay,&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;M'Adam or no M'Adam, Cup or no Cup, Th' Owd Un has the
+      run o' ma land same as he's had since a puppy. Why, Jim, the first night I
+      shut him up that night the Killer comes, I'll lay.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The postman turned wearily away, and the Master stood looking after him,
+      wondering what had come of late to his former cheery friend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Those two were not the only warnings James Moore received. During the
+      weeks immediately preceding the Trials, the danger signal was perpetually
+      flaunted beneath his nose.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Twice did Watch, the black cross-bred chained in the straw-yard, hurl a
+      brazen challenge on the night air. Twice did the Master, with lantern,
+      Sam'l and Owd Bob, sally forth and search every hole and corner on the
+      premises&mdash;to find nothing. One of the dairy-maids gave notice,
+      avowing that the farm was haunted; that, on several occasions in the early
+      morning, she had seen a bogie flitting down the slope to the Wastrel&mdash;a
+      sure portent, Sam'l declared, of an approaching death in the house. While
+      once a shearer, coming up from the village, reported having seen, in the
+      twilight of dawn, a little ghostly figure, haggard and startled, stealing
+      silently from tree to tree in the larch-copse by the lane. The Master,
+      however, irritated by these constant alarms, dismissed the story
+      summarily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One thing I'm sartin o',&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;There's not a critter moves on
+      Kenmuir at nights but Th' Owd Un knows it.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet, even as he said it, a little man, draggled, weary-eyed, smeared with
+      dew and dust, was limping in at the door of a house barely a mile away.
+      &ldquo;Nae luck, Wullie, curse it!&rdquo; he cried, throwing himself into a chair, and
+      addressing some one who was not there&mdash;&ldquo;nae luck. An' yet I'm sure
+      o't as I am that there's a God in heaven.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      M'Adam had become an old man of late. But little more than fifty, yet he
+      looked to have reached man's allotted years. His sparse hair was quite
+      white; his body shrunk and bowed; and his thin hand shook like an aspen as
+      it groped to the familiar bottle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In another matter, too, he was altogether changed. Formerly, whatever his
+      faults, there had been no harder-working man in the country-side. At all
+      hours, in all weathers, you might have seen him with his gigantic
+      attendant going his rounds. Now all that was different: he never put his
+      hand to the plough, and with none to help him the land was left wholly
+      untended; so that men said that, of a surety, there would be a farm to let
+      on the March Mere Estate come Michaelmas.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Instead of working, the little man sat all day in the kitchen at home,
+      brooding over his wrongs, and brewing vengeance. Even the Sylvester Arms
+      knew him no more; for he stayed where he was with his dog and his bottle.
+      Only, when the shroud of night had come down to cover him, he slipped out
+      and away on some errand on which not even Red Wull accompanied him.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      So the time glided on, till the Sunday before the Trials came round.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All that day M'Adam sat in his kitchen, drinking, muttering, hatching
+      revenge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Curse it, Wullie! curse it! The time's slippin'&mdash;slippin'&mdash;slippin'!
+      Thursday next&mdash;but three days mair! and I haena the proof&mdash;I
+      haena the proof!&rdquo;&mdash;and he rocked to and fro, biting his nails in the
+      agony of his impotence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All day long he never moved. Long after sunset he sat on; long after dark
+      had eliminated the features of the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They're all agin us, Wullie. It's you and I alane, lad. M'Adam's to be
+      beat somehow, onyhow; and Moore's to win. So they've settled it, and so
+      'twill be&mdash;onless, Wullie, onless&mdash;but curse it! I've no the
+      proof!&rdquo;&mdash;and he hammered the table before him and stamped on the
+      floor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At midnight he arose, a mad, desperate plan looming through his fuddled
+      brain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I swore I'd pay him, Wullie, and I will. If I hang for it I'll be even
+      wi' him. I haena the proof, but I <i>know</i>&mdash;I <i>know</i>!&rdquo; He
+      groped his way to the mantel piece with blind eyes and swirling brain.
+      Reaching up with fumbling hands, he took down the old blunderbuss from
+      above the fireplace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie,&rdquo; he whispered, chuckling hideously, &ldquo;Wullie, come on! You and I&mdash;he!
+      he!&rdquo; But the Tailless Tyke was not there. At nightfall he had slouched
+      silently out of the house on business he best wot of. So his master crept
+      out of the room alone&mdash;on tiptoe, still chuckling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The cool night air refreshed him, and he stepped stealthily along, his
+      quaint weapon over his shoulder: down the hill; across the Bottom;
+      skirting the Pike; till he reached the plank-bridge over the Wastrel.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He crossed it safely, that Providence whose care is drunkards placing his
+      footsteps. Then he stole up the slope like a hunter stalking his prey.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Arrived at the gate, he raised himself cautiously, and peered over into
+      the moonlit yard. There was no sign or sound of living creature. The
+      little gray house slept peacefully in the shadow of the Pike, all unaware
+      of the man with murder in his heart laboriously climbing the yard-gate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The door of the porch was wide, the chain hanging limply down, unused; and
+      the little man could see within, the moon shining on the iron studs of the
+      inner door, and the blanket of him who should have slept there, and did
+      not.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's no there, Wullie! He's no there!&rdquo; He jumped down from the gate.
+      Throwing all caution to the winds, he reeled recklessly across the yard.
+      The drunken delirium of battle was on him. The fever of anticipated
+      victory flushed his veins. At length he would take toll for the injuries
+      of years.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Another moment, and he was in front of the good oak door, battering at it
+      madly with clubbed weapon, yelling, dancing, screaming vengeance.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+&ldquo;Where is he? What's he at? Come and tell me that, James Moore! Come
+doon, I say, ye coward! Come and meet me like a man!
+
+     Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
+     Scots wham Bruce has aften led&mdash;
+     Welcome to your gory bed
+     Or to victorie!'&rdquo;
+ </pre>
+    <p>
+      The soft moonlight streamed down on the white-haired madman thundering at
+      the door, screaming his war-song.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The quiet farmyard, startled from its sleep, awoke in an uproar. Cattle
+      shifted in their stalls; horses whinnied; fowls chattered, aroused by the
+      din and dull thudding of the blows: and above the rest, loud and piercing,
+      the shrill cry of a terrified child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie, wakened from a vivid dream of David chasing the police, hurried a
+      shawl around her, and in a minute had the baby in her arms and was
+      comforting her&mdash;vaguely fearing the while that the police were after
+      David.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore flung open a window, and, leaning out, looked down on the
+      dishevelled figure below him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam heard the noise, glanced up, and saw his enemy. Straightway he
+      ceased his attack on the door, and, running beneath the window, shook his
+      weapon up at his foe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There ye are, are ye? Curse ye for a coward! curse ye for a liar! Come
+      doon, I say, James Moore! come doon&mdash;I daur ye to it! Aince and for
+      a' let's settle oor account.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master, looking down from above, thought that at length the little
+      man's brain had gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is't yo' want?&rdquo; he asked, as calmly as he could, hoping to gain
+      time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What is't I want?&rdquo; screamed the madman. &ldquo;Hark to him! He crosses me in
+      ilka thing; he plots agin me; he robs me o' ma Cup; he sets ma son agin me
+      and pits him on to murder me! And in the end he&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Coom, then, coom! I'll&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gie me back the Cup ye stole, James Moore! Gie me back ma son ye've took
+      from me! And there's anither thing. What's yer gray dog doin'? Where's yer&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master interposed again:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll coom doon and talk things over wi' yo'.&rdquo; he said soothingly. But
+      before he could withdraw, M'Adam had jerked his weapon to his shoulder and
+      aimed it full at his enemy's head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The threatened man looked down the gun's great quivering mouth, wholly
+      unmoved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' mon hold it steadier, little mon, if yo'd hit!&rdquo; he said grimly.
+      &ldquo;There, I'll coom help yo'!&rdquo; He withdrew slowly; and all the time was
+      wondering where the gray dog was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In another moment he was downstairs, undoing the bolts and bars of the
+      door. On the other side stood M'Adam, his blunderbuss at his shoulder, his
+      finger trembling on the trigger, waiting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hi, Master! Stop, or yo're dead!&rdquo; roared a voice from the loft on the
+      other side the yard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Feyther! feyther! git yo' back!&rdquo; screamed Maggie, who saw it all from the
+      window above the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Their cries were too late! The blunderbuss went off with a roar, belching
+      out a storm of sparks and smoke. The shot peppered the door like hail, and
+      the whole yard seemed for a moment wrapped in flame.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Aw! oh! ma gummy! A'm waounded A'm a goner! A'm shot! 'Elp! Murder! Eh!
+      Oh!&rdquo; bellowed a lusty voice&mdash;and it was not James Moore's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man, the cause of the uproar, lay quite still upon the ground,
+      with another figure standing over him. As he had stood, finger on trigger,
+      waiting for that last bolt to be drawn, a gray form, shooting whence no
+      one knew, had suddenly and silently attacked him from behind, and jerked
+      him backward to the ground. With the shock of the fall the blunderbuss had
+      gone off.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The last bolt was thrown back with a clatter, and the Master emerged. In a
+      glance he took in the whole scene: the fallen man; the gray dog; the
+      still-smoking weapon.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo', was't Bob lad?&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I was wonderin' wheer yo' were. Yo' came
+      just at the reet moment, as yo' aye do!&rdquo; Then, in a loud voice, addressing
+      the darkness: &ldquo;Yo're not hurt, Sam'l Todd&mdash;I can tell that by yer
+      noise; it was nob'but the shot off the door warmed yo'. Coom away doon and
+      gie me a hand.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He walked up to M'Adam, who still lay gasping on the ground. The shock of
+      the fall and recoil of the weapon had knocked the breath out of the little
+      man's body; beyond that he was barely hurt.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master stood over his fallen enemy and looked sternly down at him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've put up wi' more from you, M'Adam, than I would from ony other man,&rdquo;
+       he said. &ldquo;But this is too much&mdash;comin' here at night wi' loaded arms,
+      scarin' the wimmen and childer oot o' their lives, and I can but think
+      meanin' worse. If yo' were half a man I'd gie yo' the finest thrashin'
+      iver yo' had in yer life. But, as yo' know well, I could no more hit yo'
+      than I could a woman. Why yo've got this down on me yo' ken best. I niver
+      did yo' or ony ither mon a harm. As to the Cup, I've got it and I'm goin'
+      to do ma best to keep it&mdash;it's for yo' to win it from me if yo' can
+      o' Thursday. As for what yo' say o' David, yo' know it's a lie. And as for
+      what yo're drivin' at wi' yer hints and mysteries, I've no more idee than
+      a babe unborn. Noo I'm goin' to lock yo' up, yo're not safe abroad. I'm
+      thinkin' I'll ha' to hand ye o'er to the p'lice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      With the help of Sam'l he half dragged, half supported the stunned little
+      man across the yard; and shoved him into a tiny semi-subterraneous room,
+      used for the storage of coal, at the end of the farm-buildings.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' think it over that side, ma lad,&rdquo; called the Master grimly, as he
+      turned the key, &ldquo;and I will this.&rdquo; And with that he retired to bed.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Early in the morning he went to release his prisoner. But he was a minute
+      too late. For scuttling down the slope and away was a little
+      black-begrimed, tottering figure with white hair blowing in the wind. The
+      little man had broken away a wooden hatchment which covered a manhole in
+      the wall of his prison-house, squeezed his small body through, and so
+      escaped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Happen it's as well,&rdquo; thought the Master, watching the flying figure.
+      Then, &ldquo;Hi, Bob, lad!&rdquo; he called; for the gray dog, ears back, tail
+      streaming, was hurling down the slope after the fugitive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the bridge M'Adam turned, and, seeing his pursuer hot upon him,
+      screamed, missed his footing, and fell with a loud splash into the stream&mdash;almost
+      in that identical spot into which, years before, he had plunged
+      voluntarily to save Red Wull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the bridge Owd Bob halted and looked down at the man struggling in the
+      water below. He made a half move as though to leap in to the rescue of his
+      enemy; then, seeing it was unnecessary, turned and trotted back to his
+      master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' nob'but served him right, I'm thinkin',&rdquo; said the Master. &ldquo;Like as
+      not he came here wi' the intent to mak' an end to yo.' Well, after
+      Thursday, I pray God we'll ha' peace. It's gettin' above a joke.&rdquo; The two
+      turned back into the yard.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But down below them, along the edge of the stream, for the second time in
+      this story, a little dripping figure was tottering homeward. The little
+      man was crying&mdash;the hot tears mingling on his cheeks with the undried
+      waters of the Wastrel&mdash;crying with rage, mortification, weariness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXV THE SHEPHERDS' TROPHY
+    </h2>
+    <h3>
+      Cup Day.
+    </h3>
+    <p>
+      It broke calm and beautiful, no cloud on the horizon, no threat of storm
+      in the air; a fitting day on which the Shepherds' Trophy must be won
+      outright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And well it was so. For never since the founding of the Dale Trials had
+      such a concourse been gathered together on the North bank of the Silver
+      Lea. From the Highlands they came; from the far Campbell country; from the
+      Peak; from the county of many acres; from all along the silver fringes of
+      the Solway; assembling in that quiet corner of the earth to see the famous
+      Gray Dog of Kenmuir fight his last great battle for the Shepherds' Trophy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      By noon the gaunt Scaur looked down on such a gathering as it had never
+      seen. The paddock at the back of the Dalesman's Daughter was packed with a
+      clammering, chattering multitude: animated groups of farmers; bevies of
+      solid rustics; sharp-faced townsmen; loud-voiced bookmakers; giggling
+      girls; amorous boys,&mdash;thrown together like toys in a sawdust bath;
+      whilst here and there, on the outskirts of the crowd, a lonely man and
+      wise-faced dog, come from afar to wrest his proud title from the best
+      sheep-dog in the North.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the back of the enclosure was drawn up a formidable array of carts and
+      carriages, varying as much in quality and character as did their owners.
+      There was the squire's landau rubbing axle-boxes with Jem Burton's modest
+      moke-cart; and there Viscount Birdsaye's flaring barouche side by side
+      with the red-wheeled wagon of Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the latter, Maggie, sad and sweet in her simple summer garb, leant over
+      to talk to Lady Eleanour; while golden-haired wee Anne, delighted with the
+      surging crowd around, trotted about the wagon, waving to her friends, and
+      shouting from very joyousness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Thick as flies clustered that motley assembly on the north bank of the
+      Silver Lea. While on the other side the stream was a little group of
+      judges, inspecting the course.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The line laid out ran thus: the sheep must first be found in the big
+      enclosure to the right of the starting flag; then up the slope and away
+      from the spectators; around a flag and obliquely down the hill again;
+      through a gap in the wall; along the hillside, parrallel to the Silver
+      Lea; abruptly to the left through a pair of flags&mdash;the trickiest turn
+      of them all; then down the slope to the pen, which was set up close to the
+      bridge over the stream.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The proceedings began with the Local Stakes, won by Rob Saunderson's
+      veteran, Shep. There followed the Open Juveniles, carried off by Ned
+      Hoppin's young dog. It was late in the afternoon when, at length, the
+      great event of the meeting was reached.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the enclosure behind the Dalesman's Daughter the clamor of the crowd
+      increased tenfold, and the yells of the bookmakers were redoubled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Walk up, gen'lemen, walk up! the ole firm! Rasper? Yessir&mdash;twenty to
+      one bar two! Twenty to one bar two! Bob? What price, Bob? Even money, sir&mdash;no,
+      not a penny longer, couldn't do it! Red Wull? 'oo says Red Wull?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      On the far side the stream is clustered about the starting flag the finest
+      array of sheep-dogs ever seen together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I've never seen such a field, and I've seen fifty,&rdquo; is Parson Leggy's
+      verdict.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There, beside the tall form of his master, stands Owd Bob o' Kenmuir, the
+      observed of all. His silvery brush fans the air, and he holds his dark
+      head high as he scans his challengers, proudly conscious that to-day will
+      make or mar his fame. Below him, the mean-looking, smooth-coated black dog
+      is the unbeaten Pip, winner of the renowned Cambrian Stakes at Llangollen&mdash;as
+      many think the best of all the good dogs that have come from sheep-dotted
+      Wales. Beside him that handsome sable collie, with the tremendous coat and
+      slash of white on throat and face, is the famous MacCallum More, fresh
+      from his victory at the Highland meeting. The cobby, brown dog, seeming of
+      many breeds, is from the land o' the Tykes&mdash;Merry, on whom the
+      Yorkshiremen are laying as though they loved him. And Jess, the wiry
+      black-and-tan, is the favorite of the men of of the Derwent and Dove.
+      Tupper's big blue Rasper is there; Londesley's Lassie; and many more&mdash;too
+      many to mention: big and small, grand and mean, smooth and rough&mdash;and
+      not a bad dog there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And alone, his back to the others, stands a little bowed, conspicuous
+      figure&mdash;Adam M'Adam; while the great dog beside him, a hideous
+      incarnation of scowling defiance, is Red Wull, the Terror o' the Border.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Tailless Tyke had already run up his fighting colors. For MacCallum
+      More, going up to examine this forlorn great adversary, had conceived for
+      him a violent antipathy, and, straightway, had spun at him with all the
+      fury of the Highland cateran, who attacks first and explains afterward.
+      Red Wull, forthwith, had turned on him with savage, silent gluttony;
+      bob-tailed Rasper was racing up to join in the attack; and in another
+      second the three would have been locked inseparably&mdash;but just in time
+      M'Adam intervened. One of the judges came hurrying up.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. M'Adam,&rdquo; he cried angrily, &ldquo;if that brute of yours gets fighting
+      again, hang me if I don't disqualify him! Only last year at the Trials he
+      killed the young Cossack dog.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A dull flash of passion swept across M'Adam's face. &ldquo;Come here, Wullie!&rdquo;
+       he called. &ldquo;Gin yon Hielant tyke attacks ye agin, ye're to be
+      disqualified.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was unheeded. The battle for the Cup had begun&mdash;little Pip leading
+      the dance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the opposite slope the babel had subsided now. Hucksters left their
+      wares, and bookmakers their stools, to watch the struggle. Every eye was
+      intent on the moving figures of man and dog and three sheep over the
+      stream.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One after one the competitors ran their course and penned their sheep&mdash;there
+      was no single failure. And all received their just meed of applause, save
+      only Adam M'Adam's Red Wull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Last of all, when Owd Bob trotted out to uphold his title, there went up
+      such a shout as made Maggie's wan cheeks to blush with pleasure, and wee
+      Anne to scream right lustily.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His was an incomparable exhibition. Sheep should be humored rather than
+      hurried; coaxed, rather than coerced. And that sheep-dog has attained the
+      summit of his art who subdues his own personality and leads his sheep in
+      pretending to be led. Well might the bosoms of the Dalesmen swell with
+      pride as they watched their favorite at his work; well might Tammas pull
+      out that hackneyed phrase, &ldquo;The brains of a mon and the way of a woman&rdquo;;
+      well might the crowd bawl their enthusiasm, and Long Kirby puff his cheeks
+      and rattle the money in his trouser pockets.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But of this part it is enough to say that Pip, Owd Bob, and Red Wull were
+      selected to fight out the struggle afresh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The course was altered and stiffened. On the far side the stream it
+      remained as before; up the slope; round a flag; down the hill again;
+      through the gap in the wall; along the hillside; down through the two
+      flags; turn; and to the stream again. But the pen was removed from its
+      former position, carried over the bridge, up the near slope, and the
+      hurdles put together at the very foot of the spectators.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sheep had to be driven over the plank bridge, and the penning done
+      beneath the very nose of the crowd. A stiff course, if ever there was one;
+      and the time allowed, ten short minutes.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      The spectators hustled and elbowed in their endeavors to obtain a good
+      position. And well they might; for about to begin was the finest
+      exhibition of sheep-handling any man there was ever to behold.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Evan Jones and Little Pip led off.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Those two, who had won on many a hard-fought field, worked together as
+      they had never worked before. Smooth and swift, like a yacht in
+      Southampton Water; round the flag, through the gap, they brought their
+      sheep. Down between the two flags&mdash;accomplishing right well that
+      awkward turn; and back to the bridge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There they stopped: the sheep would not face that narrow way. Once, twice,
+      and again, they broke; and each time the gallant little Pip, his tongue
+      out and tail quivering, brought them back to the bridge-head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length one faced it; then another, and&mdash;it was too late. Time was
+      up. The judges signalled; and the Welshman called off his dog and
+      withdrew.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Out of sight of mortal eye, in a dip of the ground, Evan Jones sat down
+      and took the small dark head between his knees&mdash;and you may be sure
+      the dog's heart was heavy as the man's. &ldquo;We did our pest, Pip,&rdquo; he cried
+      brokenly, &ldquo;but we're peat&mdash;the first time ever we've been!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      No time to dally.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore and Owd Bob were off on their last run.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No applause this time; not a voice was raised; anxious faces; twitching
+      fingers; the whole crowd tense as a stretched wire. A false turn, a wilful
+      sheep, a cantankerous judge, and the gray dog would be beat. And not a man
+      there but knew it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Yet over the stream master and dog went about their business never so
+      quiet, never so collected; for all the world as though they were rounding
+      up a flock on the Muir Pike.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The old dog found his sheep in a twinkling and a wild, scared trio they
+      proved. Rounding the first flag, one bright-eyed wether made a dash for
+      the open. He was quick; but the gray dog was quicker: a splendid recover,
+      and a sound like a sob from the watchers on the hill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Down the slope they came for the gap in the wall. A little below the
+      opening, James Moore took his stand to stop and turn them; while a
+      distance behind his sheep loitered Owd Bob, seeming to follow rather than
+      drive, yet watchful of every movement and anticipating it. On he came, one
+      eye on his master, the other on his sheep; never hurrying them, never
+      flurrying them, yet bringing them rapidly along.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      No word was spoken; barely a gesture made; yet they worked, master and
+      dog, like one divided.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Through the gap, along the hill parallel to the spectators, playing into
+      one another's hands like men at polo.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A wide sweep for the turn at the flags, and the sheep wheeled as though at
+      the word of command, dropped through them, and travelled rapidly for the
+      bridge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Steady!&rdquo; whispered the crowd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Steady, man!&rdquo; muttered Parson Leggy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hold 'em, for God's sake!&rdquo; croaked Kirby huskily. &ldquo;D&mdash;n! I knew it!
+      I saw it coming!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The pace down the hill had grown quicker&mdash;too quick. Close on the
+      bridge the three sheep made an effort to break. A dash&mdash;and two were
+      checked; but the third went away like the wind, and after him Owd Bob, a
+      gray streak against the green.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Tammas was cursing silently; Kirby was white to the lips; and in the
+      stillness you could plainly hear the Dalesmen's sobbing breath, as it
+      fluttered in their throats.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gallop! they say he's old and slow!&rdquo; muttered the Parson. &ldquo;Dash! Look at
+      that!&rdquo; For the gray dog, racing like the Nor'easter over the sea, had
+      already retrieved the fugitive.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Man and dog were coaxing the three a step at a time toward the bridge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One ventured&mdash;the others followed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the middle the leader stopped and tried to turn&mdash;and time was
+      flying, flying, and the penning alone must take minutes. Many a man's hand
+      was at his watch, but no one could take his eyes off the group below him
+      to look.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We're beat! I've won bet, Tammas!&rdquo; groaned Sam'l. (The two had a
+      long-standing wager on the matter.) &ldquo;I allus knoo hoo 'twould be. I allus
+      told yo' th' owd tyke&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then breaking into a bellow, his honest face crimson with enthusiasm:
+      &ldquo;Coom on, Master! Good for yo', Owd Un! Yon's the style!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      For the gray dog had leapt on the back of the hindmost sheep; it had
+      surged forward against the next, and they were over, and making up the
+      slope amidst a thunder of applause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the pen it was a sight to see shepherd and dog working together. The
+      Master, his face stern and a little whiter than its wont, casting forward
+      with both hands, herding the sheep in; the gray dog, his eyes big and
+      bright, dropping to hand; crawling and creeping, closer and closer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They're in!&mdash;Nay&mdash;Ay&mdash;dang me! Stop 'er! Good, Owd Un!
+      Ah-h-h, they're in!&rdquo; And the last sheep reluctantly passed through&mdash;on
+      the stroke of time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A roar went up from the crowd; Maggie's white face turned pink; and the
+      Dalesmen mopped their wet brows. The mob surged forward, but the stewards
+      held them back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Back, please! Don't encroach! M'Adam's to come!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      From the far bank the little man watched the scene. His coat and cap were
+      off, and his hair gleamed white in the sun; his sleeves were rolled up;
+      and his face was twitching but set as he stood&mdash;ready.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The hubbub over the stream at length subsided. One of the judges nodded to
+      him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Noo, Wullie&mdash;noo or niver!&mdash;'Scots wha hae'! &ldquo;&mdash;and they
+      were off.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Back, gentlemen! back! He's off&mdash;he's coming! M'Adam's coming!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They might well shout and push; for the great dog was on to his sheep
+      before they knew it; and they went away with a rush, with him right on
+      their backs. Up the slope they swept and round the first flag, already
+      galloping. Down the hill for the gap, and M'Adam was flying ahead to turn
+      them. But they passed him like a hurricane, and Red Wull was in front with
+      a rush and turned them alone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;M'Adam wins! Five to four M'Adam! I lay agin Owd Bob!&rdquo; rang out a clear
+      voice in the silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Through the gap they rattled, ears back, feet twinkling like the wings of
+      driven grouse.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's lost 'em! They'll break! They're away!&rdquo; was the cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Sam'l was half up the wheel of the Kenmuir wagon; every man was on his
+      toes; ladies were standing in their carriages; even Jim Mason's face
+      flushed with momentary excitement.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The sheep were tearing along the hillside, all together, like a white
+      scud. After them, galloping like a Waterloo winner, raced Red Wull. And
+      last of all, leaping over the ground like a demoniac, making not for the
+      two flags, but the plank-bridge, the white-haired figure of M'Adam.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's beat! The Killer's beat!&rdquo; roared a strident voice.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;M'Adam wins! Five to four M'Adam! I lay agin Owd Bob!&rdquo; rang out the clear
+      reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Red Wull was now racing parallel to the fugitives and above them. All four
+      were travelling at a terrific rate; while the two flags were barely twenty
+      yards in front, below the line of flight and almost parallel to it. To
+      effect the turn a change of direction must be made almost through a right
+      angle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's beat! he's beat! M'Adam's beat! Can't make it nohow!&rdquo; was the roar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From over the stream a yell&mdash;&ldquo;Turn 'em, Wullie!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the word the great dog swerved down on the flying three. They turned,
+      still at the gallop, like a troop of cavalry, and dropped, clean and neat,
+      between the flags; and down to the stream they rattled, passing M'Adam on
+      the way as though he was standing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Weel done, Wullie!&rdquo; came the scream from the far bank; and from the crowd
+      went up an involuntary burst of applause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ma word!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did yo' see that?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;By gob!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      It was a turn, indeed, of which the smartest team in the galloping
+      horse-gunners might well have been proud. A shade later, and they must
+      have overshot the mark; a shade sooner, and a miss.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He's not been two minutes so far. We're beaten&mdash;don't you think so,
+      Uncle Leggy?&rdquo; asked Muriel Sylvester, looking up piteously into the
+      parson's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's not what I think, my dear; it's what the judges think,&rdquo; the parson
+      replied; and what he thought their verdict would be was plainly writ on
+      his face for all to read.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Right on to the centre of the bridge the leading sheep galloped and&mdash;stopped
+      abruptly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Up above in the crowd there was utter silence; staring eyes; rigid
+      fingers. The sweat was dripping off Long Kirby's face; and, at the back, a
+      green-coated bookmaker slipped his note-book in his pocket, and glanced
+      behind him. James Moore, standing in front of them all, was the calmest
+      there.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Red Wull was not to be denied. Like his forerunner he leapt on the back of
+      the hindmost sheep. But the red dog was heavy where the gray was light.
+      The sheep staggered, slipped, and fell.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Almost before it had touched the water, M'Adam, his face afire and eyes
+      flaming, was in the stream. In a second he had hold of the struggling
+      creature, and, with an almost superhuman effort, had half thrown, half
+      shoved it on to the bank.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Again a tribute of admiration, led by James Moore.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man scrambled, panting, on to the bank and raced after sheep
+      and dog. His face was white beneath the perspiration; his breath came in
+      quavering gasps; his trousers were wet and clinging to his legs; he was
+      trembling in every limb, and yet indomitable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They were up to the pen, and the last wrestle began. The crowd, silent and
+      motionless, craned forward to watch the uncanny, white-haired little man
+      and the huge dog, working so close below them. M'Adam's face was white;
+      his eyes staring, unnaturally bright; his bent body projected forward; and
+      he tapped with his stick on the ground like a blind man, coaxing the sheep
+      in. And the Tailless Tyke, his tongue out and flanks heaving, crept and
+      crawled and worked up to the opening, patient as he had never been before.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They were in at last.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was a lukewarm, half-hearted cheer; then silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Exhausted and trembling, the little man leant against the pen, one hand on
+      it; while Red Wull, his flanks still heaving, gently licked the other.
+      Quite close stood James Moore and the gray dog; above was the black wall
+      of people, utterly still; below, the judges comparing notes. In the
+      silence you could almost hear the panting of the crowd.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then one of the judges went up to James Moore and shook him by the hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The gray dog had won. Owd Bob o' Kenmuir had won the Shepherds' Trophy
+      outright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A second's palpitating silence; a woman's hysterical laugh&mdash;and a
+      deep-mouthed bellow rent the expectant air: shouts, screams, hat-tossings,
+      back-clappings blending in a din that made the many-winding waters of the
+      Silver Lea quiver and quiver again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Owd Bob o' Kenmuir had won the Shepherds' Trophy outright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie's face flushed a scarlet hue. Wee Anne flung fat arms toward her
+      triumphant Bob, and screamed with the best. Squire and parson, each
+      red-cheeked, were boisterously shaking hands. Long Kirby, who had not
+      prayed for thirty years, ejaculated with heartfelt earnestness, &ldquo;Thank
+      God!&rdquo; Sam'l Todd bellowed in Tammas's ear, and almost slew him with his
+      mighty buffets. Among the Dalesmen some laughed like drunken men; some
+      cried like children; all joined in that roaring song of victory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      To little M 'Adam, standing with his back to the crowd, that storm of
+      cheering came as the first announcement of defeat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A wintry smile, like the sun over a March sea, crept across his face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;We might a kent it, Wullie,&rdquo; he muttered, soft and low. The tension
+      loosed, the battle lost, the little man almost broke down. There were red
+      dabs of color in his face; his eyes were big; his lips pitifully
+      quivering; he was near to sobbing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An old man&mdash;utterly alone he had staked his all on a throw&mdash;and
+      lost.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Lady Eleanour marked the forlorn little figure, standing solitary on the
+      fringe of the uproarious mob. She noticed the expression on his face; and
+      her tender heart went out to the lone man in his defeat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      She went up to him and laid a hand upon his arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. M'Adam,&rdquo; she said timidly, &ldquo;won't you come and sit down in the tent?
+      You look <i>so</i> tired! I can find you a corner where no one shall
+      disturb you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man wrenched roughly away. The unexpected kindness, coming at
+      that moment, was almost too much for him. A few paces off he turned again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's reel kind o' yer ladyship,&rdquo; he said huskily; and tottered away to be
+      alone with Red Wull.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Meanwhile the victors stood like rocks in the tideway. About them surged a
+      continually changing throng, shaking the man's hand, patting the dog.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Maggie had carried wee Anne to tender her congratulations; Long Kirby had
+      come; Tammas, Saunderson, Hoppin, Tupper, Londesley&mdash;all but Jim
+      Mason; and now, elbowing through the press, came squire and parson.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well done, James! well done, indeed! Knew you'd win! told you so eh, eh!&rdquo;
+       Then facetiously to Owd Bob: &ldquo;Knew you would, Robert, old man! Ought to
+      Robert the Dev&mdash;musn't be a naughty boy&mdash;eh, eh!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The first time ever the Dale Cup's been won outright!&rdquo; said the Parson,
+      &ldquo;and I daresay it never will again. And I think Kenmuir's the very fittest
+      place for its final home, and a Gray Dog of Kenmuir for its winner.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Oh, by the by!&rdquo; burst in the squire. &ldquo;I've fixed the Manor dinner for
+      to-day fortnight, James. Tell Saunderson and Tupper, will you? Want all
+      the tenants there.&rdquo; He disappeared into the crowd, but in a minute had
+      fought his way back. &ldquo;I'd forgotten something!&rdquo; he shouted. &ldquo;Tell your
+      Maggie perhaps you'll have news for her after it eh! eh!&rdquo; and he was gone
+      again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Last of all, James Moore was aware of a white, blotchy, grinning face at
+      his elbow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I maun congratulate ye, Mr. Moore. Ye've beat us&mdash;you and the
+      gentlemen&mdash;judges.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'Twas a close thing, M'Adam,&rdquo; the other answered. &ldquo;An' yo' made a gran'
+      fight. In ma life I niver saw a finer turn than yours by the two flags
+      yonder. I hope yo' bear no malice.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Malice! Me? Is it likely? Na, na. 'Do onto ivery man as he does onto you&mdash;and
+      somethin' over,' that's my motter. I owe ye mony a good turn, which I'll
+      pay ye yet. Na, na; there's nae good fechtin' agin fate&mdash;and the
+      judges. Weel, I wush you well o' yer victory. Aiblins' twill be oor turn
+      next.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then a rush, headed by Sam'l, roughly hustled the one away and bore the
+      other off on its shoulders in boisterous triumph.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      In giving the Cup away, Lady Eleanour made a prettier speech than ever.
+      Yet all the while she was haunted by a white, miserable face; and all the
+      while she was conscious of two black moving dots in the Murk Muir Pass
+      opposite her&mdash;solitary, desolate, a contrast to the huzzaing crowd
+      around.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      That is how the champion challenge Dale Cup, the world-known Shepherds'
+      Trophy, came to wander no more; won outright by the last of the Gray Dogs
+      of Kenmuir&mdash;Owd Bob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Why he was the last of the Gray Dogs is now to be told.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_PART6" id="link2H_PART6">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      PART VI THE BLACK KILLER
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXVI RED-HANDED
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      THE SUN was hiding behind the Pike. Over the lowlands the feathery breath
+      of night hovered still. And the hillside was shivering in the chillness of
+      dawn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Down on the silvery sward beside the Stony Bottom there lay the ruffled
+      body of a dead sheep. All about the victim the dewy ground was dark and
+      patchy like dishevelled velvet; bracken trampled down; stones displaced as
+      though by straggling feet; and the whole spotted with the all-pervading
+      red.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A score yards up the hill, in a writhing confusion of red and gray, two
+      dogs at death-grips. While yet higher, a pack of wild-eyed hill-sheep
+      watched, fascinated, the bloody drama.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The fight raged. Red and gray, blood-spattered, murderous-eyed; the
+      crimson froth dripping from their jaws; now rearing high with arching
+      crests and wrestling paws; now rolling over in tumbling, tossing, worrying
+      disorder&mdash;the two fought out their blood-feud.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Above, the close-packed flock huddled and stamped, ever edging nearer to
+      watch the issue. Just so must the women of Rome have craned round the
+      arenas to see two men striving in death-struggle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The first cold flicker of dawn stole across the green. The red eye of the
+      morning peered aghast over the shoulder of the Pike. And from the sleeping
+      dale there arose the yodling of a man driving his cattle home.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Day was upon them.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      James Moore was waked by a little whimpering cry beneath his window. He
+      leapt out of bed and rushed to look; for well he knew 'twas not for
+      nothing that the old dog was calling.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lord o' mercy! whativer's come to yo', Owd Un?&rdquo; he cried in anguish. And,
+      indeed, his favorite, war-daubed almost past recognition, presented a
+      pitiful spectacle.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In a moment the Master was downstairs and out, examining him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Poor old lad, yo' have caught it this time!&rdquo; he cried. There was a ragged
+      tear on the dog's cheek; a deep gash in his throat from which the blood
+      still welled, staining the white escutcheon on his chest; while head and
+      neck were clotted with the red.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Hastily the Master summoned Maggie. After her, Andrew came hurrying down.
+      And a little later a tiny, night-clad, naked-footed figure appeared in the
+      door, wide-eyed, and then fled, screaming.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They doctored the old warrior on the table in the kitchen. Maggie tenderly
+      washed his wounds, and dressed them with gentle, pitying fingers; and he
+      stood all the while grateful yet fidgeting, looking up into his master's
+      face as if imploring to be gone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He mun a had a rare tussle wi' some one&mdash;eh, dad?&rdquo; said the girl, as
+      she worked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay; and wi' whom? 'Twasn't for nowt he got fightin', I war'nt. Nay; he's
+      a tale to tell, has The Owd Un, and&mdash;A h-h-h! I thowt as much. Look
+      'ee!&rdquo; For bathing the bloody jaws, he had come upon a cluster of tawny red
+      hair, hiding in the corners of the lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The secret was out. Those few hairs told their own accusing tale. To but
+      one creature in the Daleland could they belong&mdash;&ldquo;Th' Tailless Tyke.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He mun a bin trespassin'!&rdquo; cried Andrew.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, and up to some o' his bloody work, I'll lay my life,&rdquo; the Master
+      answered. &ldquo;But Th' Owd Un shall show us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The old dog's hurts proved less severe than had at first seemed possible.
+      His good gray coat, forest-thick about his throat, had never served him in
+      such good stead. And at length, the wounds washed and sewn up, he jumped
+      down all in a hurry from the table and made for the door.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Noo, owd lad, yo' may show us,&rdquo; said the Master, and, with Andrew,
+      hurried after him down the hill, along the stream, and over Langholm How.
+      And as they neared the Stony Bottom, the sheep, herding in groups, raised
+      frightened heads to stare.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of a sudden a cloud of poisonous flies rose, buzzing, up before them; and
+      there in a dimple of the ground lay a murdered sheep. Deserted by its
+      comrades, the glazed eyes staring helplessly upward, the throat horribly
+      worried, it slept its last sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The matter was plain to see. At last the Black Killer had visited Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I guessed as much,&rdquo; said the Master, standing over the mangled body.
+      &ldquo;Well, it's the worst night's work ever the Killer done. I reck'n Th' Owd
+      Un come on him while he was at it; and then they fought. And, ma word! it
+      munn ha' bin a fight too.&rdquo; For all around were traces of that terrible
+      struggle: the earth torn up and tossed, bracken uprooted, and throughout
+      little dabs of wool and tufts of tawny hair, mingling with dark-stained
+      iron-gray wisps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore walked slowly over the battlefield, stooping down as though he
+      were gleaning. And gleaning he was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A long time he bent so, and at length raised himself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Killer has killed his last,&rdquo; he muttered; &ldquo;Red Wull has run his
+      course.&rdquo; Then, turning to Andrew: &ldquo;Run yo' home, lad, and fetch the men to
+      carry yon away,&rdquo; pointing to the carcass, &ldquo;And Bob, lad, yo 'ye done your
+      work for to-day, and right well too; go yo' home wi' him. I'm off to see
+      to this!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned and crossed the Stony Bottom. His face was set like a rock. At
+      length the proof was in his hand. Once and for all the hill-country should
+      be rid of its scourge.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he stalked up the hill, a dark head appeared at his knee. Two big grey
+      eyes; half doubting, half penitent, wholly wistful, looked up at him, and
+      a silvery brush signalled a mute request.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, Owd Un, but yo' should ha' gone wi' Andrew,&rdquo; the Master said.
+      &ldquo;Hooiver, as yo' are here, come along.&rdquo; And he strode away up the hill,
+      gaunt and menacing, with the gray dog at his heels.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As they approached the house, M'Adam was standing in the door, sucking his
+      eternal twig. James Moore eyed him closely as he came, but the sour face
+      framed in the door betrayed nothing. Sarcasm, surprise, challenge, were
+      all writ there, plain to read; but no guilty consciousness of the other's
+      errand, no storm of passion to hide a failing heart. If it was acting it
+      was splendidly done.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As man and dog passed through the gap in the hedge, the expression on the
+      little man's face changed again. He started forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;James Moore, as I live!&rdquo; he cried, and advanced with both hands extended,
+      as though welcoming a long-lost brother. &ldquo;'Deed and it's a weary while
+      sin' ye've honored ma puir hoose.&rdquo; And, in fact, it was nigh twenty years.
+      &ldquo;I tak' it gey kind in ye to look in on a lonely auld man. Come ben and
+      let's ha' a crack. James Moore kens weel hoo welcome he aye is in ma bit
+      biggin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master ignored the greeting.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;One o' ma sheep been killed back o' t' Dyke,&rdquo; he announced shortly,
+      jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Killer?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Killer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The cordiality beaming in every wrinkle of the little man's face was
+      absorbed in a wondering interest; and that again gave place to sorrowful
+      sympathy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Dear, dear! it's come to that, has it&mdash;at last?&rdquo; he said gently, and
+      his eyes wandered to the gray dog and dwelt mournfully upon him. &ldquo;Man, I'm
+      sorry&mdash;I canna tell ye I'm surprised. Masel', I kent it all alang.
+      But gin Adam M'Adam had tell't ye, no ha' believed him. Weel, weel, he's
+      lived his life, gin ony dog iver did; and noo he maun gang where he's sent
+      a many before him. Puir mon! puir tyke!&rdquo; He heaved a sigh, profoundly
+      melancholy, tenderly sympathetic. Then, brightening up a little: &ldquo;Ye'll
+      ha' come for the gun?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore listened to this harangue at first puzzled. Then he caught the
+      other's meaning, and his eyes flashed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye fool, M'Adam! did ye hear iver tell o' a sheep-dog worryin' his
+      master's sheep?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man was smiling and suave again now, rubbing his hands softly
+      together.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye're right, I never did. But your dog is not as ither dogs&mdash;'There's
+      none like him&mdash;none,' I've heard ye say so yersel, mony a time. An'
+      I'm wi' ye. There's none like him&mdash;for devilment.&rdquo; His voice began to
+      quiver and his face to blaze. &ldquo;It's his cursed cunning that's deceived
+      ivery one but me&mdash;whelp o' Satan that he is!&rdquo; He shouldered up to his
+      tall adversary. &ldquo;If not him, wha else had done it?&rdquo; he asked, looking, up
+      into the other's face as if daring him to speak.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master's shaggy eyebrows lowered. He towered above the other like the
+      Muir Pike above its surrounding hills.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wha, ye ask?&rdquo; he replied coldly, &ldquo;and I answer you. Your Red Wull,
+      M'Adam, your Red Wull. It's your Wull's the Black Killer! It's your Wull's
+      bin the plague o' the land these months past! It's your Wull's killed ma
+      sheep back o'yon!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At that all the little man's affected good-humor fled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye lee, mon! ye lee!&rdquo; he cried in a dreadful scream, dancing up to his
+      antagonist. &ldquo;I knoo hoo 'twad be. I said so. I see what ye're at. Ye've
+      found at last&mdash;blind that ye've been!&mdash;that it's yer ain hell's
+      tyke that's the Killer; and noo ye think by yer leein' impitations to
+      throw the blame on ma Wullie. Ye rob me o' ma Cup, ye rob me o' ma son, ye
+      wrang me in ilka thing; there's but ae thing left me&mdash;Wullie. And noo
+      ye're set on takin' him awa'. But ye shall not&mdash;I'll kill ye first!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He was all a-shake, bobbing up and down like a stopper in a soda-water
+      bottle, and almost sobbing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ha' ye no wranged me enough wi' oo that? Ye lang-leggit liar, wi' yer
+      skulkin murderin' tyke!&rdquo; he cried. &ldquo;Ye say it's Wullie. Where's yer
+      proof?&rdquo;&mdash;and he snapped his fingers in the other's face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master was now as calm as his foe was passionate. &ldquo;Where?&rdquo; he replied
+      sternly; &ldquo;why, there!&rdquo; holding out his right hand. &ldquo;Yon's proof enough to
+      hang a hunner'd.&rdquo; For lying in his broad palm was a little bundle of that
+      damning red hair.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Let's see it!&rdquo; The little man bent to look closer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's for yer proof!&rdquo; he cried, and spat deliberately down into the
+      other's naked palm. Then he stood back, facing his enemy in a manner to
+      have done credit to a nobler deed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      James Moore strode forward. It looked as if he was about to make an end of
+      his miserable adversary, so strongly was he moved. His chest heaved, and
+      the blue eyes blazed. But just as one had thought to see him take his foe
+      in the hollow of his hand and crush him, who should come stalking round
+      the corner of the house but the Tailless Tyke?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A droll spectacle he made, laughable even at that moment. He limped
+      sorely, his head and neck were swathed in bandages, and beneath their
+      ragged fringe the little eyes gleamed out fiery and bloodshot.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Round the corner he came, unaware of strangers; then straightway
+      recognizing his visitors, halted abruptly. His hackles ran up, each
+      individual hair stood on end till his whole body resembled a new-shorn
+      wheat-field; and a snarl, like a rusty brake shoved hard down escaped from
+      between his teeth. Then he trotted heavily forward, his head sinking low
+      and lower as he came.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And Owd Bob, eager to take up the gage of battle, advanced, glad and
+      gallant, to meet him. Daintily he picked his way across the yard, head and
+      tail erect, perfectly self-contained. Only the long gray hair about his
+      neck stood up like the ruff of a lady of the court of Queen Elizabeth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the war-worn warriors were not to be allowed their will.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie, Wullie, wad ye!&rdquo; cried the little man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Bob, lad, coom in!&rdquo; called the other. Then he turned and looked down at
+      the man beside him, contempt flaunting in every feature.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Well?&rdquo; he said shortly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      M'Adam's hands were opening and shutting; his face was quite white beneath
+      the tan; but he spoke calmly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll tell ye the whole story, and it's the truth,&rdquo; he said slowly. &ldquo;I was
+      up there the morn&rdquo;&mdash;pointing to the window above&mdash;&ldquo;and I see
+      Wullie crouchin' down alangside the Stony Bottom. (Ye ken he has the run
+      o' ma land o' neets, the same as your dog.) In a minnit I see anither dog
+      squatterin' alang on your side the Bottom. He creeps up to the sheep on
+      th' hillside, chases 'em, and doons one. The sun was risen by then, and I
+      see the dog clear as I see you noo. It was that dog there&mdash;I swear
+      it!&rdquo; His voice rose as he spoke, and he pointed an accusing finger at Owd
+      Bob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Noo, Wullie! thinks I. And afore ye could clap yer hands, Wullie was over
+      the Bottom and on to him as he gorged&mdash;the bloody-minded murderer!
+      They fought and fought&mdash;I could hear the roarin' a't where I stood. I
+      watched till I could watch nae langer, and, all in a sweat, I rin doon the
+      stairs and oot. When I got there, there was yer tyke makin' fu' split for
+      Kenmuir, and Wullie comin' up the hill to me. It's God's truth, I'm
+      tellin' ye. Tak' him hame, James Moore, and let his dinner be an ounce o'
+      lead. 'Twill be the best day's work iver ye done.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man must be lying&mdash;lying palpably. Yet he spoke with an
+      earnestness, a seeming belief in his own story, that might have convinced
+      one who knew him less well. But the Master only looked down on him with a
+      great scorn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's Monday to-day,&rdquo; he said coldly. &ldquo;I gie yo' till Saturday. If yo've
+      not done your duty by then&mdash;and well you know what 'tis&mdash;I shall
+      come do it for ye. Ony gate, I shall come and see. I'll remind ye agin o'
+      Thursday&mdash;yo'll be at the Manor dinner, I suppose. Noo I've warned
+      yo', and you know best whether I'm in earnest or no. Bob, lad!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned away, but turned again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'm sorry for ye, but I've ma duty to do&mdash;so've you. Till Saturday I
+      shall breathe no word to ony soul o' this business, so that if you see
+      good to put him oot o' the way wi'oot bother, no one need iver know as hoo
+      Adam M'Adam's Red Wull was the Black Killer.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He turned away for the second time. But the little man sprang after him,
+      and clutched him by the arm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look ye here, James Moore!&rdquo; he cried in thick, shaky, horrible voice.
+      &ldquo;Ye're big, I'm sma'; ye're strang, I'm weak; ye've ivery one to your
+      back, I've niver a one; you tell your story, and they'll believe ye&mdash;for
+      you gae to church; I'll tell mine, and they'll think I lie&mdash;for I
+      dinna. But a word in your ear! If iver agin I catch ye on ma land, by&mdash;!&rdquo;&mdash;he
+      swore a great oath&mdash;&ldquo;I'll no spare ye. You ken best if I'm in earnest
+      or no.&rdquo; And his face was dreadful to see in its hideous determinedness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXVII FOR THE DEFENCE
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      THAT night a vague story was whispered In the Sylvester Arms. But Tammas,
+      on being interrogated, pursed his lips and said: &ldquo;Nay, I'm sworn to say
+      nowt.&rdquo; Which was the old man's way of putting that he knew nowt.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      On Thursday morning, James Moore and Andrew came down arrayed in all their
+      best. It was the day of the squire's annual dinner to his tenants.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The two, however, were not allowed to start upon their way until they had
+      undergone a critical inspection by Maggie; for the girl liked her mankind
+      to do honor to Kenmuir on these occasions. So she brushed up Andrew, tied
+      his scarf, saw his boots and hands were clean, and titivated him generally
+      till she had converted the ungainly hobbledehoy into a thoroughly &ldquo;likely
+      young mon.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      And all the while she was thinking of that other boy for whom on such gala
+      days she had been wont to perform like offices. And her father, marking
+      the tears in her eyes, and mindful of the squire's mysterious hint, said
+      gently:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Cheer up, lass. Happen I'll ha' news for you the night!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The girl nodded, and smiled wanly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Happen so, dad,&rdquo; she said. But in her heart she doubted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nevertheless it was with a cheerful countenance that, a little later, she
+      stood in the door with wee Anne and Owd Bob and waved the travellers
+      Godspeed; while the golden-haired lassie, fiercely gripping the old dog's
+      tail with one hand and her sister with the other, screamed them a wordless
+      farewell.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      The sun had reached its highest when the two wayfarers passed through the
+      gray portals of the Manor.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the stately entrance hall, imposing with all the evidences of a long
+      and honorable line, were gathered now the many tenants throughout the wide
+      March Mere Estate. Weather-beaten, rent-paying sons of the soil; most of
+      them native-born, many of them like James Moore, whose fathers had for
+      generations owned and farmed the land they now leased at the hands of the
+      Sylvesters&mdash;there in the old hall they were assembled, a mighty host.
+      And apart from the others, standing as though in irony beneath the frown
+      of one of those steel-clad warriors who held the door, was little M'Adam,
+      puny always, paltry now, mocking his manhood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The door at the far end of the hall opened, and the squire entered,
+      beaming on every one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here you are&mdash;eh, eh! How are you all? Glad to see ye! Good-day,
+      James! Good-day, Saunderson! Good-day to you all! Bringin' a friend with
+      me eh, eh!&rdquo; and he stood aside to let by his agent, Parson Leggy, and last
+      of all, shy and blushing, a fair-haired young giant.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;If it bain't David!&rdquo; was the cry. &ldquo;Eh, lad, we's fain to see yo'! And
+      yo'm lookin' stout, surely!&rdquo; And they thronged about the boy, shaking him
+      by the hand, and asking him his story.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      'Twas but a simple tale. After his flight on the eventful night he had
+      gone south, drovering. He had written to Maggie, and been surprised and
+      hurt to receive no reply. In vain he had waited, and too proud to write
+      again, had remained ignorant of his father's recovery, neither caring nor
+      daring to return. Then by mere chance, he had met the squire at the York
+      cattle-show; and that kind man, who knew his story, had eased his fears
+      and obtained from him a promise to return as soon as the term of his
+      engagement had expired. And there he was.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Dalesmen gathered round the boy, listening to his tale, and in return
+      telling him the home news, and chaffing him about Maggie.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of all the people present, only one seemed unmoved, and that was M'Adam.
+      When first David had entered he had started forward, a flush of color
+      warming his thin cheeks; but no one had noticed his emotion; and now, back
+      again beneath his armor, he watched the scene, a sour smile playing about
+      his lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I think the lad might ha' the grace to come and say he's sorry for
+      'temptin' to murder me. Hooiver&rdquo;&mdash;with a characteristic shrug&mdash;&ldquo;I
+      suppose I'm onraisonable.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the gong rang out its summons, and the squire led the way into the
+      great dining-hall. At the one end of the long table, heavy with all the
+      solid delicacies of such a feast, he took his seat with the Master of
+      Kenmuir upon his right. At the other end was Parson Leggy. While down the
+      sides the stalwart Dalesmen were arrayed, with M'Adam a little lost figure
+      in the centre.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At first they talked but little, awed like children: knives plied, glasses
+      tinkled, the carvers had all their work, only the tongues were at rest.
+      But the squire's ringing laugh and the parson's cheery tones soon put them
+      at their ease; and a babel of voices rose and waxed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Of them all, only M'Adam sat silent. He talked to no man, and you may be
+      sure no one talked to him. His hand crept oftener to his glass than plate,
+      till the sallow face began to flush, and the dim eyes to grow unnaturally
+      bright.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Toward the end of the meal there was loud tapping on the table, calls for
+      silence, and men pushed back their chairs. The squire was on his feet to
+      make his annual speech.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He started by telling them how glad he was to see them there. He made an
+      allusion to Owd Bob and the Shepherds' Trophy which was heartily
+      applauded. He touched on the Black Killer, and said he had a remedy to
+      propose: that Th' Owd Un should be set upon the criminal's track&mdash;a
+      suggestion which was received with enthusiasm, while M'Adam's cackling
+      laugh could be heard high above the rest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From that he dwelt upon the existing condition of agriculture, the
+      depression in which he attributed to the late Radical Government. He said
+      that now with the Conservatives in office, and a ministry composed of
+      &ldquo;honorable men and gentlemen,&rdquo; he felt convinced that things would
+      brighten. The Radicals' one ambition was to set class against class,
+      landlord against tenant. Well, during the last five hundred years, the
+      Sylvesters had rarely been&mdash;he was sorry to have to confess it&mdash;good
+      men (laughter and dissent); but he never yet heard of the Sylvester&mdash;though
+      he shouldn't say it&mdash;who was a bad landlord (loud applause).
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      This was a free country, and any tenant of his who was not content (a
+      voice, &ldquo;'Oo says we bain't?&rdquo;)&mdash;&ldquo;thank you, thank you!&rdquo;&mdash;well,
+      there was room for him outside. (Cheers.) He thanked God from the bottom
+      of his heart that, during the forty years he had been responsible for the
+      March Mere Estate, there had never been any friction between him and his
+      people (cheers), and he didn't think there ever would be. (Loud cheers.)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you, thank you!&rdquo; And his motto was, &ldquo;Shun a Radical as you do the
+      devil!&rdquo;&mdash;and he was very glad to see them all there&mdash;very glad;
+      and he wished to give them a toast, &ldquo;The Queen! God bless her!&rdquo; and&mdash;wait
+      a minute!&mdash;with her Majesty's name to couple&mdash;he was sure that
+      gracious lady would wish it&mdash;that of &ldquo;Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!&rdquo; Then he
+      sat down abruptly amid thundering applause.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The toasts duly honoured, James Moore, by prescriptive right as Master of
+      Kenmuir, rose to answer.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He began by saying that he spoke &ldquo;as representing all the tenants,&rdquo;&mdash;but
+      he was interrupted.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Na,&rdquo; came a shrill voice from half-way down the table. &ldquo;Yell except me,
+      James Moore. I'd as lief be represented by Judas!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There were cries of &ldquo;Hold ye gab, little mon!&rdquo; and the squire's voice,
+      &ldquo;That'll do, Mr. M'Adam!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man restrained his tongue, but his eyes gleamed like a
+      ferret's; and the Master continued his speech.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He spoke briefly and to the point, in short phrases. And all the while
+      M'Adam kept up a low-voiced, running commentary. At length he could
+      control himself no longer. Half rising from his chair, he leant forward
+      with hot face and burning eyes, and cried: &ldquo;Sit doon, James Moore! Hoo
+      daur ye stan' there like an honest man, ye whitewashed sepulchre? Sit
+      doon, I say, or&rdquo;&mdash;threateningly&mdash;&ldquo;wad ye hae me come to ye?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At that the Dalesmen laughed uproariously, and even the Master's grim face
+      relaxed. But the squire's voice rang out sharp and stern.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Keep silence and sit down, Mr. M'Adam! D'you hear me, sir? If I have to
+      speak to you again it will be to order you to leave the room.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man obeyed, sullen and vengeful, like a beaten cat.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master concluded his speech by calling on all present to give three
+      cheers for the squire, her ladyship, and the young ladies.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The call was responded to enthusiastically, every man standing. Just as
+      the noise was at its zenith, Lady Eleanour herself, with her two fair
+      daughters, glided into the gallery at the end of the hall; whereat the
+      cheering became deafening.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Slowly the clamor subsided. One by one the tenants sat down. At length
+      there was left standing only one solitary figure&mdash;M 'Adam.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His face was set, and he gripped the chair in front of him with thin,
+      nervous hands.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Sylvester,&rdquo; he began in low yet clear voice, &ldquo;ye said this is a free
+      country and we're a' free men. And that bein' so, I'll tak' the liberty,
+      wi' yer permission, to say a word. It's maybe the last time I'll be wi'
+      ye, so I hope ye'll listen to me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Dalesmen looked surprised, and the squire uneasy. Nevertheless he
+      nodded assent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man straightened himself. His face was tense as though strung
+      up to a high resolve. All the passion had fled from it, all the bitterness
+      was gone; and left behind was a strange, enobling earnestness. Standing
+      there in the silence of that great hall, with every eye upon him, he
+      looked like some prisoner at the bar about to plead for his life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gentlemen,&rdquo; he began, &ldquo;I've bin amang ye noo a score years, and I can
+      truly say there's not a man in this room I can ca' 'Friend.'&rdquo; He looked
+      along the ranks of upturned faces. &ldquo;Ay, David, I see ye, and you, Mr.
+      Hornbut, and you, Mr. Sylvester&mdash;ilka one o' you, and not one as'd
+      back me like a comrade gin a trouble came upon me.&rdquo; There was no rebuke in
+      the grave little voice&mdash;it merely stated a hard fact.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There's I doot no one amang ye but has some one&mdash;friend or blood&mdash;wham
+      he can turn to when things are sair wi' him. I've no one.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;'I bear alane my lade o' care'&mdash;alane wi' Wullie, who stands to me,
+      blaw or snaw, rain or shine. And whiles I'm feared he'll be took from me.&rdquo;
+       He spoke this last half to himself, a grieved, puzzled expression on his
+      face, as though lately he had dreamed some ill dream.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Forbye Wuilie, I've no friend on God's earth. And, mind ye, a bad man
+      aften mak's a good friend&mdash;but ye've never given me the chance. It's
+      a sair thing that, gentlemen, to ha' to fight the battle o' life alane: no
+      one to pat ye on th' back, no one to say 'Weel done.' It hardly gies a man
+      a chance. For gin he does try and yet fails, men never mind the tryin',
+      they only mark the failin'.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I dinna blame ye. There's somethin' bred in me, it seems, as sets ivery
+      one agin me. It's the same wi' Wullie and the tykes&mdash;they're doon on
+      him same as men are on me. I suppose we was made so. Sin' I was a lad it's
+      aye bin the same. From school days I've had ivery one agin me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In ma life I've had three fiends. Ma mither&mdash;and she went; then ma
+      wife&rdquo;&mdash;he gave a great swallow&mdash;&ldquo;and she's awa'; and I may say
+      they're the only two human bein's as ha' lived on God's earth in ma time
+      that iver tried to bear wi' me;&mdash;and Wullie. A man's mither&mdash;a
+      man's wife&mdash;a man's dog! it's aften a' he has in this warld; and the
+      more he prizes them the more like they are to be took from him.&rdquo; The
+      little earnest voice shook, and the dim eyes puckered and filled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Sin' I've bin amang ye&mdash;twenty-odd years&mdash;can any man here mind
+      speakin' any word that wasna ill to me?&rdquo; He paused; there was no reply.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I'll tell ye. All the time I've lived here I've had one kindly word spoke
+      to me, and that a fortnight gone, and not by a man then&mdash;by her
+      ladyship, God bless her!&rdquo; He glanced up into the gallery. There was no one
+      visible there; but a curtain at one end shook as though it were sobbing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Weel, I'm thinkin' we'll be gaein' in a wee while noo, Wullie and me,
+      alane and thegither, as we've aye done. And it's time we went. Ye've had
+      enough o' us, and it's no for me to blame ye. And when I'm gone what'll ye
+      say o' me? 'He was a drunkard.' I am. 'He was a sinner.' I am. 'He was
+      ilka thing he shouldna be.' I am. 'We're glad he's gone.' That's what
+      ye'll say o' me. And it's but ma deserts.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The gentle, condemning voice ceased, and began again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;That's what I am. Gin things had been differ', aiblins I'd ha' bin
+      differ'. D'ye ken Robbie Burns? That's a man I've read, and read, and
+      read. D'ye ken why I love him as some o' you do yer Bibles? Because
+      there's a humanity about him. A weak man hissel', aye slippin', slippin',
+      slippin', and tryin' to haud up; sorrowin' ae minute, sinnin' the next;
+      doin' ill deeds and wishin' 'em undone&mdash;just a plain human man, a
+      sinner. And that's why I'm thinkin he's tender for us as is like him. <i>He
+      understood.</i> It's what he wrote&mdash;after ain o' his tumbles, I'm
+      thinkin'&mdash;that I was goin' to tell ye:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     'Then gently scan yer brother man,
+     Still gentler sister woman,
+     Though they may gang a kennin' wrang,
+     To step aside is human'&mdash;
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      the doctrine o' Charity. Gie him his chance, says Robbie, though he be a
+      sinner. Mony a mon'd be differ', mony bad'd be gude, gin they had but
+      their chance. Gie 'em their chance, says he; and I'm wi' him. As 'tis, ye
+      see me here&mdash;a bad man wi' still a streak o' good in him. Gin I'd had
+      ma chance, aiblins 'twad be&mdash;a good man wi' just a spice o' the devil
+      in him. A' the differ' betune what is and what might ha' bin.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXVIII THE DEVIL'S BOWL
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      HE sat down. In the great hall there was silence, save for a tiny sound
+      from the gallery like a sob suppressed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The squire rose hurriedly and left the room. After him, one by one,
+      trailed the tenants. At length, two only remained&mdash;M'Adam, sitting
+      solitary with a long array of empty chairs on either hand; and, at the far
+      end of the table, Parson Leggy, stern, upright, motionless.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the last man had left the room the parson rose, and with lips
+      tight-set strode across the silent hall.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;M'Adam,&rdquo; he said rapidly and almost roughly, &ldquo;I've listened to what
+      you've said, as I think we all have, with a sore heart. You hit hard&mdash;but
+      I think you were right. And if I've not done my duty by you as I ought&mdash;and
+      I fear I've not&mdash;it's now my duty as God's minister to be the first
+      to say I'm sorry.&rdquo; And it was evident from his face what an effort the
+      words cost him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man tilted back his chair, and raised his head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was the old M'Adam who looked up. The thin lips were curled; a grin was
+      crawling across the mocking face; and he wagged his head gently, as he
+      looked at the speaker through the slits of his half-closed eyes.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Hornbut, I believe ye thocht me in earnest, 'deed and I do!&rdquo; He
+      leaned back in his chair and laughed softly. &ldquo;Ye swallered it all down
+      like best butter. Dear, dear! to think o' that!&rdquo; Then, stretching forward:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Hornbut, I was playin' wi' ye.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The parson's face, as he listened, was ugly to watch. He shot out a hand
+      and grabbed the scoffer by his coat; then dropped it again and turned
+      abruptly away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he passed through the door a little sneering voice called after him:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Hornbut, I ask ye hoo you, a minister o' the Church of England, can
+      reconcile it to yer conscience to think&mdash;though it be but for a
+      minute&mdash;that there can be ony good in a man and him no churchgoer?
+      Sir, ye're a heretic&mdash;not to say a heathen!&rdquo; He sniggered to himself,
+      and his hand crept to a half-emptied wine decanter.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      An hour later, James Moore, his business with the squire completed, passed
+      through the hall on his way out. Its only occupant was now M'Adam, and the
+      Master walked straight up to his enemy.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;M'Adam,&rdquo; he said gruffly, holding out a sinewy hand, &ldquo;I'd like to say&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man knocked aside the token of friendship.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Na, na. No cant, if ye please, James Moore. That'll aiblins go doon wi'
+      the parsons, but not wi' me. I ken you and you ken me, and all the
+      whitewash i' th' warld'll no deceive us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master turned away, and his face was hard as the nether millstone. But
+      the little man pursued him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I was nigh forgettin',&rdquo; he said. &ldquo;I've a surprise for ye, James Moore.
+      But I hear it's yer birthday on Sunday, and I'll keep it till then&mdash;he!
+      he!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye'll see me before Sunday, M'Adam,&rdquo; the other answered. &ldquo;On Saturday, as
+      I told yo', I'm comin' to see if yo've done yer duty.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Whether ye come, James Moore, is your business. Whether ye'll iver go,
+      once there, I'll mak' mine. I've warned ye twice noo&mdash;&rdquo; and the
+      little man laughed that harsh, cackling laugh of his.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the door of the hall the Master met David. &ldquo;Noo, lad, yo're comin'
+      along wi' Andrew and me,&rdquo; he said; &ldquo;Maggie'll niver forgie us if we dinna
+      bring yo' home wi' us.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Thank you kindly, Mr. Moore,&rdquo; the boy replied. &ldquo;I've to see squire first;
+      and then yo' may be sure I'll be after you.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master faltered a moment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;David, ha'n yo' spoke to yer father yet?&rdquo; he asked in low voice. &ldquo;Yo'
+      should, lad.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The boy made a gesture of dissent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I canna,&rdquo; he said petulantly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I would, lad,&rdquo; the other advised. &ldquo;An' yo' don't yo' may be sorry after.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      As he turned away he heard the boy's steps, dull and sodden, as he crossed
+      the hall; and then a thin, would-be cordial voice in the emptiness:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I declar' if 'tisna David! The return o' the Prodeegal&mdash;he! he! So
+      ye've seen yer auld dad at last, and the last; the proper place, say ye,
+      for yen father&mdash;he! he! Eh, lad, but I'm blithe to see ye. D'ye mind
+      when we was last thegither? Ye was kneelin' on ma chest: 'Your time's
+      come, dad,' says you, and wangs me o'er the face&mdash;he! he! I mind it
+      as if 'twas yesterday. Weel, weel, we'll say nae mair about it. Boys will
+      be boys. Sons will be sons. Accidents will happen. And if at first ye
+      don't succeed, why, try, try again&mdash;he! he!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Dusk was merging into darkness when the Master and Andrew reached the
+      Dalesman's Daughter. It had been long dark when they emerged from the cosy
+      parlor of the inn and plunged out into the night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As they crossed the Silver Lea and trudged over that familiar ground,
+      where a fortnight since had been fought out the battle of the Cup, the
+      wind fluttered past them in spasmodic gasps.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There 's trouble in the wind,&rdquo; said the Master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; answered his laconic son.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All day there had been no breath of air, and the sky dangerously blue. But
+      now a world of black was surging up from the horizon, smothering the
+      star-lit night; and small dark clouds, like puffs of smoke, detaching
+      themselves from the main body, were driving tempestuously forward&mdash;the
+      vanguard of the storm.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the distance was a low rumbling like heavy tumbrils on the floor of
+      heaven. All about, the wind sounded hollow like a mighty scythe on corn.
+      The air was oppressed with a leaden blackness&mdash;no glimmer of light on
+      any hand; and as they began the ascent of the Pass they reached out blind
+      hands to feel along the rock-face.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A sea-fret, cool and wetting, fell. A few big rain-drops splashed heavily
+      down. The wind rose with a leap and roared past them up the rocky track.
+      And the water-gates of heaven were flung wide.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Wet and weary, they battled on; thinking sometimes of the cosy parlor
+      behind; sometimes of the home in front; wondering whether Maggie, in flat
+      contradiction of her father's orders, would be up to welcome them; or
+      whether only Owd Bob would come out to meet them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The wind volleyed past them like salvoes of artillery. The rain stormed at
+      them from above; spat at them from the rock-face; and leapt up at them
+      from their feet.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once they halted for a moment, finding a miserable shelter in a crevice of
+      the rock.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a Black Killer's night,&rdquo; panted the Master. &ldquo;I reck'n he's oot.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay,&rdquo; the boy gasped, &ldquo;reck'n he is.&rdquo; Up and up they climbed through the
+      blackness, blind and buffeted. The eternal thunder of the rain was all
+      about them; the clamor of the gale above; and far beneath, the roar of
+      angry waters.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once, in a lull in the storm, the Master turned and looked back into the
+      blackness along the path they had come.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Did ye hear onythin'?&rdquo; he roared above the muffled soughing of the wind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay!&rdquo; Andrew shouted back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thowt I heard a step!&rdquo; the Master cried, peering down. But nothing
+      could he see.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the wind leaped to life again like a giant from his sleep, drowning
+      all sound with its hurricane voice; and they turned and bent to their task
+      again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Nearing the summit, the Master turned once more.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There it was again!&rdquo; he called; but his words were swept away on the
+      storm; and they buckled to the struggle afresh.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ever and anon the moon gleamed down through the riot of tossing sky. Then
+      they could see the wet wall above them, with the water tumbling down its
+      sheer face; and far below, in the roaring gutter of the Pass a
+      brown-stained torrent. Hardly, however, had they time to glance around
+      when a mass of cloud would hurry jealously up, and all again was blackness
+      and noise.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length, nigh spent, they topped the last and steepest pitch of the
+      Pass, and emerged into the Devil's Bowl. There, overcome with their
+      exertions, they flung themselves on to the soaking ground to draw breath.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Behind them, the wind rushed with a sullen roar up the funnel of the Pass.
+      It screamed above them as though ten million devils were a-horse; and
+      blurted out on to the wild Marches beyond.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As they lay there, still panting, the moon gleamed down in momentary
+      graciousness. In front, through the lashing rain, they could discern the
+      hillocks that squat, hag-like, round the Devil's Bowl; and lying in its
+      bosom, its white waters, usually so still, ploughed now into a thousand
+      furrows, the Lone Tarn.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master raised his head and craned forward at the ghostly scene. Of a
+      sudden he reared himself on to his arms, and stayed motionless awhile.
+      Then he dropped as though dead, forcing down Andrew with an iron hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Lad, did'st see?&rdquo; he whispered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay; what was't?&rdquo; the boy replied, roused by his father's tone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;There!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      But as the Master pointed forward, a blur of cloud intervened and all was
+      dark. Quickly it passed; and again the lantern of the night shone down.
+      And Andrew, looking with all his eyes, saw indeed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There, in front, by the fretting waters of the Tarn, packed in a solid
+      phalanx, with every head turned in the same direction, was a flock of
+      sheep. They were motionless, all-intent, staring with horror-bulging eyes.
+      A column of steam rose from their bodies into the rain-pierced air.
+      Panting and palpitating, yet they stood with their backs to the water, as
+      though determined to sell their lives dearly. Beyond them, not fifty yards
+      away, crouched a humpbacked boulder, casting a long, misshapen shadow in
+      the moonlight. And beneath it were two black objects, one still struggling
+      feebly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;The Killer!&rdquo; gasped the boy, and, all ablaze with excitement, began
+      forging forward.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Steady, lad, steady!&rdquo; urged his father, dropping a restraining hand on
+      the boy's shoulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Above them a huddle of clouds flung in furious rout across the night, and
+      the moon was veiled.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Follow, lad!&rdquo; ordered the Master, and began to crawl silently forward. As
+      stealthily Andrew pursued. And over the sodden ground they crept, one
+      behind the other, like two' night-hawks on some foul errand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On they crawled, lying prone during the blinks of moon, stealing forward
+      in the dark; till, at length, the swish of the rain on the waters of the
+      Tarn, and the sobbing of the flock in front, warned them they were near.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They skirted the trembling pack, passing so close as to brush against the
+      flanking sheep; and yet unnoticed, for the sheep were soul-absorbed in the
+      tragedy in front. Only, when the moon was in, Andrew could hear them
+      huddling and stamping in the darkness. And again, as it shone out,
+      fearfully they edged closer to watch the bloody play.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Along the Tarn edge the two crept. And still the gracious moon hid their
+      approach, and the drunken wind drowned with its revelry the sound of their
+      coming.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So they stole on, on hands and knees, with hearts aghast and fluttering
+      breath; until, of a sudden, in a lull of wind, they could hear, right
+      before them, the smack and slobber of bloody lips, chewing their bloody
+      meal.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Say thy prayers, Red Wull. Thy last minute's come!&rdquo; muttered the Master,
+      rising to his knees. Then, in Andrew's ear: &ldquo;When I rush, lad, follow!&rdquo;
+       For he thought, when the moon rose, to jump in on the great dog, and,
+      surprising him as he lay gorged and unsuspicious, to deal him one terrible
+      swashing blow, and end forever the lawless doings of the Tailless Tyke.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The moon flung off its veil of cloud. White and cold, it stared down into
+      the Devil's Bowl; on murderer and murdered.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Within a hand's cast of the avengers of blood humped the black boulder. On
+      the border of its shadow lay a dead sheep; and standing beside the body,
+      his coat all ruffled by the hand of the storm&mdash;Owd Bob&mdash;Owd Bob
+      o' Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the light went in, and darkness covered the land.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXIX THE DEVIL'S BOWL
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      IT was Owd Bob. There could be no mistaking. In the wide world there was
+      but one Owd Bob o' Kenmuir. The silver moon gleamed down on the dark head
+      and rough gray coat, and lit the white escutcheon on his chest.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And in the darkness James Moore was lying with his face pressed downward
+      that he might not see.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Once he raised himself on his arms; his eyes were shut and face uplifted,
+      like a blind man praying. He passed a weary hand across his brow; his head
+      dropped again; and he moaned and moaned like a man in everlasting pain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then the darkness lifted a moment, and he stole a furtive glance, like a
+      murderer's at the gallows-tree, at the scene in front.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was no dream; clear and cruel in the moonlight the humpbacked boulder;
+      the dead sheep; and that gray figure, beautiful, motionless, damned for
+      all eternity.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master turned his face and looked at Andrew, a dumb, pitiful entreaty
+      in his eyes; but in the boy's white, horror-stricken countenance was no
+      comfort. Then his head lolled down again, and the strong man was
+      whimpering.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;He! he! he! 'Scuse ma laffin', Mr. Moore&mdash;he! he! he!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      A little man, all wet and shrunk, sat hunching on a mound above them,
+      rocking his shrivelled form to and fro in the agony of his merriment.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ye raskil&mdash;he! he! Ye rogue&mdash;he! he!&rdquo; and he shook his fist
+      waggishly at the unconscious gray dog. &ldquo;I owe ye anither grudge for this&mdash;ye've
+      anteecipated me&rdquo;&mdash;and he leant back and shook this way and that in
+      convulsive mirth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The man below him rose heavily to his feet, and tumbled toward the mocker,
+      his great figure swaying from side to side as though in blind delirium,
+      moaning still as he went. And there was that on his face which no man can
+      mistake. Boy that he was, Andrew knew it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Feyther! feyther! do'ee not!&rdquo; he pleaded, running after his father and
+      laying impotent hands on him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      But the strong man shook him off like a fly, and rolled on, swaying and
+      groaning, with that awful expression plain to see in the moonlight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In front the little man squatted in the rain, bowed double still; and took
+      no thought to flee.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come on, James Moore! Come on!&rdquo; he laughed, malignant joy in his voice;
+      and something gleamed bright in his right hand, and was hid again. &ldquo;I've
+      bin waitin' this a weary while noo. Come on!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then had there been done something worse than sheep-murder in the dreadful
+      lonesomeness of the Devil's Bowl upon that night; but of a sudden, there
+      sounded the splash of a man's foot, falling heavily behind; a hand like a
+      falling tree smote the Master on the shoulder; and a voice roared above
+      the noise of the storm:
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Mr. Moore! Look, man! look!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The Master tried to shake off that detaining grasp; but it pinned him
+      where he was, immovable.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Look, I tell yo'!&rdquo; cried that great voice again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A hand pushed past him and pointed; and sullenly he turned, ignoring the
+      figure at his side, and looked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The wind had dropped suddenly as it had risen; the little man on the mound
+      had ceased to chuckle; Andrew's sobs were hushed; and in the background
+      the huddled flock edged closer. The world hung balanced on the pinpoint of
+      the moment. Every eye was in the one direction.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      With dull, uncomprehending gaze James Moore stared as bidden. There was
+      the gray dog naked in the moonlight, heedless still of any witnesses;
+      there the murdered sheep, lying within and without that distorted shade;
+      and there the humpbacked boulder.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stared into the shadow, and still stared.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then he started as though struck. The shadow of the boulder had moved!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Motionless, with head shot forward and bulging eyes, he gazed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Ay, ay, ay; he was sure of it&mdash;a huge dim outline as of a lion <i>couchant</i>,
+      in the very thickest of the blackness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At that he was seized with such a palsy of trembling that he must have
+      fallen but for the strong arm about his waist.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Clearer every moment grew that crouching figure; till at length they
+      plainly could discern the line of arching loins, the crest, thick as a
+      stallion's, the massive, wagging head. No mistake this time. There he lay
+      in the deepest black, gigantic, revelling in his horrid debauch&mdash;the
+      Black Killer!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And they watched him at his feast. Now he burrowed into the spongy flesh;
+      now turned to lap the dark pool which glittered in the moonlight at his
+      side like claret in a silver cup. Now lifting his head, he snapped
+      irritably at the rain-drops, and the moon caught his wicked, rolling eye
+      and the red shreds of flesh dripping from his jaw. And again, raising his
+      great muzzle as if about to howl, he let the delicious nectar trickle down
+      his throat and ravish his palate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So he went on, all unsuspicious, wisely nodding in slow-mouthed gluttony.
+      And in the stillness, between the claps of wind, they could hear the
+      smacking of his lips.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      While all the time the gray dog stood before him, motionless, as though
+      carved in stone.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At last, as the murderer rolled his great head from side to side, he saw
+      that still figure. At the sight he leaped back, dismayed. Then with a
+      deep-mouthed roar that shook the waters of the Tarn he was up and across
+      his victim with fangs bared, his coat standing erect in wet, rigid furrows
+      from topknot to tail.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So the two stood, face to face, with perhaps a yard of rain-pierced air
+      between them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The wind hushed its sighing to listen. The moon stared down, white and
+      dumb. Away at the back the sheep edged closer. While save for the
+      everlasting thunder of the rain, there was utter stillness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      An age, it seemed, they waited so. Then a voice, clear yet low and far
+      away, like a bugle in a distant city, broke the silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Eh, Wullie!&rdquo; it said.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no anger in the tones, only an incomparable reproach; the sound
+      of the cracking of a man's heart.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the call the great dog leapt round, snarling in hideous passion. He saw
+      the small, familiar figure, clear-cut against the tumbling sky; and for
+      the only time in his life Red Wull was afraid.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      His blood-foe was forgotten; the dead sheep was forgotten; everything was
+      sunk in the agony of that moment. He cowered upon the ground, and a cry
+      like that of a lost soul was wrung from him; it rose on the still night
+      air and floated, wailing, away; and the white waters of the Tarn thrilled
+      in cold pity; out of the lonely hollow; over the desolate Marches; into
+      the night.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the mound above stood his master. The little man's white hair was bared
+      to the night wind; the rain trickled down his face; and his hands were
+      folded behind his back. He stood there, looking down into the dell below
+      him, as a man may stand at the tomb of his lately buried wife. And there
+      was such an expression on his face as I cannot describe.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie, Wullie, to me!&rdquo; he cried at length; and his voice sounded weak
+      and far, like a distant memory.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At that, the huge brute came crawling toward him on his belly, whimpering
+      as he came, very pitiful in his distress. He knew his fate as every
+      sheep-dog knows it. That troubled him not. His pain, insufferable, was
+      that this, his friend and father, who had trusted him, should have found
+      him in his sin.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So he crept up to his master's feet; and the little man never moved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie&mdash;ma Wullie!&rdquo; he said very gently. &ldquo;They've aye bin agin me&mdash;and
+      noo you! A man's mither&mdash;a man's wife&mdash;a man's dog! they're all
+      I've iver had; and noo ain o' they three has turned agin me! Indeed I am
+      alone!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At that the great dog raised himself, and placing his forepaws on his
+      master's chest tenderly, lest he should hurt him who was already hurt past
+      healing, stood towering above him; while the little man laid his two colds
+      hands on the dog's shoulders.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So they stood, looking at one another, like a man and his love.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      At M'Adam's word, Owd Bob looked up, and for the first time saw his
+      master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He seemed in nowise startled, but trotted over to him. There was nothing
+      fearful in his carriage, no haunting blood-guiltiness in the true gray
+      eyes which never told a lie, which never, dog-like, failed to look you in
+      the face. Yet his tail was low, and, as he stopped at his master's feet,
+      he was quivering. For he, too, knew, and was not unmoved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      For weeks he had tracked the Killer; for weeks he had followed him as he
+      crossed Kenmuir, bound on his bloody errands; yet always had lost him on
+      the Marches. Now, at last, he had run him to ground. Yet his heart went
+      out to his enemy in his distress.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I thowt t'had been yo', lad,&rdquo; the Master whispered, his hand on the dark
+      head at his knee&mdash;&ldquo;I thowt t'had bin yo'!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Rooted to the ground, the three watched the scene between M'Adam and his
+      Wull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the end the Master was whimpering; Andrew crying; and David turned his
+      back.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At length, silent, they moved away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Had I&mdash;should I go to him&rdquo; asked David hoarsely, nodding toward his
+      father.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, nay, lad,&rdquo; the Master replied. &ldquo;Yon's not a matter for a mon's
+      friends.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So they marched out of the Devil's Bowl, and left those two alone
+      together.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      A little later, as they trampled along, James Moore heard little
+      pattering, staggering footsteps behind.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He stopped, and the other two went on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Man,&rdquo; a voice whispered, and a face, white and pitiful, like a mother's
+      pleading for her child, looked into his&mdash;&ldquo;Man, ye'll no tell them a'
+      I'd no like 'em to ken 'twas ma Wullie. Think an 't had bin yer ain dog.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;You may trust me!&rdquo; the other answered thickly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man stretched out a palsied hand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Gie us yer hand on't. And G-God bless ye, James Moore!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So these two shook hands in the moonlight, with none to witness it but the
+      God who made them.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And that is why the mystery of the Black Killer is yet unsolved in the
+      Daleland. Many have surmised; besides those three only one other knows&mdash;knows
+      now which of those two he saw upon a summer night was the guilty, which
+      the innocent. And Postie Jim tells no man.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      Chapter XXX. THE TAILLESS TYKE AT BAY
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      ON the following morning there was a sheep-auction at the Dalesman's
+      Daughter.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Early as many of the farmers arrived, there was one earlier. Tupper, the
+      first man to enter the sand-floored parlor, found M'Adam before him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He was sitting a little forward in his chair; his thin hands rested on his
+      knees; and on his face was a gentle, dreamy expression such as no man had
+      ever seen there before. All the harsh wrinkles seemed to have fled in the
+      night; and the sour face, stamped deep with the bitterness of life, was
+      softened now, as if at length at peace.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;When I coom doon this mornin',&rdquo; said Teddy Bolstock in a whisper, &ldquo;I
+      found 'im sittin' just so. And he's nor moved nor spoke since.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where's th' Terror, then?&rdquo; asked Tupper, awed somehow into like hushed
+      tones.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;In t' paddock at back,&rdquo; Teddy answered, &ldquo;marchin' hoop and doon, hoop and
+      doon, for a' the world like a sentry-soger. And so he was when I looked
+      oot o' window when I wake.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Londesley entered, and after him, Ned Hoppin, Rob Saunderson, Jim
+      Mason, and others, each with his dog. And each man, as he came in and saw
+      the little lone figure for once without its huge attendant genius, put the
+      same question; while the dogs sniffed about the little man, as though
+      suspecting treachery. And all the time M'Adam sat as though he neither
+      heard nor saw, lost in some sweet, sad dream; so quite, so silent, that
+      more than one thought he slept.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      After the first glance, however, the farmers paid him little heed,
+      clustering round the publican at the farther end of the room to hear the
+      latest story of Owd Bob.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It appeared that a week previously, James Moore with a pack of sheep had
+      met the new Grammoch-town butcher at the Dalesmen's Daughter. A bargain
+      concluded, the butcher started with the flock for home. As he had no dog,
+      the Master offered him Th' Owd Un. &ldquo;And he'll pick me i' th' town
+      to-morrow,&rdquo; said he.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Now the butcher was a stranger in the land. Of course he had heard of Owd
+      Bob o' Kenmuir, yet it never struck him that this handsome gentleman with
+      the quiet, resolute manner, who handled sheep as he had never seen them
+      handled, was that hero&mdash;&ldquo;the best sheep-dog in the North.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Certain it is that by the time the flock was penned in the enclosure
+      behind the shop, he coveted the dog&mdash;ay, would even offer ten pounds
+      for him!
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Forthwith the butcher locked him up in an outhouse&mdash;summit of
+      indignity; resolving to make his offer on the morrow.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When the morrow came he found no dog in the outhouse, and, worse, no sheep
+      in the enclosure. A sprung board showed the way of escape of the one, and
+      a displaced hurdle that of the other. And as he was making the discovery,
+      a gray dog and a flock of sheep, travelling along the road toward the
+      Dalesman's Daughter, met the Master.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      From the first, Owd Bob had mistrusted the man. The attempt to confine him
+      set the seal on his suspicions. His master's sheep were not for such a
+      rogue; and he worked his own way out and took the sheep along with him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The story was told to a running chorus of&mdash;&ldquo;Ma word! Good, Owd Un!&mdash;Ho!
+      ho! did he thot?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Of them all, only M'Adam sat strangely silent.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Rob Saunderson, always glad to draw the little man, remarked it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;And what d'yo' think o' that, Mr. M'Adam, for a wunnerfu' story of a
+      wunnerfu' tyke?&rdquo; he asked.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's a gude tale, a vera gude tale,&rdquo; the little man answered dreamily.
+      &ldquo;And James Moore didna invent it; he had it from the Christmas number o'
+      the <i>Flock-keeper</i> in saxty.&rdquo; (On the following Sunday, old Rob, from
+      sheer curiosity, reached down from his shelf the specified number of the
+      paper. To his amazement he found the little man was right. There was the
+      story almost identically. None the less is it also true of Owd Bob o'
+      Kenmuir.)
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Ay, ay,&rdquo; the little man continued, &ldquo;and in a day or two James Moore'll
+      ha' anither tale to tell ye&mdash;a better tale, ye'll think it&mdash;mair
+      laffable. And yet&mdash;ay&mdash;-no&mdash;-I'll no believe it! I niver
+      loved James Moore, but I think, as Mr. Hornbut aince said, he'd rather die
+      than lie. Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!&rdquo; he continued in a whisper. &ldquo;Up till the end
+      I canna shake him aff. Hafflins I think that where I'm gaein' to there'll
+      be gray dogs sneakin' around me in the twilight. And they're aye behind
+      and behind, and I canna, canna&mdash;&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Teddy Bolstock interrupted, lifting his hand for silence.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;D'yo' hear thot?&mdash;Thunder!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      They listened; and from without came a gurgling, jarring roar, horrible to
+      hear.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;It's comin' nearer!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Nay, it's goin' away!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;No thunder thot!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;More like the Lea in flood. And yet&mdash;Eh, Mr. M'Adam, what is it?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      The little man had moved at last. He was on his feet, staring about him,
+      wild-eyed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Where's yer dogs?&rdquo; he almost screamed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Here's ma&mdash;Nay, by thunder! but he's not!&rdquo; was the astonished cry.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      In the interest of the story no man had noticed that his dog had risen
+      from his side; no one had noticed a file of shaggy figures creeping out of
+      the room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;I tell ye it's the tykes! I tell ye it's the tykes! They're on ma Wullie&mdash;fifty
+      to one they're on him! My God! My God! And me not there! Wullie, Wullie! &ldquo;&mdash;in
+      a scream&mdash;&ldquo;I'm wi' ye!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the same moment Bessie Boistock rushed in, white-faced.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Hi! Feyther! Mr. Saunderson! all o' you! T'tykes fightin' mad! Hark!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      There was no time for that. Each man seized his stick and rushed for the
+      door; and M'Adam led them all.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A rare thing it was for M'Adam and Red Wull to be apart. So rare, that
+      others besides the men in that little tap-room noticed it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Saunderson's old Shep walked quietly to the back door of the house and
+      looked out.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      There on the slope below him he saw what he sought, stalking up and down,
+      gaunt and grim, like a lion at feeding-time. And as the old dog watched,
+      his tail was gently swaying as though he were well pleased.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He walked back into the tap-room just as Teddy began his tale. Twice he
+      made the round of the room, silent-footed. From dog to dog he went,
+      stopping at each as though urging him on to some great enterprise. Then he
+      made for the door again, looking back to see if any followed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      One by one the others rose and trailed out after him: big blue Rasper,
+      Londesley's Lassie, Ned Hoppin's young dog; Grip and Grapple, the
+      publican's bull-terriers; Jim Mason's Gyp, foolish and flirting even now;
+      others there were; and last of all, waddling heavily in the rear, that
+      scarred Amazon, the Venus.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Out of the house they pattered, silent and unseen, with murder in their
+      hearts. At last they had found their enemy alone. And slowly, in a black
+      cloud, like the shadow of death, they dropped down the slope upon him.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And he saw them coming, knew their errand&mdash;as who should better than
+      the Terror of the Border?&mdash;and was glad. Death it might be, and such
+      an one as he would wish to die&mdash;at least distraction from that
+      long-drawn, haunting pain. And he smiled grimly as he looked at the
+      approaching crowd, and saw there was not one there but he had humbled in
+      his time.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He ceased his restless pacing, and awaited them. His great head was high
+      as he scanned them contemptuously, daring them to come on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And on they came, marching slow and silent like soldiers at a funeral:
+      young and old; bob-tailed and bull; terrier and collie; flocking like
+      vultures to the dead. And the Venus, heavy with years, rolled after them
+      on her bandy legs panting in her hurry lest she should be late. For had
+      she not the blood of her blood to avenge?
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So they came about him, slow, certain, murderous, opening out to cut him
+      off on every side. There was no need. He never thought to move. Long odds
+      'twould be&mdash;crushingly heavy; yet he loved them for it, and was
+      trembling already with the glory of the coming fight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They were up to him now; the sheep-dogs walking round him on their toes,
+      stiff and short like cats on coals; their hacks a little humped; heads
+      averted; yet eying him askance.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And he remained stock-still nor looked at them. His great chin was cocked,
+      and his muzzle wrinkled in a dreadful grin. As he stood there, shivering a
+      little, his eyes rolling back, his breath grating in his throat to set
+      every bristle on end, he looked a devil indeed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Venus ranged alongside him. No preliminary stage for her; she never
+      walked where she could stand, or stood where she could lie. But stand she
+      must now, breathing hard through her nose, never taking her eyes off that
+      pad she had marked for her own. Close beside her were crop-eared Grip and
+      Grapple, looking up at the line above them where hairy neck and shoulder
+      joined. Behind was big Rasper, and close to him Lassie. Of the others,
+      each had marked his place, each taken up his post.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Last of all, old Shep took his stand full in front of his enemy, their
+      shoulders almost rubbing, head past head.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So the two stood a moment, as though they were whispering; each
+      diabolical, each rolling back his eyes to watch the other. While from the
+      little mob there rose a snarling, bubbling snore, like some giant wheezing
+      in his sleep.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then like lightning each struck. Rearing high, they wrestled with striving
+      paws and the expression of fiends incarnate. Down they went, Shep
+      underneath, and the great dog with a dozen of these wolves of hell upon
+      him. Rasper, devilish, was riding on his back; the Venus&mdash;well for
+      him!&mdash;had struck and missed; but Grip and Grapple had their hold; and
+      the others, like leaping demoniacs, were plunging into the whirlpool
+      vortex of the fight.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And there, where a fortnight before he had fought and lost the battle of
+      the Cup, Red Wull now battled for his life.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Long odds! But what cared he? The long-drawn agony of the night was
+      drowned in that glorious delirium. The hate of years came bubbling forth.
+      In that supreme moment he would avenge his wrongs. And he went in to
+      fight, revelling like a giant in the red lust of killing.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Long odds! Never before had he faced such a galaxy of foes. His one chance
+      lay in quickness: to prevent the swarming crew getting their hold till at
+      least he had diminished their numbers.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Then it was a sight to see the great brute, huge as a bull-calf, strong as
+      a bull, rolling over and over and up again, quick as a kitten; leaping
+      here, striking there; shaking himself free; swinging his quarters;
+      fighting with feet and body and teeth&mdash;every inch of him at war. More
+      than once he broke right through the mob; only to turn again and face it.
+      No flight for him; nor thought of it.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Up and down the slope the dark mass tossed, like some hulk the sport of
+      the waves. Black and white, sable and gray, worrying at that great
+      centre-piece. Up and down, roaming wide, leaving everywhere a trail of
+      red.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Gyp he had pinned and hurled over his shoulder. Grip followed; he shook
+      her till she rattled, then flung her afar; and she fell with a horrid
+      thud, not to rise. While Grapple, the death to avenge, hung tighter. In a
+      scarlet, soaking patch of the ground lay Big Bell's lurcher, doubled up in
+      a dreadful ball. And Hoppin's young dog, who three hours before had been
+      the children's tender playmate, now fiendish to look on, dragged after the
+      huddle up the hill. Back the mob rolled on her. When it was passed, she
+      lay quite still, grinning; a handful of tawny hair and flesh in her dead
+      mouth.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      So they fought on. And ever and anon a great figure rose up from the
+      heaving inferno all around; rearing to his full height, his head ragged
+      and bleeding, the red foam dripping from his jaws. Thus he would appear
+      momentarily, like some dark rock amid a raging sea; and down he would go
+      again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Silent now they fought, dumb and determined. Only you might have heard the
+      rend and rip of tearing flesh; a hoarse gurgle as some dog went down; the
+      panting of dry throats; and now and then a sob from that central figure.
+      For he was fighting for his life. The Terror of the Border was at bay.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      All who meant it were on him now. The Venus, blinded with blood, had her
+      hold at last; and never but once in a long life of battles had she let go;
+      Rasper, his breath coming in rattles, had him horribly by the loins; while
+      a dozen other devils with red eyes and wrinkled nostrils clung still.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Long odds! And down he went, smothered beneath the weight of numbers, yet
+      struggled up again. His great head was torn and dripping; his eyes a gleam
+      of rolling red and white; the little tail stern and stiff like the gallant
+      stump of a flagstaff shot away. He was desperate, but indomitable; and he
+      sobbed as he fought doggedly on.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Long odds! It could not last. And down he went at length, silent still&mdash;never
+      a cry should they wring from him in his agony; the Venus glued to that
+      mangled pad; Rasper beneath him now; three at his throat; two at his ears;
+      a crowd on flanks and body.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Terror of the Border was down at last!
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie, ma Wullie!&rdquo; screamed M'Adam, bounding down the slope a crook's
+      length in front of the rest. &ldquo;Wullie! Wullie! to me!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      At the shrill cry the huddle below was convulsed. It heaved and swelled
+      and dragged to and fro, like the sea lashed into life by some dying
+      leviathan.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A gigantic figure, tawny and red, fought its way to the surface. A great
+      tossing head, bloody past recognition, flung out from the ruck. One quick
+      glance he shot from his ragged eyes at the little flying form in front;
+      then with a roar like a waterfall plunged toward it, shaking off the
+      bloody leeches as he went.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie! Wullie! I'm wi' ye!&rdquo; cried that little voice, now so near.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Through&mdash;through&mdash;through!&mdash;an incomparable effort and his
+      last. They hung to his throat, they clung to his muzzle, they were round
+      and about him. And down he went again with a sob and a little suffocating
+      cry, shooting up at his master one quick, beseeching glance as the sea of
+      blood closed over him&mdash;worrying, smothering, tearing, like foxhounds
+      at the kill.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      They left the dead and pulled away the living. And it was no light task,
+      for the pack were mad for blood.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the bottom of the wet mess of hair and red and flesh was old Shep,
+      stone-dead. And as Saunderson pulled the body out, his face was working;
+      for no man can lose in a crack the friend of a dozen years, and remain
+      unmoved.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Venus lay there, her teeth clenched still in death; smiling that her
+      vengeance was achieved. Big Rasper, blue no longer, was gasping out his
+      life. Two more came crawling out to find a quiet spot where they might lay
+      them down to die. Before the night had fallen another had gone to his
+      account. While not a dog who fought upon that day but carried the scars of
+      it with him to his grave.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The Terror o' th' Border, terrible in his life, like Samson, was yet more
+      terrible in his dying.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      Down at the bottom lay that which once had been Adam M'Adam's Red Wull.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      At the sight the little man neither raved nor swore: it was past that for
+      him. He sat down, heedless of the soaking ground, and took the mangled
+      head in his lap very tenderly.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They've done ye at last, Wullie&mdash;they've done ye at last,&rdquo; he said
+      quietly; unalterably convinced that the attack had been organized while he
+      was detained in the tap-room.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On hearing the loved little voice, the dog gave one weary wag of his
+      stump-tail. And with that the Tailless Tyke, Adam M'Adam's Red Wull, the
+      Black Killer, went to his long home.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      One by one the Dalesmen took away their dead, and the little man was left
+      alone with the body of his last friend.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Dry-eyed he sat there, nursing the dead dog's head; hour after hour&mdash;alone&mdash;crooning
+      to himself:
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;'Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought,
+     An' wi' the weary warl' fought!
+     An'  mony an anxious day I thought
+     We wad be beat.'
+</pre>
+    <p>
+      An' noo we are, Wullie&mdash;noo we are!&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So he went on, repeating the lines over and over again, always with the
+      same sad termination.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;A man's mither&mdash;a man's wife&mdash;a man's dog! They three are a'
+      little M'Adam iver had to back him! D'ye mind the auld mither, Wullie? And
+      her, 'Niver be down-hearted, Adam; ye've aye got yer mither,' And ae day I
+      had not. And Flora, Wullie (ye remember Flora, Wullie? Na, na; ye'd not)
+      wi' her laffin' daffin' manner, cryin' to one: 'Adam, ye say ye're alane.
+      But ye've me&mdash;is that no enough for ony man?' And God kens it was&mdash;while
+      it lasted!&rdquo; He broke down and sobbed a while. &ldquo;And you Wullie&mdash;and
+      you! the only man friend iver I had!&rdquo; He sought the dog's bloody paw with
+      his right hand.
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+     &ldquo;'An' here's a hand, my trusty fier,
+     An gie's a hand o' thine;
+     An'  we'll tak' a right guid willie-waught,
+     For auld lang syne.'&rdquo;
+
+</pre>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      He sat there, muttering, and stroking the poor head upon his lap, bending
+      over it, like a mother over a sick child.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;They've done ye at last, lad&mdash;done ye sair. And noo I'm thinkin'
+      they'll no rest content till I'm gone. And oh, Wullie!&rdquo;&mdash;he bent down
+      and whispered&mdash;&ldquo;I dreamed sic an awfu' thing&mdash;that ma Wullie&mdash;but
+      there! 'twas but a dream.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So he sat on, crooning to the dead dog; and no man approached him. Only
+      Bessie of the inn watched the little lone figure from afar.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      It was long past noon when at length he rose, laying the dog's head
+      reverently down, and tottered away toward that bridge which once the dead
+      thing on the slope had held against a thousand.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      He crossed it and turned; there was a look upon his face, half hopeful,
+      half fearful, very piteous to see.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Wullie, Wullie, to me!&rdquo; he cried; only the accents, formerly so fiery,
+      were now weak as a dying man's.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A while he waited in vain.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Are ye no comin', Wullie?&rdquo; he asked at length in quavering tones. &ldquo;Ye've
+      not used to leave me.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He walked away a pace, then turned again and whistled that shrill, sharp
+      call, only now it sounded like a broken echo of itself.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Come to me, Wullie!&rdquo; he implored, very pitifully. &ldquo;'Tis the first time
+      iver I kent ye not come and me whistlin'. What ails ye, lad?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      He recrossed the bridge, walking blindly like a sobbing child; and yet
+      dry-eyed.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Over the dead body he stooped.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;What ails ye, Wullie?&rdquo; he asked again. &ldquo;Will you, too, leave me?&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      Then Bessie, watching fearfully, saw him bend, sling the great body on his
+      back, and stagger away.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Limp and hideous, the carcase hung down from the little man's shoulders.
+      The huge head, with grim, wide eyes and lolling tongue, jolted and swagged
+      with the motion, seeming to grin a ghastly defiance at the world it had
+      left. And the last Bessie saw of them was that bloody, rolling head, with
+      the puny legs staggering beneath their load, as the two passed out of the
+      world's ken.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      In the Devil's Bowl, next day, they found the pair: Adam M'Adam and his
+      Red Wull, face to face; dead, not divided; each, save for the other,
+      alone. The dog, his saturnine expression glazed and ghastly in the
+      fixedness of death, propped up against that humpbacked boulder beneath
+      which, a while before, the Black Killer had dreed his weird; and, close
+      by, his master lying on his back, his dim dead eyes staring up at the
+      heaven, one hand still clasping a crumpled photograph; the weary body at
+      rest at last, the mocking face&mdash;mocking no longer&mdash;alight with a
+      whole-souled, transfiguring happiness.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037">
+      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
+    </p>
+    <div style="height: 4em;">
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </div>
+    <h2>
+      POSTSCRIPT
+    </h2>
+    <p>
+      Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull lie buried together: one just within, the
+      other just without, the consecrated pale.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      The only mourners at the funeral were David, James Moore, Maggie, and a
+      gray dog peering through the lych-gate.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      During the service a carriage stopped at the churchyard, and a lady with a
+      stately figure and a gentle face stepped out and came across the grass to
+      pay a last tribute to the dead. And Lady Eleanour, as she joined the
+      little group about the grave, seemed to notice a more than usual solemnity
+      in the parson's voice as he intoned: &ldquo;Earth to earth&mdash;ashes to ashes&mdash;dust
+      to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      When you wander in the gray hill-country of the North, in the loneliest
+      corner of that lonely land you may chance upon a low farmhouse, lying in
+      the shadow of the Muir Pike.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      Entering, a tall old man comes out to greet you&mdash;the Master of
+      Kenmuir. His shoulders are bent now; the hair that was so dark is frosted;
+      but the blue-gray eyes look you as proudly in the face as of yore.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      And while the girl with the glory of yellow hair is preparing food for you&mdash;they
+      are hospitable to a fault, these Northerners&mdash;you will notice on the
+      mantelpiece, standing solitary, a massive silver cup, dented.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That is the world-known Shepherds' Trophy, won outright, as the old man
+      will tell you, by Owd Bob, last and best of the Gray Dogs of Kenmuir. The
+      last because he is the best; because once, for a long-drawn unit of time,
+      James Moore had thought him to be the worst.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      When at length you take your leave, the old man accompanies you to the top
+      of the slope to point you your way.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      &ldquo;Yo' cross the stream; over Langholm How, yonder; past the Bottom; and oop
+      th' hill on far side. Yo'll come on th' house o' top. And happen yo'll
+      meet Th' Owd Un on the road. Good-day to you, sir, good-day.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <p>
+      So you go as he has bidden you; across the stream, skirting the How, over
+      the gulf and up the hill again.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      On the way, as the Master has foretold, you come upon an old gray dog,
+      trotting soberly along. Th' Owd Un, indeed, seems to spend the evening of
+      his life going thus between Kenmuir and the Grange. The black muzzle is
+      almost white now; the gait, formerly so smooth and strong, is stiff and
+      slow; venerable, indeed, is he of whom men still talk as the best
+      sheep-dog in the North.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      As he passes, he pauses to scan you. The noble head is high, and one foot
+      raised; and you look into two big gray eyes such as you have never seen
+      before&mdash;soft, a little dim, and infinitely sad.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      That is Owd Bob o' Kenmuir, of whom the tales are many as the flowers on
+      the May. With him dies the last of the immortal line of the Gray Dogs of
+      Kenmuir.
+    </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      You travel on up the bill, something pensive, and knock at the door of the
+      house on the top.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      A woman, comely with the inevitable comeliness of motherhood, opens to
+      you. And nestling in her arms is a little boy with golden hair and happy
+      face, like one of Correggio's cherubs.
+    </p>
+    <p>
+      You ask the child his name. He kicks and crows, and looks up at his
+      mother; and in the end lisps roguishly, as if it was the merriest joke in
+      all this merry world, &ldquo;Adum Mataddum.&rdquo;
+     </p>
+    <hr />
+    <p>
+      <br /><br /><br /><br />
+    </p>
+<pre xml:space="preserve">
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Bob, Son of Battle, by Alfred Ollivant
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diff --git a/old/bsonb10.txt b/old/bsonb10.txt
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+*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*
+
+
+
+
+
+Bob Son of Battle
+
+by Alfred Ollivant
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+PART I  THE COMING OF THE TAILLESS TYKE
+Chapter I. The Gray Dog
+Chapter II. A Son of Hagar
+Chapter III. Red Wull
+Chapter IV. First Blood
+
+PART II THE LITTLE MAN
+Chapter V. A Man's Son
+Chapter VI. A Licking or a Lie
+Chapter VII. The White Winter
+Chapter VIII. M'Adam and His Coat
+
+PART III THE SHEPHERDS' TROPHY
+Chapter IX. Rivals,
+Chapter X. Red Wull Wins
+Chapter XI. Oor Bob,
+Chapter XII. How Red Wull Held the Bridge
+Chapter XIII. The Face in the Frame
+
+PART V OWD BOB 0' KENMUIR
+
+PART IV THE BLACK KILLER
+Chapter XIV. A Mad Man
+Chapter XV. Death on the Marches,
+Chapter XVL. The Black Killer
+Chapter XVII. A Mad Dog
+Chapter XVIII. How the Killer was Singed
+Chapter XIX. Lad and Lass
+Chapter XX. The Snapping of the String
+Chapter XXI. Horror of Darkness
+Chapter XXII. A Man and a Maid
+Chapter XXIII. Th' Owd Un
+Chapter XXIV. A Shot in the Night
+Chapter XXV. The Shepherds' Trophy
+
+PART VI  THE BLACK KILLER
+
+Chapter XXVI. Red-handed
+Chapter XXVII. For the Defence
+Chapter XXVIII. The Devil's Bowl
+Chapter XXIX. The Devil's Bowl
+Chapter XXX. The Tailless Tyke at Bay
+
+PART I  THE COMING OF THE TAILLESS TYKE
+
+Chapter I. THE GRAY DOG
+
+THE sun stared brazenly down on a gray farmhouse lying, long
+and low in the shadow of the Muir Pike; on the ruins of peel-tower
+and barmkyn, relics of the time of raids, it looked; on ranges of
+whitewashed outbuildings; on a goodly array of dark-thatched
+ricks.
+
+In the stack-yard, behind the lengthy range of stables, two men
+were thatching. One lay sprawling on the crest of the rick, the
+other stood perched on a ladder at a lower level.
+
+The latter, small, old, with shrewd nut-brown countenance, was
+Tammas Thornton,, who had served the Moores of Kenmuir for
+more than half a century. The other, on top of the stack, wrapped
+apparently in gloomy meditation, was Sam'l Todd. A solid Dales--
+man, he, with huge hands and hairy arms; about his face an
+uncomely aureole of stiff, red hair; and on his features,
+deep-seated, an expression of resolute melancholy.
+
+"Ay, the Gray Dogs, bless 'em!" the old man was saying. "Yo'
+canna beat 'em not nohow. Known 'em ony time this sixty year, I
+have, and niver knew a bad un yet. Not as I say, mind ye, as any on
+'em cooms up to Rex son o' Rally. Ah, he was a one, was Rex!
+We's never won Cup since his day."
+
+"Nor niver shall agin, yo' may depend," said the other gloomily.
+
+Tammas clucked irritably.
+
+"G'long, Sam'! Todd!" he cried, "Yo' niver happy onless yo'
+making' yo'self miser'ble. I niver see sich a chap. Niver win agin?
+Why, oor young Bob he'll mak' a right un, I tell yo', and I should
+know. Not as what he'll touch Rex son o' Rally, mark ye! I'm niver
+saying' so, Sam'l Todd. Ah, he was a one, was Rex! I could tell yo'
+a tale or two o' Rex. I mind me boo--"
+
+The big man interposed hurriedly.
+
+"I've heard it afore, Tammas, I welly 'aye," he said.
+
+Tammas paused and looked angrily up.
+
+"Yo've heard it afore, have yo', Sam'l Todd?" he asked sharply.
+"And what have yo' heard afore?"
+
+"Yo' stories, owd lad--yo' stories o' Rex son o' Rally."
+
+"Which on' em
+
+"All on 'em, Tammas, all on 'em--mony a time. I'm fair sick on 'em,
+Tammas, I welly am," he pleaded.
+
+The old man gasped. He brought down his mallet with a vicious
+smack.
+
+"I'll niver tell yo' a tale agin, Sam'l Todd, not if yo' was to go on yo'
+bended knees for't. 
+
+Nay; it bain't no manner o' use talkin'. Niver agin, says I."
+
+"I niver askt yo'," declared honest Sam'l. "Nor it wouldna ha' bin no
+manner o' use if yo' had," said the other viciously. "I'll niver tell yo'
+a tale agin if I was to live to be a hunderd."
+
+"Yo'll not live to be a hunderd, Tammas Thornton, nor near it,"
+said Sam'l brutally.
+
+"I'll live as long as some, I warrant," the old man replied with
+spirit. "I'll live to see Cup back i' Kenmuir, as I said afore."
+
+"If yo' do," the other declared with emphasis, "Sam'l Todd niver
+spake a true word. Nay, nay, lad; yo're owd, yo're wambly, your
+time's near run or I'm the more mistook."
+
+"For mussy's sake hold yo' tongue, Sam'l Todd! It's clack-clack all
+day--" The old man broke off suddenly, and buckled to his work
+with suspicious vigor. "Mak' a show yo' bin workin', lad," he
+whispered. "Here's Master and oor Bob."
+
+As he spoke, a tall gaitered man with weather-beaten face, strong,
+lean, austere, and the blue-gray eyes of the hill-country, came
+striding into the yard. And trotting soberly at his heels, with the
+gravest, saddest eyes ever you saw, a sheep-dog puppy.
+
+A rare dark gray he was, his long coat, dashed here and there with
+lighter touches, like a stormy sea moonlit. Upon his chest an
+escutcheon of purest white, and the dome of his head showered, as
+it were, with a sprinkling of snow. Perfectly compact, utterly lithe,
+inimitably graceful with his airy-fairy action; a gentleman every
+inch, you could not help but stare at him--Owd Bob o' Ken-muir.
+
+At the foot of the ladder the two stopped. And the young dog,
+placing his forepaws on a lower rung, looked up, slowly waving
+his silvery brush.
+
+"A proper Gray Dog!" mused Tammas, gazing down into the dark
+face beneath him. "Small, yet big; light to get about on. backs o'
+his sheep, yet not too light. Wi' a coat hard a-top to keep oot
+Daleland weather, soft as sealskin beneath. And wi' them sorrerful
+eyes on him as niver goes but wi' a good un. Amaist he minds me
+o' Rex son o' Rally."
+
+"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" groaned Sam'l. But the old man heard him
+not.
+
+"Did 'Enry Farewether tell yo' hoo he acted this mornin', Master?"
+he inquired, addressing the man at the foot of the ladder.
+
+"Nay," said the other, his stern eyes lighting.
+
+"Why, 'twas this way, it seems," Tammas continued. "Young bull
+gets 'isseif loose. somegate and marches oot into yard, o'erturns
+milkpail, and prods owd pigs i' ribs. And as he stands lookin' about
+un, thinking' what he shall be up to next, oor Bob sees un 'An' what
+yo' doin' here, Mr. Bull?' he seems to say, cockin' his ears and
+trottin' up gay-like. Wi' that bull bloats fit to bust 'isseif, lashes wi's
+tail, waggles his head, and gets agate o' chargin' 'im.  But Bob
+leaps oot o' way, quick as lightnin' yet cool as butter, and when he's
+done his foolin drives un back agin."
+
+"Who seed all this?" interposed Sam'l, sceptically.
+
+" 'Enry Farewether from the loft. So there, Fat'ead!" Tammas
+replied, and continued his tale. "So they goes on; bull chargin' and
+Bob drivin' un back and back, hoppin' in and oot agin, quiet as a
+cowcumber, yet determined. At last Mr. Bull sees it's no manner o'
+use that gate, so he turns, rares up, and tries to jump wall. Nary a
+bit. Young dog jumps in on un and nips him by tail. Wi' that, bull
+tumbles down in a hurry, turns wi' a kind o' groan, and marches
+back into stall, Bob after un. And then, dang me!"--the old man
+beat the ladder as he loosed off this last titbit,--" if he doesna sit'
+isseif i' door like a sentrynel till 'Enry Farewether cootn up. Hoo's
+that for a tyke not yet a year?"
+
+Even Sam'l Todd was moved by the tale.
+
+"Well done, oor Bob!" he cried.
+
+"Good, lad!" said the Master, laying a hand on the dark head at his
+knee.
+
+"Yo' may well say that," cried Tanitnas in a kind of ecstasy. "A
+proper Gray Dog, I tell yo'. Wi' the brains of a man and the way of 
+a woman. Ah, yo' canna beat 'em nohow, the Gray Dogs o'
+Kenmuir!"
+
+The patter of cheery feet rang out on the plank-bridge over the
+stream below them. Tammas glanced round.
+
+"Here's David," he said. "Late this mornin' he be."
+
+A fair-haired boy came spurring up the slope, his face all aglow
+with the speed of his running. Straightway the young dog dashed
+off to meet him with a fiery speed his sober gait belied. The two
+raced back together into the yard.
+
+"Poor lad!" said Sam'l gloomily, regarding the newcomer.
+
+"Poor heart!" muttered Tammas. While the Master's face softened
+visibly. Yet there looked little to pity in this jolly, rocking lad with
+the tousle of light hair and fresh, rosy countenance.
+
+"G'mornin', Mister Moore! Morn'n, Tammas! Morn'n, Sam'l!" he
+panted as he passed; and ran on through the hay-carpeted yard,
+round the corner of the stable, and into the house.
+
+In the kitchen, a long room with red-tiled floor and latticed
+windows, a woman, white-aproned and frail-faced, was bustling
+about her morning business. To her skirts clung a sturdy,
+bare-legged boy; while at the oak table in the centre of the room a
+girl with brown eyes and straggling hair was seated before a basin
+of bread and milk. 
+
+"So yo've coom at last, David!" the woman cried, as the boy
+entered; and, bending, greeted him with a tender, motherly
+salutation, which he returned as affectionately. "I welly thowt yo'd
+forgot us this mornin'. Noo sit you' doon beside oor Maggie." And
+soon he, too, was engaged in a task twin to the girl's.
+
+The two children munched away in silence, the little bare-legged
+boy watching them, the while, critically. Irritated by this prolonged
+stare, David at length turned on him.
+
+"Weel, little Andrew," he said, speaking in that paternal fashion in
+which one small boy loves to address another. "Weel, ma little lad,
+yo'm coomin' along gradely." He leant back in his chair the better
+to criticise his subject. But Andrew, like all the Moores, slow of
+speech, preserved a stolid silence, sucking a chubby thumb, and
+regarding his patron a thought cynically.
+
+David resented the expression on the boy's countenance, and half
+rose to his feet.
+
+"Yo' put another face on yo', Andrew Moore," he cried
+threateningly, "or I'll put it for yo'."
+
+Maggie, however, interposed opportunely.
+
+"Did yo' feyther beat yo' last night?" she inquired in a low voice;
+and there was a shade of anxiety in the soft brown eyes.
+
+"Nay," the boy answered; "he was a-goin' to, but he never did.
+Drunk," he added in explanation. 
+
+"What was he goin' to beat yo' for, David?" asked Mrs. Moore.
+
+"What for? Why, for the fun o't--to see me squiggle, "the boy
+replied, and laughed bitterly.
+
+"Yo' shouldna speak so o' your dad, David," reproved the other as
+severely as was in her nature.
+
+"Dad! a fine dad! I'd dad him an I'd the chance, " the boy muttered
+beneath his breath. Then, to turn the conversation:
+
+"Us should he startin', Maggie," he said, and going to the door.
+"Bob! Owd Bob, lad! Ar't coomin' along?" he called.
+
+The gray dog came springing up like an antelope, and the three
+started off for school together.
+
+Mrs. Moore stood in the doorway, holding Andrew by the hand,
+and watched the departing trio.
+
+"'Tis a pretty pair, Master, surely," she said softly to her husband,
+who came up at the moment.
+
+"Ay, he'll be a fine lad if his feyther'll let him," the tall man
+answered.
+
+"Tis a shame Mr. M'Adam should lead him such a life," the
+woman continued indignantly. She laid a hand on her husband's
+arm, and looked up at him coaxingly.
+
+"Could yo' not say summat to un, Master, think 'ee? Happen he'd
+'tend to you," she pleaded. For Mrs. Moore imagined that there
+could be no one but would gladly heed what James Moore, Master
+of Kenmuir, might say to him. "He's not a bad un at bottom, I do
+believe," she continued. "He never took on so till his missus died.
+Eh, but he was main fond o' her."
+
+Her husband shook his head "Nay, mother," he said "'Twould nob'
+but mak' it worse for t' lad. M'Adam'd listen to no one, let alone
+me." And, indeed, he was right; for the tenant of the Grange made
+no secret of his animosity for his straight-going, straight-speaking
+neighbor.
+
+Owd Bob, in the mean time, had escorted the children to the
+larch-copse bordering on the lane which leads to the village. Now
+he crept stealthily back to the yard, and established himself behind
+the water-butt.
+
+How he played and how he laughed; how he teased old Whitecap
+till that gray gander all but expired of apoplexy and impotence;
+how he ran the roan bull-calf, and aroused the bitter wrath of a
+portly sow, mother of many, is of no account.
+
+At last, in the midst of his merry mischief-making, a stern voice
+arrested him.
+
+"Bob, lad, I see 'tis time we lamed you yo' letters."
+
+So the business of life began for that dog of whom the simple
+farmer-folk of the Daleland still love to talk,--Bob, son of Battle,
+last of the Gray Dogs of Kenmuir.
+
+Chapter II. A SON OF HAGAR
+
+It is a lonely country, that about the Wastreldale.
+
+Parson Leggy Hornbut will tell you that his is the smallest church
+in the biggest parish north of the Derwent, and that his cure
+numbers more square miles than parishioners. Of fells and ghylls it
+consists, of becks and lakes; with here a scattered hamlet and there
+a solitary hill sheep-farm. It is a country in which sheep are
+paramount; and every other Dalesman is engaged in that
+profession which is as old as Abel. And the talk of the men of the
+land is of wethers and gimmers, of tup-hoggs, ewe tegs in wool,
+and other things which are but fearsome names to you and me; and
+always of the doings or misdoings, the intelligence or stupidity, of
+their adjutants, the sheep-dogs.
+
+Of all the Daleland, the country from the Black Water to
+Grammoch Pike is the wildest. Above the tiny stone-built village
+of Wastrel-- dale the Muir Pike nods its massive head. Westward,
+the desolate Mere Marches, froni which the Sylvesters' great estate
+derives its name, reach away in mAe on mile of sheep infested,
+wind-swept moorland. On the far side of the Marches is that twin
+dale where. flows the gentle Silver Lea. And it is there in the
+paddocks at the back of the Dalesman's Daughter, that, in the late
+summer months, the famous sheep-dog Trials of the North are
+held. There that the battle for the Dale Cup, the world-known
+Shepherds' Trophy, is fought out.
+
+Past the little inn leads the turnpike road to the market-centre of
+the district--Grammoch-town. At the bottom of the paddocks at
+the back of the inn winds the Silver Lea. Just there a plank bridge
+crosses the stream, and, beyond, the Murk Muir Pass. crawls up
+the sheer side of the Scaur on to the Mere Marches.
+
+At the head of the Pass, before it debouches. on to those lonely
+sheep-walks which divide. the two dales, is that hollow,
+shuddering with gloomy possibilities, aptly called the Devil's.
+Bowl. In its centre the Lone Tarn, weirdly suggestive pool, lifts its
+still face to the sky. It was beside that black, frozen water, across.
+whose cold surface the storm was swirling in white snow-wraiths,
+that, many, many years ago (not in this century), old Andrew
+Moore-came upon the mother of the Gray Dogs of Kenmuir.
+
+In the North, every one who has heard of the Muir Pike--and who
+has not?--has heard. of the Gray Dogs of Kenmuir, every one who 
+has heard of the Shepherd's Trophy--and who has not?--knows
+their fame. In that country of good dogs and jealous masters the
+pride of place has long been held unchallenged. Whatever line may
+claim to follow the Gray Dogs always lead the van. And there is a
+saying in the land: "Faithfu' as the Moores and their tykes."
+
+On the top dresser to the right of the fireplace in the kitchen of
+Kenmuir lies the family Bible. At the end you will find a loose
+sheet-- the pedigree of the Gray Dogs; at the beginning, pasted on
+the inside, an almost similar �heet, long since yellow with age--the
+family register of the Moores of Kenmuir.
+
+Running your eye down the loose leaf, once, twice, and again it
+will be caught by a small red cross beneath a name, and under the
+cross the one word "Cup." Lastly, opposite the name of Rex son of
+Rally, are two of those proud, tell-tale marks. The cup referred to
+is the renowned Dale Cup--Champion Challenge Dale Cup, open
+to the world. Had Rex won it but once again the Shepherds'
+Trophy, which many men have lived to win, and died still striving
+after, would have come to rest forever in the little gray house
+below the Pike.
+
+It was not to be, however. Comparing the two sheets, you read
+beneath the dog's name a date and a pathetic legend; and on the
+other sheet, written in his son's boyish hand, beneath the name of
+Andrew Moore the same date and the same legend.
+
+From that day James Moore, then but a boy, was master of
+Kenmuir.
+
+So past Grip and Rex and Rally, and a hundred others, until at the
+foot of the page you come to that last name--Bob, son of Battle.
+
+From the very first the young dog took t& his work in a manner to
+amaze even James Moore. For a while he watched his mother,
+Meg, at her business, and with that seemed to have mastered the
+essentials of sheep tactics.
+
+Rarely had such fiery �lan been seen on the sides of the Pike; and
+with it the young dog combined a strange sobriety, an admirable
+patience, that justified, indeed, the epithet. "Owd." Silent he
+worked, and resolute; and even in those days had that famous trick
+of coaxing the sheep to do his wishes;--blending, in short, as
+Tammas put it, the brains of a man with the way of a woman.
+
+Parson Leggy, who was reckoned the best judge of a sheep or
+sheep-dog 'twixt Tyne and Tweed, summed him up in the one
+word "Genius." And James Moore himself, cautious man, was
+more than pleased.
+
+In the village, the Dalesmen, who took a personal pride in the Gray
+Dogs of Kenmuir, began to nod sage heads when "oor" Bob was
+mentioned. Jim Mason, the postman, whose word went as far with
+the villagers as Parson Leggy's with the gentry, reckoned he'd
+never seen a young un as so took his fancy.
+
+That winter it grew quite the recognized thing, when they had
+gathered of a night round the fire in the Sylvester Arms, with
+Tammas in the centre, old Jonas Maddox on his right, Rob
+Saunderson of the Holt on the left, and the others radiating away
+toward the sides, for some one to begin with:
+
+"Well, and what o' oor Bob, Mr. Thornton?"
+
+To which Tammas would always make reply:
+
+"Oh, yo' ask Sam'l there. He'll tell yo' better'n me, "--and would
+forthwith plunge, himself, into a yarn.
+
+And the way in which, as the story proLeeded, Tupper of
+Swinsthwaite winked at Ned Hoppin of Fellsgarth, and Long
+Kirby, the smith, poked Jem Burton, the publican, in the ribs, and
+Sexton Ross said, "Ma word, lad!" spoke more eloquently than
+many words.
+
+One man only never joined in the chorus of admiration. Sitting
+always alone in the background, little M'Adam would listen with
+an incredulous grin on his sallow face.
+
+"Oh, ma certes! The devil's in the dog! It's no cannie ava!" he
+would continually exclaim, as Tammas told his tale.
+
+In the Daleland you rarely see a stranger's face. Wandering in the
+wild country about the twin dales at the time of this story, you
+might have met Parson Leggy, striding along with a couple of
+varmint terriers at his heels, and young Cyril Gilbraith, whom he
+was teaching to tie flies and fear God, beside him; or Jim Mason,
+postman by profession, poacher by predilection, honest man and
+sportsman by nature, hurrying along with the mail-bags on his
+shoulder, a rabbit in his pocket, and the-faithful Betsy a yard
+behind. Besides these you might have hit upon a quiet shepherd
+and a wise-faced dog; Squire Sylvester, going his rounds upon a
+sturdy cob; or, had you been lucky, sweet Lady Eleanour bent upon
+some errand of mercy to one of the many tenants.
+
+It was while the Squire's lady was driving through the village on a
+visit* to Tammas's slobbering grandson--it was shortly after Billy
+Thornton's advent into the world--that little M'Adam, standing in
+the door of the Sylvester Arms, with a twig in his mouth and a
+sneer fading from his lips, made his ever-memorable remark:
+
+"Sail!" he said, speaking in low, earnest voice; " 'tis a muckle
+wumman."
+
+was this visit which figured in the Grammochtown Argus (local
+and radical) under the heading of "Alleged Wholesale Corruption
+by Tory Agents." And that is why, on the following market day,
+Herbert Trotter, journalist, erstwhile gentleman, and Secretary of
+the Dale Trials, found himself trying to swim in the public
+horsetrough. 
+
+"What? What be sayin', mon?" cried old Jonas, startled out of his
+usual apathy.
+
+M'Adam turned sharply on the old man.
+
+"I said the wumman wears a muckle hat!" he snapped.
+
+Blotted out as it was, the observation still remains--a tribute of
+honest admiration. Doubtless the Recording Angel did not pass it
+by. That one statement anent the gentle lady of the manor is the
+only personal remark ever credited to little M'Adam not born of
+malice and all uncharitableness. And that is why it is ever
+memorable.
+
+The little Scotsman with the sardonic face had been the tenant of
+the Grange these many years; yet he had never grown acclimatized
+to the land of the Southron. With his shrivelled body and weakly
+legs he looked among the sturdy, straight-limbed sons of the
+hill-country like some brown, wrinkled leaf holding its place midst
+a galaxy of green. And as he differed from them physically, so he
+did morally.
+
+He neither understood them nor attempted to. The North-country
+character was an unsolved mystery to him, and that after ten years'
+study. "One-half o' what ye say they doot, and they let ye see it;
+t'ither half they -disbelieve, and they tell ye so," he once said. And
+that explained his attitude toward them, and consequently theirs
+toward him.
+
+He stood entirely alone; a son of Hagar, mocking. His sharp, ill
+tongue was rarely still, and always bitter. There was hardly a. man
+in the land, from Langholm How to the market-cross in
+Grammoch-town, but had at one time known its sting, endured it in
+silence,--for they are slow of speech, these men of the fells and
+meres,--and was nursing his resentment till a day should bring that
+chance which always comes. And when at the Sylvester Arms, on
+one of those rare occasions when M'Adam was not present,
+Tammas summed up the little man in that historic phrase of his,
+"When he's drunk he's wi'lent, and when he bain't he's wicious,"
+there was an applause to gratify the blas� heart of even Tammas
+Thornton.
+
+Yet it had not been till his wife's death that the little man had
+allowed loose rein to his ill-nature. With her firmly gentle hand no
+longer on the tiller of his life, it burst into. fresh being. And alone
+in the world with David, the whole venom of his vicious
+temperament was ever directed against the boy's head. It was as
+though he saw in his fair-haired son the unconscious cause of his
+ever-living sorrow. All the more strange this, seeing that, during
+her life, the boy had been to poor Flora M'Adam as her heart's
+core. And the lad was growing up the very antithesis of his father.
+Big and hearty, with never an ache or ill in the whole of his sturdy
+young body; of frank, open countenance; while even his speech
+was slow and burring like any Dale-bred boy's. And the fact of it
+all, and that the lad was palpably more Englishman than Scot--ay,
+and gloried in it--exasperated the little man, a patriot before
+everything, to blows. While, on top of it, David evinced an
+amazing pertness fit to have tried a better man than Adam
+M'Adam.
+
+On the death of his wife, kindly Elizabeth Moore had, more than
+once, offered such help to the lonely little man as a woman only
+can give in a house that knows no mistress. On the last of these
+occasions, after crossing the 'Stony Bottom, which divides the two
+farms, and toiling up the hill to the Grange, she had met M'Adam
+in the door.
+
+"Yo' maun let me put yo' bit things straight .for yo', mister," she
+had said shyly; for she feared the little man.
+
+"Thank ye, Mrs. Moore," he had answered with the sour smile the
+Dalesmen knew so well, "but ye maun think I'm a waefu' cripple."
+And there he had stood, grinning sardonically, opposing his small
+bulk in the very centre of the door.
+
+Mrs. Moore had turned down the hill, abashed and hurt at the
+reception of her offer; and her husband, proud to a fault, had
+forbidden her to repeat it. Nevertheless her motherly heart went
+out in a great tenderness for the little orphan David. She knew well
+the desolateness of his life; his father's aversion from him, and its
+inevitable consequences.
+
+It became an institution for the boy to call every morning at
+Kenmuir, and trot off to the village school with Maggie Moore.
+And soon the lad came to look on Kenmuir as his true home, and
+James and Elizabeth Moore as his real parents. His greatest
+happiness was to be away from the Grange. And the ferret-eyed
+little man there noted the fact, bitterly resented it, and vented his
+ill-humor accordingly.
+
+It was this, as he deemed it, uncalled-for trespassing on his
+authority which was the chief cause of his animosity against James
+Moore. The Master of Kenmuir it was at whom he was aiming
+when he remarked one day at the Arms: "Masel', I aye prefaire the
+good man who does no go to church, to the bad man who does. But
+then, as ye say, Mr. Burton, I'm peculiar."
+
+The little man's treatment of David, exaggerated as it was by eager
+credulity, became at length such a scandal to the Dale that Parson
+Leggy determined to bring him to task on the matter.
+
+Now M'Adam was the parson's pet antipathy. The bluff old
+minister, with his brusque manner and big heart, would have no
+truck with the man who never went to church, was perpetually in
+liquor, and never spoke good of his neighbors. Yet he entered upon
+the interview fully resolved not to be betrayed into an unworthy
+expression of feeling; rather to appeal to the little man's better
+nature.
+
+The conversation had not been in progress two minutes, however,
+before he knew that, where he had meant to be calmly persuasive,
+he was fast become hotly abusive.
+
+"You, Mr. Hornbut, wi' James Moore to help ye, look after the
+lad's soul, I'll see to his body," the little man was saying.
+
+The parson's thick gray eyebrows lowered threateningly over his
+eyes.
+
+"You ought to be ashamed of yourself to talk like that. Which
+d'you think the more important, soul or body? Oughtn't you, his
+father, to be the very first to care for the boy's soul? If not, who
+should? Answer me, sir."
+
+The little man stood smirking and sucking his eternal twig, entirely
+unmoved by the other's heat.
+
+"Ye're right, Mr. Hombut, as ye aye are. But my argiment is this:
+that I get at his soul best through his icetle carcase."
+
+The honest parson brought down his stick with an angry thud.
+
+"M'Adam, you're a brute--a brute!" he shouted. At which outburst
+the little man was seized with a spasm of silent merriment,
+
+"A fond dad first, a brute afterward, aiblins--he! he! Ah, Mr.
+Hornbut! ye 'ford me vast diversion, ye do indeed, 'my loved, my
+honored, much-respected friend."
+
+"If you paid as much heed to your boy's welfare as you do to the
+bad poetry of that profligate ploughman--"
+
+An angry gleam shot into the other's eyes. "D'ye ken what
+blasphemy is, Mr. Horn-but?" he asked, shouldering a pace
+forward.
+
+For the first time in the dispute the parson thought he was about to
+score a point, and was calm accordingly.
+
+"I should do; I fancy I've a specimen of the breed before me now.
+And d'you know what impertinence is?"
+
+"I should do; I fancy I've--I awd say it's what gentlemen aften are
+unless their mammies whipped 'em as lads."
+
+For a moment the parson looked as if about to seize his opponent
+and shake him.
+
+"M'Adam," he roared, "I'll not stand your insolences!"
+
+The little man turned, scuttled indoors, and came runnng back with
+a chair.
+
+"Permit me!" he said blandly, holding it before him like a
+haircutter for a customer.
+
+The parson turned away. At the gap in the hedge he paused.
+
+"I'll only say one thing more," he called slowly. "When your wife,
+whom I think we all loved, lay dying in that room above you, she
+said to you in my presence--"
+
+It was M'Adam's turn to be angry. He made a step forward with
+burning face.
+
+"Aince and for a', Mr. Hornbut," he cried passionately, "onderstand
+I'll not ha' you and yer likes lay yer tongues on ma wife's memory
+whenever it suits ye. You can say what ye like aboot me--lies,
+sneers, snash--and I'll say naethin'. I dinna ask ye to respect me; I
+think ye might do sae muckle by her, puir lass. She never harmed
+ye. Gin ye canna let her bide in peace where she lies doon
+yonder"-- he waved in the direction of the churchyard-- "ye'll no
+come on ma land. Though she is dead she's mine."
+
+Standing in front of his house, with flushed face and big eyes, the
+little man looked almost noble in his indignation. And the parson,
+striding away down the hill, was uneasily conscious that with him
+was not the victory.
+
+Chapter III. RED WULL
+
+THE winter came and went; the lambing season was over, and
+spring already shyly kissing the land. And the back of the year s
+work broken, and her master well started on a fresh season,
+M'Adam's old collie, Cuttie Sark, lay down one evening and passed
+quietly away.
+
+The little black-and-tan lady, Parson Leggy used to say, had been
+the only thing on earth M'Adam cared for. Certainly the two had
+been wondrously devoted; and for many a market-day the
+Dalesmen missed the shrill, chuckling cry which heralded the
+pair's approach: "Weel done, Cuttie Sark!"
+
+The little man felt his loss acutely, and, according to his wont,
+vented his ill-feeling on David and the Dalesmen. In return,
+Tammas, whose forte lay in invective and alliteration, called him
+behind his back, "A wenomous one!" and "A wiralent wiper!" to
+the applause of tinkling pewters.
+
+A shepherd without his dog is like a ship without a rudder, and
+M'Adarn felt his loss practically as well as otherwise. Especially
+did he experience this on a day when he had to take a batch of
+draft-ewes over to Grammoch-town. To help him Jem Burton had
+lent the services of his herring-gutted, herring-hearted, greyhound
+lurcher, Monkey. But before they had well topped Braithwaite
+Brow, which leads from the village on to the marches, M'Adam
+was standing in the track with a rock in his hand, a smile on his
+face, and the tenderest blandishments in his voice as he coaxed the
+dog to him. But Master Monkey knew too much for that. However,
+after gambolling a while longer in the middle of the flock, a
+boulder, better aimed than its predecessors, smote him on the
+hinder parts and sent him back to the Sylvester Arms, with a sore
+tail and a subdued heart.
+
+For the rest, M'Adam would never have won over the
+sheep-infested marches alone with his convoy had it not been for
+the help of old Saunderson and Shep, who caught him on the way
+and aided him.
+
+It was in a very wrathful mood that on his way home he turned into
+the Dalesman's Daughter in Silverdale.
+
+The only occupants of the tap-room, as he entered, were Teddy
+Boistock, the publican, Jim Mason, with the faithful Betsy beneath
+his chair and the post-bags flung into the corner, and one
+long-limbed, drover-like man--a stranger.
+
+"And he coom up to Mr. Moore," Teddy was saying, "and says he,
+'I'll gie ye twal' pun for yon gray dog o' yourn.' 'Ah,' says Moore,
+'yo' may gie me twal' hunner'd and yet you'll not get ma Bob.'--Eh,
+Jim?"
+
+"And he did thot," corroborated Jim. " 'Twal' hunner'd,' says he."
+
+"James Moore and his dog agin" snapped M'Adam. "There's ithers
+in the wand for bye them twa."
+
+"Ay, but none like 'em," quoth loyal Jim.
+
+"Na, thanks be. Gin there were there'd be no room for Adam
+M'Adam in this 'melancholy vale.'
+
+There was silence a moment, and then--:
+
+"You're wantin' a tyke, bain't you, Mr. M'Adam?" Jim asked.
+
+The little man hopped round all in a hurry.
+
+"What!" he cried in well-affected eagerness, scanning the yellow
+mongrel beneath the chair. "Betsy for sale! Guid life! Where's ma
+check-book?" Whereat Jim, most easily snubbed of men,
+collapsed.
+
+M'Adam took off his dripping coat and crossed the room to hang it
+on a chair-back. The stranger drover followed the meagre,
+shirt-clad figure with shifty eyes; then he buried his face in his
+mug.
+
+M'Adam reached out a hand for the chair; and as he did so, a bomb
+in yellow leapt out from beneath it, and, growling horribly, at
+tacked his ankles.
+
+"Curse ye!" cried M'Adam, starting back. 
+
+"Ye devil, let me alone!" Then turning fiercely on the drover, "
+Yours, mister?" he asked. The man nodded. "Then call him aff,
+can't ye? D--n ye!" At which Teddy Boistock withdrew, sniggering;
+and Jim Mason slung the post-bags on to his shoulder and plunged
+out into the rain, the faithful Betsy following, disconsolate.
+
+The cause of the squall, having beaten off the attacking force, had
+withdrawn again beneath its chair. M'Adam stooped down, still
+cursing, his wet coat on his arm, and beheld a tiny yellow puppy,
+crouching defiant in the dark, and glaring out with fiery light eyes.
+Seeing itself remarked, it bared its little teeth, raised its little
+bristles, and growled a hideous menace.
+
+A sense of humor is many a man's salvation, and was M'Adam's
+one redeeming feature. The laughableness of the thing--this
+ferocious atomy defying him--struck home to the little man.
+Delighted at such a display of vice in so tender a plant, he fell to
+chuckling.
+
+"Ye leetle devil!" he laughed. "He! he! ye leetle devil!" and flipped
+together finger and thumb in vain endeavor to coax the puppy to
+him.
+
+But it growled, and glared more terribly.
+
+"Stop it, ye little snake, or I'll flatten you!" cried the big drover,
+and shuffled his feet threateningly. Whereat the puppy, gurgling
+like hot water in a kettle, made a feint as though to advance and
+wipe them out, these two bad men.
+
+M'Adam laughed again, and smote his leg.
+
+"Keep a ceevil tongue and yer distance," says he, "or I'll e'en ha' to
+mak' ye. Though he is but as big as a man's thumb, a dog's a dog
+for a' that--he! he! the leetle devil." And he fell to flipping finger
+and thumb afresh.
+
+"Ye're maybe wantin' a dog?" inquired the stranger. "Yer friend
+said as much."
+
+"Ma friend lied; it's his way," M'Adam replied.
+
+"I'm willin' to part wi' him," the other pursued.
+
+The little man yawned. "Weel, I'll tak' him to oblige ye," he said
+indifferently.
+
+The drover rose to his feet.
+
+"It's givin' 'im ye, fair givin' im ye, mind! But I'll do it!"--he
+smacked a great fist into a hollow palm. "Ye may have the dog for
+a pun'--I'll only ask you a pun'," and he walked away to the
+window. 
+
+M'Adam drew back, the better to scan his would-be benefactor; his
+lower jaw dropped, and he eyed the stranger with a drolly sarcastic
+air.
+
+"A poun', man! A pouxi'--for yon noble dorg!" he pointed a
+crooked forefinger at the little creature, whose scowling mask
+peered from beneath the chair. "Man, I couldna do it. Na, na; ma
+conscience wadna permit me. 
+
+'Twad be fair robbin' ye. Ah, ye Englishmen!" he spoke half to
+himself, and sadly, as if deploring the unhappy accident of his
+nationality; "it's yer grand, open-hairted generosity that grips a puir
+Scotsman by the throat. A poun'! and for yon!" He wagged his head
+mournfully, cocking it sideways the better to scan his subject.
+
+"Take him or leave him," ordered the drover truculently, still
+gazing out of the window.
+
+"Wi' yer permission I'll leave him," M'Adam answered meeldy.
+
+"I'm short o' the ready," the big man pursued, "or I wouldna part
+with him. Could I bide me time there's many'd be glad to give me a
+tenner for one o' that bree--" he caught himself up hastily--" for a
+dog sic as that."
+
+"And yet ye offer him me for a poun'! Noble indeed!"
+
+Nevertheless the little man had pricked his ears at the other's slip
+and quick correction. Again he approached the puppy, dangling his
+coat before him to protect his ankles; and again that wee wild
+beast sprang out, seized the coat in its small jaw, and worried it
+savagely.
+
+M'Adam stooped quickly and picked up his tiny assailant; and the
+puppy, suspended by its neck, gurgled and slobbered; then,
+wriggling desperately round, made its teeth meet in its adversary's
+shirt. At which M'Adam shook it gently and laughed. Then he set
+to examining it.
+
+Apparently some six weeks old; a tawny coat, fiery eyes, a square
+head with small, cropped ears, and a comparatively immense jaw;
+the whole giving promise of great strength, if little beauty. And
+this effect was enhanced by the manner of its docking. For the
+miserable relic of a tail, yet raw, looked little more than a red
+button adhering to its wearer's stern.
+
+M'Adam's inspection was as minute as it was apparently absorbing;
+he omitted nothing from the square muzzle to the lozenge-like
+scut. And every now and then he threw a quick glance at the man
+at the window, who was watching the careful scrutiny a thought
+uneasily.
+
+"Ye've cut him short," he said at length, swinging round on the
+drover.
+
+"Ay; strengthens their backs," the big man answered with averted
+gaze.
+
+M'Adam's chin went up in the air; his. mouth partly opened and his
+eyelids partly closed as he eyed his informant.
+
+"Oh, ay," he said.
+
+"Gie him back to me," ordered the drover surlily. He took the
+puppy and set it on the floor; whereupon it immediately resumed
+its former fortified position. "Ye're no buyer; I knoo that all along
+by that face on ye," he said in insulting tones. 
+
+"Ye wad ha' bought him yerseif', nae doot?" M'Adam inquired
+blandly.
+
+"In course; if you says so."
+
+"Or airblins ye bred him?"
+
+'Appen I did."
+
+"Ye'll no be from these parts?"
+
+"Will I no?" answered the other.
+
+A smile of genuine pleasure stole over M'Adam's face. He laid his
+hand on the other's arm.
+
+"Man," he said gently, "ye mind me o' hame." Then almost in the
+same breath:
+
+Ye said ye found him?"
+
+It was the stranger's turn to laugh.
+
+"Ha! ha! Ye teecide me, little mon. Found 'im? Nay; I was give 'im
+by a friend. But there's nowt amiss wi' his breedin', ye may believe
+me."
+
+The great fellow advanced to the chair under which the puppy lay.
+It leapt out like a lion, and fastened on his huge boot.
+
+"A rare bred un, look 'ee! a rare game wi. Ma word, he's a
+big-hearted un! Look at the back on him; see the jaws to him; mark
+the pluck of him!" He shook his booted foot fiercely, tossing his
+leg to and fro like a tree in a wind. But the little creature, now
+raised ceilingward, now dashed to the ground, held on with
+incomparable doggedness, till its small jaw was all bloody and
+muzzle wrinkled with the effort.
+
+"Ay, ay, that'll do," M'Adam interposed, irritably.
+
+The drover ceased his efforts.
+
+"Now, I'll mak' ye a last offer." He thrust his head down to a level
+with the other's, shooting out his neck. "It's throwin' him at ye,
+mind. 'Tain't buyin' him ye'll be-- don't go for to deceive yourself.
+Ye may have him for fifteen shillin'. Why do I do it, ye ask? Why,
+'cos I think ye'll be kind to him," as the puppy retreated to its chair,
+leaving a spotted track of red along its route.
+
+"Ay, ye wadna be happy gin ye thocht he'd no a comfortable hame,
+conseederate man?" M'Adam answered, eyeing the dark track on
+the floor. Then he put on his coat.
+
+"Na, na, he's no for me. Weel, I'll no detain ye. Good-nicht to ye,
+mister!" and he made for the door.
+
+"A gran' worker he'll be," called the drover after him.
+
+"Ay; muckle wark he'll mak' amang the sheep wi' sic a jaw and sic
+a temper. Weel, I maun be steppin'. Good-nicht to ye."
+
+"Ye'll niver have sich anither chanst."
+
+"Nor niver wush to. Na, na; he'll never mak' a sheep-dog"; and the
+little man turned up the collar of his coat.
+
+"Will he not?" cried the other scornfully. "There niver yet was one
+o' that line "he stopped abruptly.
+
+The little man spun round.
+
+"Iss?" he said, as innocent as any child; "ye were sayin'?" 
+
+The other turned to the window and watched the rain falling
+monotonously.
+
+"Ye'll be wantin' wet," he said adroitly.
+
+"Ay, we could do wi' a drappin'. And he'll never mak' a sheep-dog."
+He shoved his cap down on his head. "Weel, good-nicht to ye!" and
+he stepped out into the rain.
+
+It was long after dark when the bargain was finally struck.
+
+Adam M'Adam's Red Wull became that little man's property for
+the following realizable assets: ninepence in cash--three coppers
+and a doubtful sixpence; a plug of suspicious tobacco in a
+well-worn pouch; and an old watch.
+
+"It's clean givin' 'im ye," said the stranger bitterly, at the end of
+the deal.
+
+"It's mair the charity than aught else mak's me sae leeberal," the
+other answered gently. "I wad not like to see ye pinched."
+
+"Thank ye kindly," the big man replied with some acerbity, and
+plunged out into the darkness and rain. Nor was that long-limbed
+drover-man ever again seen in the countryside. And the puppy's
+previous history--. whether he was honestly come by or no,
+whether he was, indeed, of the famous Red McCulloch* strain,
+ever remained a mystery in the Daleland.
+
+*N. B--You may know a Red McCulloeh anywhere by the ring of
+white upon his tail some two inches from the root. 
+
+Chapter IV.  FIRST BLOOD
+
+AFTER that first encounter in the Dales-. man's Daughter, Red
+Wull, for so M'Adam called him, resigned himself complacently to
+his lot; recognizing, perhaps, his destiny.
+
+Thenceforward the sour little man and the vicious puppy grew, as
+it were, together. The two were never apart. Where M'Adam was,
+there was sure to be his tiny attendant, bristling defiance as he kept
+ludicrous guard over his master.
+
+The little man and his dog were inseparable. M'Adam never left
+him even at the Grange.
+
+"I couldna trust ma Wullie at hame alone wi' the dear lad," was his
+explanation. "I ken wed I'd come back to find a wee corpse on the
+floor, and David singin':
+
+'My heart is sair, I daur na tell,
+
+My heart is sair for somebody.' 
+
+Ay, and he'd be sair elsewhere by the time I'd done wi' him--he!
+he!"
+
+The sneer at David's expense was as characteristic as it was unjust.
+For though the puppy and the boy were already sworn enemies, yet
+the lad would have scorned to harm so small a foe. And many a
+tale did David tell at Kenmuir of Red Wull's viciousness, of his
+hatred of him (David), and his devotion to his master; how,
+whether immersed in the pig-bucket or chasing the fleeting rabbit,
+he would desist at once, and bundle, panting, up at his master's
+call; how he routed the tomcat and drove him from the kitchen;
+and how he clambered on to David's bed and pinned him
+murderously by the nose.
+
+Of late the relations between M'Adam and James Moore had been
+unusually strained. Though they were neighbors, communications
+between the two were of the rarest; and it was for the first time for
+many a long day that, on an afternoon shortly after Red Wull had
+come into his possession, M'Adam entered the yard of Kenmuir,
+bent on girding at the master for an alleged trespass at the Stony
+Bottom.
+
+"WI' yer permission, Mr. Moore,'' said the little man, "I'll wheestle
+ma dog, " and, turning, he whistled a shrill, peculiar note like the
+cry of a disturbed peewit.
+
+Straightway there came scurrying desperately up, ears back, head
+down, tongue out, as if the world depended on his speed, a little
+tawny beetle of a thing, who placed his forepaws against his
+master's ankles and looked up into his face; then, catching sight of
+the strangers, hurriedly he took up his position between them and
+M'Adam, assuming his natural attitude of grisly defiance. Such a
+laughable spectacle he made, that martial mite, standing at bay
+with bristles up and teeth bared, that even James Moore smiled.
+
+"Ma word! Ha' yo' brought his muzzle, man?" cried old Tammas,
+the humorist; and, turning, climbed all in a heat on to an upturned
+bucket that stood by. Whereat the puppy, emboldened by his foe's
+retreat, advanced savagely to the attack, buzzing round the slippery
+pail like a wasp on a windowpane, in vain attempt to reach the old
+man.
+
+Tammas stood on the top, hitching his trousers and looking down
+on his assailant, the picture of mortal fear.
+
+'Elp! Oh, 'elp!" he bawled. "Send for the sogers! fetch the p'lice!
+For lawk-amussy's sake call him off, man!" Even Sam'l Todd,
+watching the scene from the cart-shed, was tickled and burst into a
+loud guffaw, heartily backed by 'Enry and oor Job. While M'Adam
+remarked: "Ye're fitter for a stage than a stable-bucket, Mr.
+Thornton."
+
+"How didst coom by him?" asked Tammas, nodding at the puppy.
+
+"Found him," the little man replied, sucking his twig. "Found him
+in ma stockin' on ma birthday. A present from ma leetle David for
+his auld dad, I doot."
+
+"So do I," said Tammas, and was seized with sudden spasm of
+seemingly causeless merriment. For looking up as M'Adam was
+speaking, he had caught a glimpse of a boy's fair head, peering
+cautiously round the cow-shed, and, behind, the flutter of short
+petti.. coats. They disappeared as silently as they had come; and
+two small figures, just returned from school, glided away and
+sought shelter in the friendly darkness of a coal-hole.
+
+"Coom awa', Maggie, coom awa'! 'Tis th' owd un, 'isself,"
+whispered a disrespectful voice.
+
+M'Adam looked round suspiciously.
+
+"What's that?" he asked sharply.
+
+At the moment, however, Mrs. Moore put her head out of the
+kitchen window.
+
+"Coom thy ways in, Mister M'Adam, and tak' a soop o' tea," she
+called hospitably.
+
+"Thank ye kindly, Mrs. Moore, I will," he answered, politely for
+him. And this one good thing must be allowed of Adam M'Adam:
+
+that, if there was only one woman of whom he was ever known to
+speak well, there was also only one, in the whole course of his life,
+against whom he ever insinuated evil--and that was years
+afterward, when men said his brain was sapped. Flouts and jeers he
+had for every man, but a woman, good or bad, was sacred to him.
+For the sex that had given him his mother and his wife he had that
+sentiment of tender reverence which, if a man still preserve, he
+cannot be altogether bad. As he turned into the house he looked
+back at Red Wull.
+
+"Ay, we may leave him," he said. "That is, gin ye're no afraid, Mr.
+Thornton?"
+
+Of what happened while the men were within doors, it is enough
+to tell two things. First, that Owd Bob was no bully. Second, this:
+In the code of sheep-dog honor there is written a word in stark
+black letters; and opposite it another word, writ large in the color
+of blood. The first is "Sheep-murder"; the second, "Death." It is the
+one crime only to be wiped away in blood; and to accuse of the
+crime is to offer the one unpardonable insult. Every sheep-dog
+knows it, and every shepherd.
+
+That afternoon, as the men still talked, the quiet echoes of the farm
+rung with a furious animal cry, twice repeated: "Shot for
+sheepmurder"--" Shot for sheep-murder"; followed by a hollow
+stillness. 
+
+The two men finished their colloquy. The matter was concluded
+peacefully, mainly owing to the pacifying influence of Mrs.
+Moore. Together the three went out into the yard; Mrs. Moore
+seizing the opportunity to shyly speak on David's behalf.
+
+"lie's such a good little lad, I do think," she was saying.
+
+"Ye should ken, Mrs. Moore," the little man answered, a thought
+bitterly; "ye see enough of him."
+
+"Yo' mun be main proud of un, mester," the woman continued,
+heedless of the sneer: "an' 'im growin' such a gradely lad."
+
+M'Adam shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"I barely ken the lad," he said. "By sight I know him, of course, but
+barely to speak to. He's but seldom at hame."
+
+"An' hoo proud his mother'd be if she could see him," the woman
+continued, well aware of his one tender place. "Eh, but she was
+fond o' him, so she was."
+
+An angry flush stole over the little man's face. Well he understood
+the implied rebuke; and it hurt him like a knife.
+
+"Ay, ay, Mrs. Moore," he began. Then breaking off, and looking
+about him-- "Where's ma Wullie?" he cried excitedly. "James
+Moore!" whipping round on the Master, "ma Wullie's gone--gone, I
+say!"
+
+Elizabeth Moore turned away indignantly. "I do declar' he tak's
+more fash after yon little yaller beastie than iver he does after his
+own flesh," she muttered.
+
+"Wullie, ma we doggie! Wullie, where are ye? James Moore, he's
+gone--ma Wullie's gone!" cried the little man, running about the
+yard, searching everywhere.
+
+"Cannot 'a' gotten far," said the Master, reassuringly, looking about
+him.
+
+"Niver no tellin'," said Sam'l, appearing on the scene, pig-bucket in
+hand. "I inisdoot yo'll iver see your dog agin, mister." He turned
+sorrowfully to M'Adam.
+
+That little man, all dishevelled, and with the perspiration standing
+on his face, came hurrying out of the cow-shed and danced up to
+the Master.
+
+"It's robbed I am--robbed, I tell ye!" he cried recklessly. "Ma wee
+Wull's bin stolen while I was ben your hoose, James Moore!"
+
+"Yo' munna say that, ma mon. No robbin' at Kenmuir," the Master
+answered sternly.
+
+"Then where is he? It's for you to say."
+
+"I've ma own idee, I 'aye," Sam'l announced opportunely,
+pig-bucket uplifted.
+
+M'Adam turned on him.
+
+"What, man? What is it?"
+
+"I misdoot yo'll iver see your dog agin, mister," Sam'l repeated, as
+if he was supplying the key to the mystery.
+
+"Noo, Sam'l, if yo' know owt tell it, "ordered his master.
+
+Sam'l grunted sulkily.
+
+"Wheer's oor Bob, then?" he asked.
+
+At that M'Adam turned on the Master.
+
+'Tis that, nae doot. It's yer gray dog, James Moore, yer--dog. I
+might ha' kent it, "--and he loosed off a volley of foul words.
+
+"Sweerin' will no find him," said the Master coldly. "Noo, Sam'l."
+
+The big man shifted his feet, and looked mournfully at M'Adam.
+
+'Twas 'appen 'aif an hour agone, when I sees oor Bob goin' oot o'
+yard wi' little yaller tyke in his mouth. In a minnit I looks agin--
+and theer! little yaller 'Un was gone, and oor Bob a-sittin' a-lickin'
+his chops. Gone for-iver, I do reck'n. Ah, yo' may well take on,
+Tammas Thornton!" For the old man was rolling about the yard,
+bent double with merriment.
+
+M'Adam turned on the Master with the resignation of despair.
+
+"Man, Moore," he cried piteously, "it's yer gray dog has murdered
+ma wee Wull! Ye have it from yer am man."
+
+"Nonsense," said the Master encouragingly. " 'Tis but yon girt oof."
+
+Sam'l tossed his head and snorted.
+
+"Coom, then, and i'll show yo'," he said, and led the way out of the
+yard. And there below them on the slope to the stream, sitting like
+Justice at the Courts of Law, was Owd Bob.
+
+Straightway Sam'l whose humor was something of the calibre of
+old Ross's, the sexton, burst into horse-merriment. "Why's he
+sit-tin' so still, think 'ee? Ho! Ho! See un lickin' his chops--ha! ha!
+"--and he roared afresh. While from afar you could hear the distant
+rumbling of 'Enry and oor Job.
+
+At the sight, M'Adam burst into a storm of passionate invective,
+and would have rushed on the dog had not James Moore forcibly
+restrained him.
+
+"Bob, lad," called the Master, "coom here!" But even as he spoke,
+the gray dog cocked his ears, listened a moment, and then shot
+down the slope. At the same moment Tammas hallooed: "Theer he
+be! yon's yaller un coomin' oot o' drain! La, Sam'l!" And there,
+indeed, on the slope below them, a little angry, smutty-faced figure
+was crawling out of a rabbit-burrow.
+
+"Ye murderin' devil, wad ye duar touch ma Wullie?" yelled
+M'Adam, and, breaking away, pursued hotly down the hill; for the
+gray dog had picked up the puppy, like a lancer a tent-peg, and was
+sweeping on, his captive in his mouth, toward the stream.
+
+Behind, hurried James Moore and Sam'l, wondering what the issue
+of the comedy would be. After them toddled old Tammas,
+chuckling. While over the yard-wall was now a little cluster of
+heads: 'Enry, oor Job, Maggie and David, and Vi'let Thornton, the
+dairy-maid.
+
+Straight on to the plank-bridge galloped Owd Bob. In the middle
+he halted, leant over, and dropped his prisoner; who fell with a
+cool plop into the running water beneath.
+
+Another moment and M'Adam had reached the bank of the stream.
+In he plunged, splashing and cursing, and seized the struggling
+puppy; then waded back, the waters surging about his waist, and
+Red Wull, limp as a wet rag, in his hand. The little man's hair was
+dripping, for his cap was gone; his clothes clung to him, exposing
+the miserableness of his figure; and his eyes blazed like hot ashes
+in his wet face. 
+
+He sprang on to the bank, and, beside himself with passion, rushed
+at Owd Bob.
+
+"Curse ye for a--"
+
+"Stan' back, or yo'll have him at your throat!" shouted the Master,
+thundering up. "Stan' back, I say, yo' fule!" And, as the little man
+still came madly on, he reached forth his hand and hurled him
+back; at the same moment, bending, he buried the other hand deep
+in Owd Bob's shaggy neck. It was but just in time; for if ever the
+fierce desire of battle gleamed in gray eyes, it did in the young
+dog's as M'Adam came down on him.
+
+The little man staggered, tottered, and fell heavily. At the shock,
+the blood gushed from his nose, and, mixing with the water on his
+face, ran down in vague red streams, dripping off his chin; while
+Red Wull, jerked from his grasp, was thrown afar, and lay
+motionless.
+
+"Curse ye!" M'Adam screamed, his face dead-white save for the
+running red about his jaw. "Curse ye for a cowardly Englishman!"
+and, struggling to his feet, he made at the Master.
+
+But Sam'l interposed his great bulk between the two.
+
+"Easy, little mon," he said leisurely, regarding the small fury
+before him with mournful interest. "Eli, but thee do be a little
+spit-cat, surely!"
+
+James Moore stood, breathing deep, his hand still buried in Owd
+Bob's coat. 
+
+"If yo'd touched him," he explained, "I conidna ha' stopped him.
+He'd ha' mauled yo' afore iver I could ha' had him off. They're bad
+to hold, the Gray Dogs, when they're roosed."
+
+"Ay, ma word, that they are!" corroborated Tammas, speaking
+from the experience of sixty years. "Once on, yo' canna get 'em
+off."
+
+The little man turned away.
+
+"Ye're all agin me," he said, and his voice shook. A pitiful figure
+he made, standing there with the water dripping from him. A red
+stream was running slowly from his chin; his head was bare, and
+face working.
+
+James Moore stood eyeing him with some pity and some
+contempt. Behind was Tammas, enjoying the scene. While Sam'l
+regarded them all with an impassive melancholy.
+
+M'Adam turned and bent over Red Wull, who still lay like a dead
+thing. As his master handled him, the button-tail quivered feebly;
+he opened his eyes, looked about him, snarled faintly, and glared
+with devilish hate at the gray dog and the group with him.
+
+The little man picked him up, stroking him tenderly. Then he
+turned away and on to the bridge. Half-way across he stopped. It
+rattled feverishly beneath him, for he still trembled like a palsied
+man.
+
+"Man, Moore!" he called, striving to quell the agitation in his
+voice--" I wad shoot yon dog."
+
+Across the bridge he turned again. "Man, Moore!" he called and
+paused. Ye'll not forget this day." And with that the blood flared up
+a dull crimson into his white face. 
+
+PART II  THE LITTLE MAN
+
+Chapter V.  A MAN'S SON
+
+THE storm, long threatened, having once burst, M'Adam allowed
+loose rein to his bitter animosity against James Moore.
+
+The two often met. For the little man frequently returned home
+from the village by the footpath across Kenmuir. It was out of his
+way, but he preferred it in order to annoy his enemy and keep a
+watch upon his doings.
+
+He haunted Kenmuir like its evil genius. His sallow face was
+perpetually turning up at inopportune moments. When Kenmuir
+Queen, the prize short-horn heifer, calved unexpectedly and
+unattended in the dip by the lane, Tammas and the Master,
+summoned hurriedly by Owd Bob, came running up to find the
+little man leaning against the stile, and shaking with silent
+merriment. Again, poor old Staggy, daring still in his dotage, took
+a fall while scrambling on the steep banks of the Stony Bottom.
+There he lay for hours, unnoticed and kicking, until James Moore
+and Owd Bob came upon him at length, nearly exhausted. But
+M'Adam was before them. Standing on the far bank with Red Wull
+by his side, he called across the gulf with apparent concern: "He's
+bin so sin' yesternight." Often James Moore, with all his great
+strength of character, could barely control himself.
+
+There were two attempts to patch up the feud. Jim Mason, who
+went about the world seeking to do good, tried in his shy way to
+set things right. But M'Adam and his Red Wull between them soon
+shut him and Betsy up.
+
+"You mind yer letters and yer wires, Mr. Poacher-Postman. Ay, I
+saw 'em baith: th' am doon by the Haughs, t'ither in the Bottom.
+And there's Wullie, the humorsome chiel, havin' a rare game wi'
+Betsy." There, indeed, lay the faithful Betsy, suppliant on her back,
+paws up, throat exposed, while Red Wull, now a great-grown
+puppy, stood over her, his habitually evil expression intensified
+into a fiendish grin, as with wrinkled muzzle and savage wheeze
+he waited for a movement as a pretext to pin: "Wullie, let the leddy
+be--ye've had yer dinner."
+
+Parson Leggy was the other would-be mediator; for he hated to see
+the two principal parishioners of his tiny cure at enmity. First he
+tackled James Moore on the subject; but that laconic person cut
+him short with, "I've nowt agin the little mon," and would say no
+more. And, indeed, the quarrel was none of his making.
+
+Of the parson's interview with M'Adam, it is .enough to say here
+that, in the end, the angry old minister would of a surety have
+assaulted his mocking adversary had not Cyril Gilbraith forcibly
+withheld him.
+
+And after that the vendetta must take its course unchecked.
+
+David was now the only link between the two farms. Despite his
+father's angry commands, the boy clung to his intimacy with the
+Moores with a doggedness that no thrashing could overcome. Not
+a minute of the day when out of school, holidays and Sundays
+included, but was passed at Kenmuir. it was not till late at night
+that he would sneak back to the Grange, and creep quietly up to his
+tiny bare room in the roof--not supperless, indeed, motherly Mrs.
+Moore had seen to that. And there he would lie awake and listen
+with a fierce contempt as his father, hours later, lurched into the
+kitchen below, lilting liquorishly:
+
+"We are na Lou, we're nae that Lou,
+But just a drappie in our e'e;
+The cock may craw, the day may daw',
+And ay we'll taste the barley bree!"
+
+And in the morning the boy would slip quietly out of the house
+while his father still slept; only Red Wull would thrust out his
+savage head as the lad passed, and snarl hungrily.
+
+Sometimes father and son would go thus for weeks without sight
+of one another. And that was David's aim--to escape attention. It
+was only his cunning at this game of evasion that saved him a
+thrashing.
+
+The little man seemed devoid of all natural affection for his son.
+He lavished the whole fondness of which his small nature
+appeared capable on the Tailless Tyke, for so the Dales-men called
+Red Wull. And the dog he treated with a careful tenderness that
+made David smile bitterly.
+
+The little man and his dog were as alike morally as physically they
+were contrasted. Each owed a grudge against the world and was
+determined to pay it. Each was an Ishmael among his kind.
+
+You saw them thus, standing apart, leper-like, in the turmoil of
+life; and it came quite as a revelation to happen upon them in some
+quiet spot of nights, playing together, each wrapped in the game,
+innocent, tender, forgetful of the hostile world.
+
+The two were never separated except only when M'Adam came
+home by the path across Kenmuir. After that first misadventure he
+never allowed his friend to accompany him on the journey through
+the enemy's country; for well he knew that sheep-dogs have long
+memories.
+
+To the stile in the lane, then, Red Wull would follow him. There
+he would stand, his great head poked through the bars, watching
+his master out of sight; and then would turn and trot, self-reliant
+and defiant, sturdy and surly, down the very centre of the road
+through the village--no playing, no enticing away, and woe to that
+man or dog who tried to stay him in his course! And so on, past
+Mother Ross's shop, past the Sylvester Arms, to the right by
+Kirby's smithy, over the Wastrel by the Haughs, to await his master
+at the edge of the Stony Bottom.
+
+The little man, when thus crossing Ken-muir, often met Owd Bob,
+who had the free run of the farm. On these occasions he passed
+discreetly by; for, though he was no coward, yet it is bad,
+single-handed, to attack a Gray Dog of Kenmuir; while the dog
+trotted soberly on his way, only a steely glint in the big gray eyes
+betraying his knowledge of the presence of his foe. As surely,
+however, as the little man, in his desire to spy out the nakedness of
+the land, strayed off the public path, so surely a gray figure,
+seeming to spring from out the blue, would come fiercely, silently
+driving down on him; and he would turn and run for his life, amid
+the uproarious jeers of any of the farm-hands who were witness to
+the encounter.
+
+On these occasions David vied with Tammas in facetiousness at
+his father's expense.
+
+"Good on yo', little un!" he roared from behind a wall, on one such
+occurence.
+
+"Bain't he a runner, neither?" yelled Tammas, not to be outdone.
+"See un skip it--ho! ho!"
+
+"Look to his knees a-wamblin'!" from the Jon, I'd wear petticoats."
+As he spoke, a swinging box on the ear nearly knocked the young
+reprobate down.
+
+"D'yo' think God gave you a dad for you to jeer at? Y'ought to be
+ashamed o' yo'self. Serve yo' right if he does thrash yo' when yo' get
+home." And David, turning round, found James Moore close
+behind him, his heavy eyebrows lowering over his eyes.
+
+Luckily, M'Adam had not distinguished his �Ofl's voice among the
+others. But David Iearcd he had; for on the following morning the
+little man said to him:
+
+"David, ye'll come hame immediately after school to-day."
+
+"Will I?" said David pertly.
+
+''Ye will.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because I tell ye to, ma lad"; and that was all the reason he would
+give. Had  he told the simple fact that he wanted help to drench a
+"husking" ewe, things might have gone differently. As it was,
+David turned away defiantly down the hill.
+
+The afternoon wore on. Schooltime was long over; still there was
+no David.
+
+The little man waited at the door of the Grange, fuming, hopping
+from one leg to the other, talking to Red Wull, who lay at his feet,
+his head on his paws, like a tiger waiting for his prey.
+
+At length he could restrain himself no longer; and started running
+down the bill, his heart burning with indignation.
+
+"Wait till we lay hands on ye, ma lad," he muttered as he ran.
+"We'll warm ye, we'll teach ye."
+
+At the edge of the Stony Bottom he, as always, left Red Wull.
+Crossing it himself, and rounding Langholm How, he espied James
+Moore, David, and Owd Bob walking away from him and in the
+direction of Kenmuir. The gray dog and David were playing
+together. wrestling, racing, and rolling. The boy had never a
+thought for his father.
+
+The little man ran up behind them, unseen and unheard, his feet
+softly pattering on the grass. His hand had fallen on David's
+shoulder before the boy had guessed his approach.
+
+"Did I bid ye come hame after school, David?" he asked,
+concealing his heat beneath a suspicious suavity.
+
+"Maybe. Did I say I would come?"
+
+The pertness of tone and words, alike, fanned his father's
+resentment into a blaze. In a burst of passion he lunged forward at
+the boy with his stick. But as he smote, a gray whirlwind struck
+him fair on the chest, and he fell like a snapped stake, and lay, half
+stunned, with a dark muzzle an inch from his throat.
+
+"Git back, Bob!" shouted James Moore, hurrying up. "Git back, I
+tell yo'!" He bent over the prostrate figure, propping it up
+anxiously. "Are yo' hurt, M'Adam? Eh, 
+
+A stranger might well have mistaken the identity of the boy's
+father. For he stood now, holding the Master's arm; while a few
+paces above them was the little man, pale but determined, the
+expression on his face betraying his consciousness of the irony of
+the situation.
+
+"Will ye come hame wi' me and have it noo, or stop wi' him and
+wait till ye get it?" he asked the boy.
+
+"M'Adam, I'd like yo' to--"
+
+"None o' that, James Moore.--David, what d'ye say?"
+
+David looked up into his protector's face. "Yo'd best go wi' your
+feyther, lad," said the Master at last, thickly. The boy hesitated,
+and clung tighter to the shielding arm; then he walked slowly over
+to his father.
+
+A bitter smile spread over the little man's face as he marked this
+new test ci? the boy's obedience to the other.
+
+"To obey his frien' he foregoes the pleasure o' disobeyin' his
+father," he muttered. "Noble!" Then he turned homeward, and the
+boy followed in his footsteps.
+
+James Moore and the gray dog stood looking after them.
+
+"I know yo'll not pay off yer spite agin me on the lad's head,
+M'Adam," he called, almost appealingly.
+
+"I'll do ma duty, thank ye, James Moore, wi'oot respect o' persons,"
+the little man cried back, never turning.
+
+Father and son walked away, one behind the other, like a man and
+his dog, and there was no word said between them. Across the
+Stony Bottom, Red Wull, scowling with bared teeth at David,
+joined them. Together the three went up the bill to the Grange.
+
+In the kitchen M'Adam turned.
+
+"Noo, I'm gaein' to gie ye the gran'est thrashin' ye iver dreamed of.
+Tak' aff yer coat!"
+
+The boy obeyed, and stood up in his thin shirt, his face white and
+set as a statue's. Red Wull seated himself on his haunches close by,
+his ears pricked, licking his lips, all attention.
+
+The little man suppled the great ash-plant in his hands and raised
+it. But the expression on the boy's face arrested his arm.
+
+"Say ye're sorry and I'll let yer a.ff easy."
+
+"I'll not."
+
+"One mair chance--yer last! Say yer 'shamed o' yerself'!"
+
+"I'm not."
+
+The little man brandished his cruel, white weapon, and Red Wull
+shifted a little to obtain a better view.
+
+"Git on wi' it," ordered David angrily.
+
+The little man raised the stick again and-- threw it into the farthest
+corner of the room.
+
+It fell with a rattle on the floor, and M'Adam turned away.
+
+"Ye're the pitifulest son iver a man had," he cried brokenly. "Gin a
+man's son dinna haud to him, wha can he expect to?--no one. Ye're
+ondootiful, ye're disrespectfu', ye're maist ilka thing ye shouldna
+be; there's but ae thing I thocht ye were not--a coward. And as to
+that, ye've no the pluck to sa)ye're sorry when, God knows, ye
+might be. I canna thrash ye this day. But ye shall gae nae mair to
+school. I send ye there to learn. Ye'll not learn--ye've learnt
+naethin' except disobedience to me-ye shall stop at hame and
+work."
+
+His father's rare emotion, his broken voice and working face,
+moved David as all the stripes and jeers had failed to do. His
+conscience smote him. For the first time in his life it dimly dawned
+on him that, perhaps, his father, too, had some ground for
+complaint; that, perhaps, he was not a good son.
+
+He half turned.
+
+"Feyther--"
+
+"Git oot o' ma sight!" M'Adam cried.
+
+And the boy turned and went.
+
+Chapter VI. A LICKING OR A LIE
+
+THENCEFORWARD David buckled down to work at home, and
+in one point only father and son resembled--industry. A drunkard
+M'Adam was, but a drone, no.
+
+The boy worked at the Grange with tireless, indomitable energy;
+yet he could never satisfy his father.
+
+The little man would stand, a sneer on his face and his thin lips
+contemptuously curled, and flout the lad's brave labors.
+
+Is he no a gran' worker, Wullie? 'Tis a pleasure to watch him, his
+hands in his pockets, his eyes turned heavenward!" as the boy
+snatched a hard-earned moment's rest. "You and I, Wullie, we'll
+brak' oorsel's slavin' for him while he looks on and laffs."
+
+And so on, the whole day through, week in, week out; till he
+sickened with weariness of it all.
+
+In his darkest hours David thought sometimes to run away. He was
+miserably alone on the cold bosom of the world. The very fact that
+he was the son of his father isolated him in the Daleland. Naturally
+of a reserved disposition, he had no single friend outside Kenmuir.
+And it was only the thought of his friends there that witheld him.
+He could not bring himself to part from them; they were all he had
+in the world.
+
+So he worked on at the Grange, miserably, doggedly, taking blows
+and abuse alike in burning silence. But every evening, when work
+was ended, he stepped off to his other home beyond the Stony
+Bottom. And on Sundays and holidays--for of these latter he took,
+unasking, what he knew to be his due-- all day long, from
+cock-crowing to the going down of the sun, he would pass at
+Kenmuir. In this one matter the hoy was invincibly stubborn.
+Nothing his father could say or do sufficed to break him of the
+habit. He endured everything with white-lipped, silent
+dogged-ness, and still held on his way.
+
+Once past the Stony Bottom, he threw his troubles behind him
+with a courage that did him honor. Of all the people at Kenmuir
+two only ever dreamed the whole depth of his unhappiness, and
+that not through David. James Moore suspected something of it all,
+for he knew more of M'Adam than did the others. While Owd Bob
+knew it as did no one else. He could tell it from the touch of the
+boy's hand on his head; and the story was writ large upon his face
+for a dog to read. And he would follow the lad about with a
+compassion in his sad gray eyes greater than words.
+
+David might well compare his gray friend at Kenmuir with that
+other at the Grange.
+
+The Tailless Tyke had now grown into an immense dog, heavy of
+muscle and huge of bone. A great bull head; undershot jaw, square
+and lengthy and terrible; vicious, yellow-gleaming eyes; cropped
+ears; and an expression incomparably savage. His coat was a
+tawny, lion-like yellow, short, harsh, dense; and his back, running
+up from shoulder to loins, ended abruptly in the knob-like tail. He
+looked like the devil of a dogs' hell. And his reputation was as bad
+as his looks. He never attacked unprovoked; but a challenge was
+never ignored, and he was greedy of insults. Already he had nigh
+killed Rob Saunderson's collie, Shep; Jem Burton's Monkey fled
+incontinently at the sound of his approach; while he had even
+fought a round with that redoubtable trio, the Vexer, Venus, and
+Van Tromp.
+
+Nor, in the matter of war, did he confine himself to his own kind.
+His huge strength and indomitable courage made him the match of
+almost anything that moved. Long Kirby once threatened him with
+a broomstick; the smith never did it again. While in the Border
+Ram he attacked Big Bell, the Squire's underkeeper, with such
+murderous fury that it took all the men in the room to pull han off.
+
+More than once had he and Owd Bob essayed to wipe out mutual
+memories, Red Wull, in this case only, the aggressor. As yet,
+however, while they fenced a moment for that deadly throat-grip,
+the value of which each knew so well, James Moore had always
+seized the chance to intervene.
+
+"That's right, hide him ahint yer petticoats," sneered M'Adam on
+one of these occasions.
+
+"Hide? It'll not be him I'll hide, I warn you, M'Adam," the Master
+answered grimly, as he stood, twirling his good oak stick between
+the would-be duellists. Whereat there was a loud laugh at the little
+man's expense.
+
+It seemed as if there were to be other points of rivalry between the
+two than memories. For, in the matter of his own business--the
+handling of sheep--Red Wull bid fair to be second only throughout
+the Daleland to the Gray Dog of Kenmuir. And M'Adam was
+patient and painstaking in the training of his Wullie in a manner to
+astonish David. It would have been touching, had it not been so
+unnatural in view of his treatment of his own blood, to watch the
+tender carefulness with which the little man moulded the dog
+beneath his hands. After a promising display he would stand,
+rubbing his palms together, as near content as ever he was.
+
+"Weel done, Wullie! Weel done. Bide a wee and we'll show 'em a
+thing or two, you and I, Wullie.
+
+"'The wand's wrack we share o't,
+The warstie and the care o't.' 
+
+For it's you and I alane, lad."  And the dog would trot up to him,
+place his great forepaws on his shoulders, and stand thus with his
+great head overtopping his master's, his ears back, and stump tail
+vibrating.
+
+You saw them at their best when thus together, displaying each his
+one soft side to the other.
+
+From the very first David and Red Wull were open enemies: under
+the circumstances, indeed, nothing else was possible. Sometimes
+the great dog would follow on the lad's heels with surly, greedy
+eyes, never leaving him from sunrise to sundown, till David could
+hardly hold his hands.
+
+So matters went on for a never-ending year. Then there came a
+climax.
+
+One evening, on a day throughout which Red Wull had dogged
+him thus hungrily, David, his work finished, went to pick up his
+coat, which he had left hard by. On it lay Red Wull.
+
+"Git off ma coat!" the boy ordered angrily. marching up. But the
+great dog never stirred: he lifted a lip to show a fence of white, 
+even teeth, and seemed to sink lower in the ground; his head on 
+his paws, his eyes in his forehead.
+
+"Come and take it!" he seemed to say.
+
+Now what, between master and dog, David had endured almost
+more than he could bear that day.
+
+"Yo' won't, won't yo', girt brute!" he shouted, and bending,
+snatched a corner of the coat and attempted to jerk it away. At that,
+Red Wull rose, shivering, to his feet, and with a low gurgle sprang
+at the boy.
+
+David, quick as a flash, dodged, bent, and picked up an ugly stake,
+lying at his feet. Swinging round, all in a moment, he dealt his
+antagonist a mighty buffet on the side of the head. Dazed with the
+blow, the great dog fell; then, recovering himself, with a terrible,
+deep roar he sprang again. Then it must have gone hard with the
+boy, fine-grown, muscular young giant though he was. For Red
+Wull was now in the first bloom of that great strength which
+earned him afterward an undying notoriety in the land.
+
+As it chanced, however, M'Adam had watched the scene from the
+kitchen. And now he came hurrying out of the house, shrieking
+commands and curses at the combatants. As Red Wull sprang, he
+interposed between the two, head back and eyes flashing. His
+small person received the full shock of the charge. He staggered,
+but recovered, and in an imperative voice ordered the dog to heel.
+
+Then he turned on David, seized the stake from his hand, and
+began furiously belaboring the boy.
+
+"I'll teach ye to strike--a puir--dumb--harrnless--creetur, ye--cruel--
+cruel---lad!" he cried. "Hoo daur ye strike--ma----Wullie? yer--
+father's----Wullie? Adam--M 'Adam's--Red Wull?" He was panting
+from his exertions, and his eyes were blazing. "I pit up as best I
+can wi' all manner o' disrespect to masel'; but when it comes to
+takin' ma puir Wullie, I cantia thole it. Ha' ye no heart?" he asked,
+unconscious of the irony of the question.
+
+"As much as some, I reck'n," David muttered.
+
+"Eh, what's that? What d'ye say?"
+
+"Ye may thrash me till ye're blind; and it's nob'but yer duty; but if
+only one daurs so much as to look at yer Wullie ye're mad," the
+boy answered bitterly. And with that he turned away defiantly and
+openly in the direction of Kenmuir.
+
+M'Adam made a step forward, and then stopped.
+
+"I'll see ye agin, ma lad, this evenin','' he cried with cruel
+significance.
+
+"I doot but yo'il be too drunk to see owt-- except, 'appen, your
+bottle," the boy shouted back; and swaggered down the hill.
+
+At Kenmuir that night the marked and particular kindness of
+Elizabeth Moore was too much for the overstrung lad. Overcome
+by the contrast of her sweet motherliness, he burst into a storm of
+invective against his father, his home, his life--everything.
+
+"Don't 'ee, Davie, don't 'ee, deane!" cried Mrs. Moore, much
+distressed. And taking him to her she talked to the great, sobbing
+boy as though he were a child. At length he lifted his face and
+looked up; and, seeing the white, wan countenance of his dear
+comforter, was struck with tender remorse that he had given way
+and pained her, who looked so frail and thin herself.
+
+He mastered himself with an effort; and, for the rest of the
+evening, was his usual cheery self. He teased Maggie into tears;
+chaffed stolid little Andrew; and bantered Sam'l Todd until that
+generally impassive man threatened to bash his snout for him.
+
+Yet it was with a great swallowing at his throat that, later, he
+turned down the slope for home.
+
+James Moore and Parson Leggy accompanied him to the bridge
+over the Wastrel, and stood a while watching as he disappeared
+into the summer night.
+
+"Yon's a good lad," said the Master half to himself.
+
+"Yes," the parson replied ; "I always thought there was good in the
+boy, if only his father'd give him a chance. And look at the way
+Owd Bob there follows him. There's not another soul outside
+Kenmuir he'd do that for."
+
+"Ay, sir," said the Master. "Bob knows a mon when he sees one."
+
+"He does," acquiesced the other. "And by the by, James, the talk in
+the village is that you've settled not to run him for the Cup. Is, that
+so?"
+
+The Master nodded.
+
+"It is, sir. They're all mad I should, but I mun cross 'em. They say
+he's reached his prime--and so he has o' his body, but not o' his
+brain. And a sheep-dog--unlike other dogs--is not at his best till his
+brain is at its best--and that takes a while developin', same as in a
+mon, I reck'n."
+
+"Well, well," said the parson, pulling out a favorite phrase,
+"waiting's winning--waiting's winning."
+
+David slipped up into his room and into bed unseen, he hoped.
+Alone with the darkness, he allowed himself the rare relief of
+tears; and at length fell asleep. He awoke to find his father
+standing at his bedside. The little man held a feeble dip-candle in
+his hand, which lit his sallow face in crude black and white. In the
+doorway, dimly outlined, was the great figure of Red Wull.
+
+"Whaur ha' ye been the day?" the little man asked. Then, looking
+down on the white stained face beneath him, he added hurriedly:
+"If ye like to lie, I'll believe ye."
+
+David was out of bed and standing up in his night-shirt. He
+looked at his father contemptuously.
+
+"I ha' bin at Kenmuir. I'll not lie for yo' ur your likes," he said
+proudly.
+
+The little man shrugged his shoulders.
+
+" 'Tell a lee and stick to it,'is my rule, and. a good one, too, in
+honest England. I for one 'II no think ony the worse o' ye if yer
+memory plays yer false."
+
+"D'yo' think I care a kick what yo' think o' me?" the boy asked
+brutally. "Nay; there's 'nough liars in this fam'ly wi'oot me."
+
+The candle trembled and was still again.
+
+"A lickin' or a lie--tak' yer choice!"
+
+The boy looked scornfully down on his father. Standing on his
+naked feet, he already towered half a head above the other and was
+twice the man.
+
+"D'yo' think I'm fear'd o' a thrashin' fra yo'? Goo' gracious me!" he
+sneered. "Why, I'd as lief let owd Grammer Maddox lick me, for
+all I care."
+
+A reference to his physical insufficiencies fired the little man as
+surely as a lighted match powder.
+
+"Ye maun be cauld, standin' there so. Rin ye doon and fetch oor
+little frien' "--a reference to a certain strap hanging in the kitchen.
+"I'll see if I can warm ye."
+
+David turned and stumbled down the unlit, narrow stairs. The
+hard, cold boards struck like death against his naked feet. At his
+heels followed Red Wull, his hot breath fanning the boy's bare
+legs.
+
+So into the kitchen and back up the stairs, and Red Wull always
+following.
+
+"I'll no despair yet o' teachin' ye the fifth commandment, though I
+kill masel' in doin' it!" cried the little man, seizing the strap from
+the boy's numb grasp.
+
+When it was over, M'Adam turned, breathless, away. At the
+threshold of the room he stopped and looked round: a little,
+dim-lit, devilish figure, framed in the door; while from the
+blackness behind, Red Wull's eyes gleamed yellow.
+
+Glancing back, the little man caught such an expression on David's
+face that for once he was fairly afraid. He banged the door and
+hobbled actively down the stairs. 
+
+Chapter VII. THE WHITE WINTER
+
+M'ADAM--in his sober moments at least-- never touched David
+again; instead, he devoted himself to the more congenial exercise
+of the whiplash of his tongue. And he was wise; for David, who
+was already nigh a head the taller of the two, and comely and
+strong in proportion, could, if he would, have taken his father in
+the hollow of his hand and crumpled him like a dry leaf.
+Moreover, with his tongue, at least, the little man enjoyed the
+noble pleasure of making the boy wince. And so the war was
+carried on none the less vindictively.
+
+Meanwhile another summer was passing away, and every day
+brought fresh proofs of the prowess of Owd Bob. Tammas, whose
+stock of yarns anent Rex son of Rally had after forty years' hard
+wear begun to pall on the loyal ears of even old Jonas, found no
+lack of new material now. In the Dalesman's Daughter in
+Silverdale and in the Border Ram at Grammoch-town, each
+succeeding market day brought some fresh tale. Men told how
+the gray dog had outdone Gypsy Jack, the sheep-sneak; how he
+had cut out a Kenmuir shearling from the very centre of
+Londesley's pack; and a thousand like stories.
+
+The Gray Dogs of Kenmuir have always been equally heroes and
+favorites in the Dale-land. And the confidence of the Dalesmen in
+Owd Bob was now invincible. Sometimes on market days he
+would execute some unaccotmtable maneuvre, and .. strange
+shepherd would ask: "What's the gray dog at?" To which the
+nearest Dalesman would reply: "Nay, I canno tell ye! But he's reet
+enough. Yon's Owd Bob o' Kenmuir."
+
+Whereon the stranger would prick his ears and watch with close
+attention.
+
+"Yon's Owd Bob o' Kenmuir, is he?" he would say; for already
+among the faculty the name was becoming known. And never in
+such a case did the young dog fail to justify the faith of his
+supporters.
+
+It came, therefore, as a keen disappointment to every Dalesman,
+from Herbert Trotter, Secretary of the Trials, to little Billy
+Thornton, when the Master persisted in his decision not to run the
+dog for the Cup in the approaching Dale Trials; and that though
+parson, squire, and even Lady Eleanour essayed to shake his
+purpose. It was nigh fifty years since Rex son o' Rally had won
+back the Trophy for the land that gave it birth; it was time, they
+thought, for a Daleland dog, a Gray Dog of Kenmuir--the terms are
+practically synonymous--to bring it home again. And Tarnmas, that
+polished phrase-maker, was only expressing the feelings of every
+Dalesman in the room when, one night at the Arms, he declared of
+Owd Bob that "to ha' run was to ha' won." At which M'Adam
+sniggered audibly and winked at Red Wull. "To ha' run was to ha'
+one--lickin'; to rin next year'll be to-- Win next year." Tammas
+interposed dogmatically. "Onless "--with shivering sarcasm
+
+--"you and yer Wullie are thinkin' o' winnin'." The little man rose
+from his solitary seat at the back of the room and pattered across.
+
+"Wullie and I are thinkin' o' t," he whispered loudly in the old
+man's ear. "And mair:
+
+what Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull think o' doin', that, ye may
+remairk, Mr. Thornton, they do. Next year we rin, and next year--
+we win. Come, Wullie, we'll leave 'em to chew that"; and he
+marched out of the room amid the jeers of the assembled topers.
+When quiet was restored, it was Jim Mason who declared: "One
+thing certain, win or no, they'll not he far off."
+
+Meanwhile the summer ended abruptly. Hard on the heels of a
+sweltering autumn the winter came down. In that year the
+Daleland assumed very early its white cloak. The Silver Mere was
+soon ice-veiled; the Wastrel rolled sullenly down below Kenmuir,
+its creeks and quiet places tented with jagged sheets of ice; while
+the Scaur and Muir Pike raised hoary heads against the frosty blue.
+It was the season still remembered in the North as the White
+Winter--the worst, they say, since the famous i8o8.
+
+For days together Jim Mason was stuck with his bags in the
+Dalesman's Daughter, and there was no communication between
+the two Dales. On the Mere Marches the snow massed deep and
+impassable in thick, billowy drifts. In the Devil's Bowl men said it
+lay piled some score feet deep. And sheep, seeking shelter in the
+ghylls and protected spots, were buried and lost in their hundreds.
+
+That is the time to test the hearts of shepherds and sheep-dogs,
+when the wind runs ice-cold across the waste of white, and the low
+woods on the upland walks shiver black through a veil of snow,
+and sheep must be found and folded or lost: a trial of head as well
+as heart, of resource as well as resolution.
+
+In that winter more than one man and many a dog lost his life in
+the quiet performance of his duty, gliding to death over the
+slippery snow-shelves, or overwhelmed beneath an avalanche of
+the warm, suffocating white: "smoored," as they call it. Many a
+deed was done, many a death died, recorded only in that Book
+which holds the names of those--men or animals, souls or no
+souls--who tried.
+
+They found old Wrottesley, the squire's head shepherd, lying one
+morning at Gill's foot, like a statue in its white bed, the snow
+gently blowing about the venerable face, calm and beautiful in
+death. And stretched upon his bosom, her master's hands blue, and
+stiff, still clasped about her neck, his old dog Jess. She had
+huddled there, as a last hope, to keep the dear, dead master warm,
+her great heart riven, hoping where there was no hope.
+
+That night she followed him to herd sheep in a better land. Death
+from exposure, Dingley, the vet., gave it; but as little M'Adam, his
+eyes dimmer than their wont, declared huskily; "We ken better,
+Wullie."
+
+Cyril Gilbraith, a young man not overburdened with emotions, told
+with a sob in his voice how, at the terrible Rowan Rock, Jim
+Mason had stood, impotent, dumb, big-eyed, watching
+Betsy--Betsy, the friend and partner of the last ten years--slipping
+over the ice-cold surface, silently appealing to the hand that had
+never failed her before--sliding to Eternity.
+
+In the Daleland that winter the endurance o( many a shepherd and
+his dog was strained past breaking-point. From the frozen Black
+Water to the white-peaked Grammoch Pike two men only, each
+always with his shaggy adjutant, never owned defeat; never turned
+back; never failed in a thing attempted.
+
+In the following spring, Mr. Tinkerton, the squire's agent, declared
+that James Moore and Adam M'Adam--Owd Bob, rather, and Red
+Wull--had lost between them fewer sheep than any single farmer
+on the whole March Mere Estate-a proud record.
+
+Of the two, many a tale was told that winter. They were invincible,
+incomparable; worthy antagonists.
+
+It was Owd Bob who, when he could not drive the band of Black
+Faces over the narrow Razorback which led to safety, induced
+them to follow him across that ten-inch death-track, one by one,
+like children behind their mistress. It was Red Wull who was seen
+coming down the precipitous Saddler's How, shouldering up that
+grand old gentleman, King o' the Dale, whose leg was broken.
+
+The gray dog it was who found Cyril Gilbraith by the White
+Stones, with a cigarette and a sprained ankle, on the night the
+whole village was out with lanterns searching for the well-loved
+young scapegrace. It was the Tailless Tyke and his master who one
+bitter evening came upon little Mrs. Burton, lying in a huddle
+beneath the lea of the fast-whitening Druid's Pillar with her latest
+baby on her breast. It was little M'Adam who took off his coat and
+wrapped the child in it; little M'Adam who unwound his plaid,
+threw it like a breastband across the dog's great chest, and tied the
+ends round the weary woman's waist. Red Wull it was who
+dragged her back to the Sylvester Arms and life, straining like a
+giant through the snow, while his master staggered behind with the
+babe in his arms. When they reached the inn it was M'Adam who,
+with a smile on his face, told the landlord what he thought of him
+for sending his wife across the Marches on such a day and on his
+errand. To which:
+
+"I'd a cauld," pleaded honest Jem.
+
+For days together David could not cross the Stony Bottom to
+Kenmuir. His enforced confinement to the Grange led, however, to
+no more frequent collisions than usual with his. father. For
+M'Adam and Red Wull were out, at all hours, in all weathers, night
+and day, toiling at their work of salvation.
+
+At last, one afternoon, David managed to cross the Bottom at a
+point where a fallen thorn-tree gave him a bridge over the soft
+snow. He stayed but a little while at Kenmuir, yet when he started
+for home it was snowing again.
+
+By the time he had crossed the ice-draped bridge over the Wastrel,
+a blizzard was raging. The wind roared past him, smiting him so
+that. he could barely stand; and the snow leaped at him so that he
+could not see. But he held on doggedly; slipping, sliding, tripping,
+down and up again, with one arm shielding his face. On, on, into
+the white darkness, blindly on sobbing, stumbling, dazed.
+
+At length, nigh dead, he reached the brink of the Stony Bottom. He
+looked up and he looked down, but nowhere in that blinding mist
+could he see the fallen thorn-tree. He took a step forward into the
+white morass, and 'sank up to his thigh. He struggled feebly to free
+himself, and sank deeper. The snow wreathed, twisting, round him
+like a white flame, and he collapsed, softly crying, on that soft bed.
+
+"I canna--I canna!" he moaned.
+
+Little Mrs. Moore, her face whiter and frailer than ever, stood at
+the window, lookiing out into the storm.
+
+"I canna rest for thinkin' o' th' lad," she said. Then, turning, she saw
+ber husband, his fur cap down over his ears, buttoning his
+pilot-coat about his throat, while Owd Bob stood at his feet,
+waiting.
+
+"Ye're no goin', James?" she asked, anx-. iously.
+
+"But I am, lass," he answered; and she knew him too well to say
+more.
+
+So those two went quietly out to save life or lose it, nor counted
+the cost.
+
+Down a wind-shattered slope--over a spar of ice--up an eternal
+hill--a forlorn hope.
+
+In a whirlwind chaos of snow, the tempest storming at them, the
+white earth lashing them, they fought a good fight. In front, Owd
+Bob, the snow clogging his shaggy coat, his hair cutting like lashes
+of steel across eyes, his head lowered as he followed the finger of
+God; and close behind, James Moore, his back stern against the
+storm, stalwart still, yet swaying like a tree before the wind.
+
+So they battled through to the brink of the Stony Bottom--only to
+arrive too late.
+
+For, just as the Master peering about him, had caught sight of a
+shapeless lump lying motionless in front, there loomed across the
+snow-choked gulf through the white riot of the storm a gigantic
+figure forging, doggedly forward, his great head down to meet the
+hurricane. And close behind, buffeted and bruised, stiff and
+staggering, a little dauntless figure holding stubbornly on,
+clutching with one hand at the gale; and a shrill voice, whirled
+away on the trumpet tones of the wind, crying:
+
+"Noo, Wullie, wi' me!
+Scots wha' hae wi' Wallace bled!
+Scots wham Bruce has often led!
+Welcome to--!'
+
+Here he is, Wullie!
+
+"'--or to victorie !"
+
+The brave little voice died away. The quest; was over; the lost
+sheep found. And the last; James Moore saw of them was the same
+small, gallant form, half carrying, half dragging the rescued boy
+out of the Valley of the Shadow and away.
+
+David was none the worse for his adventure, for on reaching home
+M'Adam produced a. familiar bottle.
+
+"Here's something to warm yer inside, and'" --making a feint at the
+strap on the wails--' "here's something to do the same by yer--.-----
+But, Wullie, oot again!"
+
+And out they went--unreckoned heroes.
+
+It was but a week later, in the very heart of the bitter time, that
+there came a day when, from gray dawn to grayer eve, neither
+James Moore nor Owd Bob stirred out into the wintry white. And
+the Master's face was hard and set as it always was in time of
+trouble.
+
+Outside, the wind screamed down the Dale; while the snow fell
+relentlessly; softly fingering the windows, blocking the doors, and
+piling deep against the walls. Inside the house there was a strange
+quiet; no sound save for hushed voices, and upstairs the shuffling
+of muffled feet.
+
+Below, all day long, Owd Bob patrolled the passage like some
+silent, gray spectre.
+
+Once there came a low knocking at the door; and David, his face
+and hair and cap smothered in the all-pervading white, came in
+with an eddy of snow. He patted Owd Bob, and moved on tiptoe
+into the kitchen. To him came Maggie softly, shoes in hand, with
+white, frightened face. The two whispered anxiously awhile like
+brother and sister as they were; then the boy crept quietly away;
+only a little pool of water on the floor and wet, treacherous
+foot-dabs toward the door testifying to the visitor.
+
+Toward evening the wind died down, but the mourning flakes still
+fell.
+
+With the darkening of night Owd Bob retreated to the porch and
+lay down on his blanket. The light from the lamp at the head of the
+stairs shone through the crack of open door on his dark head and
+the eyes that never slept.
+
+The hours passed, and the gray knight still kept his vigil. Alone in
+the darkness--alone, it almost seemed, in the house--he watched.
+His head lay motionless along his paws, but. the steady gray eyes
+never flinched or drooped.
+
+Time tramped on on leaden foot, and still he waited; and ever the
+pain of hovering anxiety was stamped deeper in the gray eyes.
+
+At length it grew past bearing; the hollow stillness of the house
+overcame him. He rose, pushed open the door, and softly pattered
+across the passage.
+
+At the foot of the stairs he halted, his fore-. paws on the first step,
+his grave face and pleading eyes uplifted, as though he were
+praying. The dim light fell on the raised head; and the white
+escutcheon on his breast shone out like the snow on Salmon.
+
+At length, with a sound like a sob, he dropped to the ground, and
+stood listening, his tail dropping and head raised. Then he turned
+and began softly pacing up and down, like some velvet-footed
+sentinel at the gate of death.
+
+Up and down, up and down, softly as the falling snow, for a weary,
+weary while.
+
+Again he stopped and stood, listening intently, at the foot of the
+stairs; and his gray coat quivered as though there were a draught.
+
+Of a sudden, the deathly stillness of the house was broken.
+Upstairs, feet were running hurriedly. There was a cry, and again
+silence.
+
+A life was coming in; a life was going out. The minutes passed;
+hours passed; and, at-the sunless dawn, a life passed.
+
+And all through that night of age-long agony the gray figure stood,
+still as a statue, at the foot of the stairs. Only, when, with the first
+chill breath of the morning, a dry, quick-quenched sob of a strong
+man sorrowing for the helpmeet of a score of years, and a tiny cry
+of a new-born child wailing because its mother was not, came
+down to his ears, the Gray Watchman dropped his head upon his
+bosom, and, with a little whimpering note, crept back to his
+blanket.
+
+A little later the door above opened, and James Moore tramped
+down the stairs. He looked taller and gaunter than his wont, but
+there was no trace of emotion on his face.
+
+At the foot of the stairs Owd Bob stole out to meet him. He came
+crouching up, head
+
+-and tail down, in a manner no man ever saw before or since. At
+his master's feet he stopped
+
+Then, for one short moment, James Moore's whole face quivered.
+
+"Well, lad," he said, quite low, and his voice broke; "she's awa'!"
+
+That was all; for they were an undemonstrative couple.
+
+Then they turned and went out together into the bleak morning.
+
+Chapter VIII. M'ADAM AND HIS COAT
+
+To David M'Adam. the loss of gentle Elizabeth Moore was as
+real a grief as to her children. Yet he manfully smothered his own
+aching heart and devoted himself to comforting the mourners at
+Kenmuir.
+
+In the days succeeding Mrs. Moore's death the boy recklessly
+neglected his duties at the Grange. But little M'Adam forbore to
+rebuke him. At times, indeed, he essayed to be passively kind.
+David, however, was too deeply sunk in his great sorrow to note
+the change.
+
+The day of the funeral came. The earth was throwing off its
+ice-fetters; and the Dale was lost in a mourning mist.
+
+In the afternoon M'Adam was standing at the window of the
+kitchen, contemplating the infinite weariness of the scene, when
+the door of the house opened and shut noiselessly. Red Wull
+raised himself on to the sill and growled, and David hurried past
+the window making for Kenmuir. M'Adam watched the passing
+figure indifferently; then with an angry oath sprang to the window.
+
+"Bring me back that coat, ye thief!" he cried, tapping fiercely on
+the pane. "Tax' it aff at onst, ye muckle gowk, or I'll come and tear
+it aff ye. D'ye see him, Wullie? the great coof has ma coat--me
+black coat, new last Michaelmas, and it rainin' 'nough to melt it."
+
+He threw the window up with a bang and leaned out.
+
+"Bring it back, I tell ye, ondootiful, or I'll summons ye. Though
+ye've no respect for me, ye might have for ma claithes. Ye're too
+big for yer am boots, let alane ma coat. D'ye think I had it cut for a
+elephant? It's burst-in', I tell ye. Tak' it aff! Fetch it here, or I'll e'en
+send Wullie to bring it!"
+
+David paid no heed except to begin running heavily down the hill.
+The coat was stretched in wrinkled agony across his back; his big,
+red wrists protruded like shank-bones from the sleeves; and the
+little tails flapped wearily in vain attempts to reach the wearer's
+legs.
+
+M'Adam, bubbling over with indignation, scrambled half through
+the open window. Then, tickled at the amazing impudence of the
+thing, he paused, smiled, dropped to the ground again, and
+watched the uncouth, retreating figure with chuckling amusement.
+
+"Did ye ever see the like o' that, Wullie?" he muttered. "Ma puir
+coat--puir wee coatie! it gars me greet to see her in her pain. A
+man's coat, Wullie, is aften unco sma' for his son's back; and David
+there is strainin' and stretchin' her nigh to brakin', for a' the world
+as he does ma forbearance. And what's he care aboot the one or
+t'ither?--not a finger-flip."
+
+As he stood watching the disappearing figure there began the slow
+tolling of the minute-bell in the little Dale church. Now near, now
+far, now loud, now low, its dull chant rang out through the mist
+like the slow-dropping tears of a mourning world.
+
+M'Adam listened, almost reverently, as the bell tolled on, the only
+sound in the quiet Dale. Outside, a drizzling rain was falling; the
+snow dribbled down the hill in muddy tricklets; and trees and roofs
+and windows dripped.
+
+And still the bell tolled on, calling up relentlessly sad memories of
+the long ago.
+
+It was on just such another dreary day, in just such another
+December, and not so many years gone by, that the light had gone
+forever out of his life.
+
+The whole picture rose as instant to his eyes as if it had been but
+yesterday. That insistent bell brought the scene surging back to
+him:the dismal day; the drizzle; the few mourners; little David
+decked out in black, his fair hair contrasting with his gloomy
+clothes, his face swollen with weeping; the Dale hushed, it seemed
+in death, save for the tolling of the bell; and his love had left him
+and gone to the happy land the hymn-books talk of.
+
+Red Wull, who had been watching him uneasily, now came up and
+shoved his muzzle into his master's hand. The cold touch brought
+the little man back to earth. He shook himself, turned wearily away
+from the window, and went to the door of the house.
+
+He stood there looking out; and all round him was the eternal drip,
+drip of the thaw. The wind lulled, and again the minute-bell tolled
+out clear and inexorable, resolute to recall what was and what had
+been.
+
+With a choking gasp the little man turned into the house, and ran
+up the stairs and into his room. He dropped on his knees beside the
+great chest in the corner, and unlocked the bottom drawer, the key
+turning noisily in its socket.
+
+In the drawer he searched with feverish fingers, and produced at
+length a little paper packet wrapped about with a stained yellow
+ribbon. It was the ribbon she haa used to weave on Sundays into
+her soft hair.
+
+Inside the packet was a cheap, heart-shaped frame, and in it a
+photograph.
+
+Up there it was too dark to see. The little man ran down the stairs,
+Red Wull jostling him as he went, and hurried to the window in
+the kitchen.
+
+It was a sweet, laughing face that looked up at him from the frame,
+demure yet arch, shy yet roguish--a face to look at and a face to
+love.
+
+As he looked a wintry smile, wholly tender, half tearful, stole over
+the little man's face.
+
+"Lassie," he whispered, and his voice was infinitely soft, "it's lang
+sin' I've daured look at ye. But it's no that ye're forgotten, deane."
+
+Then he covered his eyes with his hand as though he were blinded.
+
+"Dinna look at me sae, lass!" he cried, and fell on his knees,
+kissing the picture, hugging it to him and sobbing passionately.
+
+Red Wull came up and pushed his face compassionately into his
+master's; but the little man shoved him roughly away, and the dog
+retreated into a corner, abashed and reproachful.
+
+Memories swarmed back on the little man.
+
+It was more than a decade ago now, and yet he dared barely think
+of that last evening when she had lain so white and still in the little
+room above.
+
+"Pit the bairn on the bed, Adam man," she had said in low tones.
+"I'll be gaein' in a wee while noo. It's the lang good-by to you--and
+him."
+
+He had done her bidding and lifted David up. The tiny boy lay still
+a moment, looking at this white-faced mother whom he hardly
+recognized.
+
+"Minnie!" he called piteously. Then, thrusting a small, dirty hand
+into his pocket, he pulled out a grubby sweet.
+
+"Minnie, ha' a sweetie--ain o' Davie's sweeties!" and he held it out
+anxiously in his warm plump palm, thinking it a certain cure for
+any ill.
+
+"Eat it for mither," she said, smiling tenderly; and then: "Davie, ma
+heart, I'm leavin' ye."
+
+The boy ceased sucking the sweet, and looked at her, the corners
+of his mouth drooping pitifully.
+
+"Ye're no gaein' awa', mither?" he asked, his face all working.
+"Ye'll no leave yen wee laddie?"
+
+"Ay, laddie, awa'--reet awa'. Ha's callin' me." She tried to smile;
+but her mother's heart was near to bursting.
+
+"Ye'll tak' yen wee Davie wi' ye mither!" the child pleaded,
+crawling up toward her face.
+
+The great tears rolled, unrestrained, down her wan cheeks, and
+M'Adam, at the head of the bed, was sobbing openly.
+
+"Eh, ma bairn, ma bairn, I'm sam to leave ye!" she cried brokenly.
+"Lift him for me, Adam."
+
+He placed the child in her arms; but she was too weak to hold him.
+So he laid him upon his mother's pillows; and the boy wreathed his
+soft arms about her neck and sobbed tempestuously.
+
+And the two lay thus together.
+
+Just before she died, Flora turned her head and whispered:
+
+"Adam, ma man, ye'll ha' to be mither and father baith to the lad
+noo"; and she looked at him with tender confidence in her dying
+eyes.
+
+"I wull! afore God as I stan' here I wull!" he declared passionately.
+Then she died, and there was a look of ineffable peace upon her
+face.
+
+"Mither and father baith!"
+
+The little man rose to his feet and flung the photograph from him.
+Red Wull pounced upon it; but M'Adam leapt at him as he
+mouthed it.
+
+"Git awa', ye devil!" he screamed; and, picking it up, stroked it
+lovingly with trembling fingers.
+
+"Maither and father baith!"
+
+How had he fulfilled his love's last wish? How!
+
+"Oh God! "--and he fell upon his knees at the table-side, hugging
+the picture, sobbing and praying.
+
+Red Wull cowered in the far corner of the room, and then crept
+whining up to where his master knelt. But M'Adam heeded him
+not, and the great dog slunk away again.
+
+There the little man knelt in the gloom of the winter's afternoon, a
+miserable penitent. His gray-flecked head was bowed upon his
+arms; his hands clutched the picture; and he prayed aloud in
+gasping, halting tones.
+
+"Gie me grace, O God! 'Father and mither baith,' ye said, Flora--
+and I ha'na done it.
+
+But 'tis no too late--say it's no, lass. Tell me there's time yet, and
+say ye forgie me. I've tried to bear wi' him mony and mony a time.
+But he's vexed me, and set himself agin me, and stiffened my back,
+and ye ken hoo I was aye quick to tak' offence. But I'll mak' it up to
+him--mak' it up to him, and mair. I'll humble masel' afore him, and
+that'll be bitter enough. And I'll be father and mither baith to him.
+But there's bin none to help me; and it's bin sair wi'oot ye. And--.
+but, eh, lassie, I'm wearyin' for ye!"
+
+It was a dreary little procession that wound in the drizzle from
+Kenmuir to the little Dale Church. At the head stalked James
+Moore, and close behind David in his meagre coat. While last of
+all, as if to guide the stragglers in the weary road, come Owd Bob.
+
+There was a full congregation in the tiny church now. In the
+squire's pew were Cyril Gilbraith, Muriel Sylvester, and, most
+conspicuous, Lady Eleanour. Her slender figure was simply draped
+in gray, with gray fur about the neck and gray fur edging sleeves
+and jacket; her veil was lifted, and you could see the soft kair
+about her temples, like waves breaking on white cliffs, and her
+eyes big with tender sympathy as she glanced toward the pew upon
+her right.
+
+For there were the mourners from Kenmuir: the Master, tall, grim,
+and gaunt; and beside him Maggie, striving to be calm, and little
+Andrew, the miniature of his father.
+
+Alone, in the pew behind, David M'Adam in his father's coat.
+
+The back of the church was packed with farmers from the whole
+March Mere Estate; friends from Silverdale and Grammoch-town;
+and nearly every soul in Wastrel-dale, come to show their
+sympathy for the living and reverence for the dead.
+
+At last the end came in the wet dreariness of the little churchyard,
+and slowly the mourners departed, until at length were left only the
+parson, the Master, and Owd Bob.
+
+The parson was speaking in rough, short accents, digging
+nervously at the wet ground. The other, tall and gaunt, his face
+drawn and half-averted, stood listening. By his side was Owd Bob,
+scanning his master's countenance, a wistful compassion deep in
+the sad gray eyes; while close by, one of the parson's terriers was
+nosing inquisitively in the wet grass.
+
+Of a sudden, James Moore, his face still turned away, stretched out
+a hand. The parson, broke off abruptly and grasped it. Then the
+two men strode away in opposite directions, the terrier hopping on
+three legs and shaking the rain off his hard coat.
+
+David's steps sounded outside. M'Adam rose from his knees. The
+door of the house opened, and the boy's feet shuffled in the
+passage.
+
+"David!" the little man called in a tremulous voice.
+
+He stood in the half-light, one hand on the table, the other clasping
+the picture. His eyes were bleared, his thin hair all tossed, and he
+was shaking.
+
+"David," he called again; "I've somethin' I wush to say to ye!"
+
+The boy burst into the room. His face was stained with tears and
+rain; and the new black coat was wet and slimy all down the front,
+and on the elbows were green-brown, muddy blots. For, on his way
+home, he had flung himself down in the Stony Bottom just as he
+was, heedless of the wet earth and his father's coat, and, lying on
+his face thinking of that second mother lost to him, had wept his
+heart out in a storm of passionate grief.
+
+Now he stood defiantly, his hand upon the door.
+
+"What d'yo' want?"
+
+The little man looked from him to the picture in his hand.
+
+"Help me, Flora--he'll no," he prayed. Then raising his eyes, he
+began: "I'd like to say--I've bin thinkin'--I think I should tell ye--it's
+no an easy thing for a man to say--"
+
+He broke off short. The self-imposed task was almost more than he
+could accomplish.
+
+He looked appealingly at David. But there was no glimmer of
+understanding in that white, set countenance.
+
+"O God, it's maist mair than I can do!" the little man muttered; and
+the perspiration stood upon his forehead. Again he began:
+David, after I saw ye this afternoon steppin' doon the hill--"
+Again he paused. His glance rested unconsciously upon the coat.
+David mistook the look; mistook the dimness in his father's eyes;
+mistook the tremor in his voice.
+
+"Here 'tis! tak' yo' coat!" he cried passionately; and, tearing it off,
+flung it down at his father's feet. "Tak' it--and---and----curse yo'/"
+
+He banged out of the room and ran upstairs; and, locking himself
+in, threw himself on to his bed and sobbed.
+
+Red Wull made a movement to fly at the retreating figure; then
+turned to his master, his stump-tail vibrating with pleasure.
+But little M'Adam was looking at the wet coat now lying in a wet
+bundle at his feet.
+
+"Curse ye," he repeated softly. "Curse ye --ye heard him. Wullie?"
+
+A bitter smile crept across his face. He looked again at the picture
+now lying crushed in his hand.
+
+"Ye canna say I didna try; ye canna ask me to agin," he muttered,
+and slipped it into his pocket. "Niver agin, Wullie; not if the
+Queen were to ask it."
+
+Then he went out into the gloom and drizzle, still smiling the same
+bitter smile.
+
+That night, when it came to closing-time at the Sylvester Arms,
+Jem Burton found a little gray-haired figure lying on the floor in
+the tap-room. At the little man's head lay a great dog.
+
+"Yo' beast!" said the righteous publican, regarding the figure of his
+best customer with fine scorn. Then catching sight of a photograph
+in the little man's hand:
+
+"Oh, yo're that sort, are yo', foxy?" he leered. "Gie us a look at 'er,"
+and he tried to disengage the picture from the other's grasp. But at
+the attempt the great dog rose, bared his teeth, and assumed such a
+diabolical expression that the big landlord retreated hurriedly
+behind the bar.
+
+"Two on ye!" he shouted viciously, rattling his heels; "beasts
+baith!"
+
+PART III THE SHEPHERDS' TROPHY
+
+Chapter IX.  RIVALS
+
+M'ADAM never forgave his son. After the scene on the evening of
+the funeral there could be no alternative but war for all time. The
+little man had attempted to humble himself, and been rejected; and
+the bitterness of defeat, when he had deserved victory, rankled like
+a poisoned barb in his bosom.
+
+Yet the heat of his indignation was directed not against David, but
+against the Master of Kenmuir. To the influence and agency of
+James Moore he attributed his discomfiture, and bore himself
+accordingly. In public or in private, in tap-room or market, he
+never wearied of abusing his enemy.
+
+"Feel the loss o' his wife, d'ye say?" he would cry. "Ay, as muckle
+as I feel the loss o' my hair. James Moore can feel naethin', I tell
+ye, except, aiblins, a mischance to his meeserable dog."
+
+When the two met, as they often must, it was always M'Adam's
+endeavor to betray his enemy into an unworthy expression of
+feeling. But James Moore, sorely tried as he often was, never gave
+way. He met the little man's sneers with a quelling silence, looking
+down on his asp-tongued antagonist with such a contempt flashing
+from his blue-gray eyes as hurt his adversary more than words.
+
+Only once was he spurred into reply. It was in the tap-room of the
+Dalesman's Daughter on the occasion of the big spring fair in
+Grammoch-town, when there was a goodly gathering of farmers
+and their dogs in the room.
+
+M'Adam was standing at the fireplace with Red Wull at his side.
+
+"It's a noble pairt ye play, James Moore," he cried loudly across the
+room, "settin' son against father, and dividin' hoose against hoose.
+It's worthy o' ye we' yer churchgoin', and yer psalm-singin', and yer
+godliness."
+
+The Master looked up from the far end of the room.
+
+"Happen yo're not aware, M'Adam," he said sternly, "that, an' it had
+not bin for me, David'd ha' left you years agone--and 'twould
+nob'but ha' served yo' right, I'm thinkin'.
+
+The little man was beaten on his own ground, so he changed front.
+
+"Dinna shout so, man--I have ears to hear, Forbye ye irritate
+Wullie."
+
+The Tailless Tyke, indeed, had advanced from the fireplace, and
+now stood, huge and hideous, in the very centre of the room. There
+was distant thunder in his throat, a threat upon his face, a
+challenge in every wrinkle. And the Gray Dog stole gladly out
+from behnind his  master to take up the gage of battle.
+
+Straightway there was silence; tongues ceased to wag, tankards to
+clink. Every man and every dog was quietly gathering about those
+two central figures. Not one of them all but had his score to wipe
+off against the Tailless Tyke; not one of them but was burning to
+join in, the battle once begun. And the two gladiators stood
+looking past one another, muzzle to muzzle, each with a tiny flash
+of teeth glinting between his lips.
+
+But the fight was not to be; for the twentieth time the Master
+intervened.
+
+"Bob, lad, coom in!" he called, and, bending, grasped his favorite
+by the neck.
+
+M'Adam laughed softly.
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, to me!" he cried. "The look o' you's enough for
+that gentleman."
+
+"If they get fightin' it'll no be Bob here I'll hit, I warn yo',
+M'Adam," said the Master grimly.
+
+"Gin ye sac muckle as touched Wullie d'ye ken what I'd do, James
+Moore?" asked the little man very smoothly.
+
+"Yes--sweer," the other replied, and strode out of the room amid a
+roar of derisive laughter at M'Adam's expense.
+
+Owd Bob had now attained wellnigh the perfection of his art.
+Parson Leggy declared roundly that his like had not been seen
+since the days of Rex son of Rally. Among the Dalesmen he was a
+heroic favorite, his prowess and gentle ways winning him friends
+on every hand. But the point that told most heavily for him was
+that in all things he was the very antithesis of Red Wull.
+
+Barely a man in the country-side but owed that ferocious savage a
+grudge; not a man of them all who dared pay it. Once Long Kirby,
+full of beer and valor, tried to settle his account. Coming on
+M'Adam and Red Wull as he was driving into Grammoch-town, he
+lent over and with his thong dealt the dog a terrible sword-like
+slash that raised an angry ridge of red from hip to shoulder; and
+was twenty yards down the road before the little man's shrill curse
+reached his ear, drowned in a hideous bellow.
+
+He stood up and lashed the colt, who, quick on his legs for a young
+un, soon settled to his gallop. But, glancing over his shoulder, he
+saw a hounding form behind, catching him as though he were
+walking. His face turned sickly white; he screamed; he flogged; he
+looked back. Right beneath the tail-board was the red devil in the
+dust; while racing a furlong behind on the turnpike road was the
+mad figure of M'Adam.
+
+The smith struck back and flogged forward. It was of no avail.
+With a tiger-like bound the murderous brute leapt on the flying
+trap. At the shock of the great body the colt was thrown violently
+on his side; Kirby was tossed over the hedge; and Red Wull
+pinned beneath the debris.
+
+M'Adam had time to rush up and save a tragedy.
+
+"I've a mind to knife ye, Kirby," he panted, as he bandaged the
+smith's broken head.
+
+After that you may be sure the Dalesmen preferred to swallow
+insults rather than to risk their lives; and their impotence only
+served to fan their hatred to white heat.
+
+The working methods of the antagonists were as contrasted as their
+appearances. In a word, the one compelled where the other coaxed.
+
+His enemies said the Tailless Tyke was rough; not even Tammas
+denied he was ready. His brain was as big as his body, and he used
+them both to some purpose. "As quick as a cat, with the heart of a
+lion and the temper of Nick's self," was Parson Leggy's description.
+
+What determination could effect, that could Red Wall; but
+achievement by inaction--supremest of all strategies--was not for
+him. In matters of the subtlest handling, where to act anything
+except indifference was to lose, with sheep restless, fearful
+forebodings hymned to them by the wind, panic hovering unseen
+above them, when an ill-considered movement spelt
+catastrophe--then was Owd Bob o' Kenmuir incomparable.
+
+Men still tell how, when the squire's new thrashing-machine ran
+amuck in Grammochtown, and for some minutes the market
+square was a turbulent sea of blaspheming men, yelping dogs,
+and stampeding sheep, only one flock stood calm as a mill-pond by
+the bull-ring, watching the riot with almost indifference. And in
+front, sitting between them and the storm, was a quiet gray dog, his
+mouth stretched in a capacious yawn: to yawn was to win, and he
+won.
+
+When the worst of the uproar was over, many a glance of triumph
+was shot first at that one still pack, and then at M'Adam, as he
+waded through the disorder of huddling sheep.
+
+"And wheer's your Wullie noo?" asked Tapper scornfully.
+
+"Weel," the little man answered with a quiet smile, "at this minute
+he's killin' your Rasper doon by the pump." Which was indeed the
+case; for big blue Rasper had interfered with the great dog in the
+performance of his duty, and suffered accordingly.
+
+Spring passed into summer; and the excitement as to the event of
+the approaching Trials, when at length the rivals would be pitted
+against one another, reached such a height as old Jonas Maddox,
+the octogenarian, could hardly recall.
+
+Down in the Sylvester Arms there was almost nightly a conflict
+between M'Adam and Tammas Thornton, spokesman of the Dales
+men. Many a long-drawn bout of words had the two anent the
+respective merits and Cup chances of red and gray. In these duels
+Tammas was usually worsted. His temper would get the better of
+his discretion; and the cynical debater would be lost in the
+hot-tongued partisan.
+
+During these encounters the others would, as a rule, maintain a
+rigid silence. Only when their champion was being beaten, and it
+was time for strength of voice to vanquish strength of argument,
+they joined in right lustily and roared the little man down, for all
+the world like the gentlemen who rule the Empire at Westminster.
+
+Tammas was an easy subject for M'Adam to draw, but David was
+an easier. Insults directed at himself the boy bore with a stolidity
+born of long use. But a poisonous dart shot against his friends at
+Kenmuir never failed to achieve its object. And the little man
+evinced an amazing talent for the concoction of deft lies respecting
+James Moore.
+
+"I'm hearin'," said he, one evening, sitting in the kitchen, sucking
+his twig; "I'm hearin' James Moore is gaein' to git married agin."
+
+"Yo're hearin' lies--or mair-like tellin' 'em," David answered
+shortly. For he treated his father now with contemptuous
+indifference.
+
+"Seven months sin' his wife died," the little man continued
+meditatively. "Weel, I'm on'y 'stonished he's waited sae lang. Am
+buried, anither come on--that's James Moore."
+
+David burst angrily out of the room.
+
+"Gaein' to ask him if it's true?" called his father after him. "Gude
+luck to ye--and him."
+
+David had now a new interest at Kenmuir. In Maggie he found an
+endless source of study. On the death of her mother the girl had
+taken up the reins of government at Kenmuir; and gallantly she
+played her part, whether in tenderly mothering the baby, wee
+Anne, or in the sterner matters of household work. She did her
+duty, young though she was, with a surprising, old-fashioned
+womanliness that won many a smile of approval from her father,
+and caused David's eyes to open with astonishment.
+
+And he soon discovered that Maggie, mistress of Kenmuir, was
+another person from his erstwhile playfellow and servant.
+
+The happy days when might ruled right were gone, never to be
+recalled. David often regretted them, especially when in a conflict
+of tongues, Maggie, with her quick answers and teasing eyes, was
+driving him sulky and vanquished from the field. The two were
+perpetually squabbling now. In the good old days, he remembered
+bitterly, squabbles between them were unknown. He had never
+permitted them; any attempt at independent thought or action was
+as sternly quelled as in the Middle Ages. She must follow where
+he led on--"Ma word!"
+
+Now she was mistress where he had been master; hers was to
+command, his to obey. In consequence they were perpetually at
+war. And yet he would sit for hours in the kitchen and watch her,
+as she went about her business, with solemn, interested eyes, half
+of admiration, half of amusement. In the end Maggie always
+turned on him with a little laugh touched with irritation.
+
+"Han't yo' got nothin' better'n that to do, nor lookin' at me?" she
+asked one Saturday about a month before Cup Day.
+
+"No, I han't," the pert fellow rejoined.
+
+"Then I wish yo' had. It mak's me fair jumpety yo' watchin' me so
+like ony cat a mouse."
+
+"Niver yo' fash yo'sel' account o' me, ma wench," he answered
+calmly.
+
+"Yo' wench, indeed!" she cried, tossing her head.
+
+"Ay, or will be," he muttered.
+
+"What's that?" she cried, springing round, a flush of color on her
+face.
+
+"Nowt, my dear. Yo'll know so soon as I want yo' to, yo' may be
+sure, and no sooner."
+
+The girl resumed her baking, half angry, half suspicious.
+
+"I dunno' what yo' mean, Mr. M'Adam," she said.
+
+"Don't yo', Mrs. M'A--
+
+The rest was lost in the crash of a falling plate; whereat David
+laughed quietly, and asked if he should help pick up the bits.
+
+On the same evening at the Sylvester Arms an announcement was
+made that knocked the breath out of its hearers.
+
+In the debate that night on the fast-approaching Dale Trials and the
+relative abilities of red and gray, M'Adam on the one side, and
+Tammas, backed by Long Kirby and the rest, on the other, had
+cudgelled each other with more than usual vigor. The controversy
+rose to fever-heat; abuse succeeded argument; and the little man
+again and again was hooted into silence.
+
+"It's easy laffin'," he cried at last, "but ye'll laff t'ither side o' yer
+ugly faces on Cup Day."
+
+"Will us, indeed? lJs'll see," came the derisive chorus.
+
+"We'll whip ye till ye're deaf, dumb, and blind, Wullie and I."
+
+''Yo'll not!''
+
+"We will!"
+
+The voices were rising like the east wind in March.
+
+"Yo'll not, and for a very good reason too," asseverated Tammas
+loudly.
+
+"Gie us yer reason, ye muckle liar," cried the little man, turning on
+him.
+
+"Becos--" began Jim Mason and stopped to rub his nose. 
+
+"Yo' 'old yo' noise, Jim," recommended Rob Saunderson.
+
+"Becos--" it was Tammas this time who paused.
+
+"Git on wi' it, ye stammerin' stirk!" cried M'Adam. "Why?"
+
+"Becos--Owd Bob'll not rin."
+
+Tammas sat back in his chair.
+
+"What!" screamed the little man, thrusting forward.
+
+"What's that!" yelled Long Kirby, leaping to his feet.
+
+"Mon, say it agin!" shouted Rob.
+
+"What's owd addled egg tellin'?" cried Liz Burton.
+
+"Dang his 'ead for him!" shouts Tupper. "Fill his eye!" says Ned
+Hoppin.
+
+They jostled round the old man's chair:
+
+M'Adam in front; Jem Burton and Long Kirby leaning over his
+shoulder; Liz behind her father; Saunderson and Tupper tackling
+him on either side; while the rest peered and elbowed in the rear.
+
+The announcement had fallen like a thunderbolt among them.
+
+Tammas looked slowly up at the little mob of eager faces above
+him. Pride at the sensation caused by his news struggled in his
+countenance with genuine sorrow for the matter of it.
+
+"Ay, yo' may well 'earken all on yo'. Tis enough to mak' the deadies
+listen. I says agin: We's'll no rin oor Bob fot' Cup. And yo' may
+guess why. Bain't every mon, Mr. M'Adam, as'd pit aside his chanst
+o' the Cup, and that 'maist a gift for him"--M'Adam's tongue was in
+his cheek--" and it a certainty," the old man continued warmly,
+"oot o' respect for his wife's memory."
+
+The news was received in utter silence. The shock of the surprise,
+coupled with the bitterness of the disappointment, froze the slow
+tongues of his listeners.
+
+Only one small voice broke the stillness.
+
+"Oh, the feelin' man! He should git a reduction o' rent for sic a
+display o' proper speerit. I'll mind Mr. Hornbut to let auld Sylvester
+ken o't."
+
+Which he did, and would have got a thrashing for his pains had not
+Cyril Gilbraith thrown him out of the parsonage before the angry
+cleric could lay hands upon him.
+
+Chapter X. RED WULL WINS
+
+TAMMAS had but told the melancholy truth. Owd Bob was not to
+run for the cup. And this self-denying ordinance speaks more for
+James Moore s love of his lost wife than many a lordly cenotaph.
+
+To the people of the Daleland, from the Black Water to the
+market-cross in Grammoch-town, the news came with the shock
+of a sudden blow. They had set their hearts on the Gray Dog s
+success; and had felt serenely confident of his victory. But the
+sting of the matter lay in this: that now the Tailless Tyke might
+well win.
+
+M'Adam, on the other hand, was plunged into a fervor of delight at
+the news. For to win the Shepherds' Trophy was the goal of his
+ambition. David was now less than nothing to the lonely little man,
+Red Wull everything to him. And to have that name handed down
+to posterity, gallantly holding its place among those of the most
+famous sheep-dogs of all time, was his heart's desire.
+
+As Cup Day drew near, the little man, his fine-drawn temperament
+strung to the highest pitch of nervousness, was tossed on a sea of
+apprehension. His hopes and fears ebbed and flowed on the tide of
+the moment. His moods were as uncertain as the winds in March;
+and there was no dependence on his humor for a unit of time. At
+one minute he paced up and down the kitchen, his face already
+flushed with the glow of victory, chanting:
+
+"Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled !"
+
+At the next he was down at the table, his head buried in his hands,
+his whole figure shaking, as he cried in choking voice: "Eh,
+Wullie, Wullie, they're all agin us."
+
+David found that life with his father now was life with an
+unamiable hornet. Careless as he affected to be of his father's
+vagaries, he was tried almost to madness, and fled away at every
+moment to Kenmuir; for, as he told Maggie, "I'd sooner put up wi'
+your h'airs and h'imperences, miss, than wi' him, the wemon that
+he be!"
+
+At length the great day came. Fears, hopes, doubts, dismays, all
+dispersed in the presence of the reality.
+
+Cup Day is always a general holiday in the Daleland, and every
+soul crowds over to Silverdale. Shops were shut; special trains ran
+in to Grammoch-town; and the road from the little town was dazed
+with char-a-bancs, brakes, wagonettes, carriages, carts,
+foot-passengers, wending toward the Dalesman's Daughter.
+
+And soon the paddock below that little inn was humming with the
+crowd of sportsmen and spectators come to see the battle for the
+Shepherd's Trophy.
+
+There, very noticeable with its red body and yellow wheels, was
+the great Kenmuir wagon. Many an eye was directed on the
+handsome young pair who stood in it, conspicuous and
+unconscious, above the crowd: Maggie, looking in her simple print
+frock as sweet and fresh as any mountain flower; while David's
+fair face was all gloomy and his brows knit.
+
+In front of the wagon was a black cluster of Dalesmen, discussing
+M'Adam's chances. In the centre was Tammas holding forth. Had
+you passed close to the group you might have heard: "A man, d'yo
+say, Mr. Maddox? A h'ape, I call him"; or: "A dog? more like an
+'og, I tell yo'." Round the old orator were Jonas, 'Enry, and oor Job,
+Jem Burton, Rob Saunderson, Tupper, Jim Mason, Hoppin, and
+others; while on the outskirts stood Sam'l Todd prophesying rain
+and M'Adam's victory. Close at hand Bessie Bolstock, who was
+reputed to have designs on David, was giggling spitefully at the
+pair in the Kenmuir wagon, and singing:
+
+"Let a lad aloan, lass,
+Let a lad a-be."
+
+While her father, Teddy, dodged in and out among the crowd with
+tray and glasses: for Cup Day was the great day of the year for him.
+
+Past the group of Dalesmen and on all sides was a mass of bobbing
+heads--Scots, Northerners, Yorkshiremen, Taffies. To right and
+left a long array of carriages and carts, ranging from the squire's
+quiet landau and Viscount Birdsaye's gorgeous barouche to Liz
+Burton's three-legged moke-cart with little Mrs. Burton, the twins,
+young Jake (who should have walked), and Monkey (ditto) packed
+away inside. Beyond the Silver Lea -the gaunt Scaur raised its
+craggy peak, and the Pass, trending along its side, shone white in
+the sunshine.
+
+At the back of the carriages were booths, cocoanut-shies, Aunt
+Sallies, shows, bookmakers' stools, and all the panoply of such a
+meeting. Here Master Launcelot Bilks and Jacky Sylvester were
+fighting; Cyril Gilbraith was offering to take on the boxing man;
+Long Kirby was snapping up the odds against Red Wull; and Liz
+Burton and young Ned Hoppin were being photographed together,
+while Melia Ross in the background was pretending she didn't
+care.
+
+On the far bank of the stream was a little bevy of men and dogs,
+observed of all.
+
+The Juvenile Stakes had been run and won; Londesley's Lassie had
+carried off the Locals; and the fight for the Shepherds' Trophy was
+about to begin.
+
+"Yo're not lookin' at me noo," whispered Maggie to the silent boy
+by her side.
+
+"Nay; nor niver don't wush to agin." David answered roughly. His
+gaze was directed over the array of heads in front to where, beyond
+the Silver Lea, a group of shepherds and their dogs was clustered.
+While standing apart from the rest, in characteristic isolation, was
+the bent figure of his father, and beside him the Tailless Tyke.
+
+"Doest'o not want yo' feyther to win?" asked Maggie softly,
+following his gaze.
+
+"I'm prayin' he'll be beat," the boy answered moodily.
+
+"Eh, Davie, hoo can ye?" cried the girl, shocked.
+
+"It's easy to say, 'Eh, David,' "he snapped. "But if yo' lived along o'
+them two "--he nodded toward the stream--" 'appen yo'd understand
+a bit. . . . 'Eh, David,' indeed! I never did!"
+
+"I know it, lad," she said tenderly; and he was appeased.
+
+"He'd give his right hand for his bless'd Wullie to win; I'd give me
+right arm to see him beat. . . . And oor Bob there all the while,--he
+nodded to the far left of the line, where stood James Moore and
+Owd Bob, with Parson Leggy and the Squire.
+
+When at length Red Wull came out to run his course, he worked
+with the savage dash that always characterized him. His method
+was his own; but the work was admirably done.
+
+"Keeps right on the back of his sheep," said the parson, watching
+intently. "Strange thing they don't break!" But they didn't. There
+was no waiting, no coaxing; it was drive and devilry all through.
+He brought his sheep along at a terrific rate, never missing a turn,
+never faltering, never running out. And the crowd applauded, for
+the crowd loves a dashing display. While little M'Adam, hopping
+agilely about, his face ablaze with excitement, handled dog and
+sheep with a masterly precision that compelled the admiration
+even of his enemies.
+
+"M'Adam wins!" roared a bookmaker. "Twelve to one agin the
+field!"
+
+"He wins, dang him!" said David, low.
+
+"Wull wins!" said the parson, shutting his lips.
+
+"And deserves too!" said James Moore.
+
+"Wull wins!" softly cried the crowd.
+
+"We don't!" said Sam'l gloomily.
+
+And in the end Red Wull did Win; and there were none save
+Tammas, the bigot, and Long Kirby, who had lost a good deal of
+his wife's money and a little of his own, to challenge the justice of
+the verdict.
+
+The win had but a chilling reception. At first there was faint
+cheering; but it sounded like the echo of an echo, and soon died of
+inanition. To get up an ovation, there must be money at the back,
+or a few roaring fanatics to lead the dance. Here there was neither;
+ugly stories, disparaging remarks, on every hand. And the hundreds
+who did not know took their tone, as always, from those who said
+they did.
+
+M'Adam could but remark the absence of enthusiasm as he pushed
+up through the throng toward the committee tent. No single voice
+hailed him victor; no friendly hand smote its congratulations.
+Broad backs were turned; contemptuous glances levelled; spiteful
+remarks shot. Only the foreign element looked curiously at the
+little bent figure with the glowing face, and shrank back at the size
+and savage aspect of the great dog at his heels.
+
+But what cared he? His Wullie was acknowledged champion, the
+best sheep-dog of
+
+the year; and the lit Lie man was happy. They could turn their
+backs on him; but they could not alter that; and he could afford to
+be indifferent. "They dinna like it, lad--he! he! But they'll e'en ha'
+to thole it. Ye've won it, Wullie--won it fair."
+
+He elbowed through the press, making for the rope-guarded
+inclosure in front of the committee tent, round which the people
+were now packing. In the door of the tent stood the secretary,
+various stewards, and members of the committee. In front, alone in
+the roped-off space, was Lady Elenour, fragile, dainty, graceful,
+waiting with a smile upon her face to receive the winner. And on a
+table beside her, naked and dignified, the Shepherd's Trophy.
+
+There it stood, kingly and impressive; its fair white sides inscribed
+with many names; cradled in three shepherds' crooks; and on the
+top, as if to guard the Cup's contents, an exquistely carved collie's
+head. The Shepherds' Trophy, the goal of his life's race, and many
+another man's.
+
+He climbed over the rope, followed by Red Wull, and took off his
+hat with almost courtly deference to the fair lady before him.
+
+As he walked tip to the table on which the Cup stood, a shrill
+voice, easily recognizable, broke the silence.
+
+"You'd like it better if 'twas full and yo' could swim in it, you and
+yer Wullie," it called. Whereat the crowd giggled, and Lady
+Eleanour looked indignant.
+
+The little man turned.
+
+"I'll mind drink yer health, Mr. Thornton, never fear, though I ken
+ye'd prefaire to drink yer am," he said. At which the crowd giggled
+afresh; and a gray head at the back, which had hoped itself
+unrecognized, disappeared suddenly.
+
+The little man stood there in the stillness, sourly smiling, his face
+still wet from his exertions; while the Tailless Tyke at his side
+fronted defiantly the serried ring of onlookers, a white fence of
+teeth faintly visible between his lips.
+
+Lady Eleanour looked uneasy. Usually the lucky winner was
+unable to hear her little speech, as she gave the Cup away, so
+deafening was the applause. Now there was utter silence. She
+glanced up at the crowd, but there was no response to her
+unspoken appeal in that forest of hostile faces. And her gentle
+heart bled for the forlorn little man before her. To make it up she
+smiled on him so sweetly as to more than compensate him.
+
+"I'm sure you deserve your success, Mr. M'Adam," she said. "You
+and Red Wull there worked splendidly--everybody says so."
+
+"I've heard naethin' o't," the little man answered dryly. At which
+some one in the crowd sniggered.
+
+"And we all know what a grand dog he is; though"--with a
+reproving smile as she glanced at Red Wull's square, truncated
+stern--" he's not very polite."
+
+"His heart is good, your Leddyship, if his manners are not,"
+M'Adam answered, smiling.
+
+"Liar!" came a loud voice in the silence. Lady Eleanour looked up,
+hot with indignation, and half rose from her seat. But M'Adam
+merely smiled.
+
+"Wullie, turn and mak' yer bow to the leddy," he said. "They'll no
+hurt us noo we're up; it's when we're doon they'll flock like corbies
+to the carrion." 
+
+At that Red Wull walked up to Lady Eleanour, faintly wagging his
+tail; and she put her hand on his huge bull head and said, "Dear old
+Ugly!" at which the crowd cheered in earnest.
+
+After that, for some moments, the only sound was the gentle ripple
+of the good lady's voice and the little man's caustic replies.
+
+"Why, last winter the country was full of Red Wull's doings and
+yours. It was always M'Adam and his Red Wull have done this and
+that and the other. I declare I got quite tired of you both, I heard
+such a lot about you."
+
+The little man, cap in hand, smiled, blushed and looked genuinely
+pleased.
+
+"And when it wasn't you it was Mr. Moore and Owd Bob."
+
+"Owd Bob, bless him!" called a stentorian voice. "There cheers for
+oor Bob!"
+
+'Ip! 'ip! 'ooray!" It was taken up gallantly, and cast from mouth to
+mouth; and strangers, though they did not understand, caught the
+contagion and cheered too; and the uproar continued for some
+minutes.
+
+When it was ended Lady Eleanour was standing up, a faint flush
+on her cheeks and her eyes flashing dangerously, like a queen at
+bay.
+
+"Yes," she cried, and her clear voice thrilled through the air like a
+trumpet. "Yes; and now three cheers for Mr. M'Adam and his Red
+Wull! Hip! hip--"
+
+"Hooray!" A little knowt of stalwarts at the back--James Moore,
+Parson Leggy, Jim Mason, and you may be sure in heart, at least,
+Owd Bob--responded to the call right lustily. The crowd joined in;
+and, once off, cheered and cheered again.
+
+"Three cheers more for Mr. M'Adam!"
+
+But the little man waved to them.
+
+"Dinna be bigger heepocrites than ye can help," he said. "Ye've
+done enough for one day, and thank ye for it."
+
+Then Lady Eleanour handed him the Cup.
+
+"Mr. M'Adam, I present you with the Champion Challenge Dale
+Cup, open to all corners. Keep it, guard it, love it as your own, and
+win it again if you can. Twice more and it's yours, you know, and it
+will stop forever beneath the shadow of the Pike. And the right
+place for it, say I--the Dale Cup for Dalesmen."
+
+The little man took the Cup tenderly.
+
+"It shall no leave the Estate or ma hoose, yer Leddyship, gin
+Wullie and I can help it," he said emphatically.
+
+Lady Eleanour retreated into the tent, and the crowd swarmed over
+the ropes and round the little man, who held the Cup beneath his
+arm.
+
+Long Kirby laid irreverent hands upon it.
+
+"Dinna finger it!" ordered M'Adam.
+
+"Shall!''
+
+"Shan't! Wullie, keep him aff." Which the great dog proceeded to
+do amid the laughter of the onlookers.
+
+Among the last, James Moore was borne past the little man. At
+sight of him, M'Adam's face assumed an expression of intense
+concern.
+
+"Man, Moore!" he cried, peering forward as though in alarm;
+"man, Moore, ye're green--positeevely verdant. Are ye in pain?"
+Then, catching sight of Owd Bob, he started back in affected
+horror.
+
+"And, ma certes! so's yer dog! Yer dog as was gray is green. Oh,
+guid life! "--and he made as though about to fall fainting to the
+ground.
+
+Then, in bantering tones: "Ah, but ye shouldna  covet-- 
+
+"He'll ha' no need to covet it long, I can tell yo'," interposed 
+Tammas's shrill accents.
+
+"And why for no?"
+
+"Becos next year he'll win it fra yo'. Oor Bob'll win it, little mon.
+Why? thot's why."
+
+The retort was greeted with a yell of applause from the sprinkling
+of Dalesmen in the crowd.
+
+But M'Adam swaggered away into the tent, his head up, the Cup
+beneath his arm, and Red Wull guarding his rear.
+
+"First of a' ye'll ha' to beat Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull!" he
+cried back proudly.
+
+Chapter XI. OOR BOB
+
+M'ADAM'S pride in the great Cup that now graced his kitchen was
+supreme. It stood alone in the very centre of the mantelpiece, just
+below the old bell-mouthed blunderbuss that hung upon the wall.
+The only ornament in the bare room, it shone out in its silvery
+chastity like the moon in a gloomy sky.
+
+Por once the little man was content. Since his mother's death
+David had never known such peace. It was not that his father
+became actively kind; rather that he forgot to be actively unkind.
+
+"Not as I care a brazen button one way or t'ither," the boy informed
+Maggie.
+
+"Then yo' should," that proper little person replied.
+
+M'Adam was, indeed, a changed being. He forgot to curse James
+Moore; he forgot to sneer at Owd Bob; he rarely visited the
+Sylvester Arms, to the detriment of Jem Burton's pocket and
+temper; and he was never drunk.
+
+"Soaks 'isseif at home, instead," suggested Tammas, the
+prejudiced. But the accusation was untrue.
+
+"Too drunk to git so far," said Long Kirby, kindly man.
+
+"I reck'n the Cup is kind o' company to him," said Jim Mason.
+"Happen it's lonesomeness as drives him here so much." And
+happen you were right, charitable Jim.
+
+"Best mak' maist on it while he has it, 'cos he'll not have it for
+long," Tammas remarked amid applause.
+
+Even Parson Leggy allowed--rather reluctantly, indeed, for he was
+but human--that the little man was changed wonderfully for the
+better.
+
+"But I am afraid it may not last," he said. "We shall see what
+happens when Owd Bob beats him for the Cup, as he certainly
+will. That'll be the critical moment."
+
+As things were, the little man spent all his spare moments with the
+Cup between his knees, burnishing it and crooning to Wullie:
+
+"I never saw a fairer, 
+I never lo'ed a dearer, 
+And neist my heart I'll wear her, 
+For fear my jewel tine."
+
+There, Wullie! look at her! is she no bonthe? She shines like a
+twinkle--twinkle in the sky." And he would hold it out at arm's
+length, his head cocked sideways the better to scan its bright
+beauties.
+
+The little man was very jealous for his treasure. David might not
+touch it; might not smoke in the kitchen lest the fumes should
+tarnish its glory; while if he approached too closely he was ordered
+abruptly away.
+
+"As if I wanted to touch his nasty Cup!" he complained to Maggie.
+"I'd sooner ony day--"
+
+"Hands aff, Mr. David, immediate! ' she cried indignantly.
+"'Pertinence, indeed!" as she tossed her head clear of the big
+fingers that were fondling her pretty hair.
+
+So it was that M'Adam, on coming quietly-into the kitchen one
+day, was consumed with angry resentment to find David actually
+handling the object of his reverence; and the manner of his doing it
+added a thousandfold to the offence.
+
+The boy was lolling indolently against the mantelpiece, his fair
+head shoved right into the Cup, his breath dimming its lustre, and
+his two hands, big and dirty, slowly revolving it before his eyes.
+
+Bursting with indignation, the little man crept up behind the boy.
+David was reading through the long list of winners.
+
+"Theer's the first on 'em," he muttered, shooting out his tongue to
+indicate the locality: "'Andrew Moore's Rough, 178--.' And theer
+agin --' James Moore's Pinch, 179--.' And agin--'Beck, 182--.' Ah,
+and theer's 'im Tammas tells on! 'Rex, 183--,' and Rex, 183--.' Ay,
+but he was a rare un by all tell-in's! If he'd nob'but won but onst
+agin!
+
+Ah, and theer's none like the Gray Dogs--they all says that, and I
+say so masel'; none like the Gray Dogs o' Kenmuir, bless 'em! And
+we'll win agin too--" he broke off short; his eye had travelled down
+to the last name on the list.
+
+"'M'Adam's Wull'!" he read with unspeakable contempt, and put his
+great thumb across the name as though to wipe it out. "'M'-Adam's
+Wull'! Goo' gracious sakes! P-hg-h-r-r! "--and he made a motion as
+though to spit upon the ground.
+
+But a little shoulder was into his side, two small fists were beating
+at his chest, and a shrill voice was yelling: "Devil! devil! stan' awa'
+! "--and he was tumbled precipitately away from the mantelpiece,
+and brought up abruptly against the side-wall.
+
+The precious Cup swayed on its ebony stand, the boy's hands,
+rudely withdrawn, almost overthrowing it. But the little man's first
+impulse, cursing and screaming though he was, was to steady it.
+
+"'M'Adam's Wull'! I wish he was here to teach ye, ye snod-faced,
+ox-limbed profleegit!" he cried, standing in front of the Cup, his
+eyes blazing.
+
+"Ay, 'WAdam's Wull'! And why not 'M'Adam's Wull'? Ha' ye ony
+objection to the name?"
+
+"I didn't know yo' was theer," said David, a thought sheepishly.
+
+"Na; or ye'd not ha' said it." 
+
+"I'd ha' thought it, though," muttered the boy.
+
+Luckily, however, his father did not hear. He stretched his hands
+up tenderly for the Cup, lifted it down, and began reverently to
+polish the dimmed sides with his handkerchief.
+
+"Ye're thinkin', nae doot," he cried, casting up a vicious glance at
+David, "that Wullie's no gude enough to ha' his name alangside o'
+they cursed Gray Dogs. Are ye no? Let's ha' the truth for aince--for
+a diversion."
+
+" Reck'n he's good enough if there's none better," David replied
+dispassionately.
+
+"And wha should there be better? Tell me that, ye mucide gowk."
+
+David smiled.
+
+"Eh, but that'd be long tellin', he said.
+
+"And what wad ye mean by that?" his father cried.
+
+"Nay; I was but thinkin' that Mr. Moore's Bob'll look gradely writ
+under yon." He pointed to the vacant space below Red Wull's
+name.
+
+The little man put the Cup back on its pedestal with hurried hands.
+The handkerchief dropped unconsidered to the floor; he turned and
+sprang furiously at the boy, who stood against the wall, still
+smiling; and, seizing him by the collar of his coat, shook him to
+and fro with fiery energy.
+
+"So ye're hopin', prayin', nae doot, that James Moore--curse him
+!--will win ma Cup awa' from me, yer am dad. I wonder ye're no
+'shamed to crass ma door! Ye live on me; ye suck ma blood, ye
+foul-mouthed leech. Wullie and me brak' oorsel's to keep ye in
+.iioose and hame--and what's yer gratitude? 'Ye plot to rob us of
+oor rights."
+
+He dropped the boy's coat and stood back. No rights about it," said
+David, still keeping his temper.
+
+"If I win is it no ma right as muckle as ony Englishman's?"
+
+Red Wull, who had heard the rising voices, came trotting in,
+scowled at David, and took his stand beside his master.
+
+"Ah, if yo' win it," said David, with signfficant emphasis on the
+conjunction.
+
+"And wha's to beat us?"
+
+David looked at his father in well-affected surprise.
+
+"I tell yo' Owd Bob's mm'," he answered.
+
+"And what if he is?" the other cried.
+
+"Why, even yo' should know so much," the boy sneered.
+
+The little man could not fail to understand.
+
+"So that's it!" he said. Then, in a scream, with one finger pointing
+to the great dog:
+
+"And what o' him? What'll ma Wullie be doin' the while? Tell me
+that, and ha' a care! Mind ye, he stan's here hearkenin'!" And,
+indeed, the Tailless Tyke was bristling for battle. 
+
+David did not like the look of things; and edged away toward the
+door.
+
+"What'll Wullie be doin', ye chicken-hearted brock?" his father
+cried.
+
+'Im?" said the boy, now close on the door! 'Im?" he said, with a
+slow contempt that made the red bristles quiver on the dog's neck.
+"Lookin' on, I should think--lookin' on.     
+
+What else is he fit for? I tell yo' oor Bob--"
+
+"--'Oor Bob'!" screamed the little man darting forward. " 'Oor Bob'!
+Hark to him. I'll 'oor--' At him, Wullie! at him!"
+
+But the Tailless Tyke needed no encouragement. With a harsh roar
+he sprang through the air, only to crash against the closing door!
+
+The outer door banged, and in another second a mocking finger
+tapped on the windowpane.
+
+"Better luck to the two on yo' next time! laughed a scornful voice;
+and David ran down the hill toward Kenmuir.
+
+Chapter XII. HOW RED WULL HELD THE BRIDGE
+
+FROM that hour the fire of M'Adam's jealousy blazed into a
+mighty flame. The winnling of the Dale Cup had become a
+mania with him. He had won it once, and would again despite all
+the Moores, all the Gray Dogs, all the undutiful sons in existence;
+on that point he was resolved. The fact of his having tasted the joys
+of victory served to whet his desire. And now he felt he could
+never be happy till the Cup was his own--won outright.
+
+At home David might barely enter the room There the trophy
+stood.
+
+"I'll not ha' ye touch ma Cup, ye dirty fingered, ill-begotten
+wastrel. Wullie and me won it--you'd naught to do wi' it. Go you to
+James Moore and James Moore's dog."
+
+"Ay, and shall I tak' Cup wi' me? or will ye bide till it's took from
+ye?"
+
+So the two went on; and every day the tension approached nearer
+breaking-point.
+
+In the Dale the little man met with no sympathy. The hearts of the
+Dalesmen were to a man with Owd Bob and his master.
+
+Whereas once at the Sylvester Arms his shrill, ill tongue had been
+rarely still, now he maintained a sullen silence; Jem Burton, at
+least, had no cause of. complaint. Crouched away in a corner, with
+Red Wull beside him, the little man would sit watching and
+listening as the Dalesmen talked of Owd Bob's doings, his
+staunchness, sagacity, and coming victory.
+
+Sometimes he could restrain himself no longer. Then he would
+spring to his feet, and stand, a little swaying figure, and denounce
+them passionately in almost pathetic eloquence. These orations
+always concluded in set fashion.
+
+"Ye're all agin us!" the little man would cry in quivering voice.
+
+"We are that," Tammas would answer complacently.
+
+"Fair means or foul, ye're content sae lang as Wullie and me are
+beat. I wonder ye dinna poison him--a little arsenic, and the way's
+clear for your Bob."
+
+'The way is clear enough wi'oot that," from Tammas caustically.
+Then a lengthy silence, only broken by that exceeding bitter cry:
+
+"Eh, Wullie, Wullie, they're all agin us!" 
+
+And always the rivals--red and gray--went about seeking their
+opportunity. But the Master, with his commanding presence and
+stern eyes, was ever ready for them. Toward the end, M'Adam,
+silent and sneering, would secretly urge on Red Wull to the attack;
+until, one day in Grammoch-town, James Moore turned on him,
+his blue eyes glittering. "D'yo' think, yo' little fule," he cried in that
+hard voice of his,"that onst they got set we should iver git either of
+them off alive?" It seemed to strike the little man as a novel idea;
+for, from that moment, he was ever the first in his feverish
+endeavors to oppose his small form, buffer-like, between the
+would-be combatants.
+
+Curse as M'Adam might, threaten as he niight, when the time came
+Owd Bob won.
+
+The styles of the rivals were well contrasted: the patience, the
+insinuating eloquence, combined with the splendid dash, of the
+one; and the fierce, driving fury of the other.
+
+The issue was never in doubt. It may have been that the temper of
+the Tailless Tyke gave in the time of trial; it may have been that
+his sheep were wild, as M'Adam declared; certainly not, as the
+little man alleged in choking voice, that they had been chosen and
+purposely set aside to ruin his chance. Certain it is that his tactics
+scared them hopelessly: ay)d he never had them in hand.
+
+Act for Owd Bob, his dropping, his driving, his penning, aroused
+the loud-tongued admiration of crowd and competitors alike. He
+was patient yet persistent, quiet yet firm, and seemed to coax his
+charges in the right way in that inimitable manner of his own.
+
+When, at length, the verdict was given, and it was known that,
+after an interval of half a century, the Shepherds' Trophy was won
+again by a Gray Dog of Kenmuir, there was such a  scene as has
+been rarely witnessed on the slope behind the Dalesman's
+Daughter.
+
+Great fists were slapped on mighty backs; great feet were stamped
+on the sun-dried banks of the Silver Lea; stalwart lungs were
+strained to their uttermost capacity; and roars of "Moore!" "Owd
+Bob o' Kenmuir!" "The Gray Dogs!" thundered up the hillside, and
+were flung, thundering, back.
+
+Even James Moore was visibly moved as he worked his way
+through the cheering mob; and Owd Bob, trotting alongside him in
+quiet dignity, seemed to wave his silvery brush in
+acknowledgement.
+
+Master Jacky Sylvester alternately turned cart-wheels and felled
+the Hon. Launcelot Bilks to the ground. Lady Eleanour, her cheeks
+flushed with pleasure, waved her parasol, and attempted to restrain
+her son's exuberance. Parson Leggy danced an unclerical jig, and
+shook hands with the squire till both those fine old gentlemen were
+purple in the face. Long Kirby selected a small man in the crowd,
+and bashed his hat down over his eyes. While Tammas, Rob
+Saunderson, Tupper, Hoppin, Londesley, and the rest joined hands
+and went raving round like so many giddy girls. 
+
+ous in the mad heat of his enthusiasm as David M'Adam. He stood
+in the Kenmuir wagon beside Maggie, a conspicuous figure above
+the crowd, as he roared in hoarse ecstasy:
+
+"Weel done, oor Bob! Weel done, Mr. Moore! Yo've knocked him!
+Knock him agin! Owd Bob o' Kenmuir! Moore! Moore o'
+Kenmuir! Hip! Hip!" until the noisy young giant attracted such
+attention in his boisterous delight that Maggie had to lay a hand
+upon his arm to restrain his violence.
+
+Alone, on the far bank of the stream, stood the vanquished pair.
+
+The little man was trembling slightly; his face was still hot from
+his exertions; and as he listened to the ovation accorded to his
+conqueror, there was a piteous set grin upon his face. In front
+stood the defeated dog, his lips wrinkling and hackles rising, as he,
+too, saw and heard and understood.
+
+"It's a gran' thing to ha' a dutiful son. Wullie," the little man
+whispered, watching David's waving figure. "He's happy--and so
+are they a'--not sae much that James Moore has won, as that you
+and I are beat."
+
+Then, breaking down for a moment:
+
+"Eh, Wullie, Wullie! they're all agin us. It's you and I alane,
+lad."
+
+Again, seeing the squire followed by Parson Leggy, Viscount
+Birdsaye, and others of the gentry, forcing their way through the
+press to shake hands with the victor, he continued: 
+
+"It's good to be in wi' the quality, Wullie. Niver mak' a friend of a
+man beneath ye in rank, nor an enemy of a man aboon ye: that's a
+soond principle, Wullie, if ye'd get on in honest England."
+
+He stood there, alone with his dog, watching the crowd on the far
+slope as it surged upward in the direction of the committee tent.
+Only when the black mass had packed itself in solid phalanges
+about that ring, inside which, just a year ago, he had stood in very
+different circumstances, and was at length still, a wintry smile
+played for a moment about his lips. He laughed a mirthless laugh.
+
+"Bide a wee, Wullie -- he! he! Bide a wee.
+
+'The best-laid schemes o' mice and men
+Gang aft agley.'
+
+As he spoke, there came down to him, above the tumult, a faint cry
+of mingled surprise and anger. The cheering ceased abruptly.
+There was silence; then there burst on the stillness a hurricane of
+indignation.
+
+The crowd surged forward, then turned. Every eye was directed
+across the stream. A hundred damning fingers pointed at the
+solitary figure there. There were hoarse yells of: "There he b&
+Yon's him! What's he done wi' it? Thief! Throttle him!"
+
+The mob came lumbering down the slope like one man, thundering
+their imprecations on a thousand throats. They looked dangerous,
+and their wrath was stimulated by the knot of angry Dalesmen who
+led the van. There was more than one white face among the
+women at the top of the slope as they watched the crowd
+blundering blindly down the hill. There were more men than
+Parson Leggy, the squire, James Moore, and the local constables in
+the thick of it all, striving frantically with voice and gesture, ay,
+and stick too, to stem the advance.
+
+It was useless; on the dark wave rolled, irresistible.
+
+On the far bank stood the little man, motionless, awaiting them
+with a grin upon his face. And a little farther in front was the
+Tailless Tyke, his back and neck like a new-shorn wheat-field, as
+he rumbled a vast challenge.
+
+"Come on, gentlemen!" the little man cried. "Come on! I'll hide for
+ye, never fear. Ye're a thousand to one and a dog. It's the odds ye
+like, Englishmen a'."
+
+And the mob, with murder in its throat, accepted the invitation and
+came on.
+
+At the moment, however, from the slope above, clear above the
+tramp of the mulitude, a great voice bellowed: "Way! Way! Way
+for Mr. Trotter!" The advancing host checked and opened out; and
+the secretary of the meeting bundled through.
+
+He was a small, fat man, fussy at any time, and perpetually
+perspiring. Now his face was crimson with rage and running; he
+gesticulated wildly; vague words bubbled forth, as his short legs
+twinkled down the slope.
+
+The crowd paused to admire. Some one shouted a witticism, and
+the crowd laughed. For the moment the situation was saved.
+
+The fat secretary hurried on down the slope, unheeding of any
+insult but the one. He bounced over the plank-bridge: and as he
+came closer, M'Adam saw that in each hand brandished a brick.
+
+"Hoots, man! dinna throw!" he cried, making a feint as though to
+turn in sudden terror.
+
+"What's this? What's this?" gasped the secretary, waving his arms.
+
+"Bricks, 'twad seem," the other answered, staying his flight.
+
+The secretary puffed up like a pudding in a hurry.
+
+"Where's the Cup? Champion, Challenge, etc.," he jerked out.
+"Mind, sir, you're responsible! wholly responsible! Dents,
+damages, delays! What's it all mean, sir? These--these monstrous
+creations "--he brandished the bricks, and M'Adam started back--
+"wrapped, as I live, in straw, sir, in the Cup case, sir! the Cup case!
+No Cup! Infamous! Disgraceful! Insult me--meeting--committee--
+every one! What's it mean, sir?" He paused to pant, his body filling
+and emptying like a bladder.
+
+M'Adam approached him with one eye on the crowd, which was
+heaving forward again, threatening still, but sullen and silent.
+
+"I pit 'em there," he whispered; and drew back to watch the effect
+of his disclosure.
+
+The secretary gasped.
+
+"You--you not only do this--amazing thing--these monstrosities"--
+he hurled the bricks furiously on the unoff ending ground--" but
+you dare to tell me so!"
+
+The little man smiled.
+
+"'Do wrang and conceal it, do right and confess it,' that's
+Englishmen's motto, and mine, as a rule; but this time I had ma
+reasons."
+
+"Reasons, sir! No reasons can justify such an extraordinary breach
+of all the--the decencies. Reasons? the reasons of a maniac. Not to
+say more, sir. Fraudulent detention--fraudulent, I say, sir! What
+were your precious reasons?"
+
+The mob with Tammas and Long Kirby at their head had now
+welinigh reached the plank-bridge. They still looked dangerous,
+and there were isolated cries of:
+
+"Duck him!"
+
+"Chuck him in!"
+
+"An' the dog!"
+
+"Wi' one o' they bricks about their necks!"
+
+"There are my reasons!" said M'Adam, pointing to the forest of
+menacing faces. "Ye see I'm no beloved amang yonder gentlemen,
+and"--in a stage whisper in the other's ear --"I thocht maybe I'd be
+'tacked on the road."
+
+Tammas foremost of the crowd, had now his foot upon the first
+plank.
+
+"Ye robber! ye thief! Wait till we set hands on ye, you and yer
+gorilla!" he called.
+
+M'Adam half turned.
+
+"Wullie," he said quietly, "keep the bridge."
+
+At the order the Tailless Tyke shot gladly forward, and the leaders
+on the bridge as hastily back. The dog galloped on to the rattling
+plank, took his post fair and square in the centre of the narrow
+way, and stood facing the hostile crew like Cerberus guarding the
+gates of hell: his bull-head was thrust forward, hackles up, teeth
+glinting, and a distant rumbling in his throat, as though daring
+them to come on.
+
+"Yo' first, ole lad!" said Tammas, hopping agilely behind Long
+Kirby.
+
+"Nay; the old uns lead!" cried the big smith, his face gray-white.
+He wrenched round, pinned the old man by the arms, and held him
+forcibly before him as a covering shield. There ensued an
+unseemly struggle betwixt the two valiants, Tammas bellowing
+and kicking in the throes of mortal fear.
+
+"Jim Mason'll show us," he suggested at last.
+
+"Nay," said honest Jim; "I'm fear'd." He could say it with impunity;
+for the pluck of Postie Jim was a matter long past dispute. 
+
+Then Jem Burton'd go first?
+
+Nay; Jem had a lovin' wife and dear little kids at 'ome.
+
+Then Big Bell?
+
+Big Bell'd see 'isseif further first.
+
+A tall figure came forcing through the crowd, his face a little paler
+than its wont, and a formidable knob-kerry in his hand.
+
+"I'm goin'!" said David.
+
+"But yo're not," answered burly Sam'l, gripping the boy from
+behind with arms like the roots of an oak. "Your time'll coom soon
+enough by the look on yo' wi' niver no hurry.
+
+And the sense of the Dalesmen was with the big man; for, as old
+Rob Saunderson said:
+
+"I reck'n he'd liefer claw on to your throat,. lad, nor ony o' oors."
+
+As there was no one forthcoming to claim the honor of the lead,
+Tammas came forward with cunning counsel.
+
+"Tell yo' what, lads, we'd best let 'em as don't know nowt at all
+aboot him go first. And onst they're on, mind, we winna let 'em off;
+but keep a-shovin' and a-boviri 'on 'em forra'd. Then us'll foller.
+
+By this time there was a little naked space of green round the
+bridge-head, like a fairy circle, into which the uninitiated might
+not penetrate. Round this the mob hedged: the Dalesmen in front,
+striving knavishly back and bawling to those behind to leggo that
+shovin'; and these latter urging valorously forward, yelling jeers
+and contumely at the front rank. "Come on! '0's afraid? Lerrus.
+through to 'em, then, ye Royal Stan'-backs!"--for well they knew
+the impossibility of their demand.
+
+And as they wedged and jostled thus, there stole out from their
+midst as gallant a champion as ever trod the grass. He trotted out
+into the ring, the observed of all, and paused to gaze at the gaunt
+figure on the bridge. The sun lit the sprinkling of snow on the
+dome of his head; one forepaw was off the ground ;.. and he stood
+there, royally alert, scanning his antagonist.
+
+"Th' Owd Un!" went up in a roar fit to split the air as the hero of
+the day was recognized. And the Dalesmen gave a pace forward,,
+spontaneously as the gray knight-errant stole across the green.
+
+"Oor Bob'll fetch him!" they roared, their blood leaping to fever
+heat, and gripped their sticks, determined in stern reality to follow
+now.
+
+The gray champion trotted up on to the
+
+bridge, and paused again, the long hair about his neck rising like a
+ruff, and a strange glint in his eyes; and the holder of the bridge
+never moved. Red and Gray stood thus, face to. face: the one gay
+yet resolute, the other motionless, his great head slowly sinking
+between his forelegs, seemingly petrified.
+
+There was no shouting now: it was time for--deeds, not words.
+Only, above the stillness, came a sound from the bridge like the
+snore of a giant in his sleep, and blending, with it, a low, deep,
+purring thunder like some monster cat well pleased.
+
+"Wullie," came a solitary voice from the far side, "keep the
+bridge!"
+
+One ear went back, one ear was still for-'ward; the great head was
+low and lower between his forelegs and the glowing eyes rolled
+upward so that the watchers could see the murderous white.
+
+Forward the gray dog stepped.
+
+Then, for the second time that afternoon, a -voice, stern and hard,
+came ringing down from the slope above over the heads of the
+many.
+
+"Bob, lad, coom back!"
+
+"He! he! I thocht that was comin'," sneered the small voice over the
+stream.
+
+The gray dog heard, and checked.
+
+"Bob, lad, coom in, I say!"
+
+At that he swung round and marched slowly back, gallant as he
+had come, dignified still in his mortification.
+
+And Red Wull threw back his head and bellowed a paean of
+victory--challenge, triumph, 'scorn, all blended in that bull-like,
+bloodchilling blare.
+
+In the mean time, M'Adam and the secretary had concluded their
+business. It had been settled that the Cup was to be delivered over
+to James Moore not later than the following Saturday.
+
+"Saturday, see! at the latest!" the secretary cried as he turned and
+trotted off.
+
+"Mr. Trotter," M'Adam called after him. "I'm sorry, but ye maun
+bide this side the Lea till I've reached the foot o' the Pass. Gin they
+gentlemen "--nodding toward the crowd
+
+--"should set hands on me, why--" and he shrugged his shoulders
+significantly. "Forbye, Wullie's keepin' the bridge."
+
+With that the little man strolled off leis-. urely; now dallying to
+pick a flower, now to wave a mocking hand at the furious mob,
+and so slowly on to the foot of the Muirk Muir Pass.
+
+There he turned and whistled that shrill peculiar note.
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, to me!" he called.
+
+At that, with one last threat thrown at the' thousand souls he had
+held at bay for thirty minutes, the Tailless Tyke swung about and
+galloped after his lord.
+
+Chapter XIII.  THE FACE IN THE FRAME
+
+ALL Friday M'Adarn never left the kitchen. He sat opposite the
+Cup, in a coma, as it were; and Red Wull lay motionless at his
+feet.
+
+Saturday came, and still the two never budged. Toward the
+evening the little man rose, all in a tremble, and took the Cup
+down from the mantelpiece; then he sat down again with it in his
+arms.
+
+"Eh, Wullie, Wullie, is it a dream? Ha' they took her fra us? Eh,
+but it's you and I alane, lad."
+
+He hugged it to him, crying silently, and rocking to and I ro like a
+mother with a dying child. And Red Wull sat up on his haunches,
+and weaved from side to side in sympathy.
+
+As the dark was falling, David looked in.
+
+At the sound of the opening door the little man swung round
+noiselessly, the Cup nursed in his arms, and glared, sullen and
+suspicious, at the boy; yet seemed not to recognize him. In the
+half-light David could see the tears coursing down the little
+wizened face.
+
+'Pon ma life, he's gaein' daft!" was his comment as he turned away
+to Kenmuir. And again the mourners were left alone. 
+
+"A few hours noo, Wullie," the little man wailed, "and she'll be
+gane. We won her, Wullie, you and I, won her fair: she's lit the
+hoose for us; she's softened a' for us--and God kens we needed it;
+she was the ae thing we had to look to and love. And noo they're
+takin' her awa', and 'twill be night agin. We've cherished her, we've
+garnished her, we've loved her like oor am; and noo she maun gang
+to strangers who know her not."
+
+He rose to his feet, and the great dog rose with him. His voice
+heightened to a scream, and he swayed with the Cup in his arms
+till it seemed he must fall.
+
+"Did they win her fair, Wullie? Na; they plotted, they conspired,
+they worked ilka am o' them agin us, and they beat us. Ay, and noo
+they're robbin' us--robbin' us! But they shallna ha' her. Oor's or
+naebody's, Wullie! We'll finish her sooner nor that."
+
+He banged the Cup down on the table and rushed madly out of the
+room, Red Wull at his heels. In a moment he came running back,
+brandishing a great axe about his head.
+
+"Come on, Wullie!" he cried. "'Scots wha hae'! Noo's the day and
+noo's the hour! Come on!"
+
+On. the table before him, serene and beautiful, stood the target of
+his madness. The little man ran at it, swinging his murderous
+weapon like a flail.
+
+"Oor's or naebody's Wulliel Come on.
+
+'Lay the proud usurpers low'!" He aimed a mighty buffet; and the
+Shepherds' Trophy-- the Shepherds' Trophy which had won
+through the hardships of a hundred years--was almost gone. It
+seemed to quiver as the blow fell. But the cruel steel missed, and
+the axe-head sank into the wood, clean and deep, like a spade in
+snow.
+
+Red Wull had leapt on to the table, and in his cavernous voice was
+grumbling a chorus to his master's yells. The little man danced up
+and down, tugging and straining at the axe-handle,
+
+"You and I, Wullie!
+
+'Tyrants fall in every foe!
+Liberty's in every blow!'
+
+The axe-head was as immoveable as the Muir Pike.
+
+'Let us do or die!'
+
+The shaft snapped, and the little man tottered back. Red Wull
+jumped down from the table, and, in doing so, brushed against the
+Cup. It toppled* over on to the floor, and rolled tinkling away in
+the dust. And the little man fled madly out of the house, still
+screaming his war-song.
+
+When, late that night, M'Adam returned home, the Cup was gone.
+Down on his hands and knees he traced out its path, plain to see,
+where it had rolled along the dusty floor. Beyond that there was no
+sign.
+
+At first he was too much overcome to speak. Then he raved round
+the room like a derelict ship, Red Wull following uneasily behind.
+He cursed; he blasphemed; he screamed and beat the walls with
+feverish hands. A stranger, passing, might well have thought this
+was a private Bedlam. At last, exhausted, he sat down and cried.
+
+"It's David, Wullie, ye may depend; David that's robbed his father's
+hoose. Oh, it's a grand thing to ha' a dutiful son!"--and he bowed
+his gray head in his hands.
+
+David, indeed, it was. He had come back to the Grange during his
+father's absence, and, taking the Cup from its grimy bed, had
+marched it away to its rightful home. For that evening at Kenmuir,
+James Moore had said to him:
+
+"David, your father's not sent the Cup. I shall come and fetch it
+to-morrow." And David knew he meant it. Therefore, in order to
+save a collision between his father and his friend--a collision the
+issue of which he dared hardly contemplate, knowing, as he did,
+the unalterable determination of the one and the lunatic passion of
+the other--the boy had resolved to fetch the Cup himself, then
+and there, in the teeth, if needs be, of his father and the Tailless
+Tyke. And he had done it.
+
+When he reached home that night he marched, contrary to his
+wont, straight into the kitchen.
+
+There sat his father facing the door, awaiting him, his hands upon
+his knees. For once the little man was alone; and David, brave
+though he was, thanked heaven devoutly that Red Wull was
+elsewhere.
+
+For a while father and son kept silence, watching one another like
+two fencers.
+
+'Twas you as took ma Cup?" asked the little man at last, leaning
+forward in his chair.
+
+'Twas me as took Mr. Moore's Cup," the boy replied. "I thowt yo'
+mun ha' done wi' it--I found it all hashed upon the floor."
+
+"You took it--pit up to it, nae doot, by James Moore."
+
+David made a gesture of dissent.
+
+"Ay, by James Moore," his father continued. "He dursena come
+hissel' for his ill-gotten spoils, so he sent the son to rob the father.
+The coward!"--his whole frame shook with passion. "I'd ha' thocht
+James Moore'd ha' bin man enough to come himself for what he
+wanted. I see noo I did him a wrang--I misjudged him. I kent him a
+heepocrite; am o' yer unco gudes; a man as looks one thing, says
+anither, and does a third; and noo I ken he's a coward. He's fear'd o'
+me, sic as I am, five foot twa in ma stockin's." He rose from his
+chair and drew himself up to his full
+
+"Mr. Moore had nowt to do wi' it," David persisted.
+
+"Ye're lyin'. James Moore pit ye to it."
+
+"I tell yo' he did not."
+
+"Ye'd ha' bin willin' enough wi'oot him, if ye'd thocht o't, I grant ye.
+But ye've no the wits. All there is o' ye has gane to mak' yer
+rnuckle body. Hooiver, that's no matter. I'll settle wi' James Moore
+anither time. I'll settle wi' you noo, David M'Adam."
+
+He paused, and looked the boy over from bead to foot.
+
+So, ye're not only an idler! a wastrel! a liar! "--he spat the words
+out. "Ye're--God help ye--a thief!"
+
+"I'm no thief!" the boy returned hotly. "I did but give to a mon what
+ma feyther-- shame on hirn!--wrongfully kept from him."
+
+"Wrangfully?" cried the little man, advancing with burning face.
+
+'Twas honorably done, keepin' what wasna your'n to keep! Holdin'
+back his rights from a man! Ay, if ony one's the thief, it's not me:
+it's you, I say, you! "--and he looked his father in the face with
+flashing eyes.
+
+"I'm the thief, am I?" cried the other, incoherent with passion.
+"Though ye're three times ma size, I'll teach ma son to speak so to
+me."
+
+The old strap, now long disused, hung in the chimney corner. As
+he spoke the little man sprang back, ripped it from the wall, and,
+almost before David realized what he was at, had brought it down
+with a savage slash across his son's shoulders; and as he smote he
+whistled a shrill, imperative note:
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, to me!"
+
+David felt the blow through his coat like a bar of hot iron laid
+across his back. His passion seethed within him; every vein
+throbbed; every nerve quivered. In a minute he would wipe out,
+once and for all, the score of years; for the moment, however,
+there was urgent business on hand. For outside he could hear the
+quick patter of feet hard-galloping, and the scurry of a huge
+creature racing madly to a call.
+
+With a bound he sprang at the open door; and again the strap came
+lashing down, and a wild voice:
+
+"Quick, Wullie! For God's sake, quick!"
+
+David slammed the door to. It shut with a rasping snap; and at the
+same moment a great body from without thundered against it with
+terrific violence, and a deep voice roared like the sea when
+thwarted of its prey.
+
+"Too late, agin!" said David, breathing hard; and shot the bolt
+home with a clang. Then he turned on his father.
+
+"Noo," said he, "man to man!"
+
+"Ay," cried the other, "father to son!"
+
+The little man half turned and leapt at the old musketoon hanging
+on the wall. He missed it, turned again, and struck with the strap
+full at the other's face. David caught the falling arm at the wrist,
+hitting it aside with such tremendous force that the bone all but
+snapped. Then he smote his father a terrible blow on the chest, and
+the little man staggered back, gasping, into the corner; while the
+strap dropped from his numbed fingers.
+
+Outside Red Wull whined and scratched; but the two men paid no
+heed.
+
+David strode forward; there was murder in his face. The little man
+saw it: his time was come; but his bitterest foe never impugned
+Adam M'Adam's courage.
+
+He stood huddled in the corner, all dis-. hevelled, nursing one arm
+with the other, entirely unafraid.
+
+"Mind, David," he said, quite calm, "murder 'twill be, not
+manslaughter."
+
+"Murder 'twill be," the boy answered, in thick, low voice, and was
+across the room.
+
+Outside Red Wull banged and clawed high up on the door with
+impotent pats.
+
+The little man suddenly slipped his hand in his pocket, pulled out
+something, and flung it. The missile pattered on his son's face like
+a rain-drop on a charging bull, and David smiled as he came on. It
+dropped softly on the table at his side; he looked down and--it was
+the face of his mother which gazed up at him!
+
+"Mither!" he sobbed, stopping short. "Mither! Ma God, ye saved
+him--and me!" 
+
+He stood there, utterly unhinged, shaking and whimpering.
+
+It was some minutes before he pulled himself together; then he
+walked to the wall, took down a pair of shears, and seated himself
+at the table, still trembling. Near him lay the miniature, all torn
+and crumpled, and beside it the deep-buried axe-head.
+
+He picked up the strap and began cutting it into little pieces.
+
+"There! and there! and there!" he said with each snip. "An' ye hit
+me agin there may be no mither to save ye."
+
+M'Adam stood huddling in the corner. He shook like an aspen leaf;
+his eyes blazed in his white face; and he still nursed one arm with
+the other.
+
+"Honor yer father," he quoted in small, low 
+
+PART IV  THE BLACK KILLER
+
+Chapter XIV. A MAD MAN
+
+TAMMAS is on his feet in the tap-room of the Arms, brandishing
+a pewter mug.
+
+"Gen'lemen!" he cries, his old face flushed; "I gie you a toast. Stan'
+oop!"
+
+The knot of Dalesmen round the fire rises like one. The old man
+waves his mug before him, reckless of the good ale that drips on to
+the floor.
+
+"The best sheep-dog i' th' North--Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!" he cries.
+In an instant there is uproar: the merry applause of clinking
+pewters; the stamping of feet; the rattle of sticks. Rob Saunderson
+and old Jonas are cheering with the best; Tupper and Ned Hoppin
+are bellowing in one another's ears; Long Kirby and Jem Burton
+are thumping each other on the back; even Sam'l Todd and Sexton
+Ross are roused from their habitual melancholy.
+
+"Here's to Th' Owd Un! Here's to oor Bob!" yell stentorian voices;
+while Rob Saunderson has jumped on to a chair.
+
+"Wi' the best sheep-dog i' th' North I gie yo' the Shepherd's
+Trophy!--won outreet as will be!" he cries. Instantly the clamor
+redoubles.
+
+"The Dale Cup and Th' Owd Un! The Trophy and oor Bob! 'Ip, 'ip,
+for the gray dogs! 'Ip, 'ip, for the best sheep-dog as ever was or will
+be! 'Ooray, 'ooray!"
+
+It is some minutes before the noise subsides; and slowly the
+enthusiasts resume their seats with hoarse throats and red faces.
+
+"Gentlemen a'!"
+
+A little unconsidered man is standing up at the back of the room.
+His face is aflame, and his hands twitch spasmodically; and, in
+front, with hackles up and eyes gleaming, is a huge, bull-like dog.
+
+"Noo," cries the little man, "I daur ye to repeat that lie!"
+
+"Lie!" screams Tammas; "lie! I'll gie 'im lie! Lemme at im', I say!"
+
+The old man in his fury is half over the surrounding ring of chairs
+before Jim Mason on the one hand and Jonas Maddox on the other
+can pull him back.
+
+'Coom, Mr. Thornton," soothes the octogenarian, "let un be. Yo'
+surely bain't angered by the likes o' 'im!"--and he jerks
+contemptuously toward the solitary figure at his back.
+
+Tammas resumes his seat unwillingly.
+
+The little man in the far corner of the room remains silent, waiting
+for his challenge to be taken up. It is in vain. And as he looks at
+the range of broad, impassive backs turned on him, he smiles
+bitterly.
+
+"They dursen't Wullie, not a man of them a'!" he cries. "They're
+one--two--three--- four--eleven to one, Wullie, and yet they
+dursen't. Eleven of them, and every man a coward! Long
+Kirby--Thornton--Tupper--Todd--Hoppin--Ross--Burton--and the
+rest, and not one but's a bigger man nor me, and yet--Weel, we
+might ha' kent it. We should ha' kent Englishmen by noo. They're
+aye the same and aye have bin. They tell lies, black lies--"
+
+Tammas is again half out his chair and, only forcibly restrained by
+the men on either hand.
+
+"--and then they ha' na the courage to stan' by 'em. Ye're English,
+ivery man o' ye, to yer marrow."
+
+The little man's voice rises as he speaks. He seizes the tankard
+from the table at his side.
+
+"Englishmen!" he cries, waving it before him. "Here's a health!
+The best sheep-dog as iver penned a flock--Adam M'Adam's Red.
+Wull!"
+
+He pauses, the pewter at his lips, and looks at his audience with
+flashing eyes. There is no response from them.
+
+"Wullie, here's to you!" he cries. "Luck and life to ye, ma trusty
+fier! Death and defeat to yer enemies!
+
+He raises the tankard and drains it to its uttermost dreg.
+
+Then drawing himself up, he addresses his audience once more:
+
+"An' noo I'll warn ye aince and for a', and ye may tell James Moore
+I said it: He may plot agin us, Wullie and me; he may threaten its;
+he may win the Cup outright for his muckle favorite; but there was
+niver a man or dog yet as did Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull a
+hurt but in the end he wush't his mither hadna borne him."
+
+A little later, and he walks out of the inn, the Tailless Tyke at his
+heels.
+
+After he is gone it is Rob Saunderson who says: "The little mon's
+mad; he'll stop at nothin"; and Tammas who answers:
+
+"Nay; not even murder."
+
+The little man had aged much of late. His hair was quite white, his
+eyes unnaturally bright, and his hands were never still, as though
+he were in everlasting pain. He looked the picture of disease.
+
+After Owd Bob's second victory he had become morose and
+untalkative. At home he often sat silent for hours together,
+drinking and glaring at the place where the Cup had been.
+Sometimes he talked in low, eerie voice to Red Wull; and on two
+occasions, David, turning, suddenly, had caught his father
+glowering stealthily at him with such an expression on his face as
+chilled the boy's blood. The two never spoke now; and David held
+this silent, deadly enmity far worse than the old-time perpetual
+warfare.
+
+It was the same at the Sylvester Arms. The little man sat alone
+with Red Wull, exchanging words with no man, drinking steadily,
+brooding over his wrongs, only now and again galvanized into
+sudden action.
+
+Other people than Tammas Thornton came to the conclusion that
+M'Adam would stop at nothing in the undoing of James Moore or
+the gray dog. They said drink and disappointment had turned his
+head; that he was mad and dangerous. And on New Year's day
+matters seemed coming to a crisis; for it was reported that in the
+gloom of a snowy evening he had drawn a knife on the Master in
+the High Street, but slipped before he could accomplish his fell
+purpose.
+
+Most of them all, David was haunted with an ever-present anxiety
+as to the little man's intentions. The boy even went so far as to
+warn his friend against his father. But the Master only smiled
+grimly.
+
+"Thank ye, lad," he said. "But I reck'n we can 'fend for oorsel's,
+Bob and I. Eh, Owd Un?"
+
+Anxious as David might be, he was not so anxious as to be above
+taking a mean advantage of this state of strained apprehension to
+work on Maggie's fears.
+
+One evening he was escorting her home from church, when, just
+before they reached the larch copse: "Goo' sakes! What's that?" he
+ejaculated in horror-laden accents, starting back.
+
+"What, Davie?" cried the girl, shrinking up to him all in a tremble.
+
+"Couldna say for sure. It mought be owt, or agin it mought be
+nowt. But yo' grip my arm, I'll grip yo' waist."
+
+Maggie demurred.
+
+"Canst see onythin'?" she asked, still in a flutter.
+
+"Be'ind the 'edge."
+
+"Wheer?"
+
+"Theer! "--pointing vaguely.
+
+"I canna see nowt."
+
+"Why, theer, lass. Can yo' not see? Then yo' pit your head along o'
+mine--so---closer---- closer." Then, in aggrieved tones: "Whativer
+is the matter wi' yo', wench? I might be a leprosy."
+
+But the girl was walking away with her head high as the
+snow-capped Pike.
+
+"So long as I live, David M'Adam," she cried, "I'll niver go to
+church wi' you agin!"
+
+"Iss, but you will though-.-onst," he answered low.
+
+Maggie whisked round in a flash, superbly indignant.
+
+"What d'yo' mean, sir-r-r?"
+
+"Yo' know what I mean, lass," he replied sheepish and shuffling
+before her queenly anger.
+
+She looked him up and down, and down and up again.
+
+"I'll niver speak to you agin, Mr. M'Adam, she cried; "not if it was
+ever so--Nay, I'll walk home by myself, thank you. I'll ha' nowt to
+do wi' you."
+
+So the two must return to Kenmuir, one behind the other, like a
+lady and her footman..
+
+David's audacity had more than once already all but caused a
+rupture between the pair. And the occurrence behind the hedge set
+the cap on his impertinences. That was past enduring and Maggie
+by her bearing let him know it.
+
+David tolerated the girl's new attitude for exactly twelve minutes
+by the kitchen clock. Then: "Sulk wi' me, indeed! I'll teach her!"
+and he marched out of the door, "Niver to cross it agin, ma
+word!"
+
+Afterward, however, he relented so far as to continue his visits as
+before; but he made. it clear that he only came to see the Master
+and hear of Owd Bob's doings. On these occasions he loved best to
+sit on the window-sill outside the kitchen, and talk and chaff with
+Tammas and the men in the yard, feigning an uneasy bashfulness
+was reference made to Bessie Boistock. And after sitting thus for
+some time, he would half turn, look over his.
+
+the girl within: "Oh, good-evenin'! I forgot yo', "--and then resume
+his conversation. While the girl within, her face a little pinker, her
+lips a little tighter, and her chin a little higher, would go about her
+business, pretending neither to hear nor care.
+
+The suspicions that M'Adam nourished dark designs against James
+Moore were somewhat confirmed in that, on several occasions in
+the bitter dusks of January afternoons, a little insidious figure was
+reported to have been seen lurking among the farm-buildings of
+Kenmuir.
+
+Once Sam'l Todd caught the little man fairly, skulking away in the
+woodshed. Sam'l took him up bodily and carried him down the
+slope to the Wastrel, shaking him gently as he went.
+
+Across the stream he put him on his feet.
+
+"If I catches yo' cadgerin' aroun' the farm agin, little mon," he
+admonished, holding up a warning finger; "I'll tak' yo' and drap yo'
+in t' Sheep-wash, I warn yo' fair. I'd ha' done it noo an' yo'd bin a
+bigger and a younger mon. But theer! yo'm sic a scrappety bit.
+Noo, nfl whoam." And the little man slunk silently away.
+
+For a time he appeared there no more. Then, one evening when it
+was almost dark, James Moore, going the round of the
+outbuildings, felt Owd Bob stiffen against his side.
+
+and, dropping his hand on the old dog's neck felt a ruff of rising
+hair beneath it.
+
+"Steady, lad, steady," he whispered; "what is 't?" He peered
+forward into the gloom; and at length discerned a little familiar
+figure huddled away in the crevice between two stacks.
+
+"It's yo, is it, M'Adam?" he said, and, bending, seized a wisp of
+Owd Bob's coat in a grip like a vice.
+
+Then, in a great voice, moved to rare anger. "Oot o' this afore I do
+ye a hurt, ye meeserable spyin' creeturt" he roared. "Yo' mun wait.
+till dark cooms to hide yo', yo' coward, afore yo daur coom crawlin'
+aboot ma hoose, frightenin' the women-folk and up to yer
+devilments. If yo've owt to say to me, coom like a mon in the open
+day. Noo git aff wi' yo', afore I lay hands to yo'!"
+
+He stood there in the dusk, tall and mighty, a terrible figure, one
+hand pointing to the gate, the other still grasping the gray dog.
+
+The little man scuttled away in the halflight, and out of the yard.
+
+On the plank-bridge he turned and shook his fist at the darkening
+house.
+
+"Curse ye, James Moore!" he sobbed, "I'll be even wi' ye yet."
+
+Chapter XV. DEATH ON THE MARCHES
+
+ON the top of this there followed an attempt to poison Th' Owd
+Un. At least there was no other accounting for the affair.
+
+In the dead of a long-remembered night James Moore was waked
+by a low moaning beneath his room. He leapt out of bed and ran to
+the window to see his favorite dragging about the moonlit yard, the
+dark head down, the proud tail for once lowered, the lithe limbs
+wooden, heavy, unnatural--altogether pitiful.
+
+In a moment he was downstairs and out to his friend's assistance.
+"Whativer is't, Owd Un?" he cried in anguish.
+
+At the sound of that dear voice the old dog tried to struggle to him,
+could not, and fell, whimpering.
+
+In a second the Master was with him, examining him tenderly, and
+crying for Sam'l, who slept above the stables.
+
+There was every symptom of foul play: the tongue was swollen
+and almost black; the breathing labored; the body twiched
+horribly; and the soft gray eyes all bloodshot and straining in
+agony.
+
+With the aid of Sam'l and Maggie, drenching first and stimulants
+after, the Master pulled him around for the moment. And soon Jim
+Mason and Parson Leggy, hurriedly summoned, came running
+hot-foot to the rescue.
+
+Prompt and stringent measures saved the victim--but only just. For
+a time the best sheep-dog in the North was pawing at the Gate of
+Death. In the end, as the gray dawn broke, the danger passed.
+
+The attempt to get at him, if attempt it was, aroused passionate
+indignation in the countryside. It seemed the culminating-point of
+the excitement long bubbling.
+
+There were no traces of the culprit; not a vestige to lead to
+incrimination, so cunningly had the criminal accomplished his foul
+task. But as to the perpetrator, if there where no proofs there were
+yet fewer doubts.
+
+At the Sylvester Arms Long Kirby asked M'Adam point-blank for
+his explanation of the matter.
+
+"Hoo do I 'count for it?" the little man cried. "I dinna 'count for it
+ava."
+
+"Then hoo did it happen?" asked Tammas with asperity.
+
+"I dinna believe it did happen," the little man replied. "It's a lee o'
+James Moore's-- a charactereestic lee." Whereon they chucked him
+out incontinently; for the Terror for once was elsewhere.
+
+Now that afternoon is to be remembered for threefold causes.
+Firstly, because, as has been said, M'Adam was alone. Secondly,
+because, a few minutes after his ejectment, the window of the
+tap-room was thrown open from without, and the little man looked
+in. He spoke no word, but those dim, smouldering eyes of his
+wandered from face to face, resting for a second on each, as if to
+burn them on his memory. "I'll remember ye, gentlemen," he said
+at length quietly, shut the window, and was gone.
+
+Thirdly, for a reason now to be told.
+
+Though ten days had elapsed since the attempt on him, the gray
+dog had never been his old self since. He had attacks of shivering;
+his vitality seemed sapped; he tired easily, and, great heart, would
+never own it. At length on this day, James Moore, leaving the old
+dog behind him, had gone over to Grammoch-town to consult
+Dingley, the vet. On his way home he met Jim Mason with Gyp,
+the faithful Betsy's unworthy successor, at the Dalesman's
+Daughter. Together they started for the long tramp home over the
+Marches. And that journey is marked with a red stone in this story.
+
+All day long the hills had been bathed in inpenetrable fog.
+Throughout there had been an accompanying drizzle; and in the
+distance the wind had moaned a storm-menace. To the darkness of
+the day was added the sombreness of falling night as the three
+began the ascent of the Murk Muir Pass. By the time they emerged
+into the Devil's Bowl it was altogether black and blind. But the
+threat of wind had passed, leaving utter stillness; and they could
+hear the splash of an otter on the far side of the Lone Tarn as they
+skirted that gloomy water's edge. When at length the last steep rise
+on to the Marches had been topped, a breath of soft air smote them
+lightly, and the curtain of fog began drifting away.
+
+The two men swung steadily through the heather with that
+reaching stride the birthright of moor-men and highianders. They
+talked but little, for such was their nature: a word or two on sheep
+and the approaching lambing-time; thence on to the coming Trials;
+the Shepherds' Trophy; Owd Bob and the attempt on him; and
+from that to M'Adam and the Tailless Tyke,
+
+"D'yo' reck'n M'Adam had a hand in't?" the postman was asking.
+
+"Nay; there's no proof."
+
+"Ceptin' he's mad to get shut o' Th' Owd Un afore Cup Day."
+
+or me--it mak's no differ." For a dog is disqualified from
+competing for the Trophy who has changed hands during the six
+months prior to the meeting. And this holds good though the
+change be only from father to son on the decease of the former.
+
+Jim looked up inquiringly at his companion.
+
+"D'yo' think it'll coorn to that?" he asked.
+
+"What?"
+
+"Why--murder
+
+"Not if I can help it," the other answered grimly.
+
+The fog had cleared away by now, and the moon was up. To their
+right, on the crest of a rise some two hundred yards away, a low
+wood stood out black against the sky. As they passed it, a
+blackbird rose up screaming, and a brace of wood-pigeons winged
+noisily away.
+
+"Hullo! hark to the yammerin'!" muttered Jim, stopping; "and at
+this time o' night too!"
+
+Some rabbits, playing in the moonlight on the outskirts of the
+wood, sat up, listened, and hopped back into security. At the same
+moment a big hill-fox slunk out of the covert. He stole a pace
+forward and halted, listening with one ear back and one pad raised;
+then cantered silently away in the gloom, passing close to the two
+men and yet not observing them.
+
+"What's up, I wonder?" mused the postman.
+
+"The fox set 'em clackerin', I reck'n," said the Master.
+
+"Not he; he was scared 'maist oot o' his skin," the other answered.
+Then in tones of suppressed excitement, with his hands on James
+Moore's arm: "And, look'ee, theer's ma Gyp a-beckonin' on us!"
+
+There, indeed, on the crest of the rise beside the wood, was the
+little lurcher, now looking back at his master, now creeping
+stealthily forward.
+
+"Ma word! theer's summat wrong yonder!" cried Jim, and jerked
+the post-bags off his shoulder. "Coom on, Master! "--and he set off
+running toward the dog; while James Moore, himself excited now,
+followed with an agility that belied his years.
+
+Some score yards from the lower edge of the spinney, upon the
+farther side of the ridge, a tiny beck babbled through its bed of
+peat. The two men, as they topped the rise, noticed a flock of
+black-faced mountain-sheep clustered in the dip 'twixt wood and
+stream. They stood martialled in close array, facing half toward the
+wood, half toward the newcomers, heads up, eyes glaring,
+handsome as sheep only look when scared.
+
+On the crest of the ridge the two men halted beside Gyp. The
+postman stood with his head a little forward, listening intently.
+Then he dropped in the heather like a dead man, pulling the other
+with him.
+
+"Doon, mon!" he whispered, clutching at Gyp with his spare hand.
+
+"What is't, Jim?" asked the Master, now thoroughly roused.
+
+"Summat movin' i' th' wood," the other whispered, listening
+weasel-eared.
+
+So they lay motionless for a while; but there came no sound from
+the copse.
+
+"'Appen 'twas nowt," the postman at length allowed, peering
+cautiously about. "And yet I thowt--I dunno reetly what I thowt."
+
+Then, starting to his knees with a hoarse cry of terror: "Save us!
+what's yon theer?"
+
+Then for the first time the Master raised his head and noticed,
+lying in the gloom between them and the array of sheep, a still,
+white heap.
+
+James Moore was a man of deeds, not words. "It's past waitin'!" he
+said, and sprang forward, his heart in his mouth.
+
+The sheep stamped and shuffled as he came, and yet did not break.
+
+"Ah, thanks be!" he cried, dropping beside the motionless body;
+"it's nob'but a sheep." As he spoke his hands wandered deftly over
+the carcase. "But what's this?" he called. "Stout' she was as me.
+Look at her fleece-- crisp, close, strong; feel the flesh--finn as a
+rock. And ne'er a bone broke, ne're a scrat on her body a pin could
+mak'. As healthy as a mon--and yet dead as mutton!"
+
+Jim, still trembling from the horror of his fear, came up, and knelt
+beside his friend. "Ah, but there's bin devilry in this!" he said; 'I
+reck'ned they sheep had bin badly skeared, and not so long agone."
+
+"Sheep-murder, sure enough!" the other answered. "No fox's
+doin'--a girt-grown twoshear as could 'maist knock a h'ox."
+
+Jim's hands travelled from the body to the dead creature's throat.
+He screamed. 
+
+"By gob, Master! look 'ee theer!" He held his hand up in the
+moonlight, and it dripped red. "And warm yet! warm!"
+
+"Tear some bracken, Jim!" ordered the other, "and set a-light. We
+mun see to this."
+
+The postman did as bid. For a moment the fern smouldercd and
+smoked, then the flame ran crackling along and shot up in the
+darkness, weirdly lighting the scene: to the right the low wood, a
+block of solid blackness against the sky; in front the wall of sheep,
+staring out of the gloom with biight eyes; and as centre-piece that
+still, white body, with the kneeling men and lurcher sniffing
+tentatively round.
+
+The victim was subjected to a critical examination. The throat, and
+that only, had been hideously mauled; from the raw wounds the
+flesh hung in horrid shreds; on the ground all about were little
+pitiful dabs of wool, wrenched off apparently in a struggle; and,
+crawling among the fern-roots, a snake-like track of red led down
+to the stream.
+
+"A dog's doin', and no mistakin' thot," said Jim at length, after a
+minute inspection.
+
+"Ay," declared the Master with slow emphasis, "and a sheep-dog's
+too, and an old un's, or I'm no shepherd."
+
+The postman looked up.
+
+"Why thot?" he asked, puzzled.
+
+"Becos," the Master answered, "'im as did this killed for
+blood--and for blood only. If had bin ony other dog--greyhound,
+bull, tarrier, or even a young sheep-dog---d'yo' think he'd ha'
+stopped wi' the one? Not he; he'd ha' gone through 'em, and be
+runnin' 'em as like as not yet, nippin' 'em, pullin' 'em down, till he'd
+maybe killed the half. But 'im as did this killed for blood, I say. He
+got it--killed just the one, and nary touched the others, d'yo 'see,
+Jim?"
+
+The postman whistled, long and low.
+
+"It's just what owd Wrottesley'd tell on," he said. "I never nob'but
+half believed him then--I do now though. D'yo' mind what th' owd
+lad'd tell, Master?"
+
+James Moore nodded.
+
+"Thot's it. I've never seen the like afore myself, but I've heard ma
+grandad speak o't mony's the time. An owd dog'll git the cray-in'
+for sheep's blood on him, just the same as a mon does for the
+drink; he creeps oot o' nights, gallops afar, hunts his sheep, downs
+'er, and satisfies the cravin'. And he nary kills but the one, they say,
+for he knows the value o' sheep same as you and me. He has his
+gallop, quenches the thirst, and then he's for home, maybe a score
+mile away, and no one the wiser i' th' mornin'. And so on, till he
+cooms to a bloody death, the murderin' traitor."
+
+"If he does!" said Jim.
+
+"And he does, they say, nigh always. For he gets bolder and bolder
+wi' not bein' caught, until one fine night a bullet lets light into him.
+And some mon gets knocked nigh endways when they bring his
+best tyke home i' th' mornin', dead, wi' the sheep's wool yet stickin'
+in his mouth."
+
+The postman whistled again.
+
+"It's what owd Wrottesley'd tell on to a tick. And he'd say, if ye
+mind, Master, as hoo the dog'd niver kill his master's sheep--kind o'
+conscience-like."
+
+"Ay, I've heard that," said the Master. "Queer too, and 'im bein'
+such a bad un!"
+
+Jim Mason rose slowly from his knees.
+
+"Ma word," he said, "I wish Th' Owd Un was here. He'd 'appen
+show us sum-mat!"
+
+"I nob'but wish he was, pore owd lad!" said the Master.
+
+As he spoke there was a crash in the wood above them; a sound as
+of some big body bursting furiously through brusliwood.
+
+The two men rushed to the top of the rise. In the darkness they
+could see nothing; only, standing still and holding. their breaths,
+they could hear the faint sound, ever growing fainter, of some
+creature splashing in a hasty gallop over the wet moors.
+
+"Yon's him! Yon's no fox, I'll tak' oath. And a main big un, too,
+hark to him!" cried Jim. Then to Gyp, who had rushed off in hot
+pursuit: Coom back, chunk-'ead. What's usc o' you agin a gallopin'
+potamus?"
+
+Gradually the sounds died away and away, and were no more.
+
+"Thot's 'im, the devil!" said the Master at length.
+
+"Nay; the devil has a tail, they do say,"
+
+replied Jim thoughtfully. For already the light of suspicion was
+focusing its red glare.
+
+"Noo I reck'n we're in for bloody times amang the sheep for a
+while," said the Master, as Jim picked up his bags.
+
+"Better a sheep nor a mon," answered the postman, still harping on
+the old theme.
+
+Chapter XIX.  LAD AND LASS
+
+AN immense sensation this affair of the Scoop created in the
+Daleland. It spurred the Dalesmen into fresh endeavors. James
+Moore and M Adam were examined and re-examined. as to the
+minutest details of the matter. The whole country-side was
+placarded with huge bills, offering 100 pounds reward for the
+capture of the criminal dead or alive. While the vigilance of the
+watchers was such that in a single week they bagged a donkey, an
+old woman, and two amateur detectives.
+
+In Wastrel-dale the near escape of the Killer, the collision between
+James Moore and Adam, and Owd Bob's unsuccess, who was not
+wont to fail, aroused intense excitement, with which was mingled
+a certain anxiety as to their favorite.
+
+For when the Master had reached home that night, he had found
+the old dog already there; and he must have wrenched his foot in
+the pursuit or run a thorn into it, for he was very lame. Whereat,
+when it was reported at the Sylvester Arms, M'Adam winked at
+Red Wull and muttered, "Ah, forty foot is an ugly tumble." 
+
+A week later the little man called at Ken-muir. As he entered the
+yard, David was standing outside the kitchen window, looking very
+glum and miserable. On seeing his father, however, the boy started
+forward, all alert.
+
+"What d'yo' want here?" he cried roughly. "Same as you, dear lad,"
+the little man giggled, advancing. "I come on a visit."
+
+"Your visits to Kenmuir are usually paid by night, so I've heard,"
+David sneered.
+
+The little man affected not to hear.
+
+"So they dinna allow ye indoors wi' the Cup," he laughed. "They
+know yer little ways then, David,"
+
+"Nay, I'm not wanted in there," David answered bitterly, but not so
+loud that his father could hear. Maggie within the kitchen heard,
+however, but paid no heed; for her heart was hard against the boy,
+who of late, though he never addressed her, had made himself as
+unpleasant in a thousand little ways as only David M'Adam could.
+
+At that moment the Master came stalking into the yard, Owd Bob
+preceding him; and as the old dog recognized his visitor he bristled
+involuntarily.
+
+At the sight of the Master M'Adam hurried forward.
+
+"I did but come to ask after the tyke," he
+
+~said. "Is he gettin' over his lameness?"
+
+James Moore looked surprised; then his stern face relaxed into a
+cordial smile. Such generous anxiety as to the welfare of Red
+Wull's rival was a wholly new characteristic in the little man,
+
+"I tak' it kind in yo', M'Adam," he said, "to come and inquire."
+
+"Is the thorn oot?" asked the little man with eager interest,
+shooting his head forward. to stare closely at the other.
+
+"It came oot last night wi' the poulticin'," the Master answered,
+returning the other's gaze, calm and steady.
+
+"I'm glad o' that," said the little man, still staring. But his yellow,
+grinning face said as plain  words, "Wha1~ a liar ye are, James
+Moore."
+
+The days passed on. His father's taunts and gibes, always becoming
+more bitter, drove David almost to distraction.
+
+He longed to make it up with Maggie; he longed for that tender
+sympathy which the girl had always extended to him when his
+troubles with his father were heavy on him. The quarrel had lasted
+for months now, and. he was well weary of it, and utterly ashamed.
+For, at least, he had the good grace to acknowledge that no one
+was to blame but himself; and that it had been fostered solely by
+his ugly pride. 
+
+At length he could endure it no longer, and determined to go to the
+girl and ask forgiveness. It would be a bitter ordeal to him; always
+unwilling to acknowledge a fault, even to himself, how much
+harder would it be to confess it to this strip of a girl. For a time he
+thought it was almost more than he could do. Yet, like his father,
+once set upon a course, nothing could divert him. So, after a week
+of doubts and determinations, of cowardice and courage, he pulled
+himself together and off he set.
+
+An hour it took him from the Grange to the bridge over the
+Wastrel--an hour which had wont to be a quarter. Now, as he
+walked on up the slope from the stream, very slowly, heartening
+himself for his penance, he was aware of a strange disturbance in
+the yard above him: the noisy cackling of hens, the snorting of pigs
+disturbed, and above the rest the cry of a little child ringing out in
+shrill distress.
+
+He set to running, and sped up the slope as fast as his long legs
+would carry him. As he took the gate in his stride, he saw the
+white-clad figure of Wee Anne fleeing with unsteady, toddling
+steps, her fair hair streaming out behind, and one bare arm striking
+wildly back at a great pursuing sow.
+
+David shouted as he cleared the gate, but the brute paid no heed,
+and was almost touching the fugitive when Owd Bob came
+galloping round the corner, and in a second had flashed between
+pursuer and pursued. So close were the two that as he swung round
+on the startled sow, his tail brushed the baby to the ground;. and
+there she lay kicking fat legs to heaven and calling on all her gods.
+
+David, leaving the old dog to secure the warrior pig, ran round to
+her; but he was anticipated. The whole matter had barely occupied
+a minute's time; and Maggie, rushing from the kitchen, now had
+the child in her arms and was hurrying back with her to the house.
+
+"Eh, ma pet, are yo' hurted, deane?" David could hear her asking
+tearfully, as he crossed the yard and established himself in the
+door.
+
+"Well," said he, in bantering tones, "yo'm a nice wench to ha'
+charge o' oor Annie!"
+
+It was a sore subject with the girl, and well he knew it. Wee Anne,
+that golden-haired imp of mischief, was forever evading her
+sister-mother's eye and attempting to immolate herself. More than
+once she had only been saved from serious hurt by the watchful
+devotion of Owd Bob, who always found time, despite his many
+labors, to keep a guardian eye on his well-loved lassie. In the
+previous winter she had been lost on a bitter night on the Muir
+Pike; once she had climbed into a field with the Highland bull, and
+barely escaped with her life, while the gray dog held the brute in
+check; but a little while before she had been rescued from
+drowning by the Tailless Tyke; there had been numerous other
+mischances; and now the present mishap. But the girl paid no heed
+to her tormentor in her joy at finding the child all unhurt.
+
+"Theer! yo' bain't so much as scratted, ma precious, is yo'?" she
+cried. "Rin oot agin, then," and the baby toddled joyfully away.
+
+Maggie rose to her feet and stood with face averted. David's eyes
+dwelt lovingly upon her, admiring the pose of the neat head with
+its thatch of pretty brown hair; the slim figure, and slender
+ankles, peeping modestly from beneath her print frock.
+
+"Ma word! if yo' dad should hear tell o' boo his Anne--" he broke
+off into a long-drawn whistle.
+
+Maggie kept silence; but her lips quivered, and the flush deepened
+on her cheek.
+
+"I'm fear'd I'll ha' to tell him," the boy continued, "'Tis but ma
+duty."
+
+"Yo' may tell wham yo' like what yo' like," the girl replied coldly;
+yet there was a tremor in her voice.
+
+"First yo' throws her in the stream," David went on remorselessly;
+"then yo' chucks her to the pig, and if it had not bin for me--"
+
+"Yo', indeed!" she broke in contemptuously. "Yo'! 'twas Owd Bob
+reskied her. Yo'd nowt' to do wi' it, 'cept lookin' on--'bout what
+yo're fit for."
+
+"I tell yo'," David pursued stubbornly, ~'an' it had not bin for me
+yo' wouldn't have no sister by noo. She'd be lying', she would, pore
+little lass, cold as ice, pore mite, wi' no breath in her. An' when yo'
+dad coom home there'd be no Wee Anne to rin to him, and climb
+on his knee, and yammer to him, and beat his face. An he'd say,
+'What's gotten to oor Annie, as I left wi' yo'?' And then yo'd have to
+tell him, 'I never took no manner o' fash after her, dad; d'reckly yo'
+back was turned, I--'"
+
+The girl sat down, buried her face in her apron, and indulged in the
+rare luxury of tears.
+
+"Yo're the cruellest mon as iver was, David M'Adam," she sobbed,
+rocking to and fro.
+
+He was at her side in a moment, tenderly bending over her.
+
+"Eh, Maggie, but I am sorry, lass--"
+
+She wrenched away from beneath his hands.
+
+"I hate yo'," she cried passionately.
+
+He gently removed her hands from before her tear-stained face.
+
+"I was nob'but laffin', Maggie," he pleaded; "say yo' forgie me."
+
+"I don't," she cried, struggling. "I think yo're the hatefullest lad as
+iver lived.
+
+The moment was critical; it was a time for heroic measures.
+
+"No, yo' don't, lass," he remonstrated; and, releasing her wrists,
+lifted the little drooping face, wet as it was, like the earth after a
+spring shower, and, holding it between his two big hands, kissed it
+twice.
+
+"Yo' coward!" she cried, a flood of warm red crimsoning her
+cheeks; and she struggled vainly to be free.
+
+"Yo' used to let me," he reminded her in aggrieved tones.
+
+"I niver did!" she cried, more indignant than truthful.
+
+"Yes, yo' did, when we was little uns; that is, yo' was allus for
+kissin' and I was allus agin it. And noo," with whole-souled
+bitterness, "I mayn't so much as keek at yo' over a stone wall."
+
+However that might be, he was keeking at her from closer range
+now; and in that position--for he held her firmly still--she could
+not help but keek back. He looked so handsome ~--humble for
+once; penitent yet reproachful; his own eyes a little moist; and,
+withal, his old audacious self,--that, despite herself, her anger grew
+less hot.
+
+"Say yo' forgie me and l'll let yo' go."
+
+"I don't, nor niver shall," she answered firmly; but there was less
+conviction in her heart than voice.
+
+"Iss yo' do, lass," he coaxed, and kissed her again.
+
+She struggled faintly.
+
+"Hoo daur yo'?" she cried through her tears. But he was not to be
+moved.
+
+"Will yo' noo?" he asked.
+
+She remained dumb, and he kissed her again.
+
+"Impidence!" she cried.
+
+"Ay," said he, closing her mouth. 
+
+"I wonder at ye, Davie!" she said, surrendering.
+
+After that Maggie must needs give in; and it was well understood,
+though nothing definite had been said, that the boy and girl were
+courting. And in the Dale the unanimous opinion was that the
+young couple would make "a gradely pair, surely."
+
+M'Adam was the last person to hear the news, long after it had
+been common knowledge in the village. It was in the Sylvester
+Arms he first heard it, and straightway fell into one of those
+foaming frenzies characteristic of him.
+
+"The dochter o' Moore o' Kenmuir, d'ye say? sic a dochter o' sic a
+man! The dochter o' th' one man in the wand that's harmed me
+aboon the rest! I'd no ha' believed it gin ye'd no tell't me. Oh,
+David, David! I'd no ha' thocht it even o' you, ill son as ye've aye
+bin to me. I think he might ha' waited till his auld dad was gone,
+and he'd no had to wait lang the noo." Then the little man sat down
+and burst into tears. Gradually, however, he resigned himself, and
+the more readily when he realized that David by his act had
+exposed a fresh wound into which he might plunge his barbed
+shafts. And he availed himself to the full of his new opportunities.
+Often and often David was sore pressed to restrain himself. 
+
+"Is't true what they're sayin' that Maggie Moore's nae better than
+she should be?" the little man asked one evening with anxious
+interest.
+
+"They're not sayin' so, and if they were 'twad be a lie," the boy
+answered angrily.
+
+M'Adam leant back in his chair and nodded his head.
+
+"Ay, they tell't me that gin ony man knew 'twad be David
+M'Adam."
+
+David strode across the room.
+
+"No, no main o' that," he shouted. "Y'ought to be 'shamed, an owd
+mon like you, to speak so o' a lass." The little man edged close up
+to his son, and looked up into the fair flushed face towering above
+him.
+
+"David," he said in smooth soft tones, "I'm 'stonished ye dinna
+strike yen auld dad." He stood with his hands clasped behind his
+back as if daring the young giant to raise a finger against him. "Ye
+maist might noo," he continued suavely. "Ye maun be sax inches
+taller, and a good four stane heavier. Hooiver, aiblins ye're wise to
+wait. Anither year twa I'll be an auld man, as ye say, and feebler,
+and Wullie here'll be gettin' on, while you'll be in the prime o' yer
+strength. Then I think ye might hit me wi' safety to your person,
+and honor to yourself."
+
+He took a pace back, smiling.
+
+"Feyther," said David, huskily, "one day yo'll drive me too far."
+
+Chapter XX. THE SNAPPING OF THE STRING
+
+THE spring was passing, marked throughout with the bloody trail
+of the Killer. The adventure in the Scoop scared him for a while
+into innocuousness; then he resumed his game again with
+redoubled zest. It seemed likely he would harry the district till
+some lucky accident carried him off, for all chance there was of
+arresting him.
+
+You could still hear nightly in the Sylvester Arms and elsewhere
+the assertion, delivered with the same dogmatic certainty as of old,
+"It's the Terror, I tell yo'!" and that irritating, inevitable reply: "Ay;
+but wheer's the proof?" While often, at the same moment, in a
+house not far away, a little lonely man was sitting before a
+low-burnt fire, rocking to and fro, biting his nails, and muttering to
+the great dog whose head lay between his knees:
+
+"If we had but the proof, Wullie! if we had but the proof! I'd give
+ma right hand aff my arm gin we had the proof to-morrow."
+
+Long Kirby, who was always for war when some one else was to
+do the fighting, suggested that David should be requested, in the
+name of the Dalesmen, to tell M'Adam that he must make an end
+to Red Wull. But Jim Mason quashed the proposal, remarking truly
+enough that there was too much bad blood as it was between father
+and son; while Tammas proposed with a sneer that the smith
+should be his own agent in the IJatter.
+
+Whether it was this remark of Tammas's which stung the big man
+into action, or whether it was that the intensity of his hate gave
+him unusual courage, anyhow, a few days later, M'Adam caught
+him lurking in the granary of the Grange.
+
+The little man may not have guessed his murderous intent; yet the
+blacksmith's white-faced terror, as he crouched away in the darkest
+corner, could hardly have escaped remark; though--and Kirby may
+thank his stars for it--the treacherous gleam of a gun-barrel,
+ill-concealed behind him, did.
+
+"Hullo, Kirby!" said M'Adam cordially, "ye'll stay the night wi'
+me?" And the next thing the big man heard was a giggle on the far
+side the door, lost in the clank of padlock and rattle of chain.
+Then--through a crack-- "Good-night to ye. Hope ye'll be comfie."
+And there he stayed that night, the following day and next
+night--thirty-six hours in all, with swedes for his hunger and the
+dew off the thatch for his thirst.
+
+Meanwhile the struggle between David and his father seemed
+coming to a head. The little man's tongue wagged more bitterly
+than ever; now it was never at rest--searching out sores, stinging,
+piercing.
+
+Worst of all, he was continually dropping innuendoes, seemingly
+innocent enough, yet with a world of subtile meaning at their back,
+respecting Maggie. The leer and wink with which, when David
+came home from Kenmuir at nights, he would ask the simple
+question, "And was she kind, David--eh, eh?" made the boy's blood
+boil within him.
+
+And the more effective the little man saw his shots to be, the more
+persistently he plied them. And David retaliated in kind. It was a
+war of reprisals. There was no peace; there were no truces in
+which to bury the dead before the opponents set to slaying others.
+And every day brought the combatants nearer to that final struggle,
+the issue of which neither cared to contemplate. 
+
+There came a Saturday, toward the end of the spring, long to be
+remembered by more than David in the Dale.
+
+For that young man the day started sensationally. Rising before
+cock-crow, and going to the window, the first thing he saw in the
+misty dawn was the gaunt, gigantic figure of Red Wull, hounding
+up the hill from the Stony Bottom; and in an instant his faith was
+shaken to its foundation.
+
+The dog was travelling up at a long, slouch ing trot; and as he
+rapidly approached the house, David saw that his flanks were all
+splashed with red mud, his tongue out, and the foam dripping from
+his jaws, as though he had come far and fast.
+
+He slunk up to the house, leapt on to the sill of the unused
+back-kitchen, some five feet from the ground, pushed with his paw
+at the cranky old hatchment, which was its only covering; and, in a
+second, the boy, straining out of the window the better to see,
+heard the rattle of the boards as the dog dropped within the house.
+
+For the moment, excited as he was, David held his peace. Even the
+Black Killer took only second place in his thoughts that morning.
+For this was to be a momentous day for him.
+
+That afternoon James Moore and Andrew would, he knew, be over
+at Grammoch-town, and, his work finished for the day, he was
+resolved to tackle Maggie and decide his fate. If she would have
+him--well, he would go next morning and thank God for it,
+kneeling beside her in the tiny village church; if not, he would
+leave the Grange and all its unhappiness behind, and straightway
+plunge out into the world.
+
+All through a week of stern work he had looked forward to this
+hard-won half-holiday. Therefore, when, as he was breaking off at
+noon, his father turned to him and said abruptly: 
+
+"David, ye're to tak' the Cheviot lot o'er to Grammoch-town at
+once," he answered shortly:
+
+"Yo' mun tak' 'em yo'sel', if yo' wish 'em to go to-day."
+
+"Na," the little man answered; "Wuflie and me, we're busy. Ye're
+to tak' 'em, I tell ye."
+
+"I'll not," David replied. "If they wait for me, they wait till
+Monday," and with that he left the room.
+
+"I see what 'tis," his father called after him; "she's give ye a tryst at
+Kenmuir. Oh, ye randy David!"
+
+"Yo' tend yo' business; I'll tend mine," the boy answered hotly.
+
+Now it happened that on the previous day Maggie had given him a
+photograph of herself, or, rather, David had taken it and Maggie
+had demurred. As he left the room it dropped from his pocket. He
+failed to notice his loss, but directly he was gone M'Adam pounced
+on it.
+
+"He! he! Wullie, what's this?" he giggled, holding the photograph
+into his face. "He! he! it's the jade hersel', I war'nt; it's Jezebell"
+
+He peered into the picture.
+
+"She kens what's what, I'll tak' oath, Wullie. See her eyes--sae saft
+and languishin'; and her lips--such lips, Wullie!" He held the
+picture down for the great dog to see: then walked out of the room,
+still sniggering, and chucking the face insanely beneath its
+cardboard chin.
+
+Outside the house he collided against David. The boy had missed
+his treasure and was hurrying back for it.
+
+"What yo' got theer?" he asked suspiciously.
+
+"Only the pictur' o' some randy quean," his father answered,
+chucking away at the inanimate chin.
+
+"Gie it me!" David ordered fiercely. "It's mine."
+
+"Na, na," the little man replied. "It's no for sic douce lads as dear
+David to ha' ony touch wi' leddies sic as this."
+
+"Gie it me, I tell ye, or I'll tak' it!" the boy shouted.
+
+"Na, na; it's ma duty as yer dad to keep ye from sic limmers." He
+turned, still smiling, to Red Wull.
+
+"There ye are, Wullie!" He threw the photograph to the dog. "Tear
+her, Wullie, the Jezebel!"
+
+The Tailless Tyke sprang on the picture, placed one big paw in the
+very centre of the face, forcing it into the muck, and tore a corner
+off; then he chewed the scrap with unctious, slobbering gluttony,
+dropped it, and tore a fresh piece.
+
+David dashed forward.
+
+"Touch it, if ye daur, ye brute!" he yelled; but his father seized him
+and held him back.
+
+'And the dogs o' the street,' " he quoted. David turned furiously on
+him.
+
+"I've half a mind to brak' ivery bone in yer body!" he shouted,
+"robbin' me o' what's mine and throwin' it to yon black brute!"
+
+"Whist, David, whist!" soothed the little man. "Twas but for yer
+am good yer auld dad did it. 'Twas that he had at heart as he aye
+has. Rin aff wi' ye noo to Kenmuir. She'll mak' it up to ye, I war'nt.
+She's leeberal wi' her favors, I hear. Ye've but to whistle and she'll
+come."
+
+David seized his father by the shoulder.
+
+"An' yo' gie me much more o' your sauce," he roared.
+
+"Sauce, Wullie," the little man echoed in a gentle voice.
+
+"I'll twist yer neck for yo'!"
+
+"He'll twist my neck for me."
+
+"I'll gang reet awa', I warn yo', and leave you and yer Wullie to yer
+lone."
+
+The little man began to whimper.
+
+"It'll brak' yer auld dad's heart, lad," he said.
+
+"Nay; yo've got none. But 'twill ruin yo', please God. For yo' and
+yer Wullie'll get ne'er a soul to work for yo'--yo' cheeseparin',
+dirty-tongued Jew."
+
+The little man burst into an agony of affected tears, rocking to and
+fro, his face in his hands. gaein' to leave us--the son o' my bosom!
+my Benjamin! my little Davie! he's gaein' awa'!"
+
+David turned away down the hill; and M'Adam lifted his stricken
+face and waved a hand at him.
+
+'Adieu, dear amiable youth!' " he cried in broken voice; and
+straightway set to sobbing again.
+
+Half-way down to the Stony Bottom David turned.
+
+"I'll gie yo' a word o' warnin'," he shouted back. "I'd advise yo' to
+keep a closer eye to yer Wullie's goings on, 'specially o' nights, or
+happen yo'il wake to a surprise one mornin'."
+
+In an instant the little man ceased his fooling. "And why that?" he
+asked, following down the hill.
+
+"I'll tell yo'. When I wak' this mornin' I walked to the window, and
+what d'yo' think I see? Why, your Wullie gollopin' like a good tin
+up from the Bottom, all foamin', too, and red-splashed, as if he'd
+coom from the Screes. What had he bin up to, I'd like to know?"
+
+"What should he be doin'," the little man replied, "but havin' an eye
+to the stock? and that when the Killer might be oot."
+
+David laughed harshly.
+
+"Ay, the Killer was oot, I'll go bail, and yo' may hear o't afore the
+evenin', ma man," and 'with that he turned away again. 
+
+As he had foreseen, David found Maggie alone. But in the heat of
+his indignation against his father he seemed to have forgotten his
+original intent, and instead poured his latest troubles into the girl's
+sympathetic ear.
+
+"There's but one mon in the world he wishes worse nor me," he
+was saying. It was late in the afternoon, and he was still inveighing
+against his father and his fate. Maggie sat in her father's chair by
+the fire, knitting; while he lounged on the kitchen table, swinging
+his long legs.
+
+"And who may that be?" the girl asked.
+
+"Why, Mr. Moore, to be sure, and Th' Owd Un, too. He'd do either
+o' them a mischief if he could."
+
+"But why, David?" she asked anxiously. "I'm sure dad niver hurt
+him, or ony ither mon for the matter o' that."
+
+David nodded toward the Dale Cup which rested on the
+mantelpiece in silvery majesty.
+
+"It's yon done it," he said. "And if Th' Owd Un wins agin, as win he
+will, bless him! why, look out for 'me and ma Wullie'; that's all."
+
+Maggie shuddered, and thought of the face at the window.
+
+" 'Me and ma Wullie,' " David continued; "I've had about as much
+of them as I can swaller. It's aye the same--'Me and ma Wullie,'
+and 'Wullie and me,' as if I never put ma hand to a stroke! Ugh!
+"--he made a gesture of passionate disgust--" the two on 'em fair 
+madden me. I could strike the one and throttle t'other," and he
+rattled his heels angrily together.
+
+"Hush, David," interposed the girl; "yo' munna speak so o' your
+dad; it's agin the commandments."
+
+'Tain't agin human nature," he snapped in answer. "Why, 'twas
+nob'but yester' morn' he says in his nasty way, 'David, ma gran'
+fellow, hoo ye work! ye 'stonish me!' And on ma word,
+Maggie"--there were tears in the great boy's eyes--" ma back was
+nigh broke wi' toilin'. And the Terror, he stands by and shows his
+teeth, and looks at me as much as to say, 'Some day, by the grace o'
+goodness, I'll ha' my teeth in your throat, young mon.'
+
+Maggie's knitting dropped into her lap and she looked up, her soft
+eyes for once flashing.
+
+"It's cruel, David; so 'tis!" she cried. "I wonder yo' bide wi' him. If
+he treated me so, I'd no stay anither minute. If it meant the House
+for me I'd go," and she looked as if she meant it.
+
+David jumped off the table.
+
+"Han' yo' niver guessed why I stop, lass, and me so happy at
+home?" he asked eagerly.
+
+Maggie's eyes dropped again.
+
+"Hoo should I know?" she asked innocently. "Nor care, neither, I
+s'pose," he said in reproachful accents. "Yo' want me me to go and
+leave yo', and go reet awa'; I see hoo 'tis. Yo' wouldna mind, not
+yo', if yo' was niver to see pore David agin. I niver thowt yo'
+wellylike me, Maggie; and noo I know it."
+
+"Yo' silly lad," the girl murmured, knitting steadfastly.
+
+"Then yo' do," he cried, triumphant, "I knew yo' did." He
+approached close to her chair, his face clouded with eager anxiety.
+
+"But d'yo' like me more'n just likin-', Mag-. gie? dy'yo'," he bent
+and whispered in the little ear.
+
+The girl cuddled over her work so that he could not see her face.
+
+"If yo' won't tell me yo' can show me," he coaxed. "There's other
+things besides words,"
+
+He stood before her, one hand on the chair-back on either side. She
+sat thus, caged between his arms, with drooping eyes and
+heightened color.
+
+"Not so close, David, please," she begged, fidgeting uneasily; but
+the request was unheeded.
+
+"Do'ee move away a wee," she implored. "Not till yo've showed
+me," he said, relentless.
+
+"I canna, Davie," she cried with laughing, petulance.
+
+"Yes, yo' can, lass."
+
+"Tak' your hands away, then."
+
+"Nay; not till yo've showed me."
+
+A pause.
+
+"Do'ee, Davie," she supplicated. 
+
+"Do'ee," he pleaded.
+
+She tilted her face provokingly, but her eyes were still down.
+
+"It's no manner o' use, Davie."
+
+"Iss, 'tis," he coaxed.
+
+"Niver."
+
+"Please."
+
+A lengthy pause.
+
+"Well, then--" She looked up, at last, shy, trustful, happy; and the
+sweet lips were tilted further to meet his.
+
+And thus they were situated, lover-like, when a low, rapt voice
+broke in on them,--
+
+ 'A dear-lov'd lad, convenience snug,
+A treacherous inclination.'
+
+Oh, Wullie, I wush you were here!"
+
+It was little M'Adam. He was leaning in at the open window,
+leering at the young couple, his eyes puckered, an evil expression
+on his face.
+
+"The creetical moment! and I interfere! David, ye'll never forgie
+me."
+
+The boy jumped round with an oath; and Maggie, her face flaming,
+started to her feet. The tone, the words, the look of the little man at
+the window were alike insufferable.
+
+"By thunder! I'll teach yo' to come spyin' on me!" roared David.
+Above him on the mantel-piece blazed the Shepherds' Trophy.
+Searching any missile in his fury, he reached up a hand for it.
+
+Ay, gie it me back, Ye robbed me o't," the little man cried, holding
+out his arms as if to receive it.
+
+"Dinna, David," pleaded Maggie, with restraining hand on her
+lover's arm.
+
+"By the Lord! I'll give him something!" yelled the boy. Close by
+there stood a pail of soapy water. He seized it, swung it, and
+slashed its contents at the leering face in the window.
+
+The little man started back, but the dirty torrent caught him and
+soused him through. The bucket followed, struck him full on the
+chest, and rolled him over in the mud. After it with a rush came
+David.
+
+"I'll let yo' know, spyin' on me!" he yelled. "I'll--" Maggie, whose
+face was as white now as it had been crimson, clung to him,
+kxampering him.
+
+"Dinna, David, dinna!" she implored. "He's ycr am dad."
+
+"I'll dad him! I'll learn him!" roared David half through the
+window.
+
+At the moment Sam'l Todd came floundering furiously round the
+corner, closely followed by 'Enry and oor Job.
+
+"Is he dead?" shouted Sam'l seeing the prostrate form.
+
+"Ho! ho!" went the other two.
+
+They picked up the draggled little man and hustled him out of the
+yard like a thief, a man on either side and a man behind.
+
+As they forced him through the gate, he struggled round.
+
+"By Him that made ye! ye shall pay for this, David M'Adam, you
+and yer--"
+
+But Sam'l's big hand descended on his mouth, and he was borne
+away before that last ill word had flitted into being.
+
+Chapter XXI. HORROR OF DARKNESS
+
+IT was long past dark that night when M'Adam staggered home.
+
+All that evening at the Sylvester Arms his imprecations against
+David had made even the hardest shudder. James Moore, Owd
+Bob, and the Dale Cup were for once forgotten as, in his passion,
+he cursed his son.
+
+The Dalesmen gathered fearfully away from the little dripping
+madman. For once these men, whom, as a rule, no such geyser
+outbursts could quell, were dumb before him; only now and then
+shooting furtive glances in his direction, as though on the brink of
+some daring enterprise of which he was the objective. But
+M'Adam noticed nothing, suspected nothing.
+
+When, at length, he lurched into the kitchen of the Grange, there
+was no light and the fire burnt low. So dark was the room that a
+white riband of paper pinned on to the table escaped his remark.
+
+The little man sat down heavily, his clothes still sodden, and
+resumed his tireless anathema.
+
+"I've tholed mair fra him, Wullie, than Adam M'Adam ever thocht
+to thole from ony man. And noo it's gane past bearin'. He struck
+me, Wullie! struck his airi father. Ye see it yersel', Wullie. Na, ye
+werena there. Oh, gin ye had but bin, Wullie! Him and his madam!
+But I'll gar him ken Adam M'Adam. I'll stan' nae mair!"
+
+He sprang to his feet and, reaching up with trembling hands, pulled
+down the old bell-mouthed blunderbuss that hung above the
+mantelpiece.
+
+"We'll mak' an end to't, Wullie, so we will, aince and for a'!" And
+he banged the weapon down upon the table. It lay right athwart
+that slip of still condemning paper, yet the little man saw it not.
+
+Resuming his seat, he prepared to wait. His hand sought the pocket
+of his coat, and fingered tenderly a small stone bottle, the fond
+companion of his widowhood. He pulled it out, uncorked it, and
+took a long pull; then placed it on the table by his side.
+
+Gradually the gray head lolled; the shrivelled hand dropped and
+hung limply down, the finger-tips brushing the floor; and he dozed
+off into a heavy sleep, while Red Wull watched at his feet.
+
+It was not till an hour later that David returned home.
+
+As he approached the lightless house, standing in the darkness like
+a body with the spirit fled, he could but contrast this dreary home
+of his with the bright kitchen and cheery faces he had left.
+
+Entering the house, he groped to the kitchen door and opened it;
+then struck a match and stood in the doorway peering in.
+
+"Not home, bain't he?" he muttered, the tiny light above his head.
+"Wet inside as well as oot by noo, I'll lay. By gum! but 'twas a
+lucky thing for him I didna get ma hand on him this evenin'. I
+could ha' killed him." He held the match above his head.
+
+Two yellow eyes, glowing in the darkness like cairngorms, and a
+small dim figure bunched up in a chair, told him his surmise was
+wrong. Many a time had he seen his father in such case before, and
+now he muttered contemptuously:
+
+"Drunk; the leetle swab! Sleepin' it off, I reck'n."
+
+Then he saw his mistake. The hand that hung above the floor
+twitched and was still again.
+
+There was a clammy silence. A mouse, emboldened by the quiet,
+scuttled across the hearth. One mighty paw lightly moved; a
+lightning tap, and the tiny beast lay dead.
+
+Again that hollow stillness: no sound, no movement; only those
+two unwinking eyes fixed on him immovable.
+
+At length a small voice from the fireside broke the quiet.
+
+"Drunk--the----leetle--swab!"
+
+Again a clammy silence, and a life-long
+
+"I thowt yo' was sleepin'," said David, at length, lamely.
+
+"Ay, so ye said. 'Sleepin' it aff'; I heard ye." Then, still in the same
+small voice, now quivering imperceptibly, "Wad ye obleege me,
+sir, by leetin' the lamp? Or, d'ye think, Wullie, 'twad be soilin' his
+dainty fingers? They're mair used, I'm told, to danderin' with the
+bonnie brown hair o' his--"
+
+"I'll not ha' ye talk o' ma Maggie so," interposed the boy
+passionately.
+
+"His Maggie, mark ye, Wullie--his! I thocht 'twad soon get that
+far."
+
+"Tak' care, dad! I'll stan' but little more," the boy warned him in
+choking voice; and began to trim the lamp with trembling fingers.
+
+M'Adam forthwith addressed himself to Red Wull.
+
+"I suppose no man iver had sic a son as him, Wullie. Ye ken what
+I've done for him, an' ye ken hoo he's repaid it. He's set himsel' agin
+me; he's misca'd me; he's robbed me o' ma Cup; last of all, he
+struck me-- struck me afore them a'. We've toiled for him, you and
+I, Wullie; we've slaved to keep him in hoose an' hame, an' he's
+passed his time, the while, in riotous leevin', carousin' at Kenmuir,
+amusin' himself' wi' his--" He broke off short. The lamp was lit,
+and the strip of paper, pinned on to the table, naked and glaring,
+caught his eye.
+
+"What's this?" he muttered; and unloosed the nail that clamped it
+down.
+
+This is what he read:
+
+"Adam Mackadam yer warned to mak' an end to yer Red Wull will
+be best for him and the Sheep. This is the first you have two more
+the third will be the last ---+"
+
+It was written in pencil, and the only signature was a dagger,
+rudely limned in red.
+
+M'Adam read the paper once, twice, thrice. As he slowly
+assimilated its meaning, the blood faded from his face. He stared
+at it and still stared, with whitening face and pursed lips. Then he
+stole a glance at David's broad back.
+
+"What d'ye ken o' this, David?" he asked, at length, in a dry thin
+voice, reaching forward in his chair.
+
+"O' what?"
+
+"O' this," holding up the slip. "And ye'el. obleege me by the truth
+for once."
+
+David turned, took up the paper, read it, and laughed harshly.
+
+"It's coom to this, has it?" he said, still laughing, and yet with
+blanching face.
+
+"Ye ken what it means. I daresay ye pit it there; aiblins writ it.
+Ye'll explain it." The little man spoke in the same small, even
+voice, and his eyes never moved off his son's face.
+
+"lye heard naethin'. . . . I'd like the truth, David, if ye can tell it."
+
+The boy smiled a forced, unnatural smile, looking from his father
+to the paper in his hand.
+
+"Yo' shall have it, but yo'll not like it. It's this: Tupper lost a sheep
+to the Killer last night."
+
+"And what if he did?" The little man rose smoothly to his feet.
+Each noticed the others' face--dead-white.
+
+"Why, he--lost--it-------on------- Wheer d'yo' think?" He drawled the
+words out, dwelling almost lovingly on each.
+
+"Where?"
+
+"On--the--Red----Screes."
+
+The crash was coming--inevitable now. David knew it, knew that
+nothing could avert it, and braced himself to meet it. The smile
+had fled from his face, and his breath fluttered in his throat like the
+wind before a thunderstorm.
+
+"What of it?" The little man's voice was calm as a summer sea.
+
+"Why, your Wullie--as I told yo'--was on the Screes last night."
+
+"Go on, David."
+
+"And this," holding up the paper, "tells you that they ken as I ken
+noo, as maist o' them ha' kent this mony a day, that your Wullie,
+Red Wull--the Terror--"
+
+"Go on." 
+
+"Yes."
+
+"The Black Killer."
+
+It was spoken.
+
+The frayed string was snapped at last. The little man's hand flashed
+to the bottle that stood before him.
+
+"Ye--liar!" he shrieked, and threw it with all his strength at the
+boy's head. David dodged and ducked, and the bottle hurtled over
+his shoulder.
+
+Crash! it whizzed into the lamp behind, and broke on the wall
+beyond, its contents trickling down the wall to the floor.
+
+For a moment, darkness. Then the spirits met the lamp's
+smouldering wick and blazed into flame.
+
+By the sudden light David saw his father on the far side the table,
+pointing with crooked forefinger. By his side Red Wull was
+standing alert, hackles up, yellow fangs bared, eyes lurid; and, at
+his feet, the wee brown mouse lay still and lifeless.
+
+"Oot o' ma hoose! Back to Kenmuir! Back to yer--" The
+unpardonable word, unmistakable, hovered for a second on his lips
+like some foul bubble, and r~ver burst.
+
+"No mither this time!" panted David, racing round the table.
+
+"Wullie!"
+
+The Terror leapt to the attack; but David overturned the table as he
+ran, the blunderbuss crashing to the floor; it fell, opposing a
+momentary barrier in the dog's path.
+
+"Stan' off, ye--!" screeched the little man, seizing a chair in both
+hands; "stan' off, or I'll brain ye!"
+
+But David was on him.
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, to me!"
+
+Again the Terror came with a roar like the sea. But David, with a
+mighty kick catching him full on the jaw, repelled the attack.
+
+Then he gripped his father round the waist and lifted him from the
+ground. The little man, struggling in those iron arms, screamed,
+cursed, and battered at the face above him, kicking and biting in
+his frenzy.
+
+"The Killer! wad ye ken wha's the Killer? Go and ask 'em at
+Kenmuir! Ask yer--"
+
+David swayed slightly, crushing the body in his arms till it seemed
+every rib must break; then hurled it from him with all the might of
+passion. The little man fell with a crash and a groan.
+
+The blaze in the corner flared, flickered, and died. There was
+hell-black darkness, and silence of the dead.
+
+David stood against the wall, panting, every nerve tightstrung as
+the hawser of a straining ship.
+
+In the corner lay the body of his father, limp and still; and in the
+room one other living thing was moving.
+
+He clung close to the wall, pressing it with wet hands. The horror
+of it all, the darkness, the man in the corner, that moving
+something, petrified him.
+
+"Feyther!" he whispered.
+
+There was no reply. A chair creaked at an invisible touch.
+Something was creeping, stealing, crawlng closer.
+
+David was afraid.
+
+"Feyther!" he whispered in hoarse agony, "areyo' hurt?"
+
+The words were stifled in his throat. A chair overturned with a
+crash; a great body struck him on the chest; a hot, pestilent breath
+volleyed in his face, and wolfish teeth were reaching for his throat.
+
+"Come on, Killer!" he screamed.
+
+The horror of suspense was past. It had come, and with it he was
+himself again.
+
+Back, back, back, along the wall he was borne. His hands entwined
+themselves around a hairy throat; he forced the great head with its
+horrid lightsome eyes from him; he braced himself for the effort,
+lifted the huge body at his breast, and heaved it from him. It struck
+the wall and fell with a soft thud.
+
+As he recoiled a hand clutched his ankle and sought to trip him.
+David kicked back and down with all his strength. There was one
+awful groan, and he staggered against the door and out.
+
+There he paused, leaning against the wall to' breathe.
+
+He struck a match and lifted his foot to see where the hand had
+clutched him.
+
+God! there was blood on his heel.
+
+Then a great fear laid hold on him. A cry was suffocated in his
+breast by the panting of his heart.
+
+He crept back to the kitchen door and listened.
+
+Not a sound.
+
+Fearfully he opened it a crack,
+
+Silence of the tomb.
+
+He banged it to. It opened behind him, and the fact lent wings to
+his feet.
+
+He turned and plunged out into the night, and ran through the
+blackness for his life. And a great owl swooped softly by and
+hooted mockingly:
+
+"For your life! for your life! for your life!"
+
+PART V  OWD BOB 0' KENMUIR
+
+Chapter XXII.  A MAD DOG
+
+DAVID and Maggie, meanwhile, were drifting further and further
+apart. He now thought the girl took too much upon herself; that
+this assumption of the woman and the mother was overdone. Once,
+on a Sunday, he caught her hearing Andrew his catechism. He
+watched the performance through a crack in the door, and listened,
+giggling, to her simple teaching. At length his merriment grew so
+boisterous that she looked up, saw him, and, straightway rising to
+her feet, crossed the room and shut the door; tendering her
+unspoken rebuke with such a sweet dignity that he slunk away for
+once decently ashamed. And the incident served to add point to his
+hostility.
+
+Consequently he was seldom at Kenmuir, and more often at home,
+quarrelling with his father.
+
+Since that day, two years before, when the boy had been an
+instrument in the taking of the Cup from him, father and son had
+been like two vessels charged with electricity, contact between
+which might result at any moment in a shock and a flash. This was
+the outcome not of a moment, but of years.
+
+Of late the contest had raged markedly fierce; for M Adam noticed
+his son's more frequent presence at home, and commented on the
+fact in his usual spirit of playful raillery.
+
+"What's come to ye, David?" he asked one day. "Yer auld dad's
+head is nigh turned wi' yer condescension. Is James Moore feared
+ye'll steal the Cup fra him, as ye stole it from me, that he'll not ha'
+ye at Kenmuir? or what is it?"
+
+"I thought I could maybe keep an eye on the Killer gin I stayed
+here," David answered, leering at Red Wull.
+
+"Ye'd do better at Kenmuir--eh, Wuflie!" the little man replied.
+
+"Nay," the other answered, "he'll not go to Kenmuir. There's Th'
+Owd TJn to see to hini there o' nights."
+
+The little man whipped round.
+
+"Are ye so sure he is there o' nights, ma lad?" he asked with slow
+significance.
+
+"He was there when some one--I dinna say who, though I have ma
+thoughts--tried to poison him," sneered the boy, mimicking his
+father's manner.
+
+M'Adam shook his head.
+
+"II he was poisoned, and noo I think aiblins he was, he didna pick
+it up at Kenmuir, I tell ye that," he said, and marched out of the
+room.
+
+In the mean time the Black Killer pursued his bloody trade
+unchecked. The public, always greedy of a new sensation, took up
+the matter. In several of the great dailies, articles on the "Agrarian
+Outrages" appeared, followed by lengthy correspondence.
+Controversy raged high; each correspondent had his own theory
+and his own solution of the prob1cm; and each waxed indignant as
+his were discarded for another's.
+
+The Terror had reigned already two months when, with the advent
+of the lambing-time, matters took a yet more serious aspect.
+
+It was bad enough to lose one sheep, often the finest in the pack;
+but the hunting of a flock at a critical moment, which was
+incidental to the slaughter of the one, the scaring of these woolly
+mothers-about-to-be almost out of their fleeces, spelt for the small
+farmers something akin to ruin, for the bigger ones a loss hardly
+bearable.
+
+Such a woful season had never been known; loud were the curses,
+deep the vows of revenge. Many a shepherd at that time patrolled
+all night through with his dogs, only to find in the morning that the
+Killer had slipped him and havocked in some secluded portion of
+his beat.
+
+It was heartrending work; and all the more so in that, though his
+incrimination seemed as far off as ever, there was still the same
+positiveness as to the culprit's identity.
+
+Long Kirby, indeed, greatly daring, went so far on one occasion as
+to say to the little man: "And d'yo' reck'n the Killer is a sheepdog,
+M'Adam?"
+
+"I do," the little man replied with conviction.
+
+"And that he'll spare his own sheep?"
+
+"Niver a doubt of it."
+
+"Then," said the smith with a nervous cackle, "it must lie between
+you and Tupper and Saunderson."
+
+The little man leant forward and tapped the other on the arm.
+
+"Or Kenmuir, ma friend," he said. "Ye've forgot Kenmuir."
+
+"So I have," laughed the smith, "so I have."
+
+"Then I'd not anither time," the other continued, still tapping. "I'd
+mind Kenmuir, d'ye see, Kirby?"
+
+It was about the middle of the lambingtime, when the Killer was
+working his worst, that the Dalesmen had a lurid glimpse of Adam
+M'Adam as he might be were he wounded through his Wullie.
+
+Thus it came about: It was market-day in Grammoch-town, and in
+the Border Ram old Rob Saunderson was the centre of interest. For
+on the previous night Rob, who till then had escaped unscathed,
+had lost a sheep to the Killer: and--far worse--his flock of
+Herdwicks, heavy in lamb, had been galloped with disastrous
+consequences. 
+
+The old man, with tears in his eyes, was telling how on four nights
+that week he had been up with Shep to guard against mishap; and
+on the fifth, worn out with his double labor, had fallen asleep at his
+post. But a very little while he slumbered; yet when, in the dawn,
+he woke and hurried on his rounds, he quickly came upon a
+mangled sheep and the pitiful relic of his flock. A relic, indeed!
+For all about were cold wee lambkins and their mothers, dead and
+dying of exhaustion and their unripe travail--a slaughter of the
+innocents.
+
+The Dalesmen were clustered round the old shepherd, listening
+with lowering countenances, when a dark gray head peered in at
+the door and two wistful eyes dwelt for a moment on the speaker.
+
+"Talk o' the devil!" muttered M'Adam, but no man heard him. For
+Red Wull, too, had seen that sad face, and, rising from his master's
+feet, had leapt with a roar at his enemy, toppling Jim Mason like a
+ninepin in the fury of his charge.
+
+In a second every dog in the room, from the battered Venus to
+Tupper's big Rasper, was on his feet, bristling to have at the tyrant
+and wipe out past injuries, if the gray dog would but lead the
+dance.
+
+It was not to be, however. For Long Kirby was standing at the door
+with a cup of hot coffee in his hand. Barely had he greeted the gray
+dog with--
+
+"'Hello, Owd Un!" when hoarse yells of "'Ware, lad! The Terror!"
+mingled with Red Wull's roar.
+
+Half turning, he saw the great dog bounding to the attack.
+Straightway he flung the boiling contents of his cup full in that
+rage-wracked countenance. The burning liquid swished against the
+huge hull-head. Blinding, bubbling, scalding, it did its fell work
+well; nothing escaped that merciless torrent. With a cry of agony,
+half bellow, half howl, Red Wull checked in his charge. From
+without the door was banged to; and again the duel was postponed.
+While within the tap-room a huddle of men and dogs were left
+alone with a mad man and a madder brute.
+
+Rlind, demented, agonized, the Tailless Tyke thundered about the
+little room gnashing, snapping, oversetting; men, tables, chairs
+swirled off their legs as though they had been dolls. He spun round
+like a monstrous teetotum; he banged his tortured head against the
+wall; he burrowed into the unyielding floor. And all the while
+M'Adam pattered after him, laying hands upon him only to be
+flung aside as a terrier flings a rat. Now up, now down again, now
+tossed into a corner, now dragged upon the floor, yet always
+following on and crying in supplicating tones, "Wullie, Wullie, let
+me to ye! let yer man ease ye!" and then, with a scream and a
+murderous glance, "By--, Kirby, I'll deal wi' you later!"
+
+The uproar was like hell let loose. You could hear the noise of
+oaths and blows, as the men fought for the door, a half-mile away.
+And above it the horrid bellowing and the screaming of that shrill
+voice.
+
+Long Kirby was the first man out of that murder-hole; and after
+him the others toppled one by one--men and dogs jostling one
+another in the frenzy of their fear. Big Bell, Londesley, Tupper,
+Hoppin, Teddy Bolstock, white-faced and trembling; and old
+Saunderson they pulled out by his heels. Then the door was shut
+with a clang, and the little man and mad dog were left alone.
+
+In the street was already a big-eyed crowd, attracted by the uproar;
+while at the door was James Moore, seeking entrance. "Happen I
+could lend the little mon a hand," said he; but they withheld him
+forcibly.
+
+Inside was pandemonium: bangings like the doors of hell; the
+bellowing of that great voice; the patter of little feet; the slithering
+of a body on the floor; and always that shrill, beseeching prayer,
+"Wullie, Wullie, let me to ye!" and, in a scream, "By--, Kirby, I'll
+be wi' ye soon!"
+
+Jim Mason it was who turned, at length, to the smith and
+whispered, "Kirby, lad, yo'd best skip.
+
+The big man obeyed and ran. The stamp, stamp of his feet on the
+hard road rang above the turmoil. As the long legs vanished round
+the corner and the sound of the fugitive died away, a panic seized
+the listening crowd.
+
+A woman shrieked; a girl fainted; and in two minutes the street
+was as naked of men as the steppes of Russia in winter: here a
+white face at a window; there a door ajar; and peering round a far
+corner a frightened boy. One man only scorned to run. Alone,
+James Moore stalked down the centre of the road, slow and calm,
+Owd Bob trotting at his heels.
+
+It was a long half-hour before the door of the inn burst open, and
+M'Adam came out with a run, flinging the door behind him.
+
+He rushed into the middle of the road; his sleeves were rolled at
+the wrist like a surgeon's; and in his right hand was a
+black-handled jack-knife.
+
+"Noo, by--!" he cried in a terrible voice, "where is he?"
+
+He looked up and down the road, darting his fiery glances
+everywhere; and his face was whiter than his hair.
+
+Then he turned and hunted madly down the whole length of the
+High, nosing like a weasel in every cranny, stabbing at the air as he
+went, and screaming, "By--, Kirby, wait till I get ye!"
+
+Chapter XVIII.  HOW THE KILLER WAS SINGED
+
+No further harm came of the incident; but it served as a healthy
+object-lesson for the Dalesmen.
+
+A coincidence it may have been, but, as a fact, for the fortnight
+succeeding Kirby's exploit there was a lull in the crimes. There
+followed, as though to make amends, the sevcn days still
+remembered in the Daleland as the Bloody Week.
+
+On the Sunday the Squire lost a Cheviot ewe, killed not a hundred
+yards from the Manor wall. On the Monday a farm on the Black
+Water was marked with the red cross. On Tuesday--a black
+night--Tupper at Swinsthwaite came upon the murderer at his
+work; he fired into the darkness without effect; and the Killer
+escaped with a scaring. On the following night Viscount Birdsaye
+lost a shearling ram, for which he was reported to have paid a
+fabulous sum. Thursday was the one blank night of the week. On
+Friday Tupper was again visited and punished heavily, as though in
+revenge for that shot.
+
+On the Saturday afternoon a big meeting was held at the Manor to
+discuss measures. The Squire presided; gentlemen and magistrates
+were there in numbers, and every farmer in the country-side.
+
+To start the proceedings the Special Commissioner read a futile
+letter from the Board of Agriculture. After him Viscount Birdsaye
+rose and proposed that a reward more suitable to the seriousness of
+the case than the paltry �s of the Police should be offered, and
+backed his proposal with a 25 pounds cheque. Several others
+spoke, and, last of all, Parson Leggy rose.
+
+He briefly summarized the history of the crimes; reiterated his
+belief that a sheep-dog was the criminal; declared that nothing had
+occurred to shake his conviction; and concluded by offering a
+remedy for their consideration. Simple it was, so he said, to
+laughableness; yet, if their surmise was correct, it would serve as
+an effectual preventive if not cure, and would at least give them
+time to turn round. He paused.
+
+"My suggestion is: That every man-jack of you who owns a
+sheep-dog ties him up at night."
+
+The farmers were given half an hour to consider the proposal, and
+clustered in knots talking it over. Many an eye was directed on
+M'Adam; but that little man appeared all unconscious.
+
+"Weel, Mr. Saunderson," he was saying in, shrill accents, "and
+shall ye tie Shep?" 
+
+"What d'yo' think?" asked Rob, eying the man at whom the
+measure was aimed.
+
+"Why, it's this way, I'm thinkin'," the little man replied. "Gin ye
+haud Shep's the guilty one I wad, by all manner o' means--or
+shootin'd be ailbins better. If not, why "--he shrugged his shoulders
+significantly; and having shown his hand and driven the nail well
+home, the little man left the meeting.
+
+James Moore stayed to see the Parson's resolution negatived, by a
+large majority, and then he too quitted the hail. He had foreseen
+the result, and, previous to the meeting, had warned the Parson
+how it would be.
+
+"Tie up!" he cried almost indignantly, as Owd Bob came galloping
+up to his whistle; "I think I see myself chainin' yo', owd lad, like
+ony murderer. Why, it's yo' has kept the Killer off Kenmuir so far,
+I'll lay."
+
+At the lodge-gate was M'Adam, for once without his familiar
+spirit, playing with the lodge-keeper's child; for the little man
+loved all children but his own, and was beloved of them. As the
+Master approached he looked up.
+
+"Wed, Moore," he called, "and are you gaein' to tie yer dog?"
+
+"I will if you will yours," the Master answered grimly.
+
+"Na," the little man replied, "it's Wullie as frichts the Killer aff the
+Grange. That's why I've left him there noo." 
+
+"It's the same wi' me," the Master said. He's not come to Kenmuir
+yet, nor he'll not so long as Th' Owd Un's loose, I reck'n."
+
+"Loose or tied, for the matter o' that," the little man rejoined,
+"Kenmuir'll escape." He 'made the statement dogmatically,
+snapping his lips.
+
+The Master frowned.
+
+"Why that?" he asked.
+
+"Ha' ye no heard what they're sayin'?" the little man inquired with
+raised eyebrows.
+
+"Nay; what?"
+
+"Why, that the mere repitation o' th' best sheep-dog in the North'
+should keep him aff. An' I guess they're reet," and he laughed
+shrilly as he spoke.
+
+The Master passed on, puzzled.
+
+"Which road are ye gaein' hame?" M'Adam called after him.
+"Because," with a polite smile, "I'll tak' t'ither."
+
+"I'm off by the Windy Brae," the Master answered, striding on.
+"Squire asked me to 'leave a note wi' his shepherd t'other side o' the
+Chair." So he headed away to the left, making for home by the
+route along the Silver Mere.
+
+ft is a long sweep of almost unbroken moorland, the well-called
+Windy Brae; sloping gently down in mile on mile of heather from
+the Mere Marches on the top to the fringe of the Silver Mere
+below. In all that waste of moor the only break is the
+quaint-shaped Giant's Chair, puzzle of geologists, looking as
+though plumped down by accident in the heathery wild. The
+ground rises suddenly from the uniform grade of the Brae; up it
+goes, ever growing steeper, until at length it runs abruptly into a
+sheer curtain of rock--the Fall--which rises perpendicular some
+forty feet, on the top of which rests that tiny grassy bowl--not
+twenty yards across--they call the Scoop.
+
+The Scoop forms the seat of the Chair and reposes on its collar of
+rock, cool and green and out of the world, like wine in a metal
+cup; in front is the forty-foot Fall; behind, rising sheer again, the
+wall of rock which makes the back of the Chair. Inaccessible from
+above, the only means of entrance to that little deli are two narrow
+sheep-tracks, which crawl dangerously up between the sheer wall
+on the one hand and the sheer Fall on the other, entering it at
+opposite sides.
+
+It stands out clear-cut from the gradual incline, that peculiar
+eminence; yet as the Master and Owd Bob debouched on to the
+Brae it was already invisible in the darkening night.
+
+Through the heather the two swung, the Master thinking now with
+a smile of David and Maggie; wondering what M'Adam had
+meant; musing with a frown on the Killer; pondering on his
+identity--for he was half of David's opinion as to Red Wull's
+innocence; and thanking his stars that so far Kenmuir had escaped,
+a piece of luck he attributed entirely to the vigilance of Th' Owd
+Un, who, sleeping in the porch, slipped out at all hours and went
+his rounds, warding off danger. And at the thought he looked down
+for the dark head which should be travelling at his knee; yet
+could not see it, so thick hung the pall of night.
+
+So he brushed his way along, and ever the night grew blacker;
+until, from the swell of the ground beneath his feet, he knew
+himself skirting the Giant's Chair.
+
+Now as he sped along the foot of the rise, of a sudden there burst
+on his ear the myriad patter of galloping feet. He turned, and at the
+second a swirl of sheep almost bore him down. It was velvet-black,
+and they fled furiously by, yet he dimly discovered, driving at their
+trails, a vague hound-like form.
+
+"The Killer, by thunder!" he ejaculated, and, startled though he
+was, struck down at that last pursuing shape, to miss and almost
+fall.
+
+"Bob, lad!" he cried, "follow on!" and swung round; but in the
+darkness could not see if the gray dog had obeyed.
+
+The chase swept on into the night, and, far above him on the
+hill-side, he could now hear the rattle of the flying feet. He started
+hotly in pursuit, and then, recognizing the futility of following
+where he could not see his hand, desisted. So he stood motionless,
+listening and peering into the blackness, hoping Th' Owd Un was
+on the villain's heels.
+
+He prayed for the moon; and, as though in answer, the lantern of
+the night shone out and lit the dour face of the Chair above him.
+He shot a glance at his feet; and thanked heaven on finding the
+gray dog was not beside him.
+
+Then he looked up. The sheep had broken, and were scattered over
+the steep hill-side, still galloping madly. In the rout one pair of
+darting figures caught and held his gaze: the foremost dodging,
+twisting, speeding upward, the hinder hard on the leader's heels,
+swift, remorseless, never changing. He looked for a third pursuing
+form; but none could he discern.
+
+"He mun ha' missed him in the dark," the Master muttered, the
+sweat standing on his brow, as he strained his eyes upward.
+
+Higher and higher sped those tWo dark specks, far out-topping the
+scattered remnant of the flock. Up and up, until of a sudden the
+sheer Fall dropped its relentless barrier in the path of the fugitive.
+Away, scudding along the foot of the rock-wall struck the familiar
+track leading to the Scoop, and up it, bleating pitifully, nigh spent,
+the Killer hard on her now.
+
+"He'll doon her in the Scoop!" cried the Master hoarsely, following
+with fascinated eyes. "Owd Un! Owd Un! wheer iver are yo' gotten
+to?" he called in agony; but no Owd Un made reply.
+
+As they reached the summit, just as he had prophesied, the two
+black dots were one; and down they rolled together into the hollow
+of the Scoop, out of the Master's ken. At the same instant the
+moon, as though loth to watch the last act of the bloody play,
+veiled her face.
+
+It was his chance. "Noo!"--and up the hillside he sped like a young
+man, girding his loins for the struggle. The slope grew steep and
+steeper; but on and on he held in the darkness, gasping painfully,
+yet running still, until the face of the Fall blocked his way too.
+
+There he paused a moment, and whistled a low call. Could he but
+dispatch the old dog up the one path to the Scoop, while he took
+the other, the murderer's one road to safety would be blocked.
+
+He waited, all expectant; but no cold muzzle was shoved into his
+hand. Again he whistled. A pebble from above almost dropped on
+him, as if the criminal up there had moved to the brink of the Fall
+to listen; and he dared no more.
+
+He waited till all was still again, then crept, cat-like, along the
+rock-foot, and hit, at length, the track up which a while before had
+fled Killer and victim. Up that ragged way he crawled on hands
+and knees. The perspiration rolled off his face; one elbow brushed
+the rock perpetually; one hand plunged ever and anon into that
+naked emptiness on the other side.
+
+He prayed that the moon might keep in but a little longer; that his
+feet might be saved from falling, where a slip might well mean
+death, certain destruction to any chance of succ~s. He cursed his
+luck that Th' Owcl Un had somehow missed him in the dark; for
+now he must trust to chance, his own great~ strength, and his good
+oak stick. And he a~ climbed, he laid his plan: to rush in on the
+Killer as he still gorged and grapple with him. If in the darkness he
+missed--and in that narrow arena the contingency was
+improbable--the murderer might still, in the panic of the moment,
+forget the one path to safety and leap over the Fall to his
+destruction.
+
+At length he reached the summit and paused to draw breath. The
+black void before him was the Scoop, and in its bosom--not ten
+yards away--must be lying the Killer and the killed.
+
+He crouched against the wet rock-face and listened. In that dark
+silence, poised 'twixt heaven and earth, he seemed a million
+miles apart from living soul.
+
+No sound, and yet the murderer must be there. Ay, there was the
+tinkle of a dislodged stone; and again, the tread of stealthy feet. 
+
+The Killer was moving; alarmed; was off.
+
+Quick!
+
+He rose to his full height; gathered himself, and leapt.
+
+Something collided with him as he sprang; something wrestled
+madly with him; something wrenched from beneath him; and in a
+clap he heard the thud of a body striking ground far below, and the
+slithering and splattering of some creature speeding furiously
+down the hill-side and away.
+
+"Who the blazes?" roared he.
+
+"What the devil?" screamed a little voice.
+
+The moon shone out.
+
+"Moore!"
+
+"M'Adam!"
+
+And there they were still struggling over the body of a dead sheep.
+
+In a second they had disengaged and rushed to the edge of the Fall.
+In the quiet they could still hear the scrambling hurry of the
+fugitive far below them. Nothing was to be seen, however, save an
+array of startled sheep on the hill-side, mute witnesses of the
+murderer's escape.
+
+The two men turned and eyed each other; the one grim, the other
+sardonic: both dishevelled and suspicious.
+
+"Well?''
+
+Weel?"
+
+A pause and, careful scrutiny.
+
+"There's blood on your coat." 
+
+"And on yours~"
+
+Together they walked hack into the little moon-lit hollow. There
+lay the murdered sheep in a pool of blood. Plain it was to see
+whence the marks on their coats came. M'Adam touched the
+victim's head with his~ foot. The movement exposed its throat,.
+With a shudder he replaced it as it was.
+
+The two men stood back and eyed one another.
+
+"What are yo' doin' here?"
+
+"After the Killer. What are you?"
+
+"After the Killer?"
+
+"Hoo did you come?"
+
+"Up this path," pointing to the one behind him. "Hoo did you?"
+
+"Up this."
+
+Silence; then again:
+
+"I'd ha' had him but for yo'."
+
+"I did have him, but ye tore me aff,"
+
+A pause again.
+
+"Where's yer gray dog?" This time the challenge was unmistakable.
+
+"I sent him after the Killer. Wheer's your Red Wull?"
+
+"At hame, as I tell't ye before."
+
+"Yo' mean yo' left him there?" M'Adams' fingers twitched.
+
+"He's where I left him."
+
+James Moore shrugged his shoulders. And the other began:
+
+"When did yer dog leave ye?" 
+
+"When the Killer came past."
+
+"Ye wad say ye missed him then?"
+
+"I say what I mean."
+
+"Ye say he went after the Killer. Noo the Killer was here," pointing
+to the dead sheep. "Was your dog here, too?"
+
+"If he had been he'd been here still."
+
+"Onless he went over the Fall!"
+
+"That was the Killer, yo' fule."
+
+"Or your dog."
+
+"There was only one beneath me. I felt him."
+
+"Just so," said M'Adam, and laughed. The other's brow contracted.
+
+"An' that was a big un," he said slowly. The little man stopped his
+cackling.
+
+"There ye lie," he said, smoothly. "He was small."
+
+They looked one another full in the eyes.
+
+"That's a matter of opinion," said the Mas-. ter.
+
+"It's a matter of fact," said the other. The two stared at one another,
+silent and stern, each trying to fathom the other's soul; then they
+turned again to the brink of the. Fall. Beneath them, plain to see,
+was the splash and furrow in the shingle marking the Killer's line
+of retreat. They looked at one another again, and then each
+departed the way he had come to give his version of the story.
+
+'If Th' Owd Un had kept wi' me, I should Iha' had him."
+
+And-- "I tell ye I did have him, but James Moore :~~ulled me aff.
+Strange, too, his dog not bein' --'him!"
+
+Chapter XXII  A MAN AND A MAID
+
+IN the village even the Black Killer and the murder on the Screes
+were forgotten in this new sensation. The mystery in which the
+affair was wrapped, and the ignorance as to all its details, served to
+whet the general interest. There had been a fight; M'Adam and the
+Terror had been mauled; and David had disappeared--those were
+the facts. But what was the origin of the affray no one could say.
+
+One or two of the Dalesmen had, indeed, a shrewd suspicion.
+Tupper looked guilty; Jem Burton muttered, "I knoo hoo 'twould
+be"; while as for Long Kirby, he vanished entirely, not to reappear
+till three months had sped.
+
+Injured as he had been, M'Adam was yet sufficiently recovered to
+appear in the Sylvester Arms on the Saturday following the battle.
+He entered the tap-room silently with never a word to a soul; one
+arm was in a sling and his head bandaged. He eyed every man
+present critically; and all, except Tammas, who was brazen, and
+Jim Mason, who was innocent, fidgeted beneath the stare. Maybe
+it was well for Long Kirby he was not there.
+
+"Onythin' the matter? " asked Jem, at length, rather lamely, in view
+of the plain evidences of battle.
+
+"Na, na; naethin' oot o' the ordinar'," the little man replied,
+giggling. "Only David set on me, and me sleepin'. And," with a
+shrug, "here I am noo." He sat down, wagging his bandaged head
+and grinning. "Ye see he's sae playfu', is Davie. He wangs ye o'er
+the head wi' a chair, kicks ye in the jaw, stamps on yer wame, and
+all as merry as May." And nothing further could they get from him,
+except that if David reappeared it was his  firm resolve to hand
+him over to the police for attempted parricide.
+
+'Brutal assault on an auld man by his son!'
+
+'Twill look well in the Argus; he! he! They couldna let him aff
+under two years, I'm thinkin'."
+
+M'Adam's version of the affair was received with quiet incredulity.
+The general verdict was that he had brought his punishment
+entirely on his own head. Tammas, indeed, who was always rude
+when he was not witty, and, in fact, the difference between the two
+things is only one of degree, told him straight: "It served yo' well
+reet. An' I nob'but wish he'd made an end to yo'."
+
+"He did his best, puir lad," M'Adam reminded him gently.
+
+"We've had enough o' yo'," continued the uncompromising old
+man. "I'm fair grieved he didna slice yer throat while he was at it."
+At that M'Adam raised his eyebrows, stared, and then broke into a
+low whistle.
+
+"That's it, is it?" he muttered, as though a new light was dawning
+on him. "Ah, noo I see."
+
+The days passed on. There was still no news of the missing one,
+and Maggie's face became pitifully white and haggard.
+
+Of course she did not believe that David had attempted to murder
+his father, desperately tried as she knew he had been. Still, it was a
+terrible thought to her that he might at any moment be arrested;
+and her girlish imagination was perpetually conjuring up horrid
+pictures of a trial, conviction, and the things that followed.
+
+Then Sam'l started a wild theory that the little man had murdered
+his son, and thrown the mangled body down the dry well at the
+Grange. The story was, of course, preposterous, and, coming from
+such a source, might well have been discarded with the ridicule it
+deserved. Yet it served to set the cap on the girl's fears; and she
+resolved, at whatever cost, to visit the Grange, beard M'Adam, and
+discover whether he could not or would not allay her gnawing
+apprehension.
+
+Her intent she concealed from her father, knowing well that were
+she to reveal it to him, he would gently but firmly forbid the
+attempt; and on an afternoon some fortnight after David's
+disappearance, choosing her opportunity, she picked up a
+shawl, threw it over her head, and fled with palpitating heart out of
+the farm and down the slope to the Wastrel.
+
+The little plank-bridge rattled as she tripped across it; and she fled
+faster lest any one should have heard and come to look. And,
+indeed, at the moment it rattled again behind her, and she started
+guiltily round. It proved, however, to be only Owd Bob, sweeping
+after, and she was glad.
+
+"Comin' wi' me, lad?" she asked as the old dog cantered up,
+thankful to have that gray protector with her.
+
+Round Langholm now fled the two conspirators; over the
+summer-clad lower slopes of the Pike, until, at length, they
+reached the Stony Bottom. Down the bramble-covered bank of the
+ravine the girl slid; picked her way from stone to stone across the
+streamlet tinkling in that rocky bed; and scrambled up the opposite
+bank.
+
+At the top she halted and looked back. The smoke from Kenmuir
+was winding slowly up against the sky; to her right the low gray
+cottages of the village cuddled in the bosom of the Dale; far away
+over the Marches towered the gaunt Scaur; before her rolled the
+swelling slopes of the Muir Pike; while behind-- she glanced
+timidly over her shoulder--was the hill, at the top of which
+squatted the Grange, lifeless, cold, scowling.
+
+Her heart failed her. In her whole life she had never spoken to
+M'Adam. Yet she knew him well enough from all David's
+accounts-- ay, and hated him for David's sake. She hated him and
+feared him, too; feared him mortally--this terrible little man. And,
+with a shudder, she recalled the dim face at the window, and
+thought of his notorious hatred of her father. But even M'Adam
+could hardly harm a girl coming, broken-hearted, to seek her lover.
+Besides, was not Owd Bob with her?
+
+And, turning, she saw the old dog standing a little way up the hill,
+looking back at her as though he wondered why she waited. "Am I
+not enough?" the faithful gray eyes seemed to say.
+
+"Lad, I'm fear'd," was her answer to the unspoken question.
+
+Yet that look determined her. She clenched her little teeth, drew
+the shawl about her, and set off running up the hill.
+
+Soon the run dwindled to a walk, the walk to a crawl, and the
+crawl to a halt. Her breath was coming painfully, and her heart
+pattered against her side like the beatings of an imprisoned bird.
+Again her gray guardian looked up, encouraging her forward.
+
+"Keep close, lad," she whispered, starting forward afresh. And the
+old dog ranged up beside her, shoving into her skirt, as though to
+let her feel his presence. 
+
+So they reached the top of the hill; and the house stood before
+them, grim, unfriendly.
+
+The girl's face was now quite white, yet set; the resemblance to her
+father was plain to see. With lips compressed and breath
+quick-coming, she crossed the threshold, treading softly as though
+in a house of the dead. There she paused and lifted a warning
+finger at her companion, bidding him halt without; then she turned
+to the door on the left of the entrance and tapped.
+
+She listened, her head buried in the shawl, close to the wood
+panelling. There was no answer; she could only hear the drumming
+of her heart.
+
+She knocked again. From within came the scraping of a chair
+cautiously shoved back, followed by a deep-mouthed cavernous
+growl.
+
+Her heart stood still, but she turned the handle and entered, leaving
+a crack open behind.
+
+On the far side the room a little man was sitting. His head was
+swathed in dirty bandages, and a bottle was on the table beside
+him. He was leaning forward; his face was gray, and there was a
+stare of naked horror in his eyes. One hand grasped the great dog
+who stood at his side, with yellow teeth glinting, and muzzle
+hideously wrinkled; with the other he pointed a palsied finger at
+her.
+
+"Ma God! wha are ye?" he cried hoarsely.
+
+The girl stood hard against the door, her fingers still on the handle;
+trembling like an aspen at the sight of that uncannie pair.
+
+That look in the little man's eyes petrified her: the swollen pupils;
+lashless lids, yawning wide; the broken range of teeth in that
+gaping mouth, froze her very soul. Rumors of the man's insanity
+tided back on her memory.
+
+"I'm--I---" the words came in trembling gasps.
+
+At the first utterance, however, the little man's hand dropped; he
+leant back in his chair and gave a soul-bursting sigh of relief.
+
+No woman had crossed that threshold since his wife died; and, for
+a moment, when first the girl had entered silent-footed, aroused
+from dreaming of the long ago, he had thought this shawl-clad
+figure with the pale face and peeping hair no earthly visitor; the
+spirit, rather, of one he had loved long since and lost, come to
+reproach him with a broken troth.
+
+"Speak up, I canna hear," he said, in tones mild compared with
+those last wild words.
+
+"I--I'm Maggie Moore," the girl quavered.
+
+"Moore! Maggie Moore, d'ye say?" he cried, half rising from his
+chair, a flush of color sweeping across his face, "the dochter o'
+James Moore?" He paused for an answer, glowering at her; and she
+shrank, trembling, against the door.
+
+The little man leant back in his chair. Gradually a grim smile crept
+across his countenance.
+
+"Weel, Maggie Moore," he said, halfamused, "ony gate ye're a
+good plucked tin." And his wizened countenance looked at her
+almost kindly from beneath its dirty crown of bandages.
+
+At that the girl's courage returned with a rush. After all this little
+man was not so very terrible. Perhaps he would be kind. And in the
+relief of the moment, the blood swept back into her face.
+
+There was not to be peace yet, however. The blush was still hot
+upon her cheeks, when she caught the patter of soft steps in the
+passage without. A dark muzzle flecked with gray pushed in at the
+crack of the door; two anxious gray eyes followed.
+
+Before she could wave him back, Red Wull had marked the
+intruder. With a roar he tore himself from his master's restraining
+hand, and dashed across the room.
+
+"Back, Bob!" screamed Maggie, and the dark head withdrew. The
+door slammed with a crash as the great dog flung himself against
+it, and Maggie was hurled, breathless and white-faced, into a
+corner.
+
+M'Adam was on his feet, pointing with a shrivelled finger, his face
+diabolical.
+
+"Did you bring him? did you bring that to ma door?"
+
+Maggie huddled in the corner in a palsy of trepidation. Her eyes
+gleamed big and black in the white face peering from the shawl. 
+
+Red Wull was now beside her snarling horribly. With nose to the
+bottom of the door and busy paws he was trying to get out; while,
+on the other side, Owd Bob, snuffling also at the crack, scratched
+and pleaded to get in. Only two miserable wooden inches
+separated the pair.
+
+"I brought him to protect me. I--I was afraid."
+
+M'Adam sat down and laughed abruptly.
+
+"Afraid! I wonder ye were na afraid to bring him here. It's the first
+time iver he's set foot on ma land, and 't had best be the last" He
+turned to the great dog. "Wullie, Wullie, wad ye?" he called.
+"Come here. Lay ye doon--so--under ma chair--good lad. Noo's no
+the time to settle wi' him"--nodding toward the door. "We can wait
+for that, Wullie; we can wait." Then, turning to Maggie, "Gin ye
+want him to mak' a show at the Trials two months hence, he'd best
+not come here agin. Gin he does, he'll no leave ma land alive;
+Wullie'll see to that. Noo, what is 't ye want o'me?"
+
+The girl in the corner, scared almost out of her senses by this last
+occurrence, remained dumb.
+
+M'Adam marked her hesitation, and grinned sardonically.
+
+"I see hoo 'tis," said he; "yer dad's sent ye. Aince before he wanted
+somethin' o' me, and did he come to fetch it himself like a man? 
+
+Not he. He sent the son to rob the father." Then, leaning forward in
+his chair and glaring at the girl, "Ay, and mair than that! The night
+the lad set on me he cam' "--with hissing emphasis--" straight from
+Kenmuir!" He paused and stared at her intently ,and she was still
+dumb before him. "Gin I'd ben killed, Wullie'd ha' bin disqualified
+from competin' for the Cup. With Adam M'Adam's Red Wull oot o'
+the way--noo d'ye see? Noo d'ye onderstan'?
+
+She did not, and he saw it and was satisfied. What he had been
+saying she neither knew nor cared. She only remembered the
+object of her mission; she only saw before her the father of the
+man she loved; and a wave of emotion surged up in her breast.
+
+She advanced timidly toward him, holding out her hands.
+
+"Eh, Mr. M'Adam," she pleaded, "I come to ask ye after David."
+The shawl had slipped from her head, and lay loose upon her
+shoulders; and she stood before him with her sad face, her pretty
+hair all tossed, and her eyes big with unshed tears--a touching
+suppliant.
+
+"Will ye no tell me wheer he is? I'd not ask it, I'd not trouble yo',
+but I've bin waitin' a waefu' while, it seems, and I'm wearyin' for
+news o' him."
+
+The little man looked at her curiously. "Ah, noo I mind me, "--this
+to himself. "You' the lass as is thinkin' o' marryin' him?" 
+
+"We're promised," the girl answered simply.
+
+"Weel," the other remarked, "as I said afore, ye're a good plucked
+un." Then, in a tone in which, despite the cynicism, a certain
+indefinable sadness was blended, "Gin he mak's you as good
+husband as he mad' son to me, ye'll ha' made a maist remairkable
+match, my dear."
+
+Maggie fired in a moment.
+
+"A good feyther makes a good son," she answered almost pertly;
+and then, with infinite tenderness, "and I'm prayin' a good wife'll
+make a good husband."
+
+He smiled scoffingly.
+
+"I'm feared that'll no help ye much," he said.
+
+But the girl never heeded this last sneer, so set was she on her
+purpose. She had heard of the one tender place in the heart of this
+little man with the tired face and mocking tongue, and she
+resolved to attain her end by appealing to it.
+
+"Yo' loved a lass yo'sel' aince, Mr. M'Adam," she said. "Hoo would
+yo' ha' felt had she gone away and left yo'? Yo'd ha' bin mad; yo'
+know yo' would. And, Mr. M'Adam, I love the lad yer wife loved."
+She was kneeling at his feet now with both hands on his knees,
+looking up at him. Her sad face and quivering lips pleaded for her
+more eloquently than any words The little man was visibly
+touched.
+
+"Ay, ay, lass, that's enough," he said, trying to avoid those big
+beseeching eyes which would not be avoided.
+
+"Will ye no tell me?" she pleaded.
+
+"I canna tell ye, lass, for why, I dinna ken," he answered
+querulously. In truth, he was moved to the heart by her misery.
+
+The girl's last hopes were dashed. She had played her last card and
+failed. She had clung with the fervor of despair to this last
+resource, and now it was torn from her. She had hoped, and now
+there was no hope. In the anguish of her disappointment she
+remembered that this was the man who, by his persistent cruelty,
+had driven her love into exile.
+
+She rose to her feet and stood back.
+
+"Nor ken, nor care!" she cried bitterly.
+
+At the words all the softness fled from the little man's face.
+
+"Ye do me a wrang, lass; ye do indeed," he said, looking up at her
+with an assumed ingenuousness which, had she known him better,
+would have warned her to beware. "Gin I kent where the lad was
+I'd be the vairy first to let you, and the p'lice, ken it too; eh, Wullie!
+he! he!" He chuckled at his wit and rubbed his knees, regardless of
+the contempt blazing in the girl's face.
+
+"I canna tell ye where he is now, but ye'd aiblins care to hear o'
+when I saw him last." He turned his chair the better to address her.
+
+"Twas like so: I was sittin' in this vairy chair it was, asleep, when
+he crep' up behind an' lep' on ma back. I knew naethin' o't till I
+found masel' on the floor an' him kneelin' on me. I saw by the look
+on him he was set on finishin' me, so I said--"
+
+The girl waved her hand at him, superbly disdainful.
+
+"Yo' ken yo're lyin', ivery word o't," she cried.
+
+The little man hitched his trousers, crossed his legs, and yawned.
+
+"An honest lee for an honest purpose is a matter ony man may be
+proud of, as you'll ken by the time you're my years, ma lass."
+
+The girl slowly crossed the room. At the door she turned.
+
+"Then ye'll no tell me wheer he is?" she asked with a
+heart-breaking trill in her voice.
+
+"On ma word, lass, I dinna ken," he cried, half passionately.
+
+"On your word, Mr. M'Adamt" she said with a quiet scorn in her
+voice that might have stung Iscariot.
+
+The little man spun round in his chair, an angry red dyeing his
+cheeks. In another moment he was suave and smiling again.
+
+"I canna tell ye where he is noo," he said, unctuously; "but aiblins,
+I could let ye know where he's gaein' to."
+
+"Can yo'? will yo'?" cried the simple girl all unsuspecting. In a
+moment she was across the room and at his knees.
+
+"Closer, and I'll whisper." The little ear, peeping from its nest of
+brown, was tremblingly approached to his lips. The little man lent
+forward and whispered one short, sharp word, then sat back,
+grinning, to watch the effect of his disclosure.
+
+He had his revenge, an unworthy revenge on such a victim. And,
+watching the girl's face, the cruel disappointment merging in the
+heat of her indignation, he had yet enough nobility to regret his
+triumph.
+
+She sprang from him as though he were unclean.
+
+"An' yo' his father!" she cried, in burning tones.
+
+She crossed the room, and at the door paused. Her face was white
+again and she was quite composed.
+
+"If David did strike you, you drove him to it," she said, speaking in
+calm, gentle accents. "Yo' know, none so well, whether yo've bin a
+good feyther to him, and him no mither, poor laddie! whether yo've
+bin to him what she'd ha' had yo' be. Ask yer conscience, Mr.
+M'Adam. An' if he was a wee aggravatin' at times, had he no
+reason? He'd a heavy cross to bear, had David, and yo' know best if
+yo' helped to ease it for him."
+
+The little man pointed to the door; but the girl paid no heed.
+
+"D'yo' think when yo' were cruel to him, jeerin' and fleerin', he
+never felt it, because he was too proud to show ye? He'd a big saft
+heart, had David, beneath the varnish. Mony's the time when
+mither was alive, I've seen him throw himsel' into her arms,
+sobbin', and cry, 'Eh, if I had but mither! 'Twas different when
+mither was alive; he was kinder to me then. An' noo I've no one;
+I'm alone.' An' he'd sob and sob in mither's arms, and she, weepin'
+hersel', would comfort him, while he, wee laddie, would no be
+comforted, cryin' broken-like, 'There's none to care for me noo; I'm
+alone. Mither's left me and eh! I'm prayin' to be wi' her!'
+
+The clear, girlish voice shook. M'Adam, sitting with face averted,
+waved to her, mutely ordering her to be gone. But she held on,
+gentle, sorrowful, relentless.
+
+"An' what'll yo' say to his mither when yo meet her, as yo' must
+soon noo, and she asks yo', 'An what o' David? What o' th' lad I left
+wi' yo', Adam, to guard and keep for me, faithful and true, till this
+Day?' And then yo'll ha' to speak the truth, God's truth; and yo'll ha'
+to answer, 'Sin' the day yo' left me I niver said a kind word to the
+lad. I niver bore wi' him, and niver tried to. And in the end I drove
+him by persecution to try and murder me.' Then maybe she'll look
+at yo'--yo' best ken hoo--and she'll say, 'Adam, Adam! is this what I
+deserved fra yo'?'
+
+The gentle, implacable voice ceased. The girl turned and slipped
+softly out of the room; and M'Adam was left alone to his thoughts
+and his dead wife's memory.
+
+"Mither and father, baith! Mither and father, baith!" rang
+remorselessly in his ears.
+
+Chapter XXIII  TH' OWD UN
+
+THE Black Killer still cursed the land. Sometimes there would be
+a cessation in the crimes; then a shepherd, going his rounds, would
+notice his sheep herding together, packing in unaccustomed
+squares; a raven, gorged to the crop, would rise before him and
+flap wearily away, and he would come upon the murderer's latest
+victim.
+
+The Dalesmen were in despair, so utterly futile had their efforts
+been. There was no proof; no hope, no apparent probability that
+the end was near. As for the Tailless Tyke, the only piece of
+evidence against him had flown with David, who, as it chanced,
+had divulged what he had seen to no man.
+
+The 100 pound reward offered had brought no issue. The police
+had done nothing. The Special Commissioner had been equally
+successful. After the affair in the Scoop the Killer never ran a risk,
+yet never missed a chance.
+
+Then, as a last resource, Jim Mason made his attempt. He took a
+holiday from his duties and disappeared into the wilderness. Three
+days and three nights no man saw him.
+
+On the morning of the fourth he reappeared, haggard, unkempt, a
+furtive look haunting his eyes, sullen for once, irritable, who had
+never been irritable before--to confess his failure. Cross-examined
+further, he answered with unaccustomed fierceness: "I seed nowt, I
+tell ye. Who's the liar as said I did?"
+
+But that night his missus heard him in his sleep conning over
+something to himself in slow, fearful whisper, "Two on 'em; one
+ahint t'other. The first big--bull-like; t'ither--" At which point Mrs.
+Mason smote him a smashing blow in the ribs, and he woke in a
+sweat, crying terribly, "Who said I seed--"
+
+The days were slipping away; the summer was hot upon the land,
+and with it the Black Killer was forgotten; David was forgotten;
+everything sank into oblivion before the all-absorbing interest of
+the coming Dale trials.
+
+The long-anticipated battle for the Shepherds' Trophy was looming
+close; soon everything that hung upon the issue of that struggle
+would be decided finally. For ever the jus-. tice of Th' Owd Un'
+claim to his proud title would be settled. If he won, he won
+outright ~--a thing unprecedented in the annals of the Cup; if he
+won, the place of Owd Bob o' Kenmuir as first in his profession
+was assured for all time. Above all, it was the last event in the six
+years' struggle 'twixt Red and Gray It wa~ the last time those two
+great rivals would meet in battle. The supremacy of one would be
+decided once and for all. For win or lose, it was the last public
+appearance of the Gray Dog of Kenmuir.
+
+And as every hour brought the great day nearer, nothing else was
+talked of in the country-side. The heat of the Dalesmen's
+enthusiasm was only intensified by the fever of their apprehension.
+Many a man would lose more than he cared to contemplate were
+'Th' Owd Un beat. But he'd not be! Nay; owd, indeed, he was--two
+years older than his great rival; there were a hundred risks, a
+hundred chances; still: "What's the odds agin Owd Bob o'
+Kenmuir? I'm takin' 'em. Who'll lay agin Th' Owd Un?"
+
+And with the air saturated with this perpetual talk of the old dog,
+these everlasting references to his certain victory; his ears
+drumming with the often boast that the gray dog was the best in
+the North, M'Adam became the silent, ill-designing man of six
+months since--morose, brooding, suspicious, muttering of
+conspiracy, plotting revenge.
+
+The scenes at the Sylvester Arms were replicas of those of
+previous years. Usually the little man sat isolated in a far corner,
+silent and glowering, with Red Wull at his feet. Now and then he
+burst into a paroxysm of insane giggling, slapping his thigh, and
+muttering, "Ay, it's likely they'll beat us, Wuflie. Yet aiblins there's
+a wee somethin'--a some- thin' we ken and they dinna, Wullie,--eh!
+Wullie, he! he!" And sometimes he would leap to his feet and
+address his pot-house audience, appealing to them passionately,
+satirically, tearfully, as the mood might be on him; and his theme
+was always the same: James Moore, Owd Bob, the Cup, and the
+plots agin him and his Wullie; and always he concluded with that
+hint of the surprise to come.
+
+Meantime, there was no news of David; he had gone as utterly as a
+ship foundered in mid-Atlantic. Some said he'd 'listed; some, that
+he'd gone to sea. And "So he 'as," corroborated Sam'l, "floatin',
+'eels uppards."
+
+With no gleam of consolation, Maggie's misery was such as to
+rouse compassion in all hearts. She went no longer blithely singing
+about her work; and all the springiness had fled from her gait. The
+people of Kenmuir vied with one another in their attempts to
+console their young mistress.
+
+Maggie was not the only one in whose life David's absence had
+created a void. Last as he would have been to own it, M' Adam felt
+acutely the boy's loss. It may have been he missed the ever-present
+butt; it may have been a nobler feeling. Alone with Red Wull, too
+late he felt his loneliness. Sometimes, sitting in the kitchen by
+himself, thinking of the past, he experienced sharp pangs of
+remorse; and this was all the more the case after Maggie's visit.
+Subsequent to that day the little man, to do him justice, was never
+known to hint by word or look an ill thing of his enemy's daughter.
+Once, indeed, when Melia Ross was drawing on a dirty
+imagination with Maggie for subject, M'Adam shut her up
+with: 
+
+"Ye're a maist amazin' big liar, Melia Ross." Yet, though for the
+daughter he had now no evil thought, his hatred for the father had
+never been so uncompromising.
+
+He grew reckless in his assertions. His life was one long threat
+against James Moore's. Now he openly stated his conviction that,
+on the evenful night of the fight, James Moore, with object easily
+discernible, had egged David on to murder him.
+
+"Then why don't yo' go and tell him so, yo' muckle liar?" roared
+Tammas at last, enraged to madness.
+
+"I will!" said M'Adam. And he did.
+
+It was on the day preceding the great summer sheep fair at
+Grammoch-town that he ful-. filled his vow.
+
+That is always a big field-day at Kenmuir; and on this occasion
+James Moore and Owd Bob had been up and working on the Pike
+from the rising of the sun. Throughout the straggling lands of
+Kenmuir the Master went with his untiring adjutant, rounding up,
+cutting out, drafting. It was already noon when the flock started
+from the yard.
+
+On the gate by the stile, as the party came up, sat M'Adam.
+
+"I've a word to say to you, James Moore," he announced, as the
+Master approached.
+
+"Say it then, and quick. I've no time to stand gossipin' here, if yo'
+have," said the Master.
+
+M'Adam strained forward till he nearly toppled off the gate.
+
+Queer thing, James Moore, you should be the only one to escape
+this Killer."
+
+"Yo' forget yoursel', M'Adam."
+
+"Ay, there's me," acquiesced the little man. "But you--hoo d'yo'
+'count for your luck?"
+
+James Moore swung round and pointed proudly at the gray dog,
+now patrolling round the flock.
+
+"There's my luck!" he said.
+
+M'Adam laughed unpleasantly.
+
+"So I thought," he said, "so I thought! And I s'pose ye're thinkin'
+that yer luck," nodding at the gray dog, "will win you the Cup for
+certain a month hence,"
+
+"I hope so!" said the Master.
+
+"Strange if he should not after all," mused the little man.
+
+James Moore eyed him suspiciously. "What d'yo' mean?" he asked
+sternly. M'Adam shrugged his shoulders. "There's mony a slip
+'twixt Cup and lip, that's a'. I was thinkin' some mischance might
+come to him."
+
+The Master's eyes flashed dangerously. He recalled the many
+rumors he had heard, and the attempt on the old dog early in the
+year.
+
+"I canna think ony one would be coward enough to murder him,"
+he said, drawing himself up.
+
+M'Adam lent forward. There was a nasty glitter in his eye, and his
+face was all a-tremble.
+
+"Ye'd no think ony one 'd be cooard enough to set the son to
+murder the father. Yet some one did,--set the lad on to 'sassinate
+me. He failed at me, and next, I suppose, he'll try at Wullie!" There
+was a flush on the sallow face, and a vindictive ring in the thin
+voice. "One way or t'ither, fair or foul, Wullie or me, am or baith,
+has got to go afore Cup Day, eh, James Moore! eh?"
+
+The Master put his hand on the latch of the gate, "That'll do,
+M'Adam," he said. "I'll stop to hear no more, else I might get angry
+we' yo'. Noo git off this gate, yo're trespassin' as 'tis.
+
+He shook the gate. M'Adam tumbled off, and went sprawling into
+the sheep clustered below. Picking himself up, he dashed on
+through the flock, waving his arms, kicking fantastically, and
+scattering confusion everywhere.
+
+"Just wait till I'm thro' wi' 'em, will yo'?" shouted the Master,
+seeing the danger.
+
+It was a request which, according to the etiquette of shepherding,
+one man was bound to grant another. But M'Adam rushed on
+regardless, dancing and gesticulating. Save for the lightning
+vigilance of Owd Bob, the flock must have broken.
+
+"I think yo' might ha' waited!" remonstrated the Master, as the little
+man burst his way through.
+
+"Noo, I've forgot somethin'!" the other cried, and back he started as
+he had gone.
+
+It was more than human nature could tolerate.
+
+"Bob, keep him off!"
+
+A flash of teeth; a blaze of gray eyes; and~ the old dog had leapt
+forward to oppose the little man's advance.
+
+"Shift oot o' ma light!" cried he, striving to dash past.
+
+"Hold him, lad!"
+
+And hold him the old dog did, while his master opened the gate
+and put the flock through, the opponents dodging in front of one
+another like opposing three-quarter-backs at the Rugby game.
+
+"Oot o' ma path, or I'll strike!" shouted the little man in a fury, as
+the last sheep passed through the gate.
+
+"I'd not," warned the Master.
+
+"But I will!" yelled M'Adam; and, darting forward as the gate
+swung to, struck furiously at his opponent.
+
+He missed, and the gray dog charged at him like a mail-train.
+
+"Hi! James Moore--" but over he went like a toppled wheelbarrow,
+while the old dog turned again, raced at the gate, took it
+magnificently in his stride, and galloped up the lane after his
+master.
+
+At M'Adam's yell, James Moore had turned.
+
+"Served yo' properly!" he called back. "He'll lam ye yet it's not wise
+to tamper wi' a gray dog or his sheep. Not the first time he's
+downed ye, I'm thinkin'!"
+
+The little man raised himself painfully to his elbow and crawled
+toward the gate. The Master, up the lane, could hear him cursing
+as he dragged himself. Another moment, and a head was poked
+through the bars of the gate, and a devilish little face looked after
+him.
+
+"Downed me, by--, he did!" the little man cried passionately. "I
+owed ye baith somethin' before this, and noo, by--, I owe ye
+somethin' more. An' mind ye, Adam M'Adam pays his debts!"
+
+"I've heard the contrary," the Master replied drily, and turned away
+up the lane toward the Marches.
+
+Chapter XXIV  A SHOT IN THE NIGHT
+
+IT was only three short weeks before Cup Day that one afternoon
+Jim Mason brought a letter to Kenmuir. James Moore opened it as
+the postman still stood in the door.
+
+It was from Long Kirby--still in retirement--begging him for
+mercy's sake to keep Owd Bob safe within doors at nights; at all
+events till after the great event was over. For Kirby knew, as did
+every Dalesman, that the old dog slept in the porch, between the
+two doors of the house, of which the outer was only loosely closed
+by a chain, so that the ever-watchful guardian might slip in and out
+and go his rounds at any moment of the night.
+
+This was how the smith concluded his ill-spelt note: "Look out for
+M'Adam i tell you i know hel tn at thowd un afore cup day--f aiim
+im you. if the ole dog's bete i'm a ruined man i say so for the luv o
+God keep yer eyes wide."
+
+The Master read the letter, and handed it to the postman, who
+perused it carefully.
+
+"I tell yo' what," said Jim at length, speaking with an earnestness
+that made the other stare, "I wish yo'd do what he asks yo': keep
+Th' Owd Un in o' nights, I mean, just for the. present.
+
+The Master shook his head and laughed, tearing the letter to
+pieces.
+
+"Nay," said he; "M'Adam or no M'Adam,, Cup or no Cup, Th' Owd
+Un has the run o' ma land same as he's had since a puppy. Why,
+Jim, the first night I shut him up that. night the Killer comes, I'll
+lay."
+
+The postman turned wearily away, and the Master stood looking
+after him, wondering what had come of late to his former cheery
+friend.
+
+Those two were not the only warnings James Moore received.
+During the weeks immediately preceding the Trials, the danger
+signal was. perpetually flaunted beneath his nose.
+
+Twice did Watch, the black cross-bred chained in the straw-yard,
+hurl a brazen challenge on the night air. Twice did the Master,~
+with lantern, Sam'! and Owd Bob, sally forth and search every hole
+and corner on the premises--to find nothing. One of the
+dairy-maids~ gave notice, avowing that the farm was haunted; that,
+on several occasions in the early morning, she had seen a bogie
+flitting down the slope to the Wastrel--a sure portent, Sam'l
+declared, of an approaching death in the house. While once a
+shearer, coming up from the village, reported having seen, in the
+twilight of dawn, a little ghostly figure, haggard and startled,
+stealing silently from tree to tree in the larch-copse by the lane.
+The Master, however, irritated by these constant alarms, dismissed
+the story summarily.
+
+One thing I'm sartino'," said he. "There's not a critter moves on
+Kenmuir at nights but Th' Owd Un knows it."
+
+Yet, even as he said it, a little man, draggled, weary-eyed, smeared
+with dew and dust, was limping in at the door of a house barely a
+-mile away. "Nae luck, Wullie, curse it!" he-cried, throwing
+himself into a chair, and addressing some one who was not
+there--"nae luck. An' yet I'm sure o't as I am that there's .a God in
+heaven."
+
+M'Adam had become an old man of late. But little more than fifty,
+yet he looked to have reached man's allotted years. His sparse hair
+was quite white; his body shrunk and bowed; and his thin hand
+shook like an aspen as it groped to the familiar bottle.
+
+In another matter, too, he was altogether changed. Formerly,
+whatever his faults, there had been no harder-working man in the
+country-side. At all hours, in all weathers, you might have seen
+him with his gigantic attendant going his rounds. Now all that was
+different: he never put his hand to the plough, and with none to
+help him the land was left wholly untended; so that men said that,
+of a surety, there would be a farm to let on the March Mere
+Estate come Michaelmas. 
+
+Instead of working, the little man sat all day in the kitchen at
+home, brooding over his wrongs, and brewing vengeance. Even the
+Sylvester Arms knew him no more; for he stayed where he was
+with his dog and his. bottle. Only, when the shroud of night had
+come down to cover him, he slipped out and away on some errand
+on which not even Red. Wull accompanied him.
+
+So the time glided on, till the Sunday before the Trials came
+round.
+
+All that day M'Adam sat in his kitchen, drinking, muttering,
+hatching revenge.
+
+"Curse it, Wullie! curse it! The time's slippin'--slippin'--slippin'!
+Thursday next-- but three days mair! and I haena the proof --I
+haena the proof! "--and he rocked to and fro, biting his nails in
+the agony of his impotence.
+
+All day long he never moved. Long after sunset he sat on; long
+after dark had eliminated the features of the room.
+
+"They're all agin us, Wuflie. It's you and I alane, lad. M'Adam's to
+be beat somehow, onyhow; and Moore's to win. So they've settled
+it, and so 'twill be--onless, Wullie, onless--but curse it! I've no the
+proof! "--and he hammered the table before him and stamped on
+the floor.
+
+At midnight he arose, a mad, desperate plan. looming through his
+fuddled brain.
+
+"I swore I'd pay him, Wullie, and I will. If I hang for it I'll be even
+wi' him. I haena the proof, but I know--I know!" He groped his way
+to the mantel piece wth blind eyes and swirling brain. Reaching up
+with fumbling hands, he took down the old blunderbuss from
+above the fireplace.
+
+"Wullie," he whispered, chuckling hideously, "Wullie, come on!
+You and I--he! he!" But the Tailless Tyke was not there. At
+nightfall he had slouched silently out of the house on business he
+best wot of. So his master crept out of the room alone--on tiptoe,
+still chuckling.
+
+The cool night air refreshed him, and he stepped stealthily along,
+his quaint weapon over his shoulder: down the hill; across the
+Bottom; skirting the Pike; till he reached the plank-bridge over the
+Wastrel.
+
+He crossed it safely, that Providence whose care is drunkards
+placing his footsteps. Then he stole up the slope like a hunter
+stalking his prey.
+
+Arrived at the gate, he raised himself cautiously, and peered over
+into the moonlit yard. There was no sign or sound of living
+creature. The little gray house slept peacefully in the shadow of the
+Pike, all unaware of the man with murder in his heart laboriously
+climbing the yard-gate.
+
+The door of the porch was wide, the chain hanging limply down,
+unused; and the little man could see within, the moon shining on
+the iron studs of the inner door, and the blanket of him who should
+have slept there, and did not.
+
+"He's no there, Wullie! He's no there!" He jumped down from the
+gate. Throwing all caution to the winds, he reeled recklessly across
+the yard. The drunken delirium of battle was on him. The fever of
+anticipated. victory flushed his veins. At length he would. take toll
+for the injuries of years.
+
+Another moment, and he was in front of the good oak door,
+battering at it madly with clubbed weapon, yelling, dancing,
+screaming vengeance.
+
+"Where is he? What's he at? Come and tell me that, James Moore!
+Come doon, I say, ye coward! Come and meet me like a. man!"
+
+'Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled, 
+Scots wham Bruce has aften led--
+Welcome to your gory bed
+Or to victorie!'
+
+The soft moonlight streamed down on the white-haired madman
+thundering at the door, screaming his war-song.
+
+The quiet farmyard, startled from its sleep, awoke in an uproar.
+Cattle shifted in their stalls; horses whinnied; fowls chattered,
+aroused by the din and dull thudding of the blows:. and above the
+rest, loud and piercing, the. shrill cry of a terrified child. 
+
+Maggie, wakened from a vivid dream of David chasing the police,
+hurried a shawl around her, and in a minute had the baby in her
+arms and was comforting her--vaguely fearing the while that the
+police were after David.
+
+James Moore flung open a window, and, leaning out, looked down
+on the dishevelled figure below him.
+
+M'Adam heard the noise, glanced up, and saw his enemy.
+Straightway he ceased his attack on the door, and, running beneath
+the window, shook his weapon up at his foe.
+
+"There ye are, are ye? Curse ye for a
+
+-coward! .'urse ye for a liar! Come doon, I say, James Moore!
+come doon--I daur ye to it! Aince and for a' let's settle oor
+account."
+
+The Master, looking down from above, thought that at length the
+little man's brain had gone.
+
+"What is't yo' want?" he asked, as calmly as he could, hoping to
+gain time.
+
+"What is't I want?" screamed the madman. "Hark to him! He
+crosses mi in ilka thing; he plot-s agin me; lie robs me o' ma Cup;
+he sets ma son agin me and pits him on to murder me! And in the
+end he--"
+
+"Coom, then, coom! I'll--~---"
+
+"Gie me back the Cup ye stole, James Moore! Gie me back ma son
+ye've took from rue! And there's anither thing. What's yer gray dog
+doin'? Where's yer--"
+
+The Master interposed again:
+
+"I'll coom doon and talk things over wi' yo'." he said soothingly.
+But before he could withdraw, M'Adam had jerked his weapon to
+his shoulder and aimed it full at his enemy's head.
+
+The threatened man looked down the gun's great quivering mouth,
+wholly unmoved.
+
+"Yo' mon hold it steadier, little mon, if yo'd hit!" he said grimly.
+"There, I'll cooni help yo'!" He withdrew slowly; and all the-time
+was wondering where the gray dog was.
+
+In another moment he was downstairs, un--doing the bolts and bars
+of the door. On the other side stood M'Adam, his blunderbuss at
+his shoulder, his finger trembling on the trigger, waiting.
+
+"Hi, Master! Stop, or yo're dead!" roared a voice from the loft on
+the other side the yard.
+
+"Feyther! feyther! git yo' back!" screamed Maggie, who saw it all
+from the window above-the door.
+
+Their cries were too late! The blunderbuss. went off with a roar,
+belching out a storm of sparks and smoke. The shot peppered the
+door like hail, and the whole yard seemed for a moment wrapped
+in flame.
+
+"Aw! oh! ma gummy! A'm waounded~ A'm a goner! A'm shot!
+'Elp! Murder! Eh! Oh!" bellowed a lusty voice--and it was. not
+James Moore's.
+
+The little man, the cause of the uproar, lay-quite still upon the
+ground, with another figure standing over him. As he had stood,
+finger on trigger, waiting for that last bolt to be drawn, a gray
+form, shooting whence no one knew, had suddenly and silently
+attacked him from behind, and jerked him backward to the ground.
+With the shock of the fall the blunderbuss had gone off.
+
+The last bolt was thrown back with a clatter, and the Master
+emerged. In a glance he took in the whole scene: the fallen man;
+the gray dog; the still-smoking weapon.
+
+"Yo', was't Bob lad?" he said. "I was wonderin' wheer yo' were. Yo'
+came just at the reet moment, as yo' aye do!" Then, in a loud voice,
+addressing the darkness: "Yo're-not hurt, Sam'! Todd--I can tell
+that by yer-noise; it was nob'but the shot off the door warmed yo'.
+Coom away doon and gie me a hand."
+
+He walked up to M'Adam, who still lay-gasping on the ground.
+The shock of the fall and recoil of the weapon had knocked the
+breath out of the little man's body; beyond that he was barely hurt.
+
+The Master stood over his fallen enemy and looked sternly down
+at him.
+
+"I've put up wi' more from you, M'Adam, than I would from ony
+other man, " he said. "But this is too much--comin' here at night
+-wi' loaded arms, scarin' the wimmen and childer oot o' their
+lives, and I can but think meanin' worse. If yo' were half a man I'd
+gie yo' the finest thrashin' iver yo' had in yer life. But, as yo' know
+well, I could no more hit yo' than I could a woman. Why yo've got
+this down on me yo' ken best. I niver did yo' or ony ither mon a
+harm. As to the Cup, I've got it and I'm goin' to do ma best to keep
+it--it's for yo' to win it from me if yo' can o' Thursday. As for what
+yo' say o' David, yo' know it's a lie. And as for what yo're drivin' at
+wi' yer hints and mysteries, I've no more idee than a babe unborn.
+Noo I'm goin' to lock yo' up, yo're not safe abroad. I'm thinkin' I'll
+ha' to hand ye o'er to the p'lice."
+
+With the help of Sam'l he half dragged, half supported the stunned
+little man across the yard; and shoved him into a tiny
+semisubterraneous room, used for the storage of coal, at the end of
+the farm-buildings.
+
+"Yo' think it over that side, ma lad," called the Master grimly, as
+he turned the key, "and I will this." And with that he retired to bed.
+
+Early in the morning he went to release his prisoner. But he was a
+minute too late. For scuttling down the slope and away was a little
+black-begrimed, tottering figure with white hair blowing in the
+wind. The little man had broken away a wooden hatchment which
+covered a manhole in the wall of his prison-house, squeezed his
+small body through, and so escaped.
+
+"Happen it's as well," thought the Master, watching the flying
+figure. Then, "Hi, Bob, lad!" he called; for the gray dog, ears back,
+tail streaming, was hurling down the slope after the fugitive.
+
+On the bridge M'Adam turned, and, seeing his pursuer hot upon
+him, screamed, missed his footing, and fell with a loud splash into
+the stream--almost in that identical spot into which, years before,
+he had plunged voluntarily to save Red Wull.
+
+On the bridge Owd Bob halted and looked down at the man
+struggling in the water below. He made a half move as though to
+leap in to the rescue of his enemy; then, seeing it was unnecessary,
+turned and trotted back to his master.
+
+"Yo' nob'but served him right, I'm think-in'," said the Master. "Like
+as not he came here wi' the intent to mak' an end to yo.' Well, after
+Thursday, I pray God we'll ha' peace. It's gettin' above a joke." The
+two turned back into the yard.
+
+But down below them, along the edge of the stream, for the second
+time in this story, a little dripping figure was tottering homeward.
+The little man was crying--the hot tears mmgling on his cheeks
+with the undried waters of the Wastrel--crying with rage,
+mortification, weariness.
+
+Chapter XXV  THE SHEPHERDS' TROPHY
+
+Cup Day.
+
+It broke calm and beautiful, no cloud on the horizon, no threat of
+storm in the air; a fitting day on which the Shepherds' Trophy must
+be won outright.
+
+And well it was so. For never since the founding of the Dale Trials
+had such a concourse been gathered together on the North bank of
+the Silver Lea. From the Highlands they came; from the far
+Campbell country; from the Peak; from the county of many acres;
+from all along the silver fringes of the Soiway; assembling in that
+quiet corner of the earth to see the famous Gray Dog of Ken-muir
+fight his last great battle for the Shepherds' Trophy.
+
+By noon the gaunt Scaur looked down on such a gathering as it had
+never seen. The paddock at the back of the Dalesman's Daughter
+was packed with a clammering, chattering multitude: animated
+groups of farmers; bevies of solid rustics; sharp-faced townsmen;
+loud-voiced bookmakers; giggling girls; amorous boys,--thrown
+together like toys in a sawdust bath; whilst here and there, on the
+outskirts of the crowd, a lonely man and wise-faced dog, come
+from afar to wrest his proud title from the best sheep-dog in the
+North.
+
+At the back of the enclosure was drawn up a formidale array of
+carts and carriages, varying as much in quality and character as did
+their owners. There was the squire's landau rubbing axle-boxes
+with Jem Burton's modest moke-cart; and there Viscount
+Birdsaye's flaring barouche side by side with the red-wheeled
+wagon of Kenmuir.
+
+In the latter, Maggie, sad and sweet in her simple summer garb,
+leant over to talk to Lady Eleanour; while golden-haired wee
+Anne, delighted with the surging crowd around, trotted about the
+wagon, waving to her friends, and shouting from very joyousness.
+
+Thick as flies clustered that motley assembly on the north bank of
+the Silver Lea. While on the other side the stream was a little
+group of judges, inspecting the course.
+
+The line laid out ran thus: the sheep must first be found in the big
+enclosure to the right of the starting flag; then up the slope and
+away from the spectators; around a flag and obliquely down the
+hill again; through a gap in the wall; along the hillside, parrallel to
+the Silver Lea; abruptly to the left through a pair of flags--the
+trickiest turn of them all; then down the slope to the pen, which
+was set up close to the bridge over the stream. 
+
+The proceedings began with the Local Stakes, won by Rob
+Saunderson's veteran, Shep. There followed the Open Juveniles,
+carried off by Ned Hoppin's young dog. It was late in the afternoon
+when, at length, the great event of the meeting was reached.
+
+In the enclosure behind the Dalesman's Daughter the clamor of the
+crowd increased tenfold, and the yells of the bookmakers were
+redoubled.
+
+"Walk up, gen'lemen, walk up! the ole firm! Rasper? Yessir--
+twenty to one bar two! Twenty to one bar two! Bob? What
+price Bob? Even money, sir--no, not a penny longer, couldn't do it!
+Red Wull? 'oo says Red Wull?"
+
+On the far side the stream is clustered about the starting flag the
+finest array of sheep-dogs ever seen together.
+
+"I've never seen such a field, and I've seen fifty," is Parson Leggy's
+verdict.
+
+There, beside the tall form of his master, stands Owd Bob o'
+Kenmuir, the observed of all. His silvery brush fans the air, and he
+holds his dark head high as he scans his challengers, proudly
+conscious that to-day will make or mar his fame. Below him, the
+meanlooking, smooth-coated black dog is the tinbeaten Pip,
+winner of the renowned Cambrian Stakes at Liangollen--as many
+think the best of all the good dogs that have come from
+sheep-dotted Wales. Beside him that handsome sable collie, with
+the tremendous coat. and slash of white on throat and face, is the
+famous MacCallum More, fresh from his victory at the Highland
+meeting. The cobby, brown dog, seeming of many breeds, is from
+the land o' the Tykes--Merry, on whom the Yorkshiremen are
+laying as though they loved him. And Jess, the wiry black-and-tan,
+is the favorite of the men of of the Derwent and Dove. Tupper's big
+blue Rasper is there; Londes-~ ley's Lassie; and many more--too
+many t& mention: big and small, grand and mean, smooth and
+rough--and not a bad dog there.
+
+And alone, his back to the others, stands a little bowed,
+conspicuous figure--Adam M'Adam; while the great dog beside
+him, a hideous incarnation of scowling defiance, is. Red Wull, the
+Terror o' the Border.
+
+The Tailless Tyke had already run up his. fighting colors. For
+MacCallum More, going up to examine this forlorn great
+adversary, had conceived for him a violent antip-. athy, and,
+straightway, had spun at him with all the fury of the Highland
+cateran, who at-~ tacks first and explains afterward. Red Wull,
+forthwith, had turned on him with savage, silent gluttony;
+bob-tailed Rasper was racing up to join in the attack; and in
+another second the three would have been locked inseparably--but
+just in time M'Adam intervened. One of the judges came hurrying
+up.
+
+"Mr. M'Adam," he cried angrily. "if that brute of yours gets
+fighting again, hang me if I don't disqualify him! Only last year at
+the Trials he killed the young Cossack dog."
+
+A dull flash of passion swept across M'Adam's face. "Come here,
+Wullic!" he called. "Gin yon Hielant tyke attacks ye agin, ye're to
+be disqualified."
+
+He was unheeded. The battle for the Cup had begun--little Pip
+leading the dance.
+
+On the opposite slope the babel had subsided now. Hucksters left
+their wares, and bookmakers their stools, to watch the struggle.
+Every eye was intent on the moving figures of man and dog and
+three sheep over the stream.
+
+One after one the competitors ran their course and penned their
+sheep--there was no single failure. And all received their just meed
+of applause, save only Adam M'Adam's Red Wull.
+
+Last of all, when Owd Bob trotted out to uphold his title, there
+went up such a shout as made Maggie's wan cheeks to blush with
+pleasure, and wee Anne to scream right lustily.
+
+His was an incomparable exhibition. Sheep should be humored
+rather than hurried; coaxed, rather than coerced. And that
+sheepdog has attained the summit of his art who subdues his own
+personality and leads his sheep in pretending to be led. Well might
+the bosoms of the Dalesmen swell with pride as they watched their
+favorite at his work; well might Tammas pull out that hackneyed
+phrase, "The brains of a mon and the way of a woman"; well might
+the crowd bawl their enthusiasm, and Long Kirby puff his cheeks
+and rattle the money in his trouser pockets.
+
+But of this part it is enough to say that Pip, Owd Bob, and Red
+Wull were selected to fight out the struggle afresh.
+
+The course was altered and stiffened. On the far side the stream it
+remained as before; up the slope; round a flag; down the hill again;
+through the gap in the wall; along the hillside; down through the
+two flags; turn; and to the stream again. But the pen was removed
+from its former position, carried over the bridge, up the near slope,
+and the hurdles put together at the very foot of the spectators.
+
+The sheep had to be driven over the plank bridge, and the penning
+done beneath the very nose of the crowd. A stiff course, if ever
+there was one; and the time allowed, ten short minutes.
+
+The spectators hustled and elbowed in their endeavors to obtain a
+good position. And well they might; for about to begin was the
+finest exhibition of sheep-handling any man there was ever to
+behold.
+
+Those two, who had won on many a hard-fought field, worked
+together as they had never worked before. Smooth and swift, like a
+yacht in Southampton Water; round the flag, through the gap, they
+brought their sheep. Down between the two flags--accomplishing
+right well that awkward turn; and back to the bridge.
+
+There they stopped: the sheep would not face that narrow way.
+Once, twice, and again, they broke; and each time the gallant little
+Pip, his tongue out and tail quivering, brought them back to the
+bridge-head.
+
+At length one faced it; then another, and--it was too late. Time
+was up. The judges signalled; and the Welshman called off his dog
+and withdrew.
+
+Out of sight of mortal eye, in a dip of the ground, Evan Jones sat
+down and took the small dark head between his knees--and you
+may be sure the dog's heart was heavy as the man's. "We did our
+pest, Pip," he cried brokenly, "but we're peat--the first time ever
+we've been!"
+
+No time to daily.
+
+James Moore and Owd Bob were off on their last run.
+
+No applause this time; not a voice was raised; anxious faces;
+twitching fingers; the whole crowd tense as a stretched wire. A
+false turn, a wilful sheep, a cantankerous judge, and the gray dog
+would, he beat. And not a man there but knew it.
+
+Yet over the stream master and dog went about their business
+never so quiet, never so collected; for all the world as though they
+were rounding up a flock on the Muir Pike.
+
+The old dog found his sheep in a twinkling and a wild, scared trio
+they proved. Rounding the first flag, one bright-eyed wether made
+a dash for the open. He was quick; but the gray dog was quicker: a
+splendid recover, and a sound like a sob from the watchers on the
+hill.
+
+Down the slope they came for the gap in the wall. A little below
+the opening, James Moore took his stand to stop and turn them;
+while a distance behind his sheep loitered Owd Bob, seeming to
+follow rather than drive, yet watchful of every movement and
+anticipating it. On he came, one eye on his master, the other on his
+sheep; never hurrying them, never flurrying them, yet bringing
+them rapidly along.
+
+No word was spoken; barely a gesture made; yet they worked,
+master and dog, like one divided.
+
+Through the gap, along the hill parallel to the spectators, playing
+into one another's hands like men at polo.
+
+A wide sweep for the turn at the flags, and the sheep wheeled as
+though at the word of command, dropped through them, and
+trayelled rapidly for the bridge.
+
+"Steady!" whispered the crowd.
+
+"Steady, man!" muttered Parson Leggy.
+
+"Hold 'em, for God's sake!" croaked Kirby huskily. "D--n! I knew
+it! I saw it coming!"
+
+The pace down the hill had grown quicker--too quick. Close on the
+bridge the three sheep made an effort to break. A dash--and two
+were checked; but the third went away like the wind, and after him
+Owd Bob, a gray streak against the green.
+
+Tammas was cursing silently; Kirby was. white to the lips; and in
+the stillness you could plainly hear the Dalesmen's sobbing breath,
+as it fluttered in their throats.
+
+"Gallop! they say he's old and slow!" muttered the Parson. "Dash!
+Look at that!" For the gray dog, racing like the Nor'eastcr over the
+sea, had already retrieved the fugitive.
+
+Man and dog were coaxing the three a step. at a time toward the
+bridge.
+
+One ventured--the others followed.
+
+In the middle the leader stopped and tried to turn--and time was
+flying, flying, and the penning alone must take minutes. Many a
+man's hand was at hig watch, but no one could take his eyes off the
+group below him to~ look.
+
+"We're beat! I've won bet, Tammas! groaned Sam'l. (The two had a
+long-standing wager on the matter.) "I allus knoo hoo 'twould be. I
+allus told yo' th' owd tyke
+
+Then breaking into a bellow, his honest face crimson with
+enthusiasm: "Coom on, Master! Good for yo', Owd Un! Yon's the
+style!"
+
+For the gray dog had leapt on the back of the hindmost sheep; it
+had surged forward against the next, and they were over, and
+making up the slope amidst a thunder of applause.
+
+At the pen it was a sight to see shepherd and dog working together.
+The Master, his face stern and a little whiter than its wont, casting
+forward with both hands, herding the sheep in; the gray dog, his
+eyes big and bright, dropping to hand; crawling and creeping,
+closer and closer.
+
+"They're in!--Nay--Ay--dang me! Stop 'er! Good, Owd Un! Ah-h-h,
+they're in!" And the last sheep reluctantly passed through
+
+--on the stroke of time.
+
+A roar went up from the crowd; Maggie's white face turned pink;
+and the Dalesmen mopped their wet brows. The mob surged
+forward, but the stewards held them back.
+
+"Back, please! Don't encroach! M'Adam'3 to come!"
+
+From the far bank the little man watched the scene. His coat and
+cap were off, and his hair gleamed white in the sun; his sleeves
+were rolled up; and his face was twitching but set as he
+stood--ready. 
+
+The hubbub over the stream at length subsided. One of the judges
+nodded to him.
+
+"Noo, Wullie--noo or niver!--'Scots wha hae'! "--and they were
+off.
+
+"Back, gentlemen! back! He's off--he's coming! M'Adam's
+coming!"
+
+They might well shout and push; for the great dog was on to his
+sheep before they knew it; and they went away with a rush, with
+him right on their backs. Up the slope they swept and round the
+first flag, already galloping. Down the hill for the gap, and
+M'Adam was flying ahead to turn them. But they passed him like a
+hurricane, and Red Wull was in front with a rush and turned them
+alone.
+
+"M'Adam wins! Five to four M'Adam! I lay agin Owd Bob!" rang
+out a clear voice in the silence.
+
+Through the gap they rattled, ears. back, feet twinkling like the
+wings of driven grouse.
+
+"He's lost 'em! They'll break! They're away!" was the cry.
+
+Sam'l was half up the wheel of the Kenmuir wagon; every man
+was on his toes; ladies were standing in their carriages; even Jim
+Mason's face flushed with momentary excitement.
+
+The sheep were tearing along the hillside, all together, like a white
+scud. After them,, galloping like a Waterloo winner, raced Red
+Wull. And last of all, leaping over the ground like a demoniac,
+making not for the two flags, but the plank-bridge, the
+white-haired figure of M'Adam.
+
+"He's beat! The Killer's beat!" roared a strident voice.
+
+"M'Adam wins! Five to four M'Adam! I lay agin Owd Bob!" rang
+out the clear reply.
+
+Red Wull was now racing parallel to the fugitives and above them.
+All four were travelling at a terrific rate; while the two flags were
+barely twenty yards in front, below the line of flight and almost
+parallel to it. To effect the turn a change of direction must be
+macic almost through a right angle,
+
+"He's beat! he's beat! M'Adam's beat! Can't make it nohow!" was
+the roar.
+
+From over the stream a yell-- "Turn 'em, Wullie!"
+
+At the word the great dog swerved down on the flying three. They
+turned, still at the gallop, like a troop of cavalry, and dropped,
+clean and neat, between the flags; and down to the stream they
+rattled, passing M'Adam on the way as though he was standing.
+
+"Weel done, Wullie!" came the scream from the far bank; and
+from the crowd went up an involuntary burst of applause.
+
+"Ma word!
+
+"Did yo' see that?"
+
+"By gob!"
+
+It was a turn, indeed, of which the smartest team in the galloping
+horse-gunners might well have been proud. A shade later, and they
+must have overshot the mark; a shade sooner, and a miss.
+
+"He's not been two minutes so far. We're beaten--don't you think
+so, Uncle Leggy?" asked Muriel Sylvester, looking up piteously
+into the parson's face.
+
+"It's not what I think, my dear; it's what the judges think," the
+parson replied; and what he thought their verdict would be was
+plainly writ on his face for all to read.
+
+Right on to the centre of the bridge the leading sheep galloped
+and--stopped abruptly.
+
+Up above in the crowd there was utter silence; staring eyes; rigid
+fingers. The sweat was dripping off Long Kirby's face; and, at the
+back, a green-coated bookmaker slipped his note-book in his
+pocket, and glanced behind him. James Moore, standing in front of
+them all, was the calmest there.
+
+Red Wull was not to be denied. Like his forerunner he leapt on the
+back of the hind-. most sheep. But the red dog was heavy where
+the gray was light. The sheep staggered, slipped, and fell.
+
+Almost before it had touched the water, M'Adam, his face afire
+and eyes flaming, was. in the stream. In a second he had hold of
+the struggling creature, and, with an almost superhuman effort, had
+half thrown, half shoved it on to the bank.
+
+Again a tribute of admiration, led by James Moore. 
+
+The little man scrambled, panting, on to the bank and raced after
+sheep and dog. His face was white beneath the perspiration; his
+breath came in quavering gasps; his trousers were wet and clinging
+to his legs; he was trembling in every limb, and yet indomitable.
+
+They were up to the pen, and the last wrestle began. The crowd,
+silent and motionless, craned forward to watch the uncanny,
+white-haired little man and the huge dog, working so close below
+them. M'Adam's face was white; his eyes staring, unnaturally
+bright; his bent body projected forward; and he tapped with his
+stick on the ground like a blind man, coaxing the sheep in. And the
+Tailless Tyke, his tongue out and flanks heaving, crept and
+crawled and worked up to the opening, patient as he had never
+been before.
+
+They were in at last.
+
+There was a lukewarm, half-hearted cheer; then silence.
+
+Exhausted and trembling, the little man leant against the pen, one
+hand on it; while Red Wull, his flanks still heaving, gently licked
+the other. Quite close stood James Moore and the gray dog; above
+was the black wall of people, utterly still; below, the judges
+comparing notes. In the silence you could almost hear the panting
+of the crowd.
+
+Then one of the judges went up to James Moore and shook him by
+the hand.
+
+The gray dog had won. Owd Bob o' Ken-muir had won the
+Shepherds' Trophy outright.
+
+A second's palpitating silence; a woman's hysterical laugh,--and a
+deep-mouthed bellow rent the expectant air: shouts, screams,
+hattossings, back-clappings blending in a din that made the
+many-winding waters of the Silver Lea quiver and quiver again.
+
+Owd Bob o' Kenmuir had won the Shepherds' Trophy outright.
+
+Maggie's face flushed a scarlet hue. Wee Anne flung fat arms
+toward her triumphant Bob, and screamed with the best. Squire
+and parson, each red-cheeked, were boisterously shaking hands.
+Long Kirby, who had not prayed for thirty years, ejaculated with
+heartfelt earnestness, "Thank God!" Sam'l Todd bellowed in
+Tammas's ear, and almost slew him with his mighty buffets.
+Among the Dalesmen some laughed like drunken men; some cried
+like children; all joined in that roaring song of victory.
+
+To little M 'Adam, standing with his back to the crowd, that storm
+of cheering came as the first announcement of defeat.
+
+A wintry smile, like the sun over a March sea, crept across his
+face.
+
+"We might a kent it, Wullie," he muttered, soft and low. The
+tension loosed, the battle lost, the little man almost broke down.
+There were red dabs of color in his face; his eyes were big; his lips
+pitifully quivering; he was near to sobbing.
+
+An old man utterly alone he had staked his all on a throw and lost.
+
+Lady Eleanour marked the forlorn little figure, standing solitary on
+the fringe of the uproarious mob. She noticed the expression on his
+face; and her tender heart went out to the lone man in his defeat.
+
+She went up to him and laid a hand upon his arm.
+
+"Mr. M'Adam," she said timidly, "won't you come and sit down in
+the tent? You look so tired! I can find you a corner where no one
+shall disturb you."
+
+The little man wrenched roughly away. The unexpected kindness,
+coming at that moment, was almost too much for him. A few paces
+off he turned again.
+
+"It's reel kind o' yer ladyship," he said huskily; and tottered away to
+be alone with Red Wull.
+
+Meanwhile the victors stood like rocks in the tideway. About them
+surged a continually changing throng, shaking the man's hand,
+patting the dog.
+
+Maggie had carried wee Anne to tender her congratulations; Long
+Kirby had come; Tammas, Saunderson, Hoppin, Tupper,
+Londesley all but Jim Mason; and now, elbowing through the
+press, came squire and parson.
+
+"Well done, James! well done, indeed! Knew you'd win! told you
+so eh, eh!" Then facetiously to Owd Bob: "Knew you would,
+Robert, old man! Ought to Robert the Dev musn't be a naughty boy
+eh, eh!"
+
+"The first time ever the Dale Cup's been won outright!" said the
+Parson, "and I dare-say it never will again. And I think Ken-muir's
+the very fittest place for its final home, and a Gray Dog of
+Kenmuir for its winner."
+
+"Oh, by the by!" burst in the squire. "I've fixed the Manor dinner
+for to-day fortnight, James. Tell Saunderson and Tupper, will you?
+Want all the tenants there." He disappeared into the crowd, but in a
+minute had fought his way back. "I'd forgotten something!" he
+shouted. "Tell your Maggie perhaps you'll have news for her after
+it eh! eh! " and he was gone again.
+
+Last of all, James Moore was aware of a white, blotchy, grinning
+face at his elbow.
+
+"I maun congratulate ye, Mr. Moore. Ye've beat us you and the
+gentlemen judges."
+
+"'Twas a close thing, M'Adam," the other answered. "An' yo' made
+a gran' fight. In ma life I niver saw a finer turn than yours by the
+two flags yonder. I hope yo' bear no malice."
+
+"Malice! Me? Is it likely? Na, na. 'Do onto ivery man as he does
+onto you and somethin' over,' that's my motter. I owe ye mony a
+good turn, which I'll pay ye yet. Na, na; there's nae good fechtin'
+again fate  and the judges. Weel, I wush you well o' yer victory.
+Aiblins' twill be oor turn next."
+
+Then a rush, headed by Sam'l, roughly hustled the one away and
+bore the other off on its shoulders in boisterous triumph.
+
+In giving the Cup away, Lady Eleanour made a prettier speech than
+ever. Yet all the while she was haunted by a white, miserable face;
+and all the while she was conscious of two black moving dots in
+the Murk Muir Pass opposite her solitary, desolate, a contrast to
+the huzzaing crowd around.
+
+That is how the champion challenge Dale Cup, the world-known
+Shepherds' Trophy, came to wander no more; won outright by the
+last of the Gray Dogs of Kenmuir Owd Bob.
+
+Why he was the last of the Gray Dogs is now to be told.
+
+PART VI THE BLACK KILLER
+
+Chapter XXVI RED-HANDED
+
+THE SUN was hiding behind the Pike. Over the lowlands the
+feathery breath of night hovered still. And the hillside was
+shivering in the chillness of dawn.
+
+Down on the silvery sward beside the Stony Bottom there lay the
+ruffled body of a dead sheep. All about the victim the dewy ground
+was dark and patchy like dishevelled velvet; bracken trampled
+down; stones displaced as though by striving feet; and the whole
+spotted with the all-pervading red.
+
+A score yards up the hill, in a writhing confusion of red and gray,
+two dogs at death-grips. While yet higher, a pack of wild-eyed
+hill-sheep watched, fascinated, the bloody drama.
+
+The fight raged. Red and gray, blood-spattered, murderous-eyed;
+the crimson froth dripping from their jaws; now rearing high with
+arching crests and wrestling paws; now rolling over in tumbling,
+tossing, worrying disorder-- the two fought out their blood-feud.
+
+Above, the close-packed flock huddled and stamped, ever edging
+nearer to watch the issue. Just so must the women of Rome have
+craned round the arenas to see two men striving in death-struggle.
+
+The first cold flicker of dawn stole across the green. The red eye of
+the morning peered aghast over the shoulder of the Pike. And from
+the sleeping dale there arose the yodling of a man driving his cattle
+home.
+
+Day was upon them.
+
+James Moore wa~s waked by a little whimpering cry beneath his
+window. He leapt out of bed and rushed to look; for well he knew
+'twas not for nothing that the old dog was calling.
+
+"Lord o' mercy! whativer's come to yo', Owd Un?" he cried in
+anguish. And, indeed, his favorite, war-daubed almost past
+recognition, presented a pitiful spectacle.
+
+In a moment the Master was downstairs and out, examining him.
+
+"Poor old lad, yo' have caught it this time!" he cried. There was a
+ragged tear on the dog's cheek; a deep gash in his throat from
+which the blood still welled, staining the white escutcheon on his
+chest; while head and neck were clotted with the red.
+
+Hastily the Master summoned Maggie. After her, Andrew came
+hurrying down. And a little later a tiny, night-clad, naked-footed
+figure appeared in the door, wide-eyed, and then fled, screaming.
+in the kitchen. Maggie tenderly washed his wounds, and dressed
+them with gentle, pitying fingers; and he stood all the while
+grateful yet fidgeting, looking up into his master's face as if
+imploring to be gone.
+
+"He mun a had a rare tussle wi' some one-- eh, dad?" said the girl,
+as she worked.
+
+"Ay; and wi' whom? 'Twasn't for nowt he got fightin', I war'nt. Nay;
+he's a tale to tell, has The Owd Un, and--A h-h-h! I thowt as much.
+Look 'ee!" For bathing the bloody jaws, he had come upon a cluster
+of tawny red hair, hiding in the corners of the lips.
+
+The secret was out. Those few hairs told their own accusing tale.
+To but one creature in the Daleland could they belong--" Th'
+Tailless Tyke."
+
+"He mun a bin trespassin'!" cried Andrew.
+
+"Ay, and up to some o' his bloody work, I'll lay my life," the
+Master answered. "But Th' Owd Un shall show us."
+
+The old dog's hurts proved less severe than had at first seemed
+possible. His good gray coat, forest-thick about his throat, had
+never served him in such good stead. And at length, the wounds
+washed and sewn up, he jumped down all in a hurry from the table
+and made for the door.
+
+"Noo, owd lad, yo' may show us," said the Master, and, with
+Andrew, hurried after him down the hill, along the stream, and
+over Langholm How. And as they neared the Stony Bottom, the
+sheep, herding in groups, raised frightened heads to stare.
+
+Of a sudden a cloud of poisonous flies rose, buzzing, up before
+them; and there in a dimple of the ground lay a murdered sheep.
+Deserted by its comrades, the glazed eyes staring helplessly
+upward, the throat horribly worried, it slept its last sleep.
+
+The matter was plain to see. At last the Black Killer had visited
+Kenmuir.
+
+"I guessed as much," said the Master, standing over the mangled
+body. "Well, it's the worst night's work ever the Killer done. I
+reck'n Th' Owd Un come on him while he was at it; and then they
+fought. And, ma word! ii munn ha' bin a fight too." For all around
+were traces of that terrible struggle:
+
+the earth torn up and tossed, bracken up-Tooted, and throughout
+little dabs of wool and tufts of tawny hair, mingling with
+dark-stained iron-gray wisps.
+
+James Moore walked slowly over the battlefield, stooping down as
+though he were gleaning. And gleaning he was.
+
+A long time he bent so, and at length raised himself.
+
+"The Killer has killed his last," he muttered; "Red Wull has run his
+course." Then, turning to Andrew: "Run yo' home, lad, and fetch
+the men to carry yon away," pointing to the carcass, "And Bob, lad,
+yo 'ye done your work for to-day, and right well too; go yo' home
+wi' him. I'm off to see to this!"
+
+He turned and crossed the Stony Bottom. His face was set like a
+rock. At length the proof was in his hand. Once and for all the
+hill-country should be rid of its scourge.
+
+As he stalked up the hill, a dark head appeared at his knee. Two
+big grey eyes; half doubting, half penitent, wholly wistful, looked
+up at him, and a silvery brush signalled a mute request.
+
+"Eh, Owd Un, but yo' should ha' gone wi~ Andrew," the Master
+said. "Hooiver, as yo~ are here, come along." And he strode away
+up the hill, gaunt and menacing, with the gray dog at his heels.
+
+As they approached the house, M'Adam was standing in the door,
+sucking his eternal twig. James Moore eyed him closely as he
+came, but the sour face framed in the door betrayed nothing.
+Sarcasm, surprise, challenge, were all writ there, plain to read; but
+no guilty consciousness of the other's errand, no storm of passion
+to hide a failing heart. If it was acting it was splendidly done.
+
+As man and dog passed through the gap in the hedge, the
+expression on the little man's face changed again. He started
+forward.
+
+"James Moore, as I live!" he cried, and advanced with both hands
+extended, as though welcoming a long-lost brother. "'Deed and it's
+a weary while sin' ye've honored ma puir hoose." And, in fact, it
+was nigh twenty years. "I tak' it gey kind in ye to look in on a
+lonely auld man. Come ben and let's ha' a crack. James Moore
+kens weel hoo welcome he aye is in ma bit biggin'."
+
+The Master ignored the greeting.
+
+"One o' ma sheep been killed back o' t' Dyke," he announced
+shortly, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
+
+"The Killer?"
+
+"The Killer."
+
+The cordiality beaming in every wrinkle of the little man's face
+was absorbed in a wondering interest; and that again gave place to
+sorrowful sympathy.
+
+"Dear, dear! it's come to that, has it--at last?" he said gently, and
+his eyes wandered to the gray dog and dwelt mournfully upon him.
+"Man, I'm sorry--I canna tell ye I'm surprised. Masel', I kent it all
+alang. But gin Adam M'Adam had tell't ye, no ha' believed him.
+Weel, weel, he's lived his life, gin ony dog iver did; and noo he
+maun gang where he's sent a many before him. Puir mon! puir
+tyke!" He heaved a sigh, profoundly melancholy, tenderly
+sympathetic. Then, brightening up a little: "Ye'll ha' come for the
+gun?"
+
+James Moore listened to this harangue at first puzzled. Then he
+caught the other's meaning, and his eyes flashed. 305
+
+"Ye fool, M'Adarn! did ye hear iver tell o' a sheep-dog worryin' his
+master's sheep?"
+
+The little man was smiling and suave again now, rubbing his hands
+softly together.
+
+"Ye're right, I never did. But your dog is not as ither dogs--'There's
+none like him-- none,' I've heard ye say so yersel, mony a time. An'
+I'm wi' ye. There's none like him--for devilment." His voice began
+to quiver and his face to blaze. "It's his cursed cunning that's
+deceived ivery one but me-- whelp o' Satan that he is!" He
+shouldered up to his tall adversary. "If not him, wha else had done
+it?" he asked, looking, up into the other's face as if daring him to
+speak.
+
+The Master's shaggy eyebrows lowered. He towered above the
+other like the Muir Pike above its surrounding hills.
+
+"Wha, ye ask?" he replied coldly, "and I answer you. Your Red
+Wull, M'Adam, your Red Wull. It's your Wull's the Black Killer!
+It's your Wull's bin the plague o' the land these months past! It's
+your Wull's killed ma sheep back o'yon!"
+
+At that all the little man's affected goodhumor fled.
+
+"Ye lee, mon! ye lee!" he cried in a dreadful scream, dancing up to
+his antagonist. "I knoo hoo 'twad be. I said so. I see what ye're at.
+Ye've found at last--blind that ye've been!--that it's yer am hell's
+tyke that's the Killer; and noo ye think by yer leein' impitations to
+throw the blame on ma Wullie. Ye rob me o' ma Cup, ye rob me o'
+ma son, ye wrang me in ilka thing; there's but ae thing left
+me--Wullie. And noo ye're set on takin' him awa'. But ye shall
+not--I'll kill ye first!"
+
+He was all a-shake, bobbing up and down like a stopper in a
+soda-water bottle, and almost sobbing.
+
+"Ha' ye no wranged me enough wi' oo that? Ye lang-leggit liar, wi'
+yer skulkin murderin' tyke!" he cried. "Ye say it's Wullie. Where's
+yer proof? "--and he snapped his fingers in the other's face.
+
+The Master was now as calm as his foe was passionate. "Where?"
+he replied sternly; why, there!" holding out his right hand. "Yon's
+proof enough to hang a hunner'd." For lying in his broad palm was
+a little bundle of that damning red hair.
+
+"Where?"
+
+"There!"
+
+"Let's see it!" The little man bent to look closer.
+
+"There's for yer proof!" he cried, and spat deliberately down into
+the other's naked palm. Then he stood back, facing his enemy in a
+manner to have done credit to a nobler deed.
+
+James Moore strode forward. It looked as if he was about to make
+an end of his miserable adversary, so strongly was he moved. His
+chest heaved, and the blue eyes blazed. But just as one had thought
+to see him take his foe in the hollow of his hand and crush him,
+who should come stalking round the corner of the house but the
+Tailless Tyke?
+
+A droll spectacle he made, laughable even. at that moment. He
+limped sorely, his head and neck were swathed in bandages, and
+beneath their ragged fringe the little eyes gleamed out fiery and
+bloodshot.
+
+Round the corner he came, unaware of strangers; then straightway
+recognizing his visitors, halted abruptly. His hackles ran up, each
+individual hair stood on end till his whole body resembled a
+new-shorn wheat-field; and a snarl, like a rusty brake shoved hard
+down~ escaped from between his teeth. Then he trotted heavily
+forward, his head sinking low and lower as he came.
+
+And Owd Bob, eager to take up the gage of battle, advanced, glad
+and gallant, to meet him. Daintily he picked his way across the.
+yard, head and tail erect, perfectly self-contained. Only the long
+gray hair about his neck stood up like the ruff of a lady of the court
+of Queen Elizabeth.
+
+But the war-worn warriors were not to be allowed their will.
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, wad ye!" cried the little man.
+
+"Bob, lad, coom in!" called the other. Then~ he turned and looked
+down at the man beside him, contempt flaunting in every feature.
+
+"Well?" he said shortly.
+
+M'Adam's hands were opening and shuting; his face was quite
+white beneath the tan; but he spoke calmly.
+
+"I'll tell ye the whole story, and it's the truth," he said slowly. "I
+was up there the morn "--pointing to the window above--" and I see
+Wullie crouchin' down alangside the Stony Bottom. (Ye ken he has
+the run o' ma land o' neets, the same as your dog.) In a minnit I see
+anither dog squatterin' alang on your side the Bottom. He creeps up
+to the sheep on th' hillside, chases 'em, and doons one. The sun
+was risen by then, and I see the dog clear as I see you noo. It was
+that dog there--I swear it!" His voice rose as he spoke, and he
+pointed an accusing finger at Owd Bob.
+
+"Noo, Wullie! thinks I. And afore ye could clap yer hands, Wullie
+was over the Bottom and on to him as he gorged--the bloody-
+minded murderer! They fought and fought--I could hear the roarin'
+a't where I stood. I watched till I could watch nae langer, and, all in
+a sweat, I rin doon the stairs and oot. When I got there, there was
+yer tyke makin' fu' split for Kenmuir, and Wullie comin' up the hill
+to me. It's God's truth, I'm tellin' ye. Tak' him hame, James Moore,
+and let his dinner be an ounce o' lead. 'Twill be the best day's work
+iver ye done."
+
+The little man must be lying--lying palpably. Yet he spoke with an
+earnestness, a seeming belief in his own story, that might have
+convinced one who knew him less well. But the Master only
+looked down on him with a great scorn.
+
+"It's Monday to-day." he said coldly. "I gie yo' till Saturday. If yo've
+not done your duty by then--and well you know what 'tis--I shall
+come do it for ye. Ony gate, I shall come and see. I'll remind ye
+agin o' Thursday--yo'll be at the Manor dinner, I suppose. Noo I've
+warned yo', and you know best whether I'm in earnest or no. Bob,
+lad!"
+
+He turned away, but turned again.
+
+"I'm sorry for ye, but I've ma duty to do-- so've you. Till Saturday I
+shall breathe no word to ony soul o' this business, so that if you see
+good to put him oot o' the way wi'oot bother, no one need iver
+know as hoo Adam M'Adam's Red Wull was the Black Killer."
+
+He turned away for the second time. But the little man sprang after
+him, and clutched him by the arm.
+
+"Look ye here, James Moore!" he cried in thick, shaky, horrible
+voice. "Ye're big, I'm sma'; ye're strang, I'm weak; ye've ivery one
+to your back, I've niver a one; you tell your story, and they'll
+believe ye--for you gae to church; I'll tell mine, and they'll think I
+lie--for I dinna. But a word in your ear! If iver agin I catch ye on
+ma land, by--! "--he swore a great oath--" I'll no spare ye. You ken
+best if I'm in earnest or no." And his face was dreadful to see in its
+hideous determinedness.
+
+Chapter XXVII  FOR THE DEFENCE
+
+THAT night a vague story was whispered In the Sylvester Arms.
+But Tammas, on being interrogated, pursed his lips and said: "Nay,
+I'm sworn to say nowt." Which was the old man's way of putting
+that he knew nowt.
+
+On Thursday morning, James Moore and Andrew came down
+arrayed in all their best. It was the day of the squire's annual dinner
+to his tenants.
+
+The two, however, were not allowed to start upon their way until
+they had undergone a critical inspection by Maggie; for the girl
+liked her mankind to do honor to Kenmuir on these occasions. So
+she brushed up Andrew, tied his scarf, saw his boots and hands
+were clean, and titivated him generally till she had converted the
+ungainly hobbledehoy into a thoroughly "likely young mon."
+
+And all the while she was thinking of that other boy for whom on
+such gala days she had been wont to perform like offices. And her
+father, marking the tears in her eyes, and mindful of the squire's
+mysterious hint, said gently:
+
+"Cheer up, lass. Happen I'll ha' news for you the night!"
+
+The girl nodded, and smiled wanly.
+
+"Happen so, dad," she said. But in her heart she doubted.
+
+Nevertheless it was with a cheerful countenance that, a little later,
+she stood in the door with wee Anne and Owd Bob and waved the
+travellers Godspeed; while the golden-haired lassie, fiercely
+gripping the old dog's tail with one hand and her sister with the
+other, screamed them a wordless farewell.
+
+The sun had reached its highest when the two wayfarers passed
+through the gray portals of the Manor.
+
+In the stately entrance hall, imposing with all the evidences of a
+long and honorable line, were gathered now the many tenants
+throughout the wide March Mere Estate. Weather-beaten,
+rent-paying sons of the soil; most of them native-born, many of
+them like James Moore, whose fathers had for generations owned
+and farmed the land they now leased at the hands of the Sylvesters
+there in the old hail they were assembled, a mighty host. And apart
+from the others, standing as though in irony beneath the frown of
+one of those steel-clad warriors who held the door, was little
+M'Adam, puny always, paltry now, mocking his manhood.
+
+The door at the far end of the hail opened, and the squire entered,
+beaming on every one.
+
+"Here you are--eh, eh! How are you all? Glad to see ye! Good-day,
+James! Good-day, Saunderson! Good-day to you all! Bringin' a
+friend with me--eh, eh!" and he stood aside to let by his agent,
+Parson Leggy, and last of all, shy and blushing, a fair-haired young
+giant.
+
+"If it bain't David!" was the cry. "Eh, lad, we's fain to see yo'! And
+yo'm lookin' stout, surely!" And they thronged about the boy,
+shaking him by the hand, and asking him his story.
+
+'Twas but a simple tale. After his flight on the eventful night he
+had gone south, drover-- ing. He had written to Maggie, and been
+surprised and hurt to receive no reply. In vain he had waited, and
+too proud to write again, had remained ignorant of his father's
+recovery,, neither caring nor daring to return. Then by mere
+chance, he had met the squire at the York cattle-show; and that
+kind man, who knew his story, had eased his fears and obtained
+from him a promise to return as soon as the term of his
+engagement had expired. And there he was.
+
+The Dalesmen gathered round the boy, listening to his tale, and in
+return telling him the home news, and chaffing him about Maggie.
+
+Of all the people present, only one seemed unmoved, and that was
+M'Adam. When first David had entered he had started forward, a
+flush of color warming his thin cheeks; but no one had noticed his
+emotion; and now, back again beneath his armor, he watched the
+scene, a sour smile playing about his lips.
+
+"I think the lad might ha' the grace to come and say he's sorry for
+'temptin' to murder me. Hooiver "--with a characteristic shrug--" I
+suppose I'm onraisonahie."
+
+Then the gong rang out its summons, and the squire led the way
+into the great dining-hail. At the one end of the long table, heavy
+with all the solid delicacies of such a feast, he took his seat with
+the Master of Kenmuir upon his right. At the other end was Parson
+Leggy. While down the sides the stalwart Dalesmen were arrayed,
+with M'Adam a little lost figure in the centre.
+
+At first they talked but little, awed like chil.. dren: knives plied,
+glasses tinkled, the carvers had all their work, only the tongues
+were at rest. But the squire's ringing laugh and the parson's cheery
+tones soon put them at their ease; and a babel of voices rose and
+waxed.
+
+Of them all, only M'Adam sat silent. He talked to no man, and you
+may be sure no one talked to him. His hand crept of tener to his
+glass than plate, till the sallow face began to flush, and the dim
+eyes to grow unnaturally bright.
+
+Toward the end of the meal there was loud tapping on the table,
+calls for silence, and men pushed back their chairs. The squire was
+on his feet to make his annual speech.
+
+He started by telling them how glad he was to see them there. He
+made an allusion to Owd Bob and the Shepherds' Trophy which
+was heartily applauded. He touched on the Black Killer, and said
+he had a remedy to propose: that Th' Owd Un should he set upon
+the criminal's track--a suggestion which was received with
+enthusiasm, while M'Adam's cackling laugh could be heard high
+above the rest.
+
+From that he dwelt upon the existing condition of agriculture, the
+depression in which he attributed to the late Radical Government.
+He said that now with the Conservatives in office, and a ministry
+composed of "honorable men and gentlemen," he felt convinced
+that things would brighten. The Radicals' one ambition was to set
+class against class, landlord against tenant. Well, during the last
+five hundred years, the Sylvesters had rarely been--he was sorry to
+have to confess it--good men (laughter and dissent); but he never
+yet heard of the Sylvester--though he shouldn't say it--~-who was a
+bad landlord (loud applause).
+
+This was a free country, and any tenant of his who was not content
+(a voice, "'Oo says we bain't? ")--" thank you, thank you! "--well,
+there was room for him outside. (Cheers.)
+
+He thanked God from the bottom of his heart
+
+that, during the forty years he had been responsible for the March
+Mere Estate, there had never been any friction between him and
+his people (cheers), and he didn't think there ever would be. (Loud
+cheers.)
+
+"Thank you, thank you!" And his motto was, "Shun a Radical as
+you do the devil!"-- and he was very glad to see them all there--
+very glad; and he wished to give them a toast, "The Queen! God
+bless her!" and--wait a minute!--with her Majesty's name to couple
+--he was sure that gracious lady would wish it--that of "Owd Bob o'
+Kenmuir!" Then he sat down abruptly amid thundering applause.
+
+The toasts duly honoured, James Moore, by prescriptive right as
+Master of Kenmuir, rose to answer.
+
+He began by saying that he spoke "as representing all the tenants,
+"--but he was interrupted.
+
+"Na," came a shrill voice from half-way down the table. "Yell
+except me, James Moore. I'd as lief be represented by Judas!"
+
+There were cries of "Hold ye gab, little mon!" and the squire's
+voice, "That'll do, Mr. M'Adam!"
+
+The little man restrained his tongue, but his eyes gleamed like a
+ferret's; and the Master continued his speech.
+
+He spoke briefly and to the point, in short phrases. And all the
+while M'Adam kept up a low-voiced, running commentary. At
+length he could control himself no longer. Half rising from his
+chair, he leant forward with hot face and burning eyes, and cried:
+"Sit doon, James Moore! Hoo daur ye stan' there like an honest
+man, ye whitewashed sepulchre? Sit doon, I say, or'
+'--threateningly--" wad ye hae me come to ye?"
+
+At that the Dalesmen laughed uproariously, and even the Master's
+grim face relaxed. But the squire's voice rang out sharp and stern.
+
+"Keep silence and sit down, Mr. M'Adam! D'you hear me, sir? If I
+have to speak to you again it will be to order you to leave the
+room."
+
+The little man obeyed, sullen and vengeful, like a beaten cat.
+
+The Master concluded his speech by calling on all present to give
+three cheers for the squire, her ladyship, and the young ladies.
+
+The call was responded to enthusiastically, every man standing.
+Just as the noise was at its zenith, Lady Eleanour herself, with her
+two fair daughters, glided into the gallery at the end of the hall;
+whereat the cheering became deafening.
+
+Slowly the clamor subsided. One by one the tenants sat down. At
+length there was left standing only one solitary figure-- M 'Adam.
+
+His face was set, and he gripped the chair in front of him with thin,
+nervous hands.
+
+"Mr. Sylvester," he began in low yet clear voice, "ye said this is a
+free country and we're a' free men. And that hem' so, I'll tak' the
+liberty, wi' yer permission, to say a word. It's maybe the last time
+I'll be wi' ye, so I hope ye'll listen to me."
+
+The Dalesmen looked surprised, and the squire uneasy.
+Nevertheless he nodded assent.
+
+The little man straightened himself. His face was tense as though
+strung up to a high resolve. All the passion had fled from it, all the
+bitterness was gone; and left behind was a strange, enobling
+earnestness. Standing there in the silence of that great hail, with
+every eye upon him, he looked like some prisoner at the bar about
+to plead for his life.
+
+"Gentlemen," he began, "I've bin amang ye noo a score years, and I
+can truly say there's not a man in this room I can ca' 'Friend.' " He
+looked along the ranks of upturned faces. "Ay, David, I see ye, and
+you, Mr. Hornbut, and you, Mr. Sylvester--ilka one o' you, and not
+one as'd back me like a comrade gin a trouble came upon me."
+There was no rebuke in the grave little voice--it merely stated a
+hard fact.
+
+"There's I doot no one amang ye but has some one--friend or
+blood--wham he can turn to when things are sair wi' him. I've no
+one.
+
+'I bear alane my lade o' care'-- 
+
+alane wi' Wullie, who stands to me, blaw or snaw, rain or shine.
+And whiles I'm feared he'll be took from me." He spoke this last
+half to himself, a grieved, puzzled expression on his face, as
+though lately he had dreamed some ill dream.
+
+"Forbye Wuilie, I've no friend on God's earth. And, mind ye, a bad
+man aften mak's a good friend--but ye've never given me the
+chance. It's a sair thing that, gentlemen, to ha' to fight the battle o'
+life alane: no one to pat ye on th' back, no one to say 'Weel done.' It
+hardly gies a man a chance. For gin he does try and yet fails, men
+never mind the tryin', they only mark the failin'.
+
+"I dinna blame ye. There'., somethin' bred in me, it se ms, as sets
+ivery one agin me. It's the same wi' Wullie and the tykes--they're
+doon on him same as men are on me. I suppose we was made so.
+Sin' I was a lad it's aye bin the same. From school days I've had
+ivery one agin me.
+
+"In ma life I've had three fiends. Ma mither--and she went; then ma
+wife "--he gave a great swallow--" and she's awa'; and I may say
+they're the only two human hem's as ha' lived on God's earth in ma
+time that iver tried to bear wi' me; -- and Wullie. A man's mither--a
+man's wife-a man's dog! it's aften a' he has in this wand; and the
+more he prizes them the more like they are to be took from him."
+The little earnest voice shook, and the dim eyes puckered and
+filled.
+
+"Sin' I've bin amang ye-twenty-odd years --can any man here mind
+speakin' any word that wasna ill to me?" He paused; there was no
+reply.
+
+"I'll tell ye. All the time I've lived here I've had one kindly word
+spoke to me, and that a fortnight gone, and not by a man then--by
+her ladyship, God bless her!" He glanced up into the gallery.
+There was no one visible there; but a curtain at one end shook as
+though it were sobbing.
+
+"Weel, I'm thinkin' we'll be gaein' in a wee while noo, Wullie and
+me, alane and thegither, as we've aye done. And it's time we went.
+Ye've had enough o' us, and it's no for me to blame ye. And when
+I'm gone what'll ye say o' me? 'He was a drunkard.' I am. 'He was a
+sinner.' I am. 'He was ilka thing he shouldna be.' I am. 'We're glad
+he's gone.' That's what ye'il say o' me. And it's but ma deserts."
+
+The gentle, condemning voice ceased, and began again.
+
+"That's what I am. Gin things had been differ', aiblins I'd ha' bin
+differ'. D'ye ken Robbie Burns? That's a man I've read, and ead,
+and read. D'ye ken why I love him as some o' you do yen Bibles?
+Because there's a humanity about him. A weak man hissel', aye
+slippin', slippin', slippin', and tryin' to haud up; sorrowin' ae
+minute, sinnin' the next; doin' ill deeds and wishin' 'em
+undone--just a plain human man, a sinner. And that's why I'm
+thinkin he's tender for us as is like him. He understood. It's what he
+wrote--after am o' his tumbles, I'm thinkin'--that I was goin' to tell
+ye:
+
+'Then gently scan yer brother man,
+Still gentler sister woman,
+Though they may gang a kennin' wrang, 
+To step aside is human'--
+
+the doctrine o' Charity. Gie him his chance, says Robbie, though he
+be a sinner. Mony a mon'd be differ', mony bad'd be gude, gin they
+had but their chance. Gie 'em their chance, says he; and I'm wi'
+him. As 'tis, ye see me here--a bad man wi' still a streak o' good in
+him. Gin I'd had ma chance, aiblins 'twad be--a good man wi' just a
+spice o' the devil in him. A' the differ' betune what is and what
+might ha' bin."
+
+Chapter XXVIII  THE DEVIL'S BOWL
+
+HE sat down. In the great hail there was silence, save for a tiny
+sound from the gallery like a sob suppressed.
+
+The squire rose hurriedly and left the room. After him, one by one,
+trailed the tenants. At length, two only remained--M'Adam, sitting
+solitary with a long array of empty chairs on either hand; and, at
+the far end of the table, Parson Leggy, stern, upright, motionless.
+
+When the last man had left the room the parson rose, and with lips
+tight-set strode across the silent hail.
+
+"M'Adam," he said rapidly and almost roughly, "I've listened to
+what you've said, as I think we all have, with a sore heart. You hit
+hard--but I think you were right. And if I've not done my duty by
+you as I ought--and I fear I've not--it's now my duty as God's
+minister to be the first to say I'm sorry." And it was evident from
+his face what an effort the words cost him.
+
+The little man tilted back his chair, and raised his head.
+
+It was the old M'Adam who looked up. The thin lips were curled; a
+grin was crawling across the mocking face; and he wagged his
+head gently, as he looked at the speaker through the slits of his
+half-closed eyes.
+
+"Mr. Hurnbert, I believe ye thocht me in earnest, 'deed and I do!"
+He leaned back in his chair and laughed softly. "Ye swallered it all
+down like best butter. Dear, dear! to think o' that!" Then, stretching
+forward:
+
+"Mr. Hornbut, I was playin' wi' ye."
+
+The parson's face, as he listened, was ugly to watch. He shot out a
+hand and grabbed the scoffer by his coat; then dropped it again and
+turned abruptly away.
+
+As he passed through the door a little sneering voice called after
+him:
+
+"Mr. Hornbut, I ask ye hoo you, a minister o' the Church of
+England, can reconcile it to yer conscience to think--though it be
+but for a minute--that there can be ony good in a man and him no
+churchgoer? Sir, ye're a heretic--not to say a heathen!" He
+sniggered to himself, and his hand crept to a half-emptied wine
+decanter.
+
+An hour later, James Moore, his business with the squire
+completed, passed through the hail on his way out. Its only
+occupant was now M'Adam, and the Master walked straight up to
+his enemy.
+
+"M'Adam," he said gruffly, holding out a sinewy hand, "I'd like to
+say--" 
+
+The little man knocked aside the token of friendship.
+
+"Na, na. No cant, if ye please, James Moore. That'll aiblins go
+doon wi' the parsons, but not wi' me. I ken you and you ken me,
+and all the whitewash i' th' wand '11 no deceive us."
+
+The Master turned away, and his face was hard as the nether
+millstone. But the little man pursued him.
+
+I was nigh forgettin'," he said. "I've a surprise for ye, James Moore.
+But I hear it's yer birthday on Sunday, and I'll keep it till then--he!
+he!"
+
+"Ye'il see me before Sunday, M'Adam," the other answered. "On
+Saturday, as I told yo', I'm comin' to see if yo've done yer duty."
+
+"Whether ye come, James Moore, is your business. Whether ye'll
+iver go, once there, I'll mak' mine. I've warned ye twice noo and
+the little man laughed that harsh, cackling laugh of his.
+
+At the door of the hall the Master met David. "Noo, lad, yo're
+comin' along wi' Andrew and me," he said; "Maggie'll niver forgie
+us if we dinna bring yo' home wi' us."
+
+"Thank you kindly, Mr. Moore," the boy replied. "I've to see squire
+first; and then yo' may be sure I'll be after you.''
+
+The Master faltered a moment.
+
+"David, ha'n yo' spoke to yer father yet?" he asked in low voice.
+"Yo' should, lad."
+
+The boy made a gesture of dissent.
+
+"I canna," he said petulantly.
+
+"I would, lad," the other advised. "An' yo' don't yo' may be sorry
+after."
+
+As he turned away he heard the boy's steps, dull and sodden, as he
+crossed the hall; and then a thin, would-be cordial voice in the
+emptiness:
+
+"I declar' if 'tisna David! The return o' the Prodeegal--he! he! So
+ye've seen yer auld dad at last, and the last; the proper place, say
+ye, for yen father--he! he! Eh, lad, but I'm blithe to see ye. D'ye
+mind when we was last thegither? Ye was kneelin' on ma chest:
+'Your time's come, dad,' says you, and wangs me o'er the face--he!
+he! I mind it as if 'twas yesterday. Weel, weel, we'll say nae mair
+about it. Boys will be boys. Sons will be sons. Accidents will
+happen. And if at first ye don't succeed, why, try, try again--he!
+he!"
+
+Dusk was merging into darkness when the Master and Andrew
+reached the Dalesman's Daughter. It had been long dark when they
+emerged from the cosy parlor of the inn and plunged out into the
+night.
+
+As they crossed the Silver Lea and trudged over that familiar
+ground, where a fortnight since had been fought out the battle of
+the Cup, the wind fluttered past them in spasmodic gasps.
+
+"There s trouble in the wind," said the Master.
+
+"Ay," answered his laconic son.
+
+All day there had been no breath of air, and the sky dangerously
+blue. But now a world of black was surging up from the horizon,
+smothering the star-lit night; and small dark clouds, like puffs of
+smoke, detaching themselves from the main body, were driving
+tempestuously forward--the vanguard of the storm.
+
+In the distance was a low tumbling like heavy tumbrils on the floor
+of heaven. All about, the wind sounded hollow like a mighty
+scythe on corn. The air was oppressed with a leaden blackness--no
+glimmer of light on any hand; and as they began the ascent of the
+Pass they reached out blind hands to feel along the rock-face.
+
+A sea-fret, cool and wetting, fell. A few big rain-drops splashed
+heavily down. The wind rose with a leap and roared past them up
+the rocky track. And the water-gates of heaven were flung wide.
+
+Wet and weary, they battled on; thinking sometimes of the cosy
+parlor behind; sometimes of the home in front; wondering whether
+Maggie, in flat contradiction of her father's orders, would be up to
+welcome them; or whether only Owd Bob would come out to meet
+lhem.
+
+The wind volleyed past them like salvoes of artillery. The rain
+stormed at them from above; spat at them from the rock-face; and
+leapt up at them from their feet.
+
+Once they halted for a moment, finding a miserable shelter in a
+crevice of the rock.
+
+"It's a Black Killer's night," panted the Master. "I reck'n he's oot."
+
+"Ay," the boy gasped, "reck'n he is." Up and up they climbed
+through the blackness, blind and buffeted. The eternal thunder of
+the rain was all about them; the clamor of the gale above; and far
+beneath, the roar of angry waters.
+
+Once, in a lull in the storm, the Master turned and looked back
+into the blackness along the path they had come.
+
+"Did ye hear onythin'?" he roared above the muffled soughing of
+the wind.
+
+"Nay!" Andrew shouted back.
+
+"I thowt I heard a step!" the Master cried, peering down. But
+nothing could he see.
+
+Then the wind leaped to life again like a giant from his sleep,
+drowning all sound with its hurricane voice; and they turned and
+bent to their task again.
+
+Nearing the summit, the Master turned once more.
+
+"There it was again!" he called; but his words were swept away on
+the storm; and they buckled to the struggle afresh.
+
+Ever and anon the moon gleamed down through the riot of tossing
+sky. Then they could see the wet wall above them, with the water
+tumbling down its sheer face; and far below, in the roaring
+gutter of the Pass a brown-stained torrent. Hardly, however, had
+they time to glance around when a mass of cloud would hurry
+jealously up, and all again was blackness and noise.
+
+At length, nigh spent, they topped the last and steepest pitch of the
+Pass, and emerged into the Devil's Bowl. There, overcome with
+their exertions, they flung themselves on to the soaking ground to
+draw breath.
+
+Behind them, the wind rushed with a sullen roar up the funnel of
+the Pass. It screamed above them as though ten million devils were
+a-horse; and blurted out on to the wild Marches beyond.
+
+As they lay there, still panting, the moon gleamed down in
+momentary graciousness. In front, through the lashing rain, they
+could discern the hillocks that squat, hag-like, round the Devil's
+Bowl; and lying in its bosom, its white waters, usually so still,
+ploughed now into a thousand furrows, the Lone Tarn.
+
+The Master raised his head and craned forward at the ghostly
+scene. Of a sudden he reared himself on to his arms, and stayed
+motionless awhile. Then he dropped as though dead, forcing down
+Andrew with an iron hand.
+
+"Lad, did'st see?" he whispered.
+
+"Nay; what was't?" the boy replied, roused by his father's tone.
+
+"There!" 
+
+But as the Master pointed forward, a blur of cloud intervened and
+all was dark. Quickly it passed; and again the lantern of the night
+shone down. And Andrew, looking with all his eyes, saw indeed.
+
+There, in front, by the fretting waters of the Tarn, packed in a solid
+phalanx, with every head turned in the same direction, was a flock
+of sheep. They were motionless, all-intent, staring with
+horror-bulging eyes. A column of steam rose from their bodies into
+the rain-pierced air. Panting and palpitating, yet they stood with
+their backs to the water, as though determined to sell their lives
+dearly. Beyond them, not fifty yards away, crouched a
+humpbacked boulder, casting a long, misshapen shadow in the
+moonlight. And beneath it were two black objects, one still
+struggling feebly.
+
+"The Killer!" gasped the boy, and, all ablaze with excitement,
+began forging forward.
+
+"Steady, lad, steady!" urged his father, dropping a restraining hand
+on the boy's shoulder.
+
+Above them a huddle of clouds flung in furious rout across the
+night, and the moon was veiled.
+
+"Follow, lad!" ordered the Master, and began to crawl silently
+forward. As stealthily Andrew pursued. And over the sodden
+ground they crept, one behind the other, like two' night-hawks on
+some foul errand. 
+
+On they crawled, lying prone during the blinks of moon, stealing
+forward in the dark; till, at length, the swish of the rain on the
+waters of the Tarn, and the sobbing of the fock in front, warned
+them they were near.
+
+They skirted the trembling pack, passing so close as to brush
+against the flanking sheep; and yet unnoticed, for the sheep were
+soul-absorbed in the tragedy in front. Only, when the moon was in,
+Andrew could hear them huddling and stamping in the darkness.
+And again, as it shone out, fearfully they edged closer to watch the
+bloody play.
+
+Along the Tarn edge the two crept. And still the gracious moon hid
+their approach, and the drunken wind drowned with its revelry the
+sound of their coming.
+
+So they stole on, on hands and knees, with hearts aghast and
+fluttering breath; until, of a sudden, in a lull of wind, they could
+hear, right before them, the smack and slobber of bloody lips,
+chewing their bloody meal.
+
+"Say thy prayers, Red Wull. Thy last minute's come!" muttered the
+Master, rising to his knees. Then, in Andrew's ear: "When I rush,
+lad, follow!" For he thought, when the moon rose, to jump in on
+the great dog, and, surprising him as he lay gorged and
+Unsuspicious, to deal him one terrible swashing blow, and end
+forever the lawless doings of the Tailless Tyke.
+
+The moon flung off its veil of cloud. White and cold, it stared
+down into the Devil's Bowl; on murderer and murdered.
+
+Within a hand's cast of the avengers of blood humped the black
+boulder. On the border of its shadow lay a dead sheep; and
+standing beside the body, his coat all ruffled by the hand of the
+storm--Owd Bob--Owd Bob o' Kenmuir.
+
+Then the light went in, and darkness covered the land.
+
+Chapter XXIX  THE DEVIL'S BOWL
+
+IT was Owd Bob. There could be no mistaking. In the wide world
+there was but one Owd Bob o' Kenmuir. The silver moon gleamed
+down on the dark head and rough gray coat, and lit the white
+escutcheon on his chest.
+
+And in the darkness James Moore was lying with his face pressed
+downward that he might not see.
+
+Once he raised himself on his arms; his eyes were shut and face
+uplifted, like a blind man praying. He passed a weary hand across
+his brow; his head dropped again; and he moaned and moaned like
+a man in everlasting pain.
+
+Then the darkness lifted a moment, and he stole a furtive glance,
+like a murderer's at the gallows-tree, at the scene in front.
+
+It was no dream; clear and cruel in the moonlight the humpbacked
+boulder; the dead sheep; and that gray figure, beautiful,
+motionless, damned for all eternity.
+
+The Master turned his face and looked at Andrew, a dumb, pitiful
+entreaty in his eyes; but in the boy's white, horror-stricken
+countenance was no comfort. Then his head lolled down again,
+and the strong man was whimpering.
+
+"He! he! he! 'Scuse ma laffin', Mr. Moore--he! he! he!"
+
+A little man, all wet and shrunk, sat hunching on a mound above
+them, rocking his shrivelled form to and fro in the agony of his
+merriment.
+
+"Ye raskil--he! he! Ye rogue--he! he!' and he shook his fist
+waggishly at the unconscious gray dog. "I owe ye anither grudge
+for this--ye've anteecipated me "--and he leant. back and shook this
+way and that in convulsive mirth.
+
+The man below him rose heavily to his feet. and tumbled toward
+the mocker, his great figure swaying from side to side as though in
+blind delirium, moaning still as he went. And. there was that on his
+face which no man can mistake. Boy that he was, Andrew knew it..
+
+"Feyther! feyther! do'ee not!" he pleaded, running after his father
+and laying impotent. hands on him.
+
+But the strong man shook him off like a fly, and rolled on, swaying
+and groaning, with that awful expression plain to see in the
+moonlight.
+
+In front the little man squatted in the rain, bowed double still; and
+took no thought to flee.
+
+"Come on, James Moore! Come on!" he laughed, malignant joy in
+his voice; and. something gleamed bright in his right hand, and
+was hid again. "I've bin waitin' this a weary while noo. Come
+on!"
+
+Then had there been done something worse than sheep-murder in
+the dreadful lonesomeness of the Devil's Bowl upon that night; but
+of a sudden, there sounded the splash of a man's foot, falling
+heavily behind; a hand like a falling tree smote the Master on the
+shoulder;~ and a voice roared above the noise of the storm:
+
+"Mr. Moore! Look, man! look!"
+
+The Master tried to shake off that detaining grasp; but it pinned
+him where he was, immovable.
+
+"Look, I tell yo'!" cried that great voice again.
+
+A hand pushed past him and pointed; and. sullenly he turned,
+ignoring the figure at his. side, and looked.
+
+The wind had dropped suddenly as it had risen; the little man on
+the mound had ceased to chuckle; Andrew's sobs were hushed; and
+in the background the huddled flock edged closer. The world hung
+balanced on the pinpoint of the moment. Every eye was in the one
+direction,
+
+With dull, uncomprehending gaze James Moore stared as bidden.
+There was the gray dog naked in the moonlight, heedless still of
+any witnesses; there the murdered sheep, lying within and without
+that distorted shade; and there the humpbacked boulder.
+
+He stared into the shadow, and still stared. 
+
+Then he started as though struck. The shadow of the boulder h~d
+moved!
+
+Motionless, with head shot forward and bulging eyes, he gazed.
+
+Ay, ay, ay; he was sure of it--a huge dim outline as of a lion
+couchant, in the very thickest of the blackness.
+
+At that he was seized with such a palsy of trembling that he must
+have fallen but for the strong arm about his waist.
+
+Clearer every moment grew that crouching figure; till at length
+they plainly could discern the line of arching loins, the crest, thick
+as a ~stallion's, the massive, wagging head. No mistake this time.
+There he lay i the deep..est black, gigantic, revelling in hi horrid
+debauch--the Black Killer!
+
+And they watched him at his feast. Now he burrowed into the
+spongy flesh; now turned to lap the dark pool which glittered in
+the moonlight at his side like claret in a silver cup. Now lifting his
+head, he snapped irritably at the rain-drops, and the moon caught
+his wicked, rolling eye and the red shreds of flesh dripping from
+his jaw. And again, raising his great muzzle as if about to howl, he
+let the delicious nectar trickle down his throat and ravish his
+palate.
+
+So he went on, all unsuspicious, wisely nodding in slow-mouthed
+gluttony. And in the stillness, between the claps of wind, they
+could hear the smacking of his lips. 
+
+While all the time the gray dog stood before him, motionless, as
+though carved in stone.
+
+At last, as the murderer rolled his great. head from side to side, he
+saw that still figure. At the sight he leaped back, dismayed. Then
+with a deep-mouthed roar that shook the waters of the Tarn he was
+up and across his. victim with fangs bared, his coat standing' erect
+in wet, rigid furrows from topknot to tail.
+
+So the two stood, face to face, with perhaps~ a yard of rain-pierced
+air between them.
+
+The wind hushed its sighing to listen. The moon stared down,
+white and dumb. Away at the back the sheep edged closer. While
+save for the everlasting thunder of the rain, there was utter
+stillness.
+
+An age, it seemed, they waited so. Then a voice, clear yet low and
+far away, like a bugle in a distant city, broke the silence.
+
+"Eh, Wullie!" it said.
+
+There was no anger in the tones, only an incomparable reproach;
+the sound of the cracking of a man's heart.
+
+At the call the great dog leapt round, snarling in hideous passion.
+He saw the small,' familiar figure, clear-cut against the tumbling
+sky; and for the only time in his life Red Wull was afraid.
+
+His blood-foe was forgotten; the dead sheep' was forgotten;
+everything was sunk in the agony of that moment. He cowered
+upon the ground, and a cry like that of a lost sbul was wrung from
+him; it rose on the still night air and floated, wailing, away; and
+the white waters of the Tarn thrilled in cold pity; out of the lonely
+hollow; over the desolate Marches; into the night.
+
+On the mound above stood his master. The little man's white hair
+was bared to the night wind; the rain trickled down his face; and
+his hands were folded behind his back. He stood there, looking
+down into the dell below him, as a man may stand at the tomb of
+his lately buried wife. And there was such an expression on his
+face as I cannot describe.
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, to me!" he cried at length; and his voice sounded
+weak and far, like a distant memory.
+
+At that, the huge brute came crawling toward him~,,on his belly,
+whimpering as he came, very pitiful in his distress. He knew his
+fate as every sheep-dog knows it. That troubled him not. His pain,
+insufferable, was that this, his friend and father, who had trusted
+him, should have found him in his sin.
+
+So he crept up to his master's feet; and the little man never moved.
+
+"Wullie--ma Wullie!" he said very gently. "They've aye bin agin
+me--and noo you! A man's mither--a man's wife--a man's dog!
+they're all I've iver had; and noo am o' they three has turned agin
+me! Indeed I am alone!"
+
+At that the great dog raised himself, and placing his forepaws on
+his master's chest tenderly, lest he should hurt him who was
+already hurt past healing, stood towering above him; while the
+little man laid his two colds hands on the dog's shoulders.
+
+So they stood, looking at one another, like a man and his love.
+
+At M'Adam's word, Owd Bob looked up, and for the first time saw
+his master.
+
+He seemed in nowise startled, but trotted over to him. There was
+nothing fearful in his carriage, no haunting blood-guiltness in the
+true gray eyes which never told a lie, which never, dog-like, failed
+to look you in the face. Yet his tail was low, and, as he stopped at
+his master's feet~ he was quivering. For he, too, knew, and was not
+unmoved.
+
+For weeks he had tracked the Killer; for weeks he had followed
+him as he crossed Kenmuir, bound on his bloody errands; yet
+always had lost him on the Marches. Now, at last, he had r'1n him
+to ground. Yet his heart went. out to his enemy in his distress.
+
+"I thowt t'had been yo', lad," the Master whispered, his hand on the
+dark head at his knee-- "I thowt t'had bin yo'!"
+
+Rooted to the ground, the three watched the scene between
+M'Adam and his Wull.
+
+In the end the Master was whimpering; Andrew crying; and David
+turned his back.
+
+Chapter XXX. THE TAILLESS TYKE AT BAY
+
+ON the following morning there was a sheep-auction at the
+Dalesman's Daughter.
+
+Early as many of the farmers arrived, there was one earlier.
+Tupper, the first man to enter the sand-floored parlor, found
+M'Adam before him.
+
+He was sitting a little forward in his chair; his thin hands rested
+on his knees; and on his face was a gentle, dreamy expression such
+as no man had ever seen there before. All the harsh wrinkles
+seemed to have fled in the night; and the sour face, stamped deep
+with the bitterness of life, was softened now, as if at length at
+peace.
+
+"When I coom doon this mornin'," said Teddy Bolstock in a
+whisper, "I found 'im sittin' just so. And he's nor moved nor spoke
+since."
+
+"Where's th' Terror, then?" asked Tupper, awed somehow into
+like hushed tones.
+
+"In t' paddock at back," Teddy answered, "marchin' hoop and doon,
+hoop and doon, for a' the world like a sentry-soger. And so he was
+when I looked oot o' window when I wake."
+
+Then Londesley entered, and after him, Ned Hoppin, Rob
+Saunderson, Jim Mason, and others, each with his dog. And each
+man, as he came in and saw the little lone figure for once without
+its huge attendant genius, put the same question; while the dogs
+sniffed about the little man, as though suspecting treachery. And
+all the time M'Adam sat as though he neither heard nor saw, lost in
+some sweet, sad dream; so quite, so silent, that more than one
+thought he slept.
+
+After the first glance, however, the farmers paid him little heed,
+clustering round the publican at the farther end of the room to hear
+the latest story of Owd Bob.
+
+It appeared that a week previously, James Moore with a pack of
+sheep had met the new Grammoch-town butcher at the Dalesmen's
+Daughter. A bargain concluded, the butcher started with the flock
+for home. As he had no dog, the Master offered him Th' Owd Un.
+"And he'll pick me i' th' town to-morrow," said he.
+
+Now the butcher was a stranger in the land. Of course he had heard
+of Owd Bob o' Ken.. muir, yet it never struck him that this
+handsome gentleman with the quiet, resolute manner, who handled
+sheep as he had never seen them handled, was that hero--" the best
+sheep-dog in the North."
+
+Certain it is that by the time the flock was penned in the enclosure
+behind the shop, he coveted the dog--ay, would even offer ten
+pounds for him!
+
+Forthwith the butcher locked him up in an outhouse--summit of
+indignity; resolving to make his offer on the morrow.
+
+When the morrow came he found no dog in the outhouse, and,
+worse, no sheep in the enclosure. A sprung board showed the way
+of escape of the one, and a displaced hurdle that of the other. And
+as he was making the discovery, a gray dog and a flock of sheep,
+travelling along the road toward the Dalesman's Daughter, met the
+Master.
+
+From the first, Owd Bob had mistrusted the man. The attempt to
+confine him set the seal on his suspicions. His master's sheep were
+not for such a rogue; and he worked his own way out and took the
+sheep along with him.
+
+The story was told to a running chorus of-- "Ma word! Good, Owd
+Un !--Ho! ho! did he thot?"
+
+Of them all, only M'Adam sat strangely silent. Rob Saunderson,
+always glad to draw the little man, remarked it.
+
+"And what d'yo' think o' that, Mr. M'Adam, for a wunnerfu' story of
+a wunnerfu' tyke?" he asked.
+
+"It's a gude tale, a vera gude tale," the little man answered
+dreamily. "And James Moore didna invent it; he had it from the
+Christmas number o' the Flock-keeper in saxty." (On the following
+Sunday, old Rob, from sheer curiosity, reached down from his
+shelf the specified number of the paper. To his amazement he
+found the little man was right. There was the story almost
+identically. None the less is it also true of Owd Bob o' Kenmuir.)
+
+"Ay, ay," the little man continued, "and in a day or two James
+Moore'll ha' anither tale to tell ye--a better tale, ye'll think it--mair
+laffable. And yet--ay---no---I'll no believe it! I niver loved James
+Moore, but I think, as Mr. Hornbut aince said, he'd rather die than
+lie. Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!" he continued in a whisper. "Up till the
+end I canna shake him aff. Hafflins I think that where I'm gaein' to
+there'll be gray dogs sneakin' around me in the twilight. And
+they're aye behind and behind, and I canna, canna--"
+
+Teddy Bolstock interrupted, lifting his hand for silence.
+
+"D'yo' hear thot?--Thunder!"
+
+They listened; and from without came a gurgling, jarring roar,
+horrible to hear.
+
+"It's comin' nearer!"
+
+"Nay, it's goin' away!"
+
+"No thunder thot!"
+
+"More like the Lea in flood. And yet--Eh, Mr. M'Adam, what is
+it?"
+
+The little man had moved at last. He was on his feet, staring about
+him, wild-eyed.
+
+"Where's yer dogs?" he almost screamed.
+
+"Here's ma-- Nay, by thunder! but he's not!" was the astonished cry.
+
+In the interest of the story no man had noticed that his dog had
+risen from his side; no one had noticed a file of shaggy figures
+creeping out of the room.
+
+"I tell ye it's the tykes! I tell ye it's the tykes! They're on ma
+Wullie--fifty to one they're on him! My God! My God! And me not
+there! Wullie, Wullie! "--in a scream --"I'm wi' ye!''
+
+At the same moment Bessie Boistock rushed in, white-faced.
+
+"Hi! Feyther! Mr. Saunderson! all o' you! T'tykes fightin' mad!
+Hark!"
+
+There was no time for that. Each man seized his stick and rushed
+for the door; and M'Adam led them all.
+
+A rare thing it was for M'Adam and Red Wull to be apart. So rare,
+that others besides the men in that little tap-room noticed it.
+
+Saunderson's old Shep walked quietly to the back door of the
+house and looked out.
+
+There on the slope below him he saw what he sought, stalking up
+and down, gaunt and grim, like a lion at feeding-time. And as the
+old dog watched, his tail was gently swaying as though he were
+well pleased.
+
+He walked back into the tap-room just as Teddy began his tale.
+Twice he made the round of the room, silent-footed. From dog to
+dog he went, stopping at each as though ~trging him on to some
+great enterprise. Then he made for the door again, looking back to
+see if any followed.
+
+One by one the others rose and trailed out after him: big blue
+Rasper, Londesley's Lassie, Ned Hoppin's young dog; Grip and
+Grapple, the publican's bull-terriers; Jim Mason's Gyp, foolish and
+flirting even now; others there were; and last of all, waddling
+heavily in the rear, that scarred Amazon, the Venus.
+
+Out of the house they pattered, silent and unseen, with murder in
+their hearts. At last they had found their enemy alone. And slowly,
+in a black cloud, like the shadow of death, they dropped down the
+slope upon him.
+
+And he saw them coming, knew their errand--as who should better
+than the Terror of the Border?--and was glad. Death it might be,
+and such an one as he would wish to die-at least distraction from
+that long-drawn, haunting pain. And he smiled grimly as he looked
+at the approaching crowd, and saw there was not one there but he
+had humbled in his time.
+
+He ceased his restless pacing, and awaited them. His great head
+was high as he scanned them contemptuously, daring them to
+come on.
+
+And on they came, marching slow and silent like soldiers at a
+funeral: young and old; bobtailed and bull; terrier and collie;
+flocking like vultures to the dead. And the Venus, heavy with
+years, rolled after them on her bandy legs panting in her hurry lest
+she should be late. For had she not the blood of her blood to
+avenge?
+
+So they came about him, slow, certain, murderous, opening out to
+cut him off on every side. There was no need. He never thought to
+move. Long odds 'twould be--crushingly heavy; yet he loved them
+for it, and was trembling already with the glory of the coming
+fight.
+
+They were up to him now; the sheep-dogs walking round him on
+their toes, stiff and short like cats on coals; their hacks a little
+humped; heads averted; yet eying him askance.
+
+And he remained stock-still nor looked at them. His great chin was
+cocked, and his muzzle wrinkled in a dreadful grin. As he stood
+there, shivering a little, his eyes rolling back, his breath grating in
+his throat to set every bristle on end, he looked a devil indeed.
+
+The Venus ranged alongside him. No preliminary stage for her;
+she never walked where she could stand, or stood where she could
+lie. But stand she must now, breathing hard through her nose,
+never taking her eyes off that pad she had marked for her own.
+Close beside her were crop-eared Grip and Grapple, looking up at
+the line above them where hairy neck and shoulder joined. Behind
+was big Rasper, and close to him Lassie. Of the others, each had
+marked his place, each taken up his post.
+
+Last of all, old Shep took his stand full in front of his enemy, their
+shoulders almost rubbing, head past head.
+
+So the two stood a moment, as though they were whispering; each
+diabolical, each rolling back his eyes to watch the other. While
+from the little mob there rose a snarling, bubbling snore, like some
+giant wheezing in his sleep.
+
+Then like lightning each struck. Rearing high, they wrestled with
+striving paws and the expression of fiends incarnate. Down they
+went, Shep underneath, and the great dog with a dozen of these
+wolves of hell upon him. Rasper, devilish, was riding on his back;
+the Venus--well for him !--had struck and missed; but Grip and
+Grapple had their hold; and the others, like leaping demoniacs,
+were plunging into the whirlpool vortex of the fight.
+
+And there, where a fortnight before he had fought and lost the
+battle of the Cup, Red Wull now battled for his life.
+
+Long odds! But what cared he? The long-drawn agony of the night
+was drowned in that glorious delirium. The hate of years came
+bubbling forth. In that supreme moment he would avenge his
+wrongs. And he went in to fight, revelling like a giant in the red
+lust of killing.
+
+Long odds l Never before had he faced such a galaxy of foes. His
+one chance lay in quickness: to prevent the swarming crew getting
+their hold till at least he had diminished their numbers.
+
+Then it was a sight to see the great brute, huge as a bull-calf,
+strong as a bull, rolling over and over and up again, quick as a
+kitten; leaping here, striking there; shaking himself free; swinging
+his quarters; fighting with feet and body and teeth--every inch of
+him at war. More than once he broke right through the mob; only
+to turn again and face it. No flight for him; nor thought of it.
+
+Up and down the slope the dark mass tossed, like some hulk the
+sport of the waves. Black and white, sable and gray, worrying at
+that great centrepiece. Up and down, roaming wide, leaving
+everywhere a trail of red.
+
+Gyp he had pinned and hurled over his shoulder. Grip followed; he
+shook her till she rattled, then flung her afar; and she fell with a
+horrid thud, not to rise. While Grapple, the death to avenge, hung
+tighter. In a scarlet, soaking patch of the ground lay Big Bell's
+lurcher, doubled up in a dreadful ball. And Hoppin's young dog,
+who three hours before had been the children's tender playmate,
+now fiendish to look on, dragged after the huddle up the hill. Back
+the mob rolled on her. When it was passed, she lay quite still,
+grinning; a handful of tawny hair and flesh in her dead mouth.
+
+ So they fought on. And ever and anon a great figi~ire rose up from
+the heaving inferno all around; rearing to his full height, his head
+ragged and bleeding, the red foam dripping from his jaws. Thus he
+would appear momentarily, like some dark rock amid a raging sea;
+and down he would go again.
+
+Silent now they fought, dumb and determined. Only you might
+have heard the rend and rip of tearing flesh; a hoarse gurgle as
+some dog went down; the panting of dry throats; and now and then
+a sob from that central figure. For he was fighting for his life. The
+Terror of the Border was at bay.
+
+All who meant it were on him now. The Venus, blinded with
+blood, had her hold at last; and never but once in a long life of
+battles had she let go; Rasper, his breath coming in rattles, had him
+horribly by the loins; while a dozen other devils with red eyes and
+wrinkled nostrils clung still.
+
+Long odds! And down he went, smothered beneath the weight of
+numbers, yet struggled up again. His great head was torn and
+dripping; his eyes a gleam of rolling red and white; the little tail
+stern and stiff like the gallant stump of a flagstaff shot away. He
+was desperate, but indomitable; and he sobbed as he fought
+doggedly on.
+
+Long odds! It could not last. And down he went at length, silent
+still--never a cry should they wring from him in his agony the
+Venus glued to that mangled pad; Rasper beneath him now; three
+at his throat; two at his ears; a crowd on flanks and body.
+
+The Terror of the Border was down at last!
+
+"Wullie, ma Wullie!" screamed M'Adam, bounding down the slope
+a crook's length in front of the rest. "Wullie! Wullie! to me!"
+
+At the shrill cry the huddle below was convulsed. It heaved and
+swelled and dragged to and fro, like the sea lashed into life by
+some dying leviathan.
+
+A gigantic figure, tawny and red, fought its way to the surface. A
+great tossing head, bloody past recognition, flung out from the
+ruck. One quick glance he shot from his ragged eyes at the little
+flying form in front; then with a roar like a waterfall plunged
+toward it, shaking off the bloody leeches as he went.
+
+"Wullie! Wullie! I'm wi' ye!" cried that little voice, now so near.
+
+Through -- through--through! -- an incomparable effort and his
+last. They hung to his throat, they clung to his muzzle, they were
+round and about him. And down he went again with a sob and a
+little suffocating cry, shooting up at his master one quick,
+beseeching glance as the sea of blood closed over him --worrying,
+smothering, tearing, like foxhounds at the kill.
+
+They left the dead and pulled away the living. And it was no light
+task, for the pack were mad for blood.
+
+At the bottom of the wet mess of hair and red and flesh was old
+Shep, stone-dead. And as Saunderson pulled the body out, his face
+was working; for no man can lose in a crack the friend of a dozen
+years, and remain unmoved.
+
+The Venus lay there, her teeth clenched still in death; smiling that
+her vengeance was achieved. Big Rasper, blue no longer, was
+gasping out his life. Two more came crawling out to find a quiet
+spot where they might lay them down to die. Before the night had
+fallen another had gone to his account. While not a dog who
+fought upon that day but carried the scars of it with him to his
+grave.
+
+The Terror o' th' Border, terrible in his life, like Samson, was yet
+more terrible in his dying.
+
+Down at the bottom lay that which once had been Adam M'Adam's
+Red Wull.
+
+At the sight the little man neither raved nor swore: it was past that
+for him. He sat down, heedless of the soaking ground, and took the
+mangled head in his lap very tenderly.
+
+"They've done ye at last, Wullie--they've done ye at last," he said
+quietly; unalterably convinced that the attack had been organized
+while he was detained in the tap-room.
+
+On hearing the loved little voice, the dog gave one weary wag of
+his stump-tail. And with that the Tailless Tyke, Adam M'Adam's
+Red Wull, the Black Killer, went to his long home. 
+
+One by one the Dalesmen took away their dead, and the little man
+was left alone with the body of his last friend.
+
+Dry-eyed he sat there, nursing the dead. dog's head; hour after
+hour--alone--crooning to himself:
+
+'Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought, 
+An' wi' the weary wan' fought!
+An'  mony an anxious day I thought 
+We wad be beat.'
+
+An' noo we are, Wullie--noo we are!"
+
+So he went on, repeating the lines over and over again, always
+with the same sad termination.
+
+"A man's mither--a man's wife--a man's~ dog! they three are a' little
+M'Adam iver had~ to back him! D'ye mind the auld mither,
+Wullie? And her, 'Niver be down-hearted, Adam; ye've aye got yer
+mither,' And ae day I had not. And Flora, Wullie (ye remember
+Flora, Wullie? Na, na; ye'd not) wi' her laffin' daffin' manner, eryin'
+to one: 'Adam, ye say ye're alane. But ye've me--is that no enough
+for ony man?' And God kens it was --while it lasted!" He broke
+down and sobbed a while. "And you Wullie--and you! the only
+man friend iver I had!" He sought the dog's bloody paw with his
+right hand.
+
+"'An' here's a hand, my trusty flee,
+An gie's a hand o' thine;
+An'  we'll tak' a right guid willie-waught, 
+For auld lang syne.'
+
+He sat there, muttering, and stroking the poor head upon his lap,
+bending over it, like a mother over a sick
+child.
+
+"They've done ye at last, lad--done ye sair. And noo I'm thinkin'
+they'll no rest content till I'm gone. And oh, Wullie!"--he bent
+down and whispered--" I dreamed sic an awfu' thing--that ma
+Wullie--but there! 'twas but a dream."
+
+So he sat on, crooning to the dead dog; and no man approached
+him. Only Bessie of the inn watched the little lone figure from
+afar.
+
+It was long past noon when at length he rose, laying the dog's head
+reverently down, and tottered away toward that bridge which once
+the dead thing on the slope had held against a thousand.
+
+He crossed it and turned; there was a look upon his face, half
+hopeful, half fearful, very -piteous to see.
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, to me!" he cried; only the accents, formerly so
+fiery, were now weak as a dying man's.
+
+A while he waited in vain.
+
+"Are ye no comin', Wullie?" he asked at length in quavering tones.
+"Ye've not used to leave me."
+
+He walked away a pace, then turned again and whistled that shrill,
+sharp call, only now it sounded like a broken echo of itself.
+
+"Come to me, Wullie!" he implored, very-pitifully. "'Tis the first
+time iver I kent ye not come and me whistlin'. What ails ye, lad?"
+
+He recrossed the bridge, walking blindly like a sobbing child; and
+yet dry-eyed.
+
+Over the dead body he stooped.
+
+"What ails ye, Wullie?" he asked again. "Will you, too, leave me?"
+
+Then Bessie, watching fearfully, saw him bend, sling the great
+body on his back, and stagger away.
+
+Limp and hideous, the carcase hung down from the little man's
+shoulders. The huge head, with grim, wide eyes and lolling tongue,
+jolted and swagged with the motion, seeming to grin a ghastly
+defiance at the world it had left. And the last Bessie saw of them
+was that bloody, rolling head, with the puny legs staggering
+beneath their load, as the two passed out of the world's ken.
+
+In the Devil's Bowl, next day, they found the pair: Adam M'Adam
+and his Red Wull, face to face; dead, not divided; each, save for
+the other, alone. The dog, his saturnine expression glazed and
+ghastly in the fixedness of death, propped up against that
+humpbacked boulder beneath which, a while before, the Black
+Killer had dreed his weird; and, close by, his master lying on his
+back, his dim dead eyes staring up at the heaven, one hand still
+clasping a crumpled photograph; the weary body at rest at last, the
+mocking face--mocking no longer--alight with a whole-souled,
+transfiguring happiness.
+
+POSTSCRIPT
+
+Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull lie buried together: one just
+within, the other just without, the consecrated pale.
+
+The only mourners at the funeral were David, James Moore,
+Maggie, and a gray dog peering through the lych-gate.
+
+During the service a carriage stopped at the churchyard, and a lady
+with a stately figure and a gentle face stepped out and came across
+the grass to pay a last tribute to the dead. And Lady Eleanour, as
+she joined the little group about the grave, seemed to notice a
+more than usual solemnity in the parson's voice as he intoned:
+"Earth to earth--ashes to ashes-dust to dust; in sure and certain
+hope of the Resurrection to eternal life."
+
+When you wander in the gray hill-country of the North, in the
+loneliest corner of that lonely land you may chance upon a low
+farm-house, lying in the shadow of the Muir Pike.
+
+Entering, a tall old man comes out to greet you--the Master of
+Kenmuir. His shoulders are bent now; the hair that was so dark is
+frosted; but the blue-gray eyes look you as-proudly in the face as of
+yore.
+
+And while the girl with the glory of yellow hair is preparing food
+for you--they are hospitable to a fault, these Northerners--you will
+notice on the mantelpiece, standing solitary, a massive silver cup,
+dented.
+
+That is the world-known Shepherds' Trophy, won outright, as the
+old man will tell you, by Owd Bob, last and best of the Gray Dogs
+of Kenmuir. The last because he is the best;, because once, for a
+long-drawn unit of time, James Moore had thought him to be the
+worst.
+
+When at length you take your leave, the old man accompanies you
+to the top of the slope to point you your way.
+
+"Yo' cross the stream; over Langholm How,. yonder; past the
+Bottom; and oop th' hill on far side. Yo'll come on th' house o' top.
+And happen yo'll meet Th' Owd Un on the road. Good-day to you,
+sir, good-day."
+
+So you go as he has bidden you; across the stream, skirting the
+How, over the gulf and up. the hill again.
+
+On the way, as the Master has foretold, you come upon an old gray
+dog, trotting soberly along. Th' Owd Un, indeed, seems to spend
+the evening of his life going thus between Kenmuir and the
+Grange. The black muzzle, is almost white now; the gait, formerly
+so smooth and strong, is stiff and slow; venerable, indeed, is he of
+whom men still talk as the best sheep-dog in the North.
+
+As he passes, he pauses to scan you. The noble head is high, and
+one foot raised; and you look into two big gray eyes such as you
+have never seen before--soft, a little dim, and infinitely sad.
+
+That is Owd Bob o' Kenmuir, of whom the tales are many as the
+flowers on the May. With him dies the last of the immortal line of
+the Gray Dogs of Kennutir.
+
+You travel on up the bill, something pensive, and knock at the
+door of the house on the top.
+
+A woman, comely with the inevitable comeliness of motherhood,
+opens to you. And nestling in her arms is a little boy with golden
+hair and happy face, like one of Correggio's cherubs.
+
+You ask the child his name. He kicks and crows, and looks up at
+his mother; and in the end lisps roguishly, as if it was the merriest
+joke in all this merry world, "Adum Mataddum."
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg Etext of Bob Son of Battle, by Alfred Ollivant
+
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+Project Gutenberg Etext of Bob Son of Battle, by Alfred Ollivant
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+Title:  Bob Son of Battle
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+Author:  Alfred Ollivant
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+Release Date: February 12, 2007 [EBook #2795]
+[File was first posted in etext01 as bsonb10.txt in September, 2001]
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+Edition: 11
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+Project Gutenberg Etext of Bob Son of Battle, by Alfred Ollivant
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+*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END*
+
+
+
+
+
+Bob Son of Battle
+
+by Alfred Ollivant
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+PART I  THE COMING OF THE TAILLESS TYKE
+Chapter I. The Gray Dog
+Chapter II. A Son of Hagar
+Chapter III. Red Wull
+Chapter IV. First Blood
+
+
+PART II THE LITTLE MAN
+Chapter V. A Man's Son
+Chapter VI. A Licking or a Lie
+Chapter VII. The White Winter
+Chapter VIII. M'Adam and His Coat
+
+
+PART III THE SHEPHERDS' TROPHY
+Chapter IX. Rivals,
+Chapter X. Red Wull Wins
+Chapter XI. Oor Bob,
+Chapter XII. How Red Wull Held the Bridge
+Chapter XIII. The Face in the Frame
+
+
+PART IV THE BLACK KILLER
+Chapter XIV. A Mad Man
+Chapter XV. Death on the Marches,
+Chapter XVI. The Black Killer
+Chapter XVII. A Mad Dog
+Chapter XVIII. How the Killer was Singed
+Chapter XIX. Lad and Lass
+Chapter XX. The Snapping of the String
+Chapter XXI. Horror of Darkness
+
+
+PART V OWD BOB O' KENMUIR
+Chapter XXII. A Man and a Maid
+Chapter XXIII. Th' Owd Un
+Chapter XXIV. A Shot in the Night
+Chapter XXV. The Shepherds' Trophy.
+
+
+PART VI  THE BLACK KILLER
+Chapter XXVI. Red-handed
+Chapter XXVII. For the Defence
+Chapter XXVIII. The Devil's Bowl
+Chapter XXIX. The Devil's Bowl
+Chapter XXX. The Tailless Tyke at Bay
+
+
+Postscript
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+PART I  THE COMING OF THE TAILLESS TYKE
+
+Chapter I. THE GRAY DOG
+
+
+THE sun stared brazenly down on a gray farmhouse lying, long
+and low in the shadow of the Muir Pike; on the ruins of peel-tower
+and barmkyn, relics of the time of raids, it looked; on ranges of
+whitewashed outbuildings; on a goodly array of dark-thatched
+ricks.
+
+In the stack-yard, behind the lengthy range of stables, two men
+were thatching. One lay sprawling on the crest of the rick, the
+other stood perched on a ladder at a lower level.
+
+The latter, small, old, with shrewd nut-brown countenance, was
+Tammas Thornton, who had served the Moores of Kenmuir for
+more than half a century. The other, on top of the stack, wrapped
+apparently in gloomy meditation, was Sam'l Todd. A solid Dales--
+man, he, with huge hands and hairy arms; about his face an
+uncomely aureole of stiff, red hair; and on his features,
+deep-seated, an expression of resolute melancholy.
+
+"Ay, the Gray Dogs, bless 'em!" the old man was saying. "Yo'
+canna beat 'em not nohow. Known 'em ony time this sixty year, I
+have, and niver knew a bad un yet. Not as I say, mind ye, as any on
+'em cooms up to Rex son o' Rally. Ah, he was a one, was Rex!
+We's never won Cup since his day."
+
+"Nor niver shall agin, yo' may depend," said the other gloomily.
+
+Tammas clucked irritably.
+
+"G'long, Sam'! Todd!" he cried, "Yo' niver happy onless yo'
+making' yo'self miser'ble. I niver see sich a chap. Niver win agin?
+Why, oor young Bob he'll mak' a right un, I tell yo', and I should
+know. Not as what he'll touch Rex son o' Rally, mark ye! I'm niver
+saying' so, Sam'l Todd. Ah, he was a one, was Rex! I could tell yo'
+a tale or two o' Rex. I mind me hoo--"
+
+The big man interposed hurriedly.
+
+"I've heard it afore, Tammas, I welly 'ave," he said.
+
+Tammas paused and looked angrily up.
+
+"Yo've heard it afore, have yo', Sam'l Todd?" he asked sharply.
+"And what have yo' heard afore?"
+
+"Yo' stories, owd lad--yo' stories o' Rex son o' Rally."
+
+"Which on' em
+
+"All on 'em, Tammas, all on 'em--mony a time. I'm fair sick on 'em,
+Tammas, I welly am," he pleaded.
+
+The old man gasped. He brought down his mallet with a vicious
+smack.
+
+"I'll niver tell yo' a tale agin, Sam'l Todd, not if yo' was to go on
+yo' bended knees for't. Nay; it bain't no manner o' use talkin'. Niver
+agin, says I."
+
+"I niver askt yo'," declared honest Sam'l.
+
+"Nor it wouldna ha' bin no manner o' use if yo' had," said the other
+viciously. "I'll niver tell yo' a tale agin if I was to live to be a
+hunderd."
+
+"Yo'll not live to be a hunderd, Tammas Thornton, nor near it,"
+said Sam'l brutally.
+
+"I'll live as long as some, I warrant," the old man replied with
+spirit. "I'll live to see Cup back i' Kenmuir, as I said afore."
+
+"If yo' do," the other declared with emphasis, "Sam'l Todd niver
+spake a true word. Nay, nay, lad; yo're owd, yo're wambly, your
+time's near run or I'm the more mistook."
+
+"For mussy's sake hold yo' tongue, Sam'l Todd! It's clack-clack all
+day--" The old man broke off suddenly, and buckled to his work
+with suspicious vigor. "Mak' a show yo' bin workin', lad," he
+whispered. "Here's Master and oor Bob."
+
+As he spoke, a tall gaitered man with weather-beaten face, strong,
+lean, austere, and the blue-gray eyes of the hill-country, came
+striding into the yard. And trotting soberly at his heels, with the
+gravest, saddest eyes ever you saw, a sheep-dog puppy.
+
+A rare dark gray he was, his long coat, dashed here and there with
+lighter touches, like a stormy sea moonlit. Upon his chest an
+escutcheon of purest white, and the dome of his head showered, as
+it were, with a sprinkling of snow. Perfectly compact, utterly lithe,
+inimitably graceful with his airy-fairy action; a gentleman every
+inch, you could not help but stare at him--Owd Bob o' Kenmuir.
+
+At the foot of the ladder the two stopped. And the young dog,
+placing his forepaws on a lower rung, looked up, slowly waving
+his silvery brush.
+
+"A proper Gray Dog!" mused Tammas, gazing down into the dark
+face beneath him. "Small, yet big; light to get about on backs o'
+his sheep, yet not too light. Wi' a coat hard a-top to keep oot
+Daleland weather, soft as sealskin beneath. And wi' them sorrerful
+eyes on him as niver goes but wi' a good un. Amaist he minds me
+o' Rex son o' Rally."
+
+"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" groaned Sam'l. But the old man heard him
+not.
+
+"Did 'Enry Farewether tell yo' hoo he acted this mornin', Master?"
+he inquired, addressing the man at the foot of the ladder.
+
+"Nay," said the other, his stern eyes lighting.
+
+"Why, 'twas this way, it seems," Tammas continued. "Young bull
+gets 'isseif loose, somegate and marches oot into yard, o'erturns
+milkpail, and prods owd pigs i' ribs. And as he stands lookin' about
+un, thinking' what he shall be up to next, oor Bob sees un 'An' what
+yo' doin' here, Mr. Bull?' he seems to say, cockin' his ears and
+trottin' up gay-like. Wi' that bull bloats fit to bust 'isseif, lashes wi's
+tail, waggles his head, and gets agate o' chargin' 'im.  But Bob
+leaps oot o' way, quick as lightnin' yet cool as butter, and when he's
+done his foolin drives un back agin."
+
+"Who seed all this?" interposed Sam'l, sceptically.
+
+"'Enry Farewether from the loft. So there, Fat'ead!" Tammas
+replied, and continued his tale. "So they goes on; bull chargin' and
+Bob drivin' un back and back, hoppin' in and oot agin, quiet as a
+cowcumber, yet determined. At last Mr. Bull sees it's no manner o'
+use that gate, so he turns, rares up, and tries to jump wall. Nary a
+bit. Young dog jumps in on un and nips him by tail. Wi' that, bull
+tumbles down in a hurry, turns wi' a kind o' groan, and marches
+back into stall, Bob after un. And then, dang me!"--the old man
+beat the ladder as he loosed off this last titbit,--"if he doesna sit'
+isseif i' door like a sentrynel till 'Enry Farewether coom up. Hoo's
+that for a tyke not yet a year?"
+
+Even Sam'l Todd was moved by the tale.
+
+"Well done, oor Bob!" he cried.
+
+"Good, lad!" said the Master, laying a hand on the dark head at his
+knee.
+
+"Yo' may well say that," cried Tammas in a kind of ecstasy. "A
+proper Gray Dog, I tell yo'. Wi' the brains of a man and the way of
+a woman. Ah, yo' canna beat 'em nohow, the Gray Dogs o'
+Kenmuir!"
+
+The patter of cheery feet rang out on the plank-bridge over the
+stream below them. Tammas glanced round.
+
+"Here's David," he said. "Late this mornin' he be."
+
+A fair-haired boy came spurring up the slope, his face all aglow
+with the speed of his running. Straightway the young dog dashed
+off to meet him with a fiery speed his sober gait belied. The two
+raced back together into the yard.
+
+"Poor lad!" said Sam'l gloomily, regarding the newcomer.
+
+"Poor heart!" muttered Tammas. While the Master's face softened
+visibly. Yet there looked little to pity in this jolly, rocking lad with
+the tousle of light hair and fresh, rosy countenance.
+
+"G'mornin', Mister Moore! Morn'n, Tammas! Morn'n, Sam'l!" he
+panted as he passed; and ran on through the hay-carpeted yard,
+round the corner of the stable, and into the house.
+
+In the kitchen, a long room with red-tiled floor and latticed
+windows, a woman, white-aproned and frail-faced, was bustling
+about her morning business. To her skirts clung a sturdy,
+bare-legged boy; while at the oak table in the centre of the room a
+girl with brown eyes and straggling hair was seated before a basin
+of bread and milk.
+
+"So yo've coom at last, David!" the woman cried, as the boy
+entered; and, bending, greeted him with a tender, motherly
+salutation, which he returned as affectionately. "I welly thowt yo'd
+forgot us this mornin'. Noo sit you' doon beside oor Maggie." And
+soon he, too, was engaged in a task twin to the girl's.
+
+The two children munched away in silence, the little bare-legged
+boy watching them, the while, critically. Irritated by this prolonged
+stare, David at length turned on him.
+
+"Weel, little Andrew," he said, speaking in that paternal fashion in
+which one small boy loves to address another. "Weel, ma little lad,
+yo'm coomin' along gradely." He leant back in his chair the better
+to criticise his subject. But Andrew, like all the Moores, slow of
+speech, preserved a stolid silence, sucking a chubby thumb, and
+regarding his patron a thought cynically.
+
+David resented the expression on the boy's countenance, and half
+rose to his feet.
+
+"Yo' put another face on yo', Andrew Moore," he cried
+threateningly, "or I'll put it for yo'."
+
+Maggie, however, interposed opportunely.
+
+"Did yo' feyther beat yo' last night?" she inquired in a low voice;
+and there was a shade of anxiety in the soft brown eyes.
+
+"Nay," the boy answered; "he was a-goin' to, but he never did.
+Drunk," he added in explanation.
+
+"What was he goin' to beat yo' for, David?" asked Mrs. Moore.
+
+"What for? Why, for the fun o't--to see me squiggle," the boy
+replied, and laughed bitterly.
+
+"Yo' shouldna speak so o' your dad, David," reproved the other as
+severely as was in her nature.
+
+"Dad! a fine dad! I'd dad him an I'd the chance," the boy muttered
+beneath his breath. Then, to turn the conversation:
+
+"Us should be startin', Maggie," he said, and going to the door.
+"Bob! Owd Bob, lad! Ar't coomin' along?" he called.
+
+The gray dog came springing up like an antelope, and the three
+started off for school together.
+
+Mrs. Moore stood in the doorway, holding Andrew by the hand,
+and watched the departing trio.
+
+"'Tis a pretty pair, Master, surely," she said softly to her husband,
+who came up at the moment.
+
+"Ay, he'll be a fine lad if his fether'll let him," the tall man
+answered.
+
+"Tis a shame Mr. M'Adam should lead him such a life," the
+woman continued indignantly. She laid a hand on her husband's
+arm, and looked up at him coaxingly.
+
+"Could yo' not say summat to un, Master, think 'ee? Happen he'd
+'tend to you," she pleaded. For Mrs. Moore imagined that there
+could be no one but would gladly heed what James Moore, Master
+of Kenmuir, might say to him. "He's not a bad un at bottom, I do
+believe," she continued. "He never took on so till his missus died.
+Eh, but he was main fond o' her."
+
+Her husband shook his head "Nay, mother," he said "'Twould nob'
+but mak' it worse for t' lad. M'Adam'd listen to no one, let alone
+me." And, indeed, he was right; for the tenant of the Grange made
+no secret of his animosity for his straight-going, straight-speaking
+neighbor.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Owd Bob, in the mean time, had escorted the children to the
+larch-copse bordering on the lane which leads to the village. Now
+he crept stealthily back to the yard, and established himself behind
+the water-butt.
+
+How he played and how he laughed; how he teased old Whitecap
+till that gray gander all but expired of apoplexy and impotence;
+how he ran the roan bull-calf, and aroused the bitter wrath of a
+portly sow, mother of many, is of no account.
+
+At last, in the midst of his merry mischief-making, a stern voice
+arrested him.
+
+"Bob, lad, I see 'tis time we larned you yo' letters."
+
+So the business of life began for that dog of whom the simple
+farmer-folk of the Daleland still love to talk,--Bob, son of Battle,
+last of the Gray Dogs of Kenmuir.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter II. A SON OF HAGAR
+
+
+It is a lonely country, that about the Wastrel-dale.
+
+Parson Leggy Hornbut will tell you that his is the smallest church
+in the biggest parish north of the Derwent, and that his cure
+numbers more square miles than parishioners. Of fells and ghylls it
+consists, of becks and lakes; with here a scattered hamlet and there
+a solitary hill sheep-farm. It is a country in which sheep are
+paramount; and every other Dalesman is engaged in that
+profession which is as old as Abel. And the talk of the men of the
+land is of wethers and gimmers, of tup-hoggs, ewe tegs in wool,
+and other things which are but fearsome names to you and me; and
+always of the doings or misdoings, the intelligence or stupidity, of
+their adjutants, the sheep-dogs.
+
+Of all the Daleland, the country from the Black Water to
+Grammoch Pike is the wildest. Above the tiny stone-built village
+of Wastrel-dale the Muir Pike nods its massive head. Westward,
+the desolate Mere Marches, from which the Sylvesters' great estate
+derives its name, reach away in mile on mile of sheep infested,
+wind-swept moorland. On the far side of the Marches is that twin
+dale where flows the gentle Silver Lea. And it is there in the
+paddocks at the back of the Dalesman's Daughter, that, in the late
+summer months, the famous sheep-dog Trials of the North are
+held. There that the battle for the Dale Cup, the world-known
+Shepherds' Trophy, is fought out.
+
+Past the little inn leads the turnpike road to the market-centre of
+the district--Grammoch-town. At the bottom of the paddocks at
+the back of the inn winds the Silver Lea. Just there a plank bridge
+crosses the stream, and, beyond, the Murk Muir Pass crawls up
+the sheer side of the Scaur on to the Mere Marches.
+
+At the head of the Pass, before it debouches on to those lonely
+sheep-walks which divide the two dales, is that hollow,
+shuddering with gloomy possibilities, aptly called the Devil's
+Bowl. In its centre the Lone Tarn, weirdly suggestive pool, lifts its
+still face to the sky. It was beside that black, frozen water, across
+whose cold surface the storm was swirling in white snow-wraiths,
+that, many, many years ago (not in this century), old Andrew
+Moore came upon the mother of the Gray Dogs of Kenmuir.
+
+In the North, every one who has heard of the Muir Pike--and who
+has not?--has heard of the Gray Dogs of Kenmuir, every one who
+has heard of the Shepherd's Trophy--and who has not?--knows
+their fame. In that country of good dogs and jealous masters the
+pride of place has long been held unchallenged. Whatever line may
+claim to follow the Gray Dogs always lead the van. And there is a
+saying in the land: "Faithfu' as the Moores and their tykes."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On the top dresser to the right of the fireplace in the kitchen of
+Kenmuir lies the family Bible. At the end you will find a loose
+sheet--the pedigree of the Gray Dogs; at the beginning, pasted on
+the inside, an almost similar sheet, long since yellow with age--the
+family register of the Moores of Kenmuir.
+
+Running your eye down the loose leaf, once, twice, and again it
+will be caught by a small red cross beneath a name, and under the
+cross the one word "Cup." Lastly, opposite the name of Rex son of
+Rally, are two of those proud, tell-tale marks. The cup referred to
+is the renowned Dale Cup--Champion Challenge Dale Cup, open
+to the world. Had Rex won it but once again the Shepherds'
+Trophy, which many men have lived to win, and died still striving
+after, would have come to rest forever in the little gray house
+below the Pike.
+
+It was not to be, however. Comparing the two sheets, you read
+beneath the dog's name a date and a pathetic legend; and on the
+other sheet, written in his son's boyish hand, beneath the name of
+Andrew Moore the same date and the same legend.
+
+From that day James Moore, then but a boy, was master of
+Kenmuir.
+
+So past Grip and Rex and Rally, and a hundred others, until at the
+foot of the page you come to that last name--Bob, son of Battle.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+From the very first the young dog took to his work in a manner to
+amaze even James Moore. For a while he watched his mother,
+Meg, at her business, and with that seemed to have mastered the
+essentials of sheep tactics.
+
+Rarely had such fiery �lan been seen on the sides of the Pike; and
+with it the young dog combined a strange sobriety, an admirable
+patience, that justified, indeed, the epithet. "Owd." Silent he
+worked, and resolute; and even in those days had that famous trick
+of coaxing the sheep to do his wishes;--blending, in short, as
+Tammas put it, the brains of a man with the way of a woman.
+
+Parson Leggy, who was reckoned the best judge of a sheep or
+sheep-dog 'twixt Tyne and Tweed, summed him up in the one
+word "Genius." And James Moore himself, cautious man, was
+more than pleased.
+
+In the village, the Dalesmen, who took a personal pride in the Gray
+Dogs of Kenmuir, began to nod sage heads when "oor" Bob was
+mentioned. Jim Mason, the postman, whose word went as far with
+the villagers as Parson Leggy's with the gentry, reckoned he'd
+never seen a young un as so took his fancy.
+
+That winter it grew quite the recognized thing, when they had
+gathered of a night round the fire in the Sylvester Arms, with
+Tammas in the centre, old Jonas Maddox on his right, Rob
+Saunderson of the Holt on the left, and the others radiating away
+toward the sides, for some one to begin with:
+
+"Well, and what o' oor Bob, Mr. Thornton?"
+
+To which Tammas would always make reply:
+
+"Oh, yo' ask Sam'l there. He'll tell yo' better'n me, "--and would
+forthwith plunge, himself, into a yarn.
+
+And the way in which, as the story proceeded, Tupper of
+Swinsthwaite winked at Ned Hoppin of Fellsgarth, and Long
+Kirby, the smith, poked Jem Burton, the publican, in the ribs, and
+Sexton Ross said, "Ma word, lad!" spoke more eloquently than
+many words.
+
+One man only never joined in the chorus of admiration. Sitting
+always alone in the background, little M'Adam would listen with
+an incredulous grin on his sallow face.
+
+"Oh, ma certes! The devil's in the dog! It's no cannie ava!" he
+would continually exclaim, as Tammas told his tale.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the Daleland you rarely see a stranger's face. Wandering in the
+wild country about the twin dales at the time of this story, you
+might have met Parson Leggy, striding along with a couple of
+varmint terriers at his heels, and young Cyril Gilbraith, whom he
+was teaching to tie flies and fear God, beside him; or Jim Mason,
+postman by profession, poacher by predilection, honest man and
+sportsman by nature, hurrying along with the mail-bags on his
+shoulder, a rabbit in his pocket, and the faithful Betsy a yard
+behind. Besides these you might have hit upon a quiet shepherd
+and a wise-faced dog; Squire Sylvester, going his rounds upon a
+sturdy cob; or, had you been lucky, sweet Lady Eleanour bent upon
+some errand of mercy to one of the many tenants.
+
+It was while the Squire's lady was driving through the village on a
+visit* to Tammas's slobbering grandson--it was shortly after Billy
+Thornton's advent into the world--that little M'Adam, standing in
+the door of the Sylvester Arms, with a twig in his mouth and a
+sneer fading from his lips, made his ever-memorable remark:
+
+"Sall!" he said, speaking in low, earnest voice; "'tis a muckle
+wumman."
+
+Note:* It was this visit which figured in the Grammoch-town _Argus_ (local
+and radical) under the heading of "Alleged Wholesale Corruption
+by Tory Agents." And that is why, on the following market day,
+Herbert Trotter, journalist, erstwhile gentleman, and Secretary of
+the Dale Trials, found himself trying to swim in the public
+horse-trough.
+
+"What? What be sayin', mon?" cried old Jonas, startled out of his
+usual apathy.
+
+M'Adam turned sharply on the old man.
+
+"I said the wumman wears a muckle hat!" he snapped.
+
+Blotted out as it was, the observation still remains--a tribute of
+honest admiration. Doubtless the Recording Angel did not pass it
+by. That one statement anent the gentle lady of the manor is the
+only personal remark ever credited to little M'Adam not born of
+malice and all uncharitableness. And that is why it is ever
+memorable.
+
+The little Scotsman with the sardonic face had been the tenant of
+the Grange these many years; yet he had never grown acclimatized
+to the land of the Southron. With his shrivelled body and weakly
+legs he looked among the sturdy, straight-limbed sons of the
+hill-country like some brown, wrinkled leaf holding its place midst
+a galaxy of green. And as he differed from them physically, so he
+did morally.
+
+He neither understood them nor attempted to. The North-country
+character was an unsolved mystery to him, and that after ten years'
+study. "One-half o' what ye say they doot, and they let ye see it;
+t'ither half they disbelieve, and they tell ye so," he once said. And
+that explained his attitude toward them, and consequently theirs
+toward him.
+
+He stood entirely alone; a son of Hagar, mocking. His sharp, ill
+tongue was rarely still, and always bitter. There was hardly a man
+in the land, from Langholm How to the market-cross in
+Grammoch-town, but had at one time known its sting, endured it in
+silence--for they are slow of speech, these men of the fells and
+meres--and was nursing his resentment till a day should bring that
+chance which always comes. And when at the Sylvester Arms, on
+one of those rare occasions when M'Adam was not present,
+Tammas summed up the little man in that historic phrase of his,
+"When he's drunk he's wi'lent, and when he bain't he's wicious,"
+there was an applause to gratify the blas� heart of even Tammas
+Thornton.
+
+Yet it had not been till his wife's death that the little man had
+allowed loose rein to his ill-nature. With her firmly gentle hand no
+longer on the tiller of his life, it burst into fresh being. And alone
+in the world with David, the whole venom of his vicious
+temperament was ever directed against the boy's head. It was as
+though he saw in his fair-haired son the unconscious cause of his
+ever-living sorrow. All the more strange this, seeing that, during
+her life, the boy had been to poor Flora M'Adam as her heart's
+core. And the lad was growing up the very antithesis of his father.
+Big and hearty, with never an ache or ill in the whole of his sturdy
+young body; of frank, open countenance; while even his speech
+was slow and burring like any Dale-bred boy's. And the fact of it
+all, and that the lad was palpably more Englishman than Scot--ay,
+and gloried in it--exasperated the little man, a patriot before
+everything, to blows. While, on top of it, David evinced an
+amazing pertness fit to have tried a better man than Adam
+M'Adam.
+
+On the death of his wife, kindly Elizabeth Moore had, more than
+once, offered such help to the lonely little man as a woman only
+can give in a house that knows no mistress. On the last of these
+occasions, after crossing the Stony Bottom, which divides the two
+farms, and toiling up the hill to the Grange, she had met M'Adam
+in the door.
+
+"Yo' maun let me put yo' bit things straight for yo', mister," she
+had said shyly; for she feared the little man.
+
+"Thank ye, Mrs. Moore," he had answered with the sour smile the
+Dalesmen knew so well, "but ye maun think I'm a waefu' cripple."
+And there he had stood, grinning sardonically, opposing his small
+bulk in the very centre of the door.
+
+Mrs. Moore had turned down the hill, abashed and hurt at the
+reception of her offer; and her husband, proud to a fault, had
+forbidden her to repeat it. Nevertheless her motherly heart went
+out in a great tenderness for the little orphan David. She knew well
+the desolateness of his life; his father's aversion from him, and its
+inevitable consequences.
+
+It became an institution for the boy to call every morning at
+Kenmuir, and trot off to the village school with Maggie Moore.
+And soon the lad came to look on Kenmuir as his true home, and
+James and Elizabeth Moore as his real parents. His greatest
+happiness was to be away from the Grange. And the ferret-eyed
+little man there noted the fact, bitterly resented it, and vented his
+ill-humor accordingly.
+
+It was this, as he deemed it, uncalled-for trespassing on his
+authority which was the chief cause of his animosity against James
+Moore. The Master of Kenmuir it was at whom he was aiming
+when he remarked one day at the Arms: "Masel', I aye prefaire the
+good man who does no go to church, to the bad man who does. But
+then, as ye say, Mr. Burton, I'm peculiar."
+
+The little man's treatment of David, exaggerated as it was by eager
+credulity, became at length such a scandal to the Dale that Parson
+Leggy determined to bring him to task on the matter.
+
+Now M'Adam was the parson's pet antipathy. The bluff old
+minister, with his brusque manner and big heart, would have no
+truck with the man who never went to church, was perpetually in
+liquor, and never spoke good of his neighbors. Yet he entered upon
+the interview fully resolved not to be betrayed into an unworthy
+expression of feeling; rather to appeal to the little man's better
+nature.
+
+The conversation had not been in progress two minutes, however,
+before he knew that, where he had meant to be calmly persuasive,
+he was fast become hotly abusive.
+
+"You, Mr. Hornbut, wi' James Moore to help ye, look after the
+lad's soul, I'll see to his body," the little man was saying.
+
+The parson's thick gray eyebrows lowered threateningly over his
+eyes.
+
+"You ought to be ashamed of yourself to talk like that. Which
+d'you think the more important, soul or body? Oughtn't you, his
+father, to be the very first to care for the boy's soul? If not, who
+should? Answer me, sir."
+
+The little man stood smirking and sucking his eternal twig, entirely
+unmoved by the other's heat.
+
+"Ye're right, Mr. Hornbut, as ye aye are. But my argiment is this:
+that I get at his soul best through his leetle carcase."
+
+The honest parson brought down his stick with an angry thud.
+
+"M'Adam, you're a brute--a brute!" he shouted. At which outburst
+the little man was seized with a spasm of silent merriment.
+
+"A fond dad first, a brute afterward, aiblins--he! he! Ah, Mr.
+Hornbut! ye 'ford me vast diversion, ye do indeed, 'my loved, my
+honored, much-respected friend."
+
+"If you paid as much heed to your boy's welfare as you do to the
+bad poetry of that profligate ploughman--"
+
+An angry gleam shot into the other's eyes. "D'ye ken what
+blasphemy is, Mr. Hornbut?" he asked, shouldering a pace
+forward.
+
+For the first time in the dispute the parson thought he was about to
+score a point, and was calm accordingly.
+
+"I should do; I fancy I've a specimen of the breed before me now.
+And d'you know what impertinence is?"
+
+"I should do; I fancy I've--I awd say it's what gentlemen aften are
+unless their mammies whipped 'em as lads."
+
+For a moment the parson looked as if about to seize his opponent
+and shake him.
+
+"M'Adam," he roared, "I'll not stand your insolences!"
+
+The little man turned, scuttled indoors, and came running back with
+a chair.
+
+"Permit me!" he said blandly, holding it before him like a
+haircutter for a customer.
+
+The parson turned away. At the gap in the hedge he paused.
+
+"I'll only say one thing more," he called slowly. "When your wife,
+whom I think we all loved, lay dying in that room above you, she
+said to you in my presence--"
+
+It was M'Adam's turn to be angry. He made a step forward with
+burning face.
+
+"Aince and for a', Mr. Hornbut," he cried passionately, "onderstand
+I'll not ha' you and yer likes lay yer tongues on ma wife's memory
+whenever it suits ye. You can say what ye like aboot me--lies,
+sneers, snash--and I'll say naethin'. I dinna ask ye to respect me; I
+think ye might do sae muckle by her, puir lass. She never harmed
+ye. Gin ye canna let her bide in peace where she lies doon
+yonder"--he waved in the direction of the churchyard--"ye'll no
+come on ma land. Though she is dead she's mine."
+
+Standing in front of his house, with flushed face and big eyes, the
+little man looked almost noble in his indignation. And the parson,
+striding away down the hill, was uneasily conscious that with him
+was not the victory.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter III. RED WULL
+
+
+THE winter came and went; the lambing season was over, and
+spring already shyly kissing the land. And the back of the year's
+work broken, and her master well started on a fresh season,
+M'Adam's old collie, Cuttie Sark, lay down one evening and passed
+quietly away.
+
+The little black-and-tan lady, Parson Leggy used to say, had been
+the only thing on earth M'Adam cared for. Certainly the two had
+been wondrously devoted; and for many a market-day the
+Dalesmen missed the shrill, chuckling cry which heralded the
+pair's approach: "Weel done, Cuttie Sark!"
+
+The little man felt his loss acutely, and, according to his wont,
+vented his ill-feeling on David and the Dalesmen. In return,
+Tammas, whose forte lay in invective and alliteration, called him
+behind his back, "A wenomous one!" and "A wiralent wiper!" to
+the applause of tinkling pewters.
+
+A shepherd without his dog is like a ship without a rudder, and
+M'Adam felt his loss practically as well as otherwise. Especially
+did he experience this on a day when he had to take a batch of
+draft-ewes over to Grammoch-town. To help him Jem Burton had
+lent the services of his herring-gutted, herring-hearted, greyhound
+lurcher, Monkey. But before they had well topped Braithwaite
+Brow, which leads from the village on to the marches, M'Adam
+was standing in the track with a rock in his hand, a smile on his
+face, and the tenderest blandishments in his voice as he coaxed the
+dog to him. But Master Monkey knew too much for that. However,
+after gamboling a while longer in the middle of the flock, a
+boulder, better aimed than its predecessors, smote him on the
+hinder parts and sent him back to the Sylvester Arms, with a sore
+tail and a subdued heart.
+
+For the rest, M'Adam would never have won over the
+sheep-infested marches alone with his convoy had it not been for
+the help of old Saunderson and Shep, who caught him on the way
+and aided him.
+
+It was in a very wrathful mood that on his way home he turned into
+the Dalesman's Daughter in Silverdale.
+
+The only occupants of the tap-room, as he entered, were Teddy
+Bolstock, the publican, Jim Mason, with the faithful Betsy beneath
+his chair and the post-bags flung into the corner, and one
+long-limbed, drover-like man--a stranger.
+
+"And he coom up to Mr. Moore," Teddy was saying, "and says he,
+'I'll gie ye twal' pun for yon gray dog o' yourn.' 'Ah,' says Moore,
+'yo' may gie me twal' hunner'd and yet you'll not get ma Bob.'--Eh,
+Jim?"
+
+"And he did thot," corroborated Jim. "'Twal' hunner'd,' says he."
+
+"James Moore and his dog agin" snapped M'Adam. "There's ithers
+in the warld for bye them twa."
+
+"Ay, but none like 'em," quoth loyal Jim.
+
+"Na, thanks be. Gin there were there'd be no room for Adam
+M'Adam in this 'melancholy vale.'"
+
+There was silence a moment, and then--:
+
+"You're wantin' a tyke, bain't you, Mr. M'Adam?" Jim asked.
+
+The little man hopped round all in a hurry.
+
+"What!" he cried in well-affected eagerness, scanning the yellow
+mongrel beneath the chair. "Betsy for sale! Guid life! Where's ma
+check-book?" Whereat Jim, most easily snubbed of men,
+collapsed.
+
+M'Adam took off his dripping coat and crossed the room to hang it
+on a chair-back. The stranger drover followed the meagre,
+shirt-clad figure with shifty eyes; then he buried his face in his
+mug.
+
+M'Adam reached out a hand for the chair; and as he did so, a bomb
+in yellow leapt out from beneath it, and, growling horribly,
+attacked his ankles.
+
+"Curse ye!" cried M'Adam, starting back.
+
+"Ye devil, let me alone!" Then turning fiercely on the drover,
+"Yours, mister?" he asked. The man nodded. "Then call him aff,
+can't ye? D--n ye!" At which Teddy Bolstock withdrew, sniggering;
+and Jim Mason slung the post-bags on to his shoulder and plunged
+out into the rain, the faithful Betsy following, disconsolate.
+
+The cause of the squall, having beaten off the attacking force, had
+withdrawn again beneath its chair. M'Adam stooped down, still
+cursing, his wet coat on his arm, and beheld a tiny yellow puppy,
+crouching defiant in the dark, and glaring out with fiery light eyes.
+Seeing itself remarked, it bared its little teeth, raised its little
+bristles, and growled a hideous menace.
+
+A sense of humor is many a man's salvation, and was M'Adam's
+one redeeming feature. The laughableness of the thing--this
+ferocious atomy defying him--struck home to the little man.
+Delighted at such a display of vice in so tender a plant, he fell to
+chuckling.
+
+"Ye leetle devil!" he laughed. "He! he! ye leetle devil!" and flipped
+together finger and thumb in vain endeavor to coax the puppy to
+him.
+
+But it growled, and glared more terribly.
+
+"Stop it, ye little snake, or I'll flatten you!" cried the big drover,
+and shuffled his feet threateningly. Whereat the puppy, gurgling
+like hot water in a kettle, made a feint as though to advance and
+wipe them out, these two bad men.
+
+M'Adam laughed again, and smote his leg.
+
+"Keep a ceevil tongue and yer distance," says he, "or I'll e'en ha' to
+mak' ye. Though he is but as big as a man's thumb, a dog's a dog
+for a' that--he! he! the leetle devil." And he fell to flipping finger
+and thumb afresh.
+
+"Ye're maybe wantin' a dog?" inquired the stranger. "Yer friend
+said as much."
+
+"Ma friend lied; it's his way," M'Adam replied.
+
+"I'm willin' to part wi' him," the other pursued.
+
+The little man yawned. "Weel, I'll tak' him to oblige ye," he said
+indifferently.
+
+The drover rose to his feet.
+
+"It's givin' 'im ye, fair givin' im ye, mind! But I'll do it!"--he
+smacked a great fist into a hollow palm. "Ye may have the dog for
+a pun'--I'll only ask _you_ a pun'," and he walked away to the
+window.
+
+M'Adam drew back, the better to scan his would-be benefactor; his
+lower jaw dropped, and he eyed the stranger with a drolly sarcastic
+air.
+
+"A poun', man! A pouxi'--for yon noble dorg!" he pointed a crooked
+forefinger at the little creature, whose scowling mask peered from
+beneath the chair. "Man, I couldna do it. Na, na; ma conscience wadna
+permit me. 'Twad be fair robbin' ye. Ah, ye Englishmen!" he spoke half
+to himself, and sadly, as if deploring the unhappy accident of his
+nationality; "it's yer grand, open-hairted generosity that grips a
+puir Scotsman by the throat. A poun'! and for yon!" He wagged his head
+mournfully, cocking it sideways the better to scan his subject.
+
+"Take him or leave him," ordered the drover truculently, still
+gazing out of the window.
+
+"Wi' yer permission I'll leave him," M'Adam answered meekly.
+
+"I'm short o' the ready," the big man pursued, "or I wouldna part
+with him. Could I bide me time there's many'd be glad to give me a
+tenner for one o' that bree--" he caught himself up hastily--"for a
+dog sic as that."
+
+"And yet ye offer him me for a poun'! Noble indeed!"
+
+Nevertheless the little man had pricked his ears at the other's slip
+and quick correction. Again he approached the puppy, dangling his
+coat before him to protect his ankles; and again that wee wild
+beast sprang out, seized the coat in its small jaw, and worried it
+savagely.
+
+M'Adam stooped quickly and picked up his tiny assailant; and the
+puppy, suspended by its neck, gurgled and slobbered; then,
+wriggling desperately round, made its teeth meet in its adversary's
+shirt. At which M'Adam shook it gently and laughed. Then he set
+to examining it.
+
+Apparently some six weeks old; a tawny coat, fiery eyes, a square
+head with small, cropped ears, and a comparatively immense jaw;
+the whole giving promise of great strength, if little beauty. And
+this effect was enhanced by the manner of its docking. For the
+miserable relic of a tail, yet raw, looked little more than a red
+button adhering to its wearer's stern.
+
+M'Adam's inspection was as minute as it was apparently absorbing;
+he omitted nothing from the square muzzle to the lozenge-like
+scut. And every now and then he threw a quick glance at the man
+at the window, who was watching the careful scrutiny a thought
+uneasily.
+
+"Ye've cut him short," he said at length, swinging round on the
+drover.
+
+"Ay; strengthens their backs," the big man answered with averted
+gaze.
+
+M'Adam's chin went up in the air; his mouth partly opened and his
+eyelids partly closed as he eyed his informant.
+
+"Oh, ay," he said.
+
+"Gie him back to me," ordered the drover surlily. He took the
+puppy and set it on the floor; whereupon it immediately resumed
+its former fortified position. "Ye're no buyer; I knoo that all along
+by that face on ye," he said in insulting tones.
+
+"Ye wad ha' bought him yerseif', nae doot?" M'Adam inquired
+blandly.
+
+"In course; if you says so."
+
+"Or airblins ye bred him?"
+
+"'Appen I did."
+
+"Ye'll no be from these parts?"
+
+"Will I no?" answered the other.
+
+A smile of genuine pleasure stole over M'Adam's face. He laid his
+hand on the other's arm.
+
+"Man," he said gently, "ye mind me o' hame." Then almost in the
+same breath: "Ye said ye found him?"
+
+It was the stranger's turn to laugh.
+
+"Ha! ha! Ye teekle me, little mon. Found 'im? Nay; I was give 'im
+by a friend. But there's nowt amiss wi' his breedin', ye may believe
+me."
+
+The great fellow advanced to the chair under which the puppy lay.
+It leapt out like a lion, and fastened on his huge boot.
+
+"A rare bred un, look 'ee! a rare game un. Ma word, he's a
+big-hearted un! Look at the back on him; see the jaws to him; mark
+the pluck of him!" He shook his booted foot fiercely, tossing his
+leg to and fro like a tree in a wind. But the little creature, now
+raised ceilingward, now dashed to the ground, held on with
+incomparable doggedness, till its small jaw was all bloody and
+muzzle wrinkled with the effort.
+
+"Ay, ay, that'll do," M'Adam interposed, irritably.
+
+The drover ceased his efforts.
+
+"Now, I'll mak' ye a last offer." He thrust his head down to a level
+with the other's, shooting out his neck. "It's throwin' him at ye,
+mind. 'Tain't buyin' him ye'll be--don't go for to deceive yourself.
+Ye may have him for fifteen shillin'. Why do I do it, ye ask? Why,
+'cos I think ye'll be kind to him," as the puppy retreated to its chair,
+leaving a spotted track of red along its route.
+
+"Ay, ye wadna be happy gin ye thocht he'd no a comfortable hame,
+conseederate man?" M'Adam answered, eyeing the dark track on
+the floor. Then he put on his coat.
+
+"Na, na, he's no for me. Weel, I'll no detain ye. Good-nicht to ye,
+mister!" and he made for the door.
+
+"A gran' worker he'll be," called the drover after him.
+
+"Ay; muckle wark he'll mak' amang the sheep wi' sic a jaw and sic
+a temper. Weel, I maun be steppin'. Good-nicht to ye."
+
+"Ye'll niver have sich anither chanst."
+
+"Nor niver wush to. Na, na; he'll never mak' a sheep-dog"; and the
+little man turned up the collar of his coat.
+
+"Will he not?" cried the other scornfully. "There niver yet was one
+o' that line--" he stopped abruptly.
+
+The little man spun round.
+
+"Iss?" he said, as innocent as any child; "ye were sayin'?"
+
+The other turned to the window and watched the rain falling
+monotonously.
+
+"Ye'll be wantin' wet," he said adroitly.
+
+"Ay, we could do wi' a drappin'. And he'll never mak' a sheep-dog."
+He shoved his cap down on his head. "Weel, good-nicht to ye!" and
+he stepped out into the rain.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was long after dark when the bargain was finally struck.
+
+Adam M'Adam's Red Wull became that little man's property for
+the following realizable assets: ninepence in cash--three coppers
+and a doubtful sixpence; a plug of suspicious tobacco in a
+well-worn pouch; and an old watch.
+
+"It's clean givin' 'im ye," said the stranger bitterly, at the end of
+the deal.
+
+"It's mair the charity than aught else mak's me sae leeberal," the
+other answered gently. "I wad not like to see ye pinched."
+
+"Thank ye kindly," the big man replied with some acerbity, and
+plunged out into the darkness and rain. Nor was that long-limbed
+drover-man ever again seen in the countryside. And the puppy's
+previous history--whether he was honestly come by or no,
+whether he was, indeed, of the famous Red McCulloch* strain,
+ever remained a mystery in the Daleland.
+
+*N. B.--You may know a Red McCulloch anywhere by the ring of
+white upon his tail some two inches from the root.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter IV.  FIRST BLOOD
+
+
+AFTER that first encounter in the Dalesman's Daughter, Red
+Wull, for so M'Adam called him, resigned himself complacently to
+his lot; recognizing, perhaps, his destiny.
+
+Thenceforward the sour little man and the vicious puppy grew, as
+it were, together. The two were never apart. Where M'Adam was,
+there was sure to be his tiny attendant, bristling defiance as he kept
+ludicrous guard over his master.
+
+The little man and his dog were inseparable. M'Adam never left
+him even at the Grange.
+
+"I couldna trust ma Wullie at hame alone wi' the dear lad," was his
+explanation. "I ken weel I'd come back to find a wee corpse on the
+floor, and David singin':
+
+'My heart is sair, I daur na tell,
+My heart is sair for somebody.'
+
+Ay, and he'd be sair elsewhere by the time I'd done wi' him--he!
+he!"
+
+The sneer at David's expense was as characteristic as it was unjust.
+For though the puppy and the boy were already sworn enemies, yet
+the lad would have scorned to harm so small a foe. And many a
+tale did David tell at Kenmuir of Red Wull's viciousness, of his
+hatred of him (David), and his devotion to his master; how,
+whether immersed in the pig-bucket or chasing the fleeting rabbit,
+he would desist at once, and bundle, panting, up at his master's
+call; how he routed the tomcat and drove him from the kitchen;
+and how he clambered on to David's bed and pinned him
+murderously by the nose.
+
+Of late the relations between M'Adam and James Moore had been
+unusually strained. Though they were neighbors, communications
+between the two were of the rarest; and it was for the first time for
+many a long day that, on an afternoon shortly after Red Wull had
+come into his possession, M'Adam entered the yard of Kenmuir,
+bent on girding at the master for an alleged trespass at the Stony
+Bottom.
+
+"Wi' yer permission, Mr. Moore," said the little man, "I'll wheestle
+ma dog," and, turning, he whistled a shrill, peculiar note like the
+cry of a disturbed peewit.
+
+Straightway there came scurrying desperately up, ears back, head
+down, tongue out, as if the world depended on his speed, a little
+tawny beetle of a thing, who placed his forepaws against his
+master's ankles and looked up into his face; then, catching sight of
+the strangers, hurriedly he took up his position between them and
+M'Adam, assuming his natural attitude of grisly defiance. Such a
+laughable spectacle he made, that martial mite, standing at bay
+with bristles up and teeth bared, that even James Moore smiled.
+
+"Ma word! Ha' yo' brought his muzzle, man?" cried old Tammas,
+the humorist; and, turning, climbed all in a heat on to an upturned
+bucket that stood by. Whereat the puppy, emboldened by his foe's
+retreat, advanced savagely to the attack, buzzing round the slippery
+pail like a wasp on a windowpane, in a vain attempt to reach the old
+man.
+
+Tammas stood on the top, hitching his trousers and looking down
+on his assailant, the picture of mortal fear.
+
+"'Elp! Oh, 'elp!" he bawled. "Send for the sogers! Fetch the p'lice!
+For lawk-amussy's sake call him off, man!" Even Sam'l Todd,
+watching the scene from the cart-shed, was tickled and burst into a
+loud guffaw, heartily backed by 'Enry and oor Job. While M'Adam
+remarked: "Ye're fitter for a stage than a stable-bucket, Mr.
+Thornton."
+
+"How didst come by him?" asked Tammas, nodding at the puppy.
+
+"Found him," the little man replied, sucking his twig. "Found him
+in ma stockin' on ma birthday. A present from ma leetle David for
+his auld dad, I doot."
+
+"So do I," said Tammas, and was seized with sudden spasm of
+seemingly causeless merriment. For looking up as M'Adam was
+speaking, he had caught a glimpse of a boy's fair head, peering
+cautiously round the cow-shed, and, behind, the flutter of short
+petticoats. They disappeared as silently as they had come; and
+two small figures, just returned from school, glided away and
+sought shelter in the friendly darkness of a coal-hole.
+
+"Coom awa', Maggie, coom awa'! 'Tis th' owd un, 'isself,"
+whispered a disrespectful voice.
+
+M'Adam looked round suspiciously.
+
+"What's that?" he asked sharply.
+
+At the moment, however, Mrs. Moore put her head out of the
+kitchen window.
+
+"Coom thy ways in, Mister M'Adam, and tak' a soop o' tea," she
+called hospitably.
+
+"Thank ye kindly, Mrs. Moore, I will," he answered, politely for
+him. And this one good thing must be allowed of Adam M'Adam:
+that, if there was only one woman of whom he was ever known to
+speak well, there was also only one, in the whole course of his life,
+against whom he ever insinuated evil--and that was years
+afterward, when men said his brain was sapped. Flouts and jeers he
+had for every man, but a woman, good or bad, was sacred to him.
+For the sex that had given him his mother and his wife he had that
+sentiment of tender reverence which, if a man still preserve, he
+cannot be altogether bad. As he turned into the house he looked
+back at Red Wull.
+
+"Ay, we may leave him," he said. "That is, gin ye're no afraid, Mr.
+Thornton?"
+
+Of what happened while the men were within doors, it is enough
+to tell two things. First, that Owd Bob was no bully. Second, this:
+In the code of sheep-dog honor there is written a word in stark
+black letters; and opposite it another word, writ large in the color
+of blood. The first is "Sheep-murder"; the second, "Death." It is the
+one crime only to be wiped away in blood; and to accuse of the
+crime is to offer the one unpardonable insult. Every sheep-dog
+knows it, and every shepherd.
+
+That afternoon, as the men still talked, the quiet echoes of the farm
+rung with a furious animal cry, twice repeated: "Shot for
+sheep-murder"--"Shot for sheep-murder"; followed by a hollow
+stillness.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The two men finished their colloquy. The matter was concluded
+peacefully, mainly owing to the pacifying influence of Mrs.
+Moore. Together the three went out into the yard; Mrs. Moore
+seizing the opportunity to shyly speak on David's behalf.
+
+"He's such a good little lad, I do think," she was saying.
+
+"Ye should ken, Mrs. Moore," the little man answered, a thought
+bitterly; "ye see enough of him."
+
+"Yo' mun be main proud of un, mester," the woman continued,
+heedless of the sneer: "an' 'im growin' such a gradely lad."
+
+M'Adam shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"I barely ken the lad," he said. "By sight I know him, of course, but
+barely to speak to. He's but seldom at hame."
+
+"An' hoo proud his mother'd be if she could see him," the woman
+continued, well aware of his one tender place. "Eh, but she was
+fond o' him, so she was."
+
+An angry flush stole over the little man's face. Well he understood
+the implied rebuke; and it hurt him like a knife.
+
+"Ay, ay, Mrs. Moore," he began. Then breaking off, and looking
+about him--"Where's ma Wullie?" he cried excitedly. "James
+Moore!" whipping round on the Master, "ma Wullie's gone--gone, I
+say!"
+
+Elizabeth Moore turned away indignantly. "I do declar' he tak's
+more fash after yon little yaller beastie than iver he does after his
+own flesh," she muttered.
+
+"Wullie, ma we doggie! Wullie, where are ye? James Moore, he's
+gone--ma Wullie's gone!" cried the little man, running about the
+yard, searching everywhere.
+
+"Cannot 'a' gotten far," said the Master, reassuringly, looking about
+him.
+
+"Niver no tellin'," said Sam'l, appearing on the scene, pig-bucket in
+hand. "I misdoot yo'll iver see your dog agin, mister." He turned
+sorrowfully to M'Adam.
+
+That little man, all dishevelled, and with the perspiration standing
+on his face, came hurrying out of the cow-shed and danced up to
+the Master.
+
+"It's robbed I am--robbed, I tell ye!" he cried recklessly. "Ma wee
+Wull's bin stolen while I was ben your hoose, James Moore!"
+
+"Yo' munna say that, ma mon. No robbin' at Kenmuir," the Master
+answered sternly.
+
+"Then where is he? It's for you to say."
+
+"I've ma own idee, I 'aye," Sam'l announced opportunely,
+pig-bucket uplifted.
+
+M'Adam turned on him.
+
+"What, man? What is it?"
+
+"I misdoot yo'll iver see your dog agin, mister," Sam'l repeated, as
+if he was supplying the key to the mystery.
+
+"Noo, Sam'l, if yo' know owt tell it," ordered his master.
+
+Sam'l grunted sulkily.
+
+"Wheer's oor Bob, then?" he asked.
+
+At that M'Adam turned on the Master.
+
+"'Tis that, nae doot. It's yer gray dog, James Moore, yer ---- dog. I
+might ha' kent it,"--and he loosed off a volley of foul words.
+
+"Sweerin' will no find him," said the Master coldly. "Noo, Sam'l."
+
+The big man shifted his feet, and looked mournfully at M'Adam.
+
+"'Twas 'appen 'aif an hour agone, when I sees oor Bob goin' oot o'
+yard wi' little yaller tyke in his mouth. In a minnit I looks agin--
+and theer! little yaller 'un was gone, and oor Bob a-sittin' a-lickin'
+his chops. Gone foriver, I do reck'n. Ah, yo' may well take on,
+Tammas Thornton!" For the old man was rolling about the yard,
+bent double with merriment.
+
+M'Adam turned on the Master with the resignation of despair.
+
+"Man, Moore," he cried piteously, "it's yer gray dog has murdered
+ma wee Wull! Ye have it from yer ain man."
+
+"Nonsense," said the Master encouragingly. "'Tis but yon girt oof."
+
+Sam'l tossed his head and snorted.
+
+"Coom, then, and i'll show yo'," he said, and led the way out of the
+yard. And there below them on the slope to the stream, sitting like
+Justice at the Courts of Law, was Owd Bob.
+
+Straightway Sam'l whose humor was something of the calibre of old
+Ross's, the sexton, burst into horse-merriment. "Why's he sittin' so
+still, think 'ee? Ho! Ho! See un lickin' his chops--ha! ha!"--and he
+roared afresh. While from afar you could hear the distant rumbling of
+'Enry and oor Job.
+
+At the sight, M'Adam burst into a storm of passionate invective,
+and would have rushed on the dog had not James Moore forcibly
+restrained him.
+
+"Bob, lad," called the Master, "coom here!"
+
+But even as he spoke, the gray dog cocked his ears, listened a moment,
+and then shot down the slope. At the same moment Tammas hallooed:
+"Theer he be! yon's yaller un coomin' oot o' drain! La, Sam'l!" And
+there, indeed, on the slope below them, a little angry, smutty-faced
+figure was crawling out of a rabbit-burrow.
+
+"Ye murderin' devil, wad ye duar touch ma Wullie?" yelled
+M'Adam, and, breaking away, pursued hotly down the hill; for the
+gray dog had picked up the puppy, like a lancer a tent-peg, and was
+sweeping on, his captive in his mouth, toward the stream.
+
+Behind, hurried James Moore and Sam'l, wondering what the issue
+of the comedy would be. After them toddled old Tammas,
+chuckling. While over the yard-wall was now a little cluster of
+heads: 'Enry, oor Job, Maggie and David, and Vi'let Thornton, the
+dairy-maid.
+
+Straight on to the plank-bridge galloped Owd Bob. In the middle
+he halted, leant over, and dropped his prisoner; who fell with a
+cool plop into the running water beneath.
+
+Another moment and M'Adam had reached the bank of the stream.
+In he plunged, splashing and cursing, and seized the struggling
+puppy; then waded back, the waters surging about his waist, and
+Red Wull, limp as a wet rag, in his hand. The little man's hair was
+dripping, for his cap was gone; his clothes clung to him, exposing
+the miserableness of his figure; and his eyes blazed like hot ashes
+in his wet face.
+
+He sprang on to the bank, and, beside himself with passion, rushed
+at Owd Bob.
+
+"Curse ye for a ----"
+
+"Stan' back, or yo'll have him at your throat!" shouted the Master,
+thundering up. "Stan' back, I say, yo' fule!" And, as the little man
+still came madly on, he reached forth his hand and hurled him
+back; at the same moment, bending, he buried the other hand deep
+in Owd Bob's shaggy neck. It was but just in time; for if ever the
+fierce desire of battle gleamed in gray eyes, it did in the young
+dog's as M'Adam came down on him.
+
+The little man staggered, tottered, and fell heavily. At the shock,
+the blood gushed from his nose, and, mixing with the water on his
+face, ran down in vague red streams, dripping off his chin; while
+Red Wull, jerked from his grasp, was thrown afar, and lay
+motionless.
+
+"Curse ye!" M'Adam screamed, his face dead-white save for the
+running red about his jaw. "Curse ye for a cowardly Englishman!"
+and, struggling to his feet, he made at the Master.
+
+But Sam'l interposed his great bulk between the two.
+
+"Easy, little mon," he said leisurely, regarding the small fury
+before him with mournful interest. "Eh, but thee do be a little
+spit-cat, surely!"
+
+James Moore stood, breathing deep, his hand still buried in Owd
+Bob's coat.
+
+"If yo'd touched him," he explained, "I couldna ha' stopped him.
+He'd ha' mauled yo' afore iver I could ha' had him off. They're bad
+to hold, the Gray Dogs, when they're roosed."
+
+"Ay, ma word, that they are!" corroborated Tammas, speaking
+from the experience of sixty years. "Once on, yo' canna get 'em
+off."
+
+The little man turned away.
+
+"Ye're all agin me," he said, and his voice shook. A pitiful figure
+he made, standing there with the water dripping from him. A red
+stream was running slowly from his chin; his head was bare, and
+face working.
+
+James Moore stood eyeing him with some pity and some
+contempt. Behind was Tammas, enjoying the scene. While Sam'l
+regarded them all with an impassive melancholy.
+
+M'Adam turned and bent over Red Wull, who still lay like a dead
+thing. As his master handled him, the button-tail quivered feebly;
+he opened his eyes, looked about him, snarled faintly, and glared
+with devilish hate at the gray dog and the group with him.
+
+The little man picked him up, stroking him tenderly. Then he
+turned away and on to the bridge. Half-way across he stopped. It
+rattled feverishly beneath him, for he still trembled like a palsied
+man.
+
+"Man, Moore!" he called, striving to quell the agitation in his
+voice--"I wad shoot yon dog."
+
+Across the bridge he turned again. "Man, Moore!" he called and
+paused. "Ye'll not forget this day." And with that the blood flared up
+a dull crimson into his white face.
+
+
+
+
+PART II  THE LITTLE MAN
+
+
+
+
+Chapter V.  A MAN'S SON
+
+
+THE storm, long threatened, having once burst, M'Adam allowed
+loose rein to his bitter animosity against James Moore.
+
+The two often met. For the little man frequently returned home
+from the village by the footpath across Kenmuir. It was out of his
+way, but he preferred it in order to annoy his enemy and keep a
+watch upon his doings.
+
+He haunted Kenmuir like its evil genius. His sallow face was
+perpetually turning up at inopportune moments. When Kenmuir
+Queen, the prize short-horn heifer, calved unexpectedly and
+unattended in the dip by the lane, Tammas and the Master,
+summoned hurriedly by Owd Bob, came running up to find the
+little man leaning against the stile, and shaking with silent
+merriment. Again, poor old Staggy, daring still in his dotage, took
+a fall while scrambling on the steep banks of the Stony Bottom.
+There he lay for hours, unnoticed and kicking, until James Moore
+and Owd Bob came upon him at length, nearly exhausted. But
+M'Adam was before them. Standing on the far bank with Red Wull
+by his side, he called across the gulf with apparent concern: "He's
+bin so sin' yesternight." Often James Moore, with all his great
+strength of character, could barely control himself.
+
+There were two attempts to patch up the feud. Jim Mason, who
+went about the world seeking to do good, tried in his shy way to
+set things right. But M'Adam and his Red Wull between them soon
+shut him and Betsy up.
+
+"You mind yer letters and yer wires, Mr. Poacher-Postman. Ay, I
+saw 'em baith: th' ain doon by the Haughs, t'ither in the Bottom.
+And there's Wullie, the humorsome chiel, havin' a rare game wi'
+Betsy." There, indeed, lay the faithful Betsy, suppliant on her back,
+paws up, throat exposed, while Red Wull, now a great-grown
+puppy, stood over her, his habitually evil expression intensified
+into a fiendish grin, as with wrinkled muzzle and savage wheeze
+he waited for a movement as a pretext to pin: "Wullie, let the leddy
+be--ye've had yer dinner."
+
+Parson Leggy was the other would-be mediator; for he hated to see
+the two principal parishioners of his tiny cure at enmity. First he
+tackled James Moore on the subject; but that laconic person cut
+him short with, "I've nowt agin the little mon," and would say no
+more. And, indeed, the quarrel was none of his making.
+
+Of the parson's interview with M'Adam, it is enough to say here
+that, in the end, the angry old minister would of a surety have
+assaulted his mocking adversary had not Cyril Gilbraith forcibly
+withheld him.
+
+And after that the vendetta must take its course unchecked.
+
+David was now the only link between the two farms. Despite his
+father's angry commands, the boy clung to his intimacy with the
+Moores with a doggedness that no thrashing could overcome. Not
+a minute of the day when out of school, holidays and Sundays
+included, but was passed at Kenmuir. It was not till late at night
+that he would sneak back to the Grange, and creep quietly up to his
+tiny bare room in the roof--not supperless, indeed, motherly Mrs.
+Moore had seen to that. And there he would lie awake and listen
+with a fierce contempt as his father, hours later, lurched into the
+kitchen below, lilting liquorishly:
+
+"We are na fou, we're nae that fou,
+But just a drappie in our e'e;
+The cock may craw, the day may daw',
+And ay we'll taste the barley bree!"
+
+And in the morning the boy would slip quietly out of the house
+while his father still slept; only Red Wull would thrust out his
+savage head as the lad passed, and snarl hungrily.
+
+Sometimes father and son would go thus for weeks without sight
+of one another. And that was David's aim--to escape attention. It
+was only his cunning at this game of evasion that saved him a
+thrashing.
+
+The little man seemed devoid of all natural affection for his son.
+He lavished the whole fondness of which his small nature
+appeared capable on the Tailless Tyke, for so the Dalesmen called
+Red Wull. And the dog he treated with a careful tenderness that
+made David smile bitterly.
+
+The little man and his dog were as alike morally as physically they
+were contrasted. Each owed a grudge against the world and was
+determined to pay it. Each was an Ishmael among his kind.
+
+You saw them thus, standing apart, leper-like, in the turmoil of
+life; and it came quite as a revelation to happen upon them in some
+quiet spot of nights, playing together, each wrapped in the game,
+innocent, tender, forgetful of the hostile world.
+
+The two were never separated except only when M'Adam came
+home by the path across Kenmuir. After that first misadventure he
+never allowed his friend to accompany him on the journey through
+the enemy's country; for well he knew that sheep-dogs have long
+memories.
+
+To the stile in the lane, then, Red Wull would follow him. There
+he would stand, his great head poked through the bars, watching
+his master out of sight; and then would turn and trot, self-reliant
+and defiant, sturdy and surly, down the very centre of the road
+through the village--no playing, no enticing away, and woe to that
+man or dog who tried to stay him in his course! And so on, past
+Mother Ross's shop, past the Sylvester Arms, to the right by
+Kirby's smithy, over the Wastrel by the Haughs, to await his master
+at the edge of the Stony Bottom.
+
+The little man, when thus crossing Kenmuir, often met Owd Bob,
+who had the free run of the farm. On these occasions he passed
+discreetly by; for, though he was no coward, yet it is bad,
+single-handed, to attack a Gray Dog of Kenmuir; while the dog
+trotted soberly on his way, only a steely glint in the big gray eyes
+betraying his knowledge of the presence of his foe. As surely,
+however, as the little man, in his desire to spy out the nakedness of
+the land, strayed off the public path, so surely a gray figure,
+seeming to spring from out the blue, would come fiercely, silently
+driving down on him; and he would turn and run for his life, amid
+the uproarious jeers of any of the farm-hands who were witness to
+the encounter.
+
+On these occasions David vied with Tammas in facetiousness at
+his father's expense.
+
+"Good on yo', little un!" he roared from behind a wall, on one such
+occurrence.
+
+"Bain't he a runner, neither?" yelled Tammas, not to be outdone.
+
+"See un skip it--ho! ho! Look to his knees a-wamblin'! from the
+undutiful son in ecstasy. "An' I'd knees like yon, I'd wear
+petticoats." As he spoke, a swinging box on the ear nearly
+knocked the young reprobate down.
+
+"D'yo' think God gave you a dad for you to jeer at? Y'ought to be
+ashamed o' yo'self. Serve yo' right if he does thrash yo' when yo' get
+home." And David, turning round, found James Moore close
+behind him, his heavy eyebrows lowering over his eyes.
+
+Luckily, M'Adam had not distinguished his son's voice among the
+others. But David feared he had; for on the following morning the
+little man said to him:
+
+"David, ye'll come hame immediately after school to-day."
+
+"Will I?" said David pertly.
+
+''Ye will.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because I tell ye to, ma lad"; and that was all the reason he would
+give. Had  he told the simple fact that he wanted help to drench a
+"husking" ewe, things might have gone differently. As it was,
+David turned away defiantly down the hill.
+
+The afternoon wore on. Schooltime was long over; still there was
+no David.
+
+The little man waited at the door of the Grange, fuming, hopping
+from one leg to the other, talking to Red Wull, who lay at his feet,
+his head on his paws, like a tiger waiting for his prey.
+
+At length he could restrain himself no longer; and started running
+down the hill, his heart burning with indignation.
+
+"Wait till we lay hands on ye, ma lad," he muttered as he ran.
+"We'll warm ye, we'll teach ye."
+
+At the edge of the Stony Bottom he, as always, left Red Wull.
+Crossing it himself, and rounding Langholm How, he espied James
+Moore, David, and Owd Bob walking away from him and in the
+direction of Kenmuir. The gray dog and David were playing
+together, wrestling, racing, and rolling. The boy had never a
+thought for his father.
+
+The little man ran up behind them, unseen and unheard, his feet
+softly pattering on the grass. His hand had fallen on David's
+shoulder before the boy had guessed his approach.
+
+"Did I bid ye come hame after school, David?" he asked,
+concealing his heat beneath a suspicious suavity.
+
+"Maybe. Did I say I would come?"
+
+The pertness of tone and words, alike, fanned his father's
+resentment into a blaze. In a burst of passion he lunged forward at
+the boy with his stick. But as he smote, a gray whirlwind struck
+him fair on the chest, and he fell like a snapped stake, and lay, half
+stunned, with a dark muzzle an inch from his throat.
+
+"Git back, Bob!" shouted James Moore, hurrying up. "Git back, I
+tell yo'!" He bent over the prostrate figure, propping it up
+anxiously.
+
+"Are yo' hurt, M'Adam? Eh, but I am sorry. He thought yo' were going
+for to strike the lad."
+
+David had now run up, and he, too, bent over his father with a very
+scared face.
+
+"Are yo' hurt, feyther?" he asked, his voice trembling.
+
+The little man rose unsteadily to his feet and shook off his
+supporters. His face was twitching, and he stood, all dust-begrimed,
+looking at his son.
+
+"Ye're content, aiblins, noo ye've seen yer father's gray head bowed in
+the dust," he said.
+
+"'Twas an accident," pleaded James Moore. "But I _am_ sorry. He
+thought yo' were goin' to beat the lad."
+
+"So I was--so I will."
+
+"If ony's beat it should be ma Bob here tho' he nob'but thought he was
+doin' right. An' yo' were aff the path."
+
+The little man looked at his enemy, a sneer on his face.
+
+"Ye canna thrash him for doin' what ye bid him. Set yer dog on me, if
+ye will, but dinna beat him when he does yer biddin'!"
+
+"I did not set him on yo', as you know," the Master replied warmly.
+
+M'Adam shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"I'll no argie wi' ye, James Moore," he said. "I'll leave you and what
+ye call yer conscience to settle that. My business is not wi'
+you.--David!" turning to his son.
+
+A stranger might well have mistaken the identity of the boy's
+father. For he stood now, holding the Master's arm; while a few
+paces above them was the little man, pale but determined, the
+expression on his face betraying his consciousness of the irony of
+the situation.
+
+"Will ye come hame wi' me and have it noo, or stop wi' him and
+wait till ye get it?" he asked the boy.
+
+"M'Adam, I'd like yo' to--"
+
+"None o' that, James Moore.--David, what d'ye say?"
+
+David looked up into his protector's face.
+
+"Yo'd best go wi' your feyther, lad," said the Master at last,
+thickly. The boy hesitated, and clung tighter to the shielding arm;
+then he walked slowly over to his father.
+
+A bitter smile spread over the little man's face as he marked this
+new test of the boy's obedience to the other.
+
+"To obey his frien' he foregoes the pleasure o' disobeyin' his
+father," he muttered. "Noble!" Then he turned homeward, and the
+boy followed in his footsteps.
+
+James Moore and the gray dog stood looking after them.
+
+"I know yo'll not pay off yer spite agin me on the lad's head,
+M'Adam," he called, almost appealingly.
+
+"I'll do ma duty, thank ye, James Moore, wi'oot respect o' persons,"
+the little man cried back, never turning.
+
+Father and son walked away, one behind the other, like a man and
+his dog, and there was no word said between them. Across the
+Stony Bottom, Red Wull, scowling with bared teeth at David,
+joined them. Together the three went up the bill to the Grange.
+
+In the kitchen M'Adam turned.
+
+"Noo, I'm gaein' to gie ye the gran'est thrashin' ye iver dreamed of.
+Tak' aff yer coat!"
+
+The boy obeyed, and stood up in his thin shirt, his face white and
+set as a statue's. Red Wull seated himself on his haunches close by,
+his ears pricked, licking his lips, all attention.
+
+The little man suppled the great ash-plant in his hands and raised
+it. But the expression on the boy's face arrested his arm.
+
+"Say ye're sorry and I'll let yer aff easy."
+
+"I'll not."
+
+"One mair chance--yer last! Say yer 'shamed o' yerself'!"
+
+"I'm not."
+
+The little man brandished his cruel, white weapon, and Red Wull
+shifted a little to obtain a better view.
+
+"Git on wi' it," ordered David angrily.
+
+The little man raised the stick again and--threw it into the farthest
+corner of the room.
+
+It fell with a rattle on the floor, and M'Adam turned away.
+
+"Ye're the pitifulest son iver a man had," he cried brokenly. "Gin a
+man's son dinna haud to him, wha can he expect to?--no one. Ye're
+ondootiful, ye're disrespectfu', ye're maist ilka thing ye shouldna
+be; there's but ae thing I thocht ye were not--a coward. And as to
+that, ye've no the pluck to say ye're sorry when, God knows, ye
+might be. I canna thrash ye this day. But ye shall gae nae mair to
+school. I send ye there to learn. Ye'll not learn--ye've learnt
+naethin' except disobedience to me--ye shall stop at hame and
+work."
+
+His father's rare emotion, his broken voice and working face,
+moved David as all the stripes and jeers had failed to do. His
+conscience smote him. For the first time in his life it dimly dawned
+on him that, perhaps, his father, too, had some ground for
+complaint; that, perhaps, he was not a good son.
+
+He half turned.
+
+"Feyther--"
+
+"Git oot o' ma sight!" M'Adam cried.
+
+And the boy turned and went.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter VI. A LICKING OR A LIE
+
+
+THENCEFORWARD David buckled down to work at home, and
+in one point only father and son resembled--industry. A drunkard
+M'Adam was, but a drone, no.
+
+The boy worked at the Grange with tireless, indomitable energy;
+yet he could never satisfy his father.
+
+The little man would stand, a sneer on his face and his thin lips
+contemptuously curled, and flout the lad's brave labors.
+
+"Is he no a gran' worker, Wullie? 'Tis a pleasure to watch him, his
+hands in his pockets, his eyes turned heavenward!" as the boy
+snatched a hard-earned moment's rest. "You and I, Wullie, we'll
+brak' oorsel's slavin' for him while he looks on and laffs."
+
+And so on, the whole day through, week in, week out; till he
+sickened with weariness of it all.
+
+In his darkest hours David thought sometimes to run away. He was
+miserably alone on the cold bosom of the world. The very fact that
+he was the son of his father isolated him in the Daleland. Naturally
+of a reserved disposition, he had no single friend outside Kenmuir.
+And it was only the thought of his friends there that withheld him.
+He could not bring himself to part from them; they were all he had
+in the world.
+
+So he worked on at the Grange, miserably, doggedly, taking blows
+and abuse alike in burning silence. But every evening, when work
+was ended, he stepped off to his other home beyond the Stony
+Bottom. And on Sundays and holidays--for of these latter he took,
+unasking, what he knew to be his due--all day long, from
+cock-crowing to the going down of the sun, he would pass at
+Kenmuir. In this one matter the boy was invincibly stubborn.
+Nothing his father could say or do sufficed to break him of the
+habit. He endured everything with white-lipped, silent
+doggedness, and still held on his way.
+
+Once past the Stony Bottom, he threw his troubles behind him
+with a courage that did him honor. Of all the people at Kenmuir
+two only ever dreamed the whole depth of his unhappiness, and
+that not through David. James Moore suspected something of it all,
+for he knew more of M'Adam than did the others. While Owd Bob
+knew it as did no one else. He could tell it from the touch of the
+boy's hand on his head; and the story was writ large upon his face
+for a dog to read. And he would follow the lad about with a
+compassion in his sad gray eyes greater than words.
+
+David might well compare his gray friend at Kenmuir with that
+other at the Grange.
+
+The Tailless Tyke had now grown into an immense dog, heavy of
+muscle and huge of bone. A great bull head; undershot jaw, square
+and lengthy and terrible; vicious, yellow-gleaming eyes; cropped
+ears; and an expression incomparably savage. His coat was a
+tawny, lion-like yellow, short, harsh, dense; and his back, running
+up from shoulder to loins, ended abruptly in the knob-like tail. He
+looked like the devil of a dogs' hell. And his reputation was as bad
+as his looks. He never attacked unprovoked; but a challenge was
+never ignored, and he was greedy of insults. Already he had nigh
+killed Rob Saunderson's collie, Shep; Jem Burton's Monkey fled
+incontinently at the sound of his approach; while he had even
+fought a round with that redoubtable trio, the Vexer, Venus, and
+Van Tromp.
+
+Nor, in the matter of war, did he confine himself to his own kind.
+His huge strength and indomitable courage made him the match of
+almost anything that moved. Long Kirby once threatened him with
+a broomstick; the smith never did it again. While in the Border
+Ram he attacked Big Bell, the Squire's underkeeper, with such
+murderous fury that it took all the men in the room to pull him off.
+
+More than once had he and Owd Bob essayed to wipe out mutual
+memories, Red Wull, in this case only, the aggressor. As yet,
+however, while they fenced a moment for that deadly throat-grip,
+the value of which each knew so well, James Moore had always
+seized the chance to intervene.
+
+"That's right, hide him ahint yer petticoats," sneered M'Adam on
+one of these occasions.
+
+"Hide? It'll not be him I'll hide, I warn you, M'Adam," the Master
+answered grimly, as he stood, twirling his good oak stick between
+the would-be duellists. Whereat there was a loud laugh at the little
+man's expense.
+
+It seemed as if there were to be other points of rivalry between the
+two than memories. For, in the matter of his own business--the
+handling of sheep--Red Wull bid fair to be second only throughout
+the Daleland to the Gray Dog of Kenmuir. And M'Adam was
+patient and painstaking in the training of his Wullie in a manner to
+astonish David. It would have been touching, had it not been so
+unnatural in view of his treatment of his own blood, to watch the
+tender carefulness with which the little man moulded the dog
+beneath his hands. After a promising display he would stand,
+rubbing his palms together, as near content as ever he was.
+
+"Weel done, Wullie! Weel done. Bide a wee and we'll show 'em a
+thing or two, you and I, Wullie.
+
+"'The warld's wrack we share o't,
+The warstle and the care o't.'
+
+For it's you and I alane, lad."  And the dog would trot up to him,
+place his great forepaws on his shoulders, and stand thus with his
+great head overtopping his master's, his ears back, and stump tail
+vibrating.
+
+You saw them at their best when thus together, displaying each his
+one soft side to the other.
+
+From the very first David and Red Wull were open enemies: under
+the circumstances, indeed, nothing else was possible. Sometimes
+the great dog would follow on the lad's heels with surly, greedy
+eyes, never leaving him from sunrise to sundown, till David could
+hardly hold his hands.
+
+So matters went on for a never-ending year. Then there came a
+climax.
+
+One evening, on a day throughout which Red Wull had dogged
+him thus hungrily, David, his work finished, went to pick up his
+coat, which he had left hard by. On it lay Red Wull.
+
+"Git off ma coat!" the boy ordered angrily, marching up. But the
+great dog never stirred: he lifted a lip to show a fence of white,
+even teeth, and seemed to sink lower in the ground; his head on
+his paws, his eyes in his forehead.
+
+"Come and take it!" he seemed to say.
+
+Now what, between master and dog, David had endured almost
+more than he could bear that day.
+
+"Yo' won't, won't yo', girt brute!" he shouted, and bending,
+snatched a corner of the coat and attempted to jerk it away. At that,
+Red Wull rose, shivering, to his feet, and with a low gurgle sprang
+at the boy.
+
+David, quick as a flash, dodged, bent, and picked up an ugly stake,
+lying at his feet. Swinging round, all in a moment, he dealt his
+antagonist a mighty buffet on the side of the head. Dazed with the
+blow, the great dog fell; then, recovering himself, with a terrible,
+deep roar he sprang again. Then it must have gone hard with the
+boy, fine-grown, muscular young giant though he was. For Red
+Wull was now in the first bloom of that great strength which
+earned him afterward an undying notoriety in the land.
+
+As it chanced, however, M'Adam had watched the scene from the
+kitchen. And now he came hurrying out of the house, shrieking
+commands and curses at the combatants. As Red Wull sprang, he
+interposed between the two, head back and eyes flashing. His
+small person received the full shock of the charge. He staggered,
+but recovered, and in an imperative voice ordered the dog to heel.
+
+Then he turned on David, seized the stake from his hand, and
+began furiously belaboring the boy.
+
+"I'll teach ye to strike--a puir--dumb--harmless--creetur, ye--cruel--
+cruel---lad!" he cried. "Hoo daur ye strike--ma----Wullie? yer--
+father's----Wullie? Adam--M 'Adam's--Red Wull?" He was panting
+from his exertions, and his eyes were blazing. "I pit up as best I
+can wi' all manner o' disrespect to masel'; but when it comes to
+takin' ma puir Wullie, I canna thole it. Ha' ye no heart?" he asked,
+unconscious of the irony of the question.
+
+"As much as some, I reck'n," David muttered.
+
+"Eh, what's that? What d'ye say?"
+
+"Ye may thrash me till ye're blind; and it's nob'but yer duty; but if
+only one daurs so much as to look at yer Wullie ye're mad," the
+boy answered bitterly. And with that he turned away defiantly and
+openly in the direction of Kenmuir.
+
+M'Adam made a step forward, and then stopped.
+
+"I'll see ye agin, ma lad, this evenin'," he cried with cruel
+significance.
+
+"I doot but yo'll be too drunk to see owt--except, 'appen, your
+bottle," the boy shouted back; and swaggered down the hill.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At Kenmuir that night the marked and particular kindness of
+Elizabeth Moore was too much for the overstrung lad. Overcome
+by the contrast of her sweet motherliness, he burst into a storm of
+invective against his father, his home, his life--everything.
+
+"Don't 'ee, Davie, don't 'ee, dearie!" cried Mrs. Moore, much
+distressed. And taking him to her she talked to the great, sobbing
+boy as though he were a child. At length he lifted his face and
+looked up; and, seeing the white, wan countenance of his dear
+comforter, was struck with tender remorse that he had given way
+and pained her, who looked so frail and thin herself.
+
+He mastered himself with an effort; and, for the rest of the
+evening, was his usual cheery self. He teased Maggie into tears;
+chaffed stolid little Andrew; and bantered Sam'l Todd until that
+generally impassive man threatened to bash his snout for him.
+
+Yet it was with a great swallowing at his throat that, later, he
+turned down the slope for home.
+
+James Moore and Parson Leggy accompanied him to the bridge
+over the Wastrel, and stood a while watching as he disappeared
+into the summer night.
+
+"Yon's a good lad," said the Master half to himself.
+
+"Yes," the parson replied; "I always thought there was good in the
+boy, if only his father'd give him a chance. And look at the way
+Owd Bob there follows him. There's not another soul outside
+Kenmuir he'd do that for."
+
+"Ay, sir," said the Master. "Bob knows a mon when he sees one."
+
+"He does," acquiesced the other. "And by the by, James, the talk in
+the village is that you've settled not to run him for the Cup. Is, that
+so?"
+
+The Master nodded.
+
+"It is, sir. They're all mad I should, but I mun cross 'em. They say
+he's reached his prime--and so he has o' his body, but not o' his
+brain. And a sheep-dog--unlike other dogs--is not at his best till his
+brain is at its best--and that takes a while developin', same as in a
+mon, I reck'n."
+
+"Well, well," said the parson, pulling out a favorite phrase,
+"waiting's winning--waiting's winning."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+David slipped up into his room and into bed unseen, he hoped.
+Alone with the darkness, he allowed himself the rare relief of
+tears; and at length fell asleep. He awoke to find his father
+standing at his bedside. The little man held a feeble dip-candle in
+his hand, which lit his sallow face in crude black and white. In the
+doorway, dimly outlined, was the great figure of Red Wull.
+
+"Whaur ha' ye been the day?" the little man asked. Then, looking
+down on the white stained face beneath him, he added hurriedly:
+"If ye like to lie, I'll believe ye."
+
+David was out of bed and standing up in his night-shirt. He
+looked at his father contemptuously.
+
+"I ha' bin at Kenmuir. I'll not lie for yo' or your likes," he said
+proudly.
+
+The little man shrugged his shoulders.
+
+"'Tell a lee and stick to it,' is my rule, and a good one, too, in
+honest England. I for one 'll no think ony the worse o' ye if yer
+memory plays yer false."
+
+"D'yo' think I care a kick what yo' think o' me?" the boy asked
+brutally. "Nay; there's 'nough liars in this fam'ly wi'oot me."
+
+The candle trembled and was still again.
+
+"A lickin' or a lie--tak' yer choice!"
+
+The boy looked scornfully down on his father. Standing on his
+naked feet, he already towered half a head above the other and was
+twice the man.
+
+"D'yo' think I'm fear'd o' a thrashin' fra yo'? Goo' gracious me!" he
+sneered. "Why, I'd as lief let owd Grammer Maddox lick me, for
+all I care."
+
+A reference to his physical insufficiencies fired the little man as
+surely as a lighted match powder.
+
+"Ye maun be cauld, standin' there so. Rin ye doon and fetch oor
+little frien'"--a reference to a certain strap hanging in the kitchen.
+"I'll see if I can warm ye."
+
+David turned and stumbled down the unlit, narrow stairs. The
+hard, cold boards struck like death against his naked feet. At his
+heels followed Red Wull, his hot breath fanning the boy's bare
+legs.
+
+So into the kitchen and back up the stairs, and Red Wull always
+following.
+
+"I'll no despair yet o' teachin' ye the fifth commandment, though I
+kill masel' in doin' it!" cried the little man, seizing the strap from
+the boy's numb grasp.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When it was over, M'Adam turned, breathless, away. At the
+threshold of the room he stopped and looked round: a little,
+dim-lit, devilish figure, framed in the door; while from the
+blackness behind, Red Wull's eyes gleamed yellow.
+
+Glancing back, the little man caught such an expression on David's
+face that for once he was fairly afraid. He banged the door and
+hobbled actively down the stairs.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter VII. THE WHITE WINTER
+
+
+M'ADAM--in his sober moments at least--never touched David
+again; instead, he devoted himself to the more congenial exercise
+of the whiplash of his tongue. And he was wise; for David, who
+was already nigh a head the taller of the two, and comely and
+strong in proportion, could, if he would, have taken his father in
+the hollow of his hand and crumpled him like a dry leaf.
+Moreover, with his tongue, at least, the little man enjoyed the
+noble pleasure of making the boy wince. And so the war was
+carried on none the less vindictively.
+
+Meanwhile another summer was passing away, and every day
+brought fresh proofs of the prowess of Owd Bob. Tammas, whose
+stock of yarns anent Rex son of Rally had after forty years' hard
+wear begun to pall on the loyal ears of even old Jonas, found no
+lack of new material now. In the Dalesman's Daughter in
+Silverdale and in the Border Ram at Grammoch-town, each
+succeeding market day brought some fresh tale. Men told how
+the gray dog had outdone Gypsy Jack, the sheep-sneak; how he
+had cut out a Kenmuir shearling from the very centre of
+Londesley's pack; and a thousand like stories.
+
+The Gray Dogs of Kenmuir have always been equally heroes and
+favorites in the Daleland. And the confidence of the Dalesmen in
+Owd Bob was now invincible. Sometimes on market days he
+would execute some unaccountable maneuvre, and ... strange
+shepherd would ask: "What's the gray dog at?" To which the
+nearest Dalesman would reply: "Nay, I canno tell ye! But he's reet
+enough. Yon's Owd Bob o' Kenmuir."
+
+Whereon the stranger would prick his ears and watch with close
+attention.
+
+"Yon's Owd Bob o' Kenmuir, is he?" he would say; for already
+among the faculty the name was becoming known. And never in
+such a case did the young dog fail to justify the faith of his
+supporters.
+
+It came, therefore, as a keen disappointment to every Dalesman,
+from Herbert Trotter, Secretary of the Trials, to little Billy
+Thornton, when the Master persisted in his decision not to run the
+dog for the Cup in the approaching Dale Trials; and that though
+parson, squire, and even Lady Eleanour essayed to shake his
+purpose. It was nigh fifty years since Rex son o' Rally had won
+back the Trophy for the land that gave it birth; it was time, they
+thought, for a Daleland dog, a Gray Dog of Kenmuir--the terms are
+practically synonymous--to bring it home again. And Tammas, that
+polished phrase-maker, was only expressing the feelings of every
+Dalesman in the room when, one night at the Arms, he declared of
+Owd Bob that "to ha' run was to ha' won." At which M'Adam
+sniggered audibly and winked at Red Wull. "To ha' run was to ha'
+one--lickin'; to rin next year'll be to--"
+
+"Win next year." Tammas interposed dogmatically. "Onless"--with
+shivering sarcasm--"you and yer Wullie are thinkin' o' winnin'."
+
+The little man rose from his solitary seat at the back of the room and
+pattered across. "Wullie and I are thinkin' o' t," he whispered loudly
+in the old man's ear. "And mair: what Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull
+think o' doin', that, ye may remairk, Mr. Thornton, they do. Next year
+we rin, and next year--we win. Come, Wullie, we'll leave 'em to chew
+that"; and he marched out of the room amid the jeers of the assembled
+topers.
+
+When quiet was restored, it was Jim Mason who declared: "One
+thing certain, win or no, they'll not be far off."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Meanwhile the summer ended abruptly. Hard on the heels of a
+sweltering autumn the winter came down. In that year the
+Daleland assumed very early its white cloak. The Silver Mere was
+soon ice-veiled; the Wastrel rolled sullenly down below Kenmuir,
+its creeks and quiet places tented with jagged sheets of ice; while
+the Scaur and Muir Pike raised hoary heads against the frosty blue.
+It was the season still remembered in the North as the White
+Winter--the worst, they say, since the famous 1808.
+
+For days together Jim Mason was stuck with his bags in the
+Dalesman's Daughter, and there was no communication between
+the two Dales. On the Mere Marches the snow massed deep and
+impassable in thick, billowy drifts. In the Devil's Bowl men said it
+lay piled some score feet deep. And sheep, seeking shelter in the
+ghylls and protected spots, were buried and lost in their hundreds.
+
+That is the time to test the hearts of shepherds and sheep-dogs,
+when the wind runs ice-cold across the waste of white, and the low
+woods on the upland walks shiver black through a veil of snow,
+and sheep must be found and folded or lost: a trial of head as well
+as heart, of resource as well as resolution.
+
+In that winter more than one man and many a dog lost his life in
+the quiet performance of his duty, gliding to death over the
+slippery snow-shelves, or overwhelmed beneath an avalanche of
+the warm, suffocating white: "smoored," as they call it. Many a
+deed was done, many a death died, recorded only in that Book
+which holds the names of those--men or animals, souls or no
+souls--who tried.
+
+They found old Wrottesley, the squire's head shepherd, lying one
+morning at Gill's foot, like a statue in its white bed, the snow
+gently blowing about the venerable face, calm and beautiful in
+death. And stretched upon his bosom, her master's hands blue, and
+stiff, still clasped about her neck, his old dog Jess. She had
+huddled there, as a last hope, to keep the dear, dead master warm,
+her great heart riven, hoping where there was no hope.
+
+That night she followed him to herd sheep in a better land. Death
+from exposure, Dingley, the vet., gave it; but as little M'Adam, his
+eyes dimmer than their wont, declared huskily; "We ken better,
+Wullie."
+
+Cyril Gilbraith, a young man not overburdened with emotions, told
+with a sob in his voice how, at the terrible Rowan Rock, Jim
+Mason had stood, impotent, dumb, big-eyed, watching
+Betsy--Betsy, the friend and partner of the last ten years--slipping
+over the ice-cold surface, silently appealing to the hand that had
+never failed her before--sliding to Eternity.
+
+In the Daleland that winter the endurance of many a shepherd and
+his dog was strained past breaking-point. From the frozen Black
+Water to the white-peaked Grammoch Pike two men only, each
+always with his shaggy adjutant, never owned defeat; never turned
+back; never failed in a thing attempted.
+
+In the following spring, Mr. Tinkerton, the squire's agent, declared
+that James Moore and Adam M'Adam--Owd Bob, rather, and Red
+Wull--had lost between them fewer sheep than any single farmer
+on the whole March Mere Estate--a proud record.
+
+Of the two, many a tale was told that winter. They were invincible,
+incomparable; worthy antagonists.
+
+It was Owd Bob who, when he could not drive the band of Black
+Faces over the narrow Razorback which led to safety, induced
+them to _follow_ him across that ten-inch death-track, one by one,
+like children behind their mistress. It was Red Wull who was seen
+coming down the precipitous Saddler's How, shouldering up that
+grand old gentleman, King o' the Dale, whose leg was broken.
+
+The gray dog it was who found Cyril Gilbraith by the White
+Stones, with a cigarette and a sprained ankle, on the night the
+whole village was out with lanterns searching for the well-loved
+young scapegrace. It was the Tailless Tyke and his master who one
+bitter evening came upon little Mrs. Burton, lying in a huddle
+beneath the lea of the fast-whitening Druid's Pillar with her latest
+baby on her breast. It was little M'Adam who took off his coat and
+wrapped the child in it; little M'Adam who unwound his plaid,
+threw it like a breastband across the dog's great chest, and tied the
+ends round the weary woman's waist. Red Wull it was who
+dragged her back to the Sylvester Arms and life, straining like a
+giant through the snow, while his master staggered behind with the
+babe in his arms. When they reached the inn it was M'Adam who,
+with a smile on his face, told the landlord what he thought of him
+for sending _his_ wife across the Marches on such a day and on his
+errand. To which: "I'd a cauld," pleaded honest Jem.
+
+For days together David could not cross the Stony Bottom to
+Kenmuir. His enforced confinement to the Grange led, however, to
+no more frequent collisions than usual with his father. For
+M'Adam and Red Wull were out, at all hours, in all weathers, night
+and day, toiling at their work of salvation.
+
+At last, one afternoon, David managed to cross the Bottom at a
+point where a fallen thorn-tree gave him a bridge over the soft
+snow. He stayed but a little while at Kenmuir, yet when he started
+for home it was snowing again.
+
+By the time he had crossed the ice-draped bridge over the Wastrel,
+a blizzard was raging. The wind roared past him, smiting him so
+that he could barely stand; and the snow leaped at him so that he
+could not see. But he held on doggedly; slipping, sliding, tripping,
+down and up again, with one arm shielding his face. On, on, into
+the white darkness, blindly on sobbing, stumbling, dazed.
+
+At length, nigh dead, he reached the brink of the Stony Bottom. He
+looked up and he looked down, but nowhere in that blinding mist
+could he see the fallen thorn-tree. He took a step forward into the
+white morass, and 'sank up to his thigh. He struggled feebly to free
+himself, and sank deeper. The snow wreathed, twisting, round him
+like a white flame, and he collapsed, softly crying, on that soft bed.
+
+"I canna--I canna!" he moaned.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Little Mrs. Moore, her face whiter and frailer than ever, stood at
+the window, looking out into the storm.
+
+"I canna rest for thinkin' o' th' lad," she said. Then, turning, she saw
+her husband, his fur cap down over his ears, buttoning his
+pilot-coat about his throat, while Owd Bob stood at his feet,
+waiting.
+
+"Ye're no goin', James?" she asked, anxiously.
+
+"But I am, lass," he answered; and she knew him too well to say
+more.
+
+So those two went quietly out to save life or lose it, nor counted
+the cost.
+
+Down a wind-shattered slope--over a spar of ice--up an eternal
+hill--a forlorn hope.
+
+In a whirlwind chaos of snow, the tempest storming at them, the
+white earth lashing them, they fought a good fight. In front, Owd
+Bob, the snow clogging his shaggy coat, his hair cutting like lashes
+of steel across eyes, his head lowered as he followed the finger of
+God; and close behind, James Moore, his back stern against the
+storm, stalwart still, yet swaying like a tree before the wind.
+
+So they battled through to the brink of the Stony Bottom--only to
+arrive too late.
+
+For, just as the Master peering about him, had caught sight of a
+shapeless lump lying motionless in front, there loomed across the
+snow-choked gulf through the white riot of the storm a gigantic
+figure forging, doggedly forward, his great head down to meet the
+hurricane. And close behind, buffeted and bruised, stiff and
+staggering, a little dauntless figure holding stubbornly on,
+clutching with one hand at the gale; and a shrill voice, whirled
+away on the trumpet tones of the wind, crying:
+
+'Noo, Wullie, wi' me!
+Scots wha' hae wi' Wallace bled!
+Scots wham Bruce has often led!
+Welcome to ----!'
+
+"Here he is, Wullie!"
+
+'--or to victorie!"
+
+The brave little voice died away. The quest; was over; the lost
+sheep found. And the last James Moore saw of them was the same
+small, gallant form, half carrying, half dragging the rescued boy
+out of the Valley of the Shadow and away.
+
+David was none the worse for his adventure, for on reaching home
+M'Adam produced a familiar bottle.
+
+"Here's something to warm yer inside, and"--making a feint at the
+strap on the walls--' "here's something to do the same by yer ----.
+But, Wullie, oot again!"
+
+And out they went--unreckoned heroes.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was but a week later, in the very heart of the bitter time, that
+there came a day when, from gray dawn to grayer eve, neither
+James Moore nor Owd Bob stirred out into the wintry white. And
+the Master's face was hard and set as it always was in time of
+trouble.
+
+Outside, the wind screamed down the Dale; while the snow fell
+relentlessly; softly fingering the windows, blocking the doors, and
+piling deep against the walls. Inside the house there was a strange
+quiet; no sound save for hushed voices, and upstairs the shuffling
+of muffled feet.
+
+Below, all day long, Owd Bob patrolled the passage like some
+silent, gray spectre.
+
+Once there came a low knocking at the door; and David, his face
+and hair and cap smothered in the all-pervading white, came in
+with an eddy of snow. He patted Owd Bob, and moved on tiptoe
+into the kitchen. To him came Maggie softly, shoes in hand, with
+white, frightened face. The two whispered anxiously awhile like
+brother and sister as they were; then the boy crept quietly away;
+only a little pool of water on the floor and wet, treacherous
+foot-dabs toward the door testifying to the visitor.
+
+Toward evening the wind died down, but the mourning flakes still
+fell.
+
+With the darkening of night Owd Bob retreated to the porch and
+lay down on his blanket. The light from the lamp at the head of the
+stairs shone through the crack of open door on his dark head and
+the eyes that never slept.
+
+The hours passed, and the gray knight still kept his vigil. Alone in
+the darkness--alone, it almost seemed, in the house--he watched.
+His head lay motionless along his paws, but the steady gray eyes
+never flinched or drooped.
+
+Time tramped on on leaden foot, and still he waited; and ever the
+pain of hovering anxiety was stamped deeper in the gray eyes.
+
+At length it grew past bearing; the hollow stillness of the house
+overcame him. He rose, pushed open the door, and softly pattered
+across the passage.
+
+At the foot of the stairs he halted, his forepaws on the first step,
+his grave face and pleading eyes uplifted, as though he were
+praying. The dim light fell on the raised head; and the white
+escutcheon on his breast shone out like the snow on Salmon.
+
+At length, with a sound like a sob, he dropped to the ground, and
+stood listening, his tail dropping and head raised. Then he turned
+and began softly pacing up and down, like some velvet-footed
+sentinel at the gate of death.
+
+Up and down, up and down, softly as the falling snow, for a weary,
+weary while.
+
+Again he stopped and stood, listening intently, at the foot of the
+stairs; and his gray coat quivered as though there were a draught.
+
+Of a sudden, the deathly stillness of the house was broken.
+Upstairs, feet were running hurriedly. There was a cry, and again
+silence.
+
+A life was coming in; a life was going out.
+
+The minutes passed; hours passed; and, at the sunless dawn, a life
+passed.
+
+And all through that night of age-long agony the gray figure stood,
+still as a statue, at the foot of the stairs. Only, when, with the first
+chill breath of the morning, a dry, quick-quenched sob of a strong
+man sorrowing for the helpmeet of a score of years, and a tiny cry
+of a new-born child wailing because its mother was not, came
+down to his ears, the Gray Watchman dropped his head upon his
+bosom, and, with a little whimpering note, crept back to his
+blanket.
+
+A little later the door above opened, and James Moore tramped
+down the stairs. He looked taller and gaunter than his wont, but
+there was no trace of emotion on his face.
+
+At the foot of the stairs Owd Bob stole out to meet him. He came
+crouching up, head and tail down, in a manner no man ever saw before
+or since. At his master's feet he stopped.
+
+Then, for one short moment, James Moore's whole face quivered.
+
+"Well, lad," he said, quite low, and his voice broke; "she's awa'!"
+
+That was all; for they were an undemonstrative couple.
+
+Then they turned and went out together into the bleak morning.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter VIII. M'ADAM AND HIS COAT
+
+
+To David M'Adam the loss of gentle Elizabeth Moore was as
+real a grief as to her children. Yet he manfully smothered his own
+aching heart and devoted himself to comforting the mourners at
+Kenmuir.
+
+In the days succeeding Mrs. Moore's death the boy recklessly
+neglected his duties at the Grange. But little M'Adam forbore to
+rebuke him. At times, indeed, he essayed to be passively kind.
+David, however, was too deeply sunk in his great sorrow to note
+the change.
+
+The day of the funeral came. The earth was throwing off its
+ice-fetters; and the Dale was lost in a mourning mist.
+
+In the afternoon M'Adam was standing at the window of the
+kitchen, contemplating the infinite weariness of the scene, when
+the door of the house opened and shut noiselessly. Red Wull
+raised himself on to the sill and growled, and David hurried past
+the window making for Kenmuir. M'Adam watched the passing
+figure indifferently; then with an angry oath sprang to the window.
+
+"Bring me back that coat, ye thief!" he cried, tapping fiercely on
+the pane. "Tak' it aff at onst, ye muckle gowk, or I'll come and tear
+it aff ye. D'ye see him, Wullie? the great coof has ma coat--me
+black coat, new last Michaelmas, and it rainin' 'nough to melt it."
+
+He threw the window up with a bang and leaned out.
+
+"Bring it back, I tell ye, ondootiful, or I'll summons ye. Though
+ye've no respect for me, ye might have for ma claithes. Ye're too
+big for yer ain boots, let alane ma coat. D'ye think I had it cut
+for a elephant? It's burst-in', I tell ye. Tak' it aff! Fetch it
+here, or I'll e'en send Wullie to bring it!"
+
+David paid no heed except to begin running heavily down the hill.
+The coat was stretched in wrinkled agony across his back; his big,
+red wrists protruded like shank-bones from the sleeves; and the
+little tails flapped wearily in vain attempts to reach the wearer's
+legs.
+
+M'Adam, bubbling over with indignation, scrambled half through
+the open window. Then, tickled at the amazing impudence of the
+thing, he paused, smiled, dropped to the ground again, and
+watched the uncouth, retreating figure with chuckling amusement.
+
+"Did ye ever see the like o' that, Wullie?" he muttered. "Ma puir
+coat--puir wee coatie! it gars me greet to see her in her pain. A
+man's coat, Wullie, is aften unco sma' for his son's back; and David
+there is strainin' and stretchin' her nigh to brakin', for a' the world
+as he does ma forbearance. And what's he care aboot the one or
+t'ither?--not a finger-flip."
+
+As he stood watching the disappearing figure there began the slow
+tolling of the minute-bell in the little Dale church. Now near, now
+far, now loud, now low, its dull chant rang out through the mist
+like the slow-dropping tears of a mourning world.
+
+M'Adam listened, almost reverently, as the bell tolled on, the only
+sound in the quiet Dale. Outside, a drizzling rain was falling; the
+snow dribbled down the hill in muddy tricklets; and trees and roofs
+and windows dripped.
+
+And still the bell tolled on, calling up relentlessly sad memories of
+the long ago.
+
+It was on just such another dreary day, in just such another
+December, and not so many years gone by, that the light had gone
+forever out of his life.
+
+The whole picture rose as instant to his eyes as if it had been but
+yesterday. That insistent bell brought the scene surging back to
+him: the dismal day; the drizzle; the few mourners; little David
+decked out in black, his fair hair contrasting with his gloomy
+clothes, his face swollen with weeping; the Dale hushed, it seemed
+in death, save for the tolling of the bell; and his love had left him
+and gone to the happy land the hymn-books talk of.
+
+Red Wull, who had been watching him uneasily, now came up and
+shoved his muzzle into his master's hand. The cold touch brought
+the little man back to earth. He shook himself, turned wearily away
+from the window, and went to the door of the house.
+
+He stood there looking out; and all round him was the eternal drip,
+drip of the thaw. The wind lulled, and again the minute-bell tolled
+out clear and inexorable, resolute to recall what was and what had
+been.
+
+With a choking gasp the little man turned into the house, and ran
+up the stairs and into his room. He dropped on his knees beside the
+great chest in the corner, and unlocked the bottom drawer, the key
+turning noisily in its socket.
+
+In the drawer he searched with feverish fingers, and produced at
+length a little paper packet wrapped about with a stained yellow
+ribbon. It was the ribbon she had used to weave on Sundays into
+her soft hair.
+
+Inside the packet was a cheap, heart-shaped frame, and in it a
+photograph.
+
+Up there it was too dark to see. The little man ran down the stairs,
+Red Wull jostling him as he went, and hurried to the window in
+the kitchen.
+
+It was a sweet, laughing face that looked up at him from the frame,
+demure yet arch, shy yet roguish--a face to look at and a face to
+love.
+
+As he looked a wintry smile, wholly tender, half tearful, stole over
+the little man's face.
+
+"Lassie," he whispered, and his voice was infinitely soft, "it's lang
+sin' I've daured look at ye. But it's no that ye're forgotten, dearie."
+
+Then he covered his eyes with his hand as though he were blinded.
+
+"Dinna look at me sae, lass!" he cried, and fell on his knees,
+kissing the picture, hugging it to him and sobbing passionately.
+
+Red Wull came up and pushed his face compassionately into his
+master's; but the little man shoved him roughly away, and the dog
+retreated into a corner, abashed and reproachful.
+
+Memories swarmed back on the little man.
+
+It was more than a decade ago now, and yet he dared barely think
+of that last evening when she had lain so white and still in the little
+room above.
+
+"Pit the bairn on the bed, Adam man," she had said in low tones.
+"I'll be gaein' in a wee while noo. It's the lang good-by to you--and
+him."
+
+He had done her bidding and lifted David up. The tiny boy lay still
+a moment, looking at this white-faced mother whom he hardly
+recognized.
+
+"Minnie!" he called piteously. Then, thrusting a small, dirty hand
+into his pocket, he pulled out a grubby sweet.
+
+"Minnie, ha' a sweetie--ain o' Davie's sweeties!" and he held it out
+anxiously in his warm plump palm, thinking it a certain cure for
+any ill.
+
+"Eat it for mither," she said, smiling tenderly; and then: "Davie, ma
+heart, I'm leavin' ye."
+
+The boy ceased sucking the sweet, and looked at her, the corners
+of his mouth drooping pitifully.
+
+"Ye're no gaein' awa', mither?" he asked, his face all working.
+"Ye'll no leave yen wee laddie?"
+
+"Ay, laddie, awa'--reet awa'. HE's callin' me." She tried to smile;
+but her mother's heart was near to bursting.
+
+"Ye'll tak' yen wee Davie wi' ye mither!" the child pleaded,
+crawling up toward her face.
+
+The great tears rolled, unrestrained, down her wan cheeks, and
+M'Adam, at the head of the bed, was sobbing openly.
+
+"Eh, ma bairn, ma bairn, I'm sair to leave ye!" she cried brokenly.
+"Lift him for me, Adam."
+
+He placed the child in her arms; but she was too weak to hold him.
+So he laid him upon his mother's pillows; and the boy wreathed his
+soft arms about her neck and sobbed tempestuously.
+
+And the two lay thus together.
+
+Just before she died, Flora turned her head and whispered:
+
+"Adam, ma man, ye'll ha' to be mither and father baith to the lad
+noo"; and she looked at him with tender confidence in her dying
+eyes.
+
+"I wull! afore God as I stan' here I wull!" he declared passionately.
+Then she died, and there was a look of ineffable peace upon her
+face.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Mither and father baith!"
+
+The little man rose to his feet and flung the photograph from him.
+Red Wull pounced upon it; but M'Adam leapt at him as he
+mouthed it.
+
+"Git awa', ye devil!" he screamed; and, picking it up, stroked it
+lovingly with trembling fingers.
+
+"Maither and father baith!"
+
+How had he fulfilled his love's last wish? How!
+
+"Oh God! "--and he fell upon his knees at the table-side, hugging
+the picture, sobbing and praying.
+
+Red Wull cowered in the far corner of the room, and then crept
+whining up to where his master knelt. But M'Adam heeded him
+not, and the great dog slunk away again.
+
+There the little man knelt in the gloom of the winter's afternoon, a
+miserable penitent. His gray-flecked head was bowed upon his
+arms; his hands clutched the picture; and he prayed aloud in
+gasping, halting tones.
+
+"Gie me grace, O God! 'Father and mither baith,' ye said, Flora--and I
+ha'na done it. But 'tis no too late--say it's no, lass. Tell me
+there's time yet, and say ye forgie me. I've tried to bear wi' him
+mony and mony a time. But he's vexed me, and set himself agin me, and
+stiffened my back, and ye ken hoo I was aye quick to tak' offence. But
+I'll mak' it up to him--mak' it up to him, and mair. I'll humble
+masel' afore him, and that'll be bitter enough. And I'll be father and
+mither baith to him. But there's bin none to help me; and it's bin
+sair wi'oot ye. And--. but, eh, lassie, I'm wearyin' for ye!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was a dreary little procession that wound in the drizzle from
+Kenmuir to the little Dale Church. At the head stalked James
+Moore, and close behind David in his meagre coat. While last of
+all, as if to guide the stragglers in the weary road, come Owd Bob.
+
+There was a full congregation in the tiny church now. In the
+squire's pew were Cyril Gilbraith, Muriel Sylvester, and, most
+conspicuous, Lady Eleanour. Her slender figure was simply draped
+in gray, with gray fur about the neck and gray fur edging sleeves
+and jacket; her veil was lifted, and you could see the soft hair
+about her temples, like waves breaking on white cliffs, and her
+eyes big with tender sympathy as she glanced toward the pew upon
+her right.
+
+For there were the mourners from Kenmuir: the Master, tall, grim,
+and gaunt; and beside him Maggie, striving to be calm, and little
+Andrew, the miniature of his father.
+
+Alone, in the pew behind, David M'Adam in his father's coat.
+
+The back of the church was packed with farmers from the whole
+March Mere Estate; friends from Silverdale and Grammoch-town;
+and nearly every soul in Wastrel-dale, come to show their
+sympathy for the living and reverence for the dead.
+
+At last the end came in the wet dreariness of the little churchyard,
+and slowly the mourners departed, until at length were left only the
+parson, the Master, and Owd Bob.
+
+The parson was speaking in rough, short accents, digging
+nervously at the wet ground. The other, tall and gaunt, his face
+drawn and half-averted, stood listening. By his side was Owd Bob,
+scanning his master's countenance, a wistful compassion deep in
+the sad gray eyes; while close by, one of the parson's terriers was
+nosing inquisitively in the wet grass.
+
+Of a sudden, James Moore, his face still turned away, stretched out
+a hand. The parson, broke off abruptly and grasped it. Then the
+two men strode away in opposite directions, the terrier hopping on
+three legs and shaking the rain off his hard coat.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+David's steps sounded outside. M'Adam rose from his knees. The
+door of the house opened, and the boy's feet shuffled in the
+passage.
+
+"David!" the little man called in a tremulous voice.
+
+He stood in the half-light, one hand on the table, the other clasping
+the picture. His eyes were bleared, his thin hair all tossed, and he
+was shaking.
+
+"David," he called again; "I've somethin' I wush to say to ye!"
+
+The boy burst into the room. His face was stained with tears and
+rain; and the new black coat was wet and slimy all down the front,
+and on the elbows were green-brown, muddy blots. For, on his way
+home, he had flung himself down in the Stony Bottom just as he
+was, heedless of the wet earth and his father's coat, and, lying on
+his face thinking of that second mother lost to him, had wept his
+heart out in a storm of passionate grief.
+
+Now he stood defiantly, his hand upon the door.
+
+"What d'yo' want?"
+
+The little man looked from him to the picture in his hand.
+
+"Help me, Flora--he'll no," he prayed. Then raising his eyes, he
+began: "I'd like to say--I've bin thinkin'--I think I should tell ye--it's
+no an easy thing for a man to say--"
+
+He broke off short. The self-imposed task was almost more than he
+could accomplish.
+
+He looked appealingly at David. But there was no glimmer of
+understanding in that white, set countenance.
+
+"O God, it's maist mair than I can do!" the little man muttered; and
+the perspiration stood upon his forehead. Again he began:
+"David, after I saw ye this afternoon steppin' doon the hill--"
+Again he paused. His glance rested unconsciously upon the coat.
+David mistook the look; mistook the dimness in his father's eyes;
+mistook the tremor in his voice.
+
+"Here 'tis! tak' yo' coat!" he cried passionately; and, tearing it off,
+flung it down at his father's feet. "Tak' it--and---and--curse yo'."
+
+He banged out of the room and ran upstairs; and, locking himself
+in, threw himself on to his bed and sobbed.
+
+Red Wull made a movement to fly at the retreating figure; then
+turned to his master, his stump-tail vibrating with pleasure.
+But little M'Adam was looking at the wet coat now lying in a wet
+bundle at his feet.
+
+"Curse ye," he repeated softly. "Curse ye--ye heard him. Wullie?"
+
+A bitter smile crept across his face. He looked again at the picture
+now lying crushed in his hand.
+
+"Ye canna say I didna try; ye canna ask me to agin," he muttered,
+and slipped it into his pocket. "Niver agin, Wullie; not if the
+Queen were to ask it."
+
+Then he went out into the gloom and drizzle, still smiling the same
+bitter smile.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+That night, when it came to closing-time at the Sylvester Arms,
+Jem Burton found a little gray-haired figure lying on the floor in
+the tap-room. At the little man's head lay a great dog.
+
+"Yo' beast!" said the righteous publican, regarding the figure of his
+best customer with fine scorn. Then catching sight of a photograph
+in the little man's hand:
+
+"Oh, yo're that sort, are yo', foxy?" he leered. "Gie us a look at 'er,"
+and he tried to disengage the picture from the other's grasp. But at
+the attempt the great dog rose, bared his teeth, and assumed such a
+diabolical expression that the big landlord retreated hurriedly
+behind the bar.
+
+"Two on ye!" he shouted viciously, rattling his heels; "beasts
+baith!"
+
+
+
+
+PART III THE SHEPHERDS' TROPHY
+
+
+
+
+Chapter IX.  RIVALS
+
+
+M'ADAM never forgave his son. After the scene on the evening of
+the funeral there could be no alternative but war for all time. The
+little man had attempted to humble himself, and been rejected; and
+the bitterness of defeat, when he had deserved victory, rankled like
+a poisoned barb in his bosom.
+
+Yet the heat of his indignation was directed not against David, but
+against the Master of Kenmuir. To the influence and agency of
+James Moore he attributed his discomfiture, and bore himself
+accordingly. In public or in private, in tap-room or market, he
+never wearied of abusing his enemy.
+
+"Feel the loss o' his wife, d'ye say?" he would cry. "Ay, as muckle
+as I feel the loss o' my hair. James Moore can feel naethin', I tell
+ye, except, aiblins, a mischance to his meeserable dog."
+
+When the two met, as they often must, it was always M'Adam's
+endeavor to betray his enemy into an unworthy expression of
+feeling. But James Moore, sorely tried as he often was, never gave
+way. He met the little man's sneers with a quelling silence, looking
+down on his asp-tongued antagonist with such a contempt flashing
+from his blue-gray eyes as hurt his adversary more than words.
+
+Only once was he spurred into reply. It was in the tap-room of the
+Dalesman's Daughter on the occasion of the big spring fair in
+Grammoch-town, when there was a goodly gathering of farmers
+and their dogs in the room.
+
+M'Adam was standing at the fireplace with Red Wull at his side.
+
+"It's a noble pairt ye play, James Moore," he cried loudly across the
+room, "settin' son against father, and dividin' hoose against hoose.
+It's worthy o' ye we' yer churchgoin', and yer psalm-singin', and yer
+godliness."
+
+The Master looked up from the far end of the room.
+
+"Happen yo're not aware, M'Adam," he said sternly, "that, an' it had
+not bin for me, David'd ha' left you years agone--and 'twould
+nob'but ha' served yo' right, I'm thinkin'."
+
+The little man was beaten on his own ground, so he changed front.
+
+"Dinna shout so, man--I have ears to hear, Forbye ye irritate
+Wullie."
+
+The Tailless Tyke, indeed, had advanced from the fireplace, and
+now stood, huge and hideous, in the very centre of the room. There
+was distant thunder in his throat, a threat upon his face, a
+challenge in every wrinkle. And the Gray Dog stole gladly out
+from behind his  master to take up the gage of battle.
+
+Straightway there was silence; tongues ceased to wag, tankards to
+clink. Every man and every dog was quietly gathering about those
+two central figures. Not one of them all but had his score to wipe
+off against the Tailless Tyke; not one of them but was burning to
+join in, the battle once begun. And the two gladiators stood
+looking past one another, muzzle to muzzle, each with a tiny flash
+of teeth glinting between his lips.
+
+But the fight was not to be; for the twentieth time the Master
+intervened.
+
+"Bob, lad, coom in!" he called, and, bending, grasped his favorite
+by the neck.
+
+M'Adam laughed softly.
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, to me!" he cried. "The look o' you's enough for
+that gentleman."
+
+"If they get fightin' it'll no be Bob here I'll hit, I warn yo',
+M'Adam," said the Master grimly.
+
+"Gin ye sae muckle as touched Wullie d'ye ken what I'd do, James
+Moore?" asked the little man very smoothly.
+
+"Yes--sweer," the other replied, and strode out of the room amid a
+roar of derisive laughter at M'Adam's expense.
+
+Owd Bob had now attained wellnigh the perfection of his art.
+Parson Leggy declared roundly that his like had not been seen
+since the days of Rex son of Rally. Among the Dalesmen he was a
+heroic favorite, his prowess and gentle ways winning him friends
+on every hand. But the point that told most heavily for him was
+that in all things he was the very antithesis of Red Wull.
+
+Barely a man in the country-side but owed that ferocious savage a
+grudge; not a man of them all who dared pay it. Once Long Kirby,
+full of beer and valor, tried to settle his account. Coming on
+M'Adam and Red Wull as he was driving into Grammoch-town, he
+leant over and with his thong dealt the dog a terrible sword-like
+slash that raised an angry ridge of red from hip to shoulder; and
+was twenty yards down the road before the little man's shrill curse
+reached his ear, drowned in a hideous bellow.
+
+He stood up and lashed the colt, who, quick on his legs for a young
+un, soon settled to his gallop. But, glancing over his shoulder, he
+saw a hounding form behind, catching him as though he were
+walking. His face turned sickly white; he screamed; he flogged; he
+looked back. Right beneath the tail-board was the red devil in the
+dust; while racing a furlong behind on the turnpike road was the
+mad figure of M'Adam.
+
+The smith struck back and flogged forward. It was of no avail.
+With a tiger-like bound the murderous brute leapt on the flying
+trap. At the shock of the great body the colt was thrown violently
+on his side; Kirby was tossed over the hedge; and Red Wull
+pinned beneath the debris.
+
+M'Adam had time to rush up and save a tragedy.
+
+"I've a mind to knife ye, Kirby," he panted, as he bandaged the
+smith's broken head.
+
+After that you may be sure the Dalesmen preferred to swallow
+insults rather than to risk their lives; and their impotence only
+served to fan their hatred to white heat.
+
+The working methods of the antagonists were as contrasted as their
+appearances. In a word, the one compelled where the other coaxed.
+
+His enemies said the Tailless Tyke was rough; not even Tammas
+denied he was ready. His brain was as big as his body, and he used
+them both to some purpose. "As quick as a cat, with the heart of a
+lion and the temper of Nick's self," was Parson Leggy's description.
+
+What determination could effect, that could Red Wall; but
+achievement by inaction--supremest of all strategies--was not for
+him. In matters of the subtlest handling, where to act anything
+except indifference was to lose, with sheep restless, fearful
+forebodings hymned to them by the wind, panic hovering unseen
+above them, when an ill-considered movement spelt
+catastrophe--then was Owd Bob o' Kenmuir incomparable.
+
+Men still tell how, when the squire's new thrashing-machine ran
+amuck in Grammoch-town, and for some minutes the market
+square was a turbulent sea of blaspheming men, yelping dogs,
+and stampeding sheep, only one flock stood calm as a mill-pond by
+the bull-ring, watching the riot with almost indifference. And in
+front, sitting between them and the storm, was a quiet gray dog, his
+mouth stretched in a capacious yawn: to yawn was to win, and he
+won.
+
+When the worst of the uproar was over, many a glance of triumph
+was shot first at that one still pack, and then at M'Adam, as he
+waded through the disorder of huddling sheep.
+
+"And wheer's your Wullie noo?" asked Tapper scornfully.
+
+"Weel," the little man answered with a quiet smile, "at this minute
+he's killin' your Rasper doon by the pump." Which was indeed the
+case; for big blue Rasper had interfered with the great dog in the
+performance of his duty, and suffered accordingly.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Spring passed into summer; and the excitement as to the event of
+the approaching Trials, when at length the rivals would be pitted
+against one another, reached such a height as old Jonas Maddox,
+the octogenarian, could hardly recall.
+
+Down in the Sylvester Arms there was almost nightly a conflict
+between M'Adam and Tammas Thornton, spokesman of the Dales
+men. Many a long-drawn bout of words had the two anent the
+respective merits and Cup chances of red and gray. In these duels
+Tammas was usually worsted. His temper would get the better of
+his discretion; and the cynical debater would be lost in the
+hot-tongued partisan.
+
+During these encounters the others would, as a rule, maintain a
+rigid silence. Only when their champion was being beaten, and it
+was time for strength of voice to vanquish strength of argument,
+they joined in right lustily and roared the little man down, for all
+the world like the gentlemen who rule the Empire at Westminster.
+
+Tammas was an easy subject for M'Adam to draw, but David was
+an easier. Insults directed at himself the boy bore with a stolidity
+born of long use. But a poisonous dart shot against his friends at
+Kenmuir never failed to achieve its object. And the little man
+evinced an amazing talent for the concoction of deft lies respecting
+James Moore.
+
+"I'm hearin'," said he, one evening, sitting in the kitchen, sucking
+his twig; "I'm hearin' James Moore is gaein' to git married agin."
+
+"Yo're hearin' lies--or mair-like tellin' 'em," David answered
+shortly. For he treated his father now with contemptuous
+indifference.
+
+"Seven months sin' his wife died," the little man continued
+meditatively. "Weel, I'm on'y 'stonished he's waited sae lang. Ain
+buried, anither come on--that's James Moore."
+
+David burst angrily out of the room.
+
+"Gaein' to ask him if it's true?" called his father after him. "Gude
+luck to ye--and him."
+
+David had now a new interest at Kenmuir. In Maggie he found an
+endless source of study. On the death of her mother the girl had
+taken up the reins of government at Kenmuir; and gallantly she
+played her part, whether in tenderly mothering the baby, wee
+Anne, or in the sterner matters of household work. She did her
+duty, young though she was, with a surprising, old-fashioned
+womanliness that won many a smile of approval from her father,
+and caused David's eyes to open with astonishment.
+
+And he soon discovered that Maggie, mistress of Kenmuir, was
+another person from his erstwhile playfellow and servant.
+
+The happy days when might ruled right were gone, never to be
+recalled. David often regretted them, especially when in a conflict
+of tongues, Maggie, with her quick answers and teasing eyes, was
+driving him sulky and vanquished from the field. The two were
+perpetually squabbling now. In the good old days, he remembered
+bitterly, squabbles between them were unknown. He had never
+permitted them; any attempt at independent thought or action was
+as sternly quelled as in the Middle Ages. She must follow where
+he led on--"Ma word!"
+
+Now she was mistress where he had been master; hers was to
+command, his to obey. In consequence they were perpetually at
+war. And yet he would sit for hours in the kitchen and watch her,
+as she went about her business, with solemn, interested eyes, half
+of admiration, half of amusement. In the end Maggie always
+turned on him with a little laugh touched with irritation.
+
+"Han't yo' got nothin' better'n that to do, nor lookin' at me?" she
+asked one Saturday about a month before Cup Day.
+
+"No, I han't," the pert fellow rejoined.
+
+"Then I wish yo' had. It mak's me fair jumpety yo' watchin' me so
+like ony cat a mouse."
+
+"Niver yo' fash yo'sel' account o' me, ma wench," he answered
+calmly.
+
+"Yo' wench, indeed!" she cried, tossing her head.
+
+"Ay, or will be," he muttered.
+
+"What's that?" she cried, springing round, a flush of color on her
+face.
+
+"Nowt, my dear. Yo'll know so soon as I want yo' to, yo' may be
+sure, and no sooner."
+
+The girl resumed her baking, half angry, half suspicious.
+
+"I dunno' what yo' mean, Mr. M'Adam," she said.
+
+"Don't yo', Mrs. M'A----"
+
+The rest was lost in the crash of a falling plate; whereat David
+laughed quietly, and asked if he should help pick up the bits.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On the same evening at the Sylvester Arms an announcement was
+made that knocked the breath out of its hearers.
+
+In the debate that night on the fast-approaching Dale Trials and the
+relative abilities of red and gray, M'Adam on the one side, and
+Tammas, backed by Long Kirby and the rest, on the other, had
+cudgelled each other with more than usual vigor. The controversy
+rose to fever-heat; abuse succeeded argument; and the little man
+again and again was hooted into silence.
+
+"It's easy laffin'," he cried at last, "but ye'll laff t'ither side o' yer
+ugly faces on Cup Day."
+
+"Will us, indeed? Us'll see," came the derisive chorus.
+
+"We'll whip ye till ye're deaf, dumb, and blind, Wullie and I."
+
+''Yo'll not!''
+
+"We will!"
+
+The voices were rising like the east wind in March.
+
+"Yo'll not, and for a very good reason too," asseverated Tammas
+loudly.
+
+"Gie us yer reason, ye muckle liar," cried the little man, turning on
+him.
+
+"Becos----" began Jim Mason and stopped to rub his nose.
+
+"Yo' 'old yo' noise, Jim," recommended Rob Saunderson.
+
+"Becos----" it was Tammas this time who paused.
+
+"Git on wi' it, ye stammerin' stirk!" cried M'Adam. "Why?"
+
+"Becos--Owd Bob'll not rin."
+
+Tammas sat back in his chair.
+
+"What!" screamed the little man, thrusting forward.
+
+"What's that!" yelled Long Kirby, leaping to his feet.
+
+"Mon, say it agin!" shouted Rob.
+
+"What's owd addled eggs tellin'?" cried Liz Burton.
+
+"Dang his 'ead for him!" shouts Tupper.
+
+"Fill his eye!" says Ned Hoppin.
+
+They jostled round the old man's chair: M'Adam in front; Jem
+Burton and Long Kirby leaning over his shoulder; Liz behind
+her father; Saunderson and Tupper tackling him on either
+side; while the rest peered and elbowed in the rear.
+
+The announcement had fallen like a thunderbolt among them.
+
+Tammas looked slowly up at the little mob of eager faces above
+him. Pride at the sensation caused by his news struggled in his
+countenance with genuine sorrow for the matter of it.
+
+"Ay, yo' may well 'earken all on yo'. Tis enough to mak' the deadies
+listen. I says agin: We's'll no rin oor Bob fot' Cup. And yo' may
+guess why. Bain't every mon, Mr. M'Adam, as'd pit aside his chanst
+o' the Cup, and that 'maist a gift for him"--M'Adam's tongue was in
+his cheek--"and it a certainty," the old man continued warmly,
+"oot o' respect for his wife's memory."
+
+The news was received in utter silence. The shock of the surprise,
+coupled with the bitterness of the disappointment, froze the slow
+tongues of his listeners.
+
+Only one small voice broke the stillness.
+
+"Oh, the feelin' man! He should git a reduction o' rent for sic a
+display o' proper speerit. I'll mind Mr. Hornbut to let auld Sylvester
+ken o't."
+
+Which he did, and would have got a thrashing for his pains had not
+Cyril Gilbraith thrown him out of the parsonage before the angry
+cleric could lay hands upon him.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter X. RED WULL WINS
+
+
+TAMMAS had but told the melancholy truth. Owd Bob was not to
+run for the cup. And this self-denying ordinance speaks more for
+James Moore's love of his lost wife than many a lordly cenotaph.
+
+To the people of the Daleland, from the Black Water to the
+market-cross in Grammoch-town, the news came with the shock
+of a sudden blow. They had set their hearts on the Gray Dog's
+success; and had felt serenely confident of his victory. But the
+sting of the matter lay in this: that now the Tailless Tyke might
+well win.
+
+M'Adam, on the other hand, was plunged into a fervor of delight at
+the news. For to win the Shepherds' Trophy was the goal of his
+ambition. David was now less than nothing to the lonely little man,
+Red Wull everything to him. And to have that name handed down
+to posterity, gallantly holding its place among those of the most
+famous sheep-dogs of all time, was his heart's desire.
+
+As Cup Day drew near, the little man, his fine-drawn temperament
+strung to the highest pitch of nervousness, was tossed on a sea of
+apprehension. His hopes and fears ebbed and flowed on the tide of
+the moment. His moods were as uncertain as the winds in March;
+and there was no dependence on his humor for a unit of time. At
+one minute he paced up and down the kitchen, his face already
+flushed with the glow of victory, chanting:
+
+"Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled!"
+
+At the next he was down at the table, his head buried in his hands,
+his whole figure shaking, as he cried in choking voice: "Eh,
+Wullie, Wullie, they're all agin us."
+
+David found that life with his father now was life with an
+unamiable hornet. Careless as he affected to be of his father's
+vagaries, he was tried almost to madness, and fled away at every
+moment to Kenmuir; for, as he told Maggie, "I'd sooner put up wi'
+your h'airs and h'imperences, miss, than wi' him, the wemon that
+he be!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At length the great day came. Fears, hopes, doubts, dismays, all
+dispersed in the presence of the reality.
+
+Cup Day is always a general holiday in the Daleland, and every
+soul crowds over to Silverdale. Shops were shut; special trains ran
+in to Grammoch-town; and the road from the little town was dazed
+with char-a-bancs, brakes, wagonettes, carriages, carts,
+foot-passengers, wending toward the Dalesman's Daughter.
+
+And soon the paddock below that little inn was humming with the
+crowd of sportsmen and spectators come to see the battle for the
+Shepherd's Trophy.
+
+There, very noticeable with its red body and yellow wheels, was
+the great Kenmuir wagon. Many an eye was directed on the
+handsome young pair who stood in it, conspicuous and
+unconscious, above the crowd: Maggie, looking in her simple print
+frock as sweet and fresh as any mountain flower; while David's
+fair face was all gloomy and his brows knit.
+
+In front of the wagon was a black cluster of Dalesmen, discussing
+M'Adam's chances. In the centre was Tammas holding forth. Had
+you passed close to the group you might have heard: "A man, d'yo
+say, Mr. Maddox? A h'ape, I call him"; or: "A dog? more like an
+'og, I tell yo'." Round the old orator were Jonas, 'Enry, and oor Job,
+Jem Burton, Rob Saunderson, Tupper, Jim Mason, Hoppin, and
+others; while on the outskirts stood Sam'l Todd prophesying rain
+and M'Adam's victory. Close at hand Bessie Bolstock, who was
+reputed to have designs on David, was giggling spitefully at the
+pair in the Kenmuir wagon, and singing:
+
+"Let a lad aloan, lass,
+Let a lad a-be."
+
+While her father, Teddy, dodged in and out among the crowd with
+tray and glasses: for Cup Day was the great day of the year for him.
+
+Past the group of Dalesmen and on all sides was a mass of bobbing
+heads--Scots, Northerners, Yorkshiremen, Taffies. To right and
+left a long array of carriages and carts, ranging from the squire's
+quiet landau and Viscount Birdsaye's gorgeous barouche to Liz
+Burton's three-legged moke-cart with little Mrs. Burton, the twins,
+young Jake (who should have walked), and Monkey (ditto) packed
+away inside. Beyond the Silver Lea the gaunt Scaur raised its
+craggy peak, and the Pass, trending along its side, shone white in
+the sunshine.
+
+At the back of the carriages were booths, cocoanut-shies, Aunt
+Sallies, shows, bookmakers' stools, and all the panoply of such a
+meeting. Here Master Launcelot Bilks and Jacky Sylvester were
+fighting; Cyril Gilbraith was offering to take on the boxing man;
+Long Kirby was snapping up the odds against Red Wull; and Liz
+Burton and young Ned Hoppin were being photographed together,
+while Melia Ross in the background was pretending she didn't
+care.
+
+On the far bank of the stream was a little bevy of men and dogs,
+observed of all.
+
+The Juvenile Stakes had been run and won; Londesley's Lassie had
+carried off the Locals; and the fight for the Shepherds' Trophy was
+about to begin.
+
+"Yo're not lookin' at me noo," whispered Maggie to the silent boy
+by her side.
+
+"Nay; nor niver don't wush to agin." David answered roughly. His
+gaze was directed over the array of heads in front to where, beyond
+the Silver Lea, a group of shepherds and their dogs was clustered.
+While standing apart from the rest, in characteristic isolation, was
+the bent figure of his father, and beside him the Tailless Tyke.
+
+"Doest'o not want yo' feyther to win?" asked Maggie softly,
+following his gaze.
+
+"I'm prayin' he'll be beat," the boy answered moodily.
+
+"Eh, Davie, hoo can ye?" cried the girl, shocked.
+
+"It's easy to say, 'Eh, David,'" he snapped. "But if yo' lived along o'
+them two "--he nodded toward the stream--"'appen yo'd understand
+a bit.... 'Eh, David,' indeed! I never did!"
+
+"I know it, lad," she said tenderly; and he was appeased.
+
+"He'd give his right hand for his bless'd Wullie to win; I'd give me
+right arm to see him beat. . . . And oor Bob there all the while,"--he
+nodded to the far left of the line, where stood James Moore and
+Owd Bob, with Parson Leggy and the Squire.
+
+When at length Red Wull came out to run his course, he worked
+with the savage dash that always characterized him. His method
+was his own; but the work was admirably done.
+
+"Keeps right on the back of his sheep," said the parson, watching
+intently. "Strange thing they don't break!" But they didn't. There
+was no waiting, no coaxing; it was drive and devilry all through.
+He brought his sheep along at a terrific rate, never missing a turn,
+never faltering, never running out. And the crowd applauded, for
+the crowd loves a dashing display. While little M'Adam, hopping
+agilely about, his face ablaze with excitement, handled dog and
+sheep with a masterly precision that compelled the admiration
+even of his enemies.
+
+"M'Adam wins!" roared a bookmaker. "Twelve to one agin the
+field!"
+
+"He wins, dang him!" said David, low.
+
+"Wull wins!" said the parson, shutting his lips.
+
+"And deserves too!" said James Moore.
+
+"Wull wins!" softly cried the crowd.
+
+"We don't!" said Sam'l gloomily.
+
+And in the end Red Wull did Win; and there were none save
+Tammas, the bigot, and Long Kirby, who had lost a good deal of
+his wife's money and a little of his own, to challenge the justice of
+the verdict.
+
+The win had but a chilling reception. At first there was faint
+cheering; but it sounded like the echo of an echo, and soon died of
+inanition. To get up an ovation, there must be money at the back,
+or a few roaring fanatics to lead the dance. Here there was neither;
+ugly stories, disparaging remarks, on every hand. And the hundreds
+who did not know took their tone, as always, from those who said
+they did.
+
+M'Adam could but remark the absence of enthusiasm as he pushed
+up through the throng toward the committee tent. No single voice
+hailed him victor; no friendly hand smote its congratulations.
+Broad backs were turned; contemptuous glances levelled; spiteful
+remarks shot. Only the foreign element looked curiously at the
+little bent figure with the glowing face, and shrank back at the size
+and savage aspect of the great dog at his heels.
+
+But what cared he? His Wullie was acknowledged champion, the
+best sheep-dog of the year; and the little man was happy.
+They could turn their backs on him; but they could not alter
+that; and he could afford to be indifferent. "They dinna
+like it, lad--he! he! But they'll e'en ha' to thole it.
+Ye've won it, Wullie--won it fair."
+
+He elbowed through the press, making for the rope-guarded
+inclosure in front of the committee tent, round which the people
+were now packing. In the door of the tent stood the secretary,
+various stewards, and members of the committee. In front, alone in
+the roped-off space, was Lady Eleanour, fragile, dainty, graceful,
+waiting with a smile upon her face to receive the winner. And on a
+table beside her, naked and dignified, the Shepherd's Trophy.
+
+There it stood, kingly and impressive; its fair white sides inscribed
+with many names; cradled in three shepherds' crooks; and on the
+top, as if to guard the Cup's contents, an exquisitely carved collie's
+head. The Shepherds' Trophy, the goal of his life's race, and many
+another man's.
+
+He climbed over the rope, followed by Red Wull, and took off his
+hat with almost courtly deference to the fair lady before him.
+
+As he walked up to the table on which the Cup stood, a shrill
+voice, easily recognizable, broke the silence.
+
+"You'd like it better if 'twas full and yo' could swim in it, you and
+yer Wullie," it called. Whereat the crowd giggled, and Lady
+Eleanour looked indignant.
+
+The little man turned.
+
+"I'll mind drink yer health, Mr. Thornton, never fear, though I ken
+ye'd prefaire to drink yer ain," he said. At which the crowd giggled
+afresh; and a gray head at the back, which had hoped itself
+unrecognized, disappeared suddenly.
+
+The little man stood there in the stillness, sourly smiling, his face
+still wet from his exertions; while the Tailless Tyke at his side
+fronted defiantly the serried ring of onlookers, a white fence of
+teeth faintly visible between his lips.
+
+Lady Eleanour looked uneasy. Usually the lucky winner was
+unable to hear her little speech, as she gave the Cup away, so
+deafening was the applause. Now there was utter silence. She
+glanced up at the crowd, but there was no response to her
+unspoken appeal in that forest of hostile faces. And her gentle
+heart bled for the forlorn little man before her. To make it up she
+smiled on him so sweetly as to more than compensate him.
+
+"I'm sure you deserve your success, Mr. M'Adam," she said. "You
+and Red Wull there worked splendidly--everybody says so."
+
+"I've heard naethin' o't," the little man answered dryly. At which
+some one in the crowd sniggered.
+
+"And we all know what a grand dog he is; though"--with a
+reproving smile as she glanced at Red Wull's square, truncated
+stern--"he's not very polite."
+
+"His heart is good, your Leddyship, if his manners are not,"
+M'Adam answered, smiling.
+
+"Liar!" came a loud voice in the silence. Lady Eleanour looked up,
+hot with indignation, and half rose from her seat. But M'Adam
+merely smiled.
+
+"Wullie, turn and mak' yer bow to the leddy," he said. "They'll no
+hurt us noo we're up; it's when we're doon they'll flock like corbies
+to the carrion."
+
+At that Red Wull walked up to Lady Eleanour, faintly wagging his
+tail; and she put her hand on his huge bull head and said, "Dear old
+Ugly!" at which the crowd cheered in earnest.
+
+After that, for some moments, the only sound was the gentle ripple
+of the good lady's voice and the little man's caustic replies.
+
+"Why, last winter the country was full of Red Wull's doings and
+yours. It was always M'Adam and his Red Wull have done this and
+that and the other. I declare I got quite tired of you both, I heard
+such a lot about you."
+
+The little man, cap in hand, smiled, blushed and looked genuinely
+pleased.
+
+"And when it wasn't you it was Mr. Moore and Owd Bob."
+
+"Owd Bob, bless him!" called a stentorian voice. "There cheers for
+oor Bob!"
+
+"'Ip! 'ip! 'ooray!" It was taken up gallantly, and cast from mouth to
+mouth; and strangers, though they did not understand, caught the
+contagion and cheered too; and the uproar continued for some
+minutes.
+
+When it was ended Lady Eleanour was standing up, a faint flush
+on her cheeks and her eyes flashing dangerously, like a queen at
+bay.
+
+"Yes," she cried, and her clear voice thrilled through the air like a
+trumpet. "Yes; and now three cheers for Mr. M'Adam and his Red
+Wull! Hip! hip--"
+
+"Hooray!" A little knowt of stalwarts at the back--James Moore,
+Parson Leggy, Jim Mason, and you may be sure in heart, at least,
+Owd Bob--responded to the call right lustily. The crowd joined in;
+and, once off, cheered and cheered again.
+
+"Three cheers more for Mr. M'Adam!"
+
+But the little man waved to them.
+
+"Dinna be bigger heepocrites than ye can help," he said. "Ye've
+done enough for one day, and thank ye for it."
+
+Then Lady Eleanour handed him the Cup.
+
+"Mr. M'Adam, I present you with the Champion Challenge Dale
+Cup, open to all comers. Keep it, guard it, love it as your own, and
+win it again if you can. Twice more and it's yours, you know, and it
+will stop forever beneath the shadow of the Pike. And the right
+place for it, say I--the Dale Cup for Dalesmen."
+
+The little man took the Cup tenderly.
+
+"It shall no leave the Estate or ma hoose, yer Leddyship, gin
+Wullie and I can help it," he said emphatically.
+
+Lady Eleanour retreated into the tent, and the crowd swarmed over
+the ropes and round the little man, who held the Cup beneath his
+arm.
+
+Long Kirby laid irreverent hands upon it.
+
+"Dinna finger it!" ordered M'Adam.
+
+"Shall!''
+
+"Shan't! Wullie, keep him aff." Which the great dog proceeded to
+do amid the laughter of the onlookers.
+
+Among the last, James Moore was borne past the little man. At
+sight of him, M'Adam's face assumed an expression of intense
+concern.
+
+"Man, Moore!" he cried, peering forward as though in alarm;
+"man, Moore, ye're green--positeevely verdant. Are ye in pain?"
+Then, catching sight of Owd Bob, he started back in affected
+horror.
+
+"And, ma certes! so's yer dog! Yer dog as was gray is green. Oh,
+guid life! "--and he made as though about to fall fainting to the
+ground.
+
+Then, in bantering tones: "Ah, but ye shouldna covet ----"
+
+"He'll ha' no need to covet it long, I can tell yo'," interposed
+Tammas's shrill accents.
+
+"And why for no?"
+
+"Becos next year he'll win it fra yo'. Oor Bob'll win it, little mon.
+Why? thot's why."
+
+The retort was greeted with a yell of applause from the sprinkling
+of Dalesmen in the crowd.
+
+But M'Adam swaggered away into the tent, his head up, the Cup
+beneath his arm, and Red Wull guarding his rear.
+
+"First of a' ye'll ha' to beat Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull!" he
+cried back proudly.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XI. OOR BOB
+
+
+M'ADAM'S pride in the great Cup that now graced his kitchen was
+supreme. It stood alone in the very centre of the mantelpiece, just
+below the old bell-mouthed blunderbuss that hung upon the wall.
+The only ornament in the bare room, it shone out in its silvery
+chastity like the moon in a gloomy sky.
+
+For once the little man was content. Since his mother's death
+David had never known such peace. It was not that his father
+became actively kind; rather that he forgot to be actively unkind.
+
+"Not as I care a brazen button one way or t'ither," the boy informed
+Maggie.
+
+"Then yo' should," that proper little person replied.
+
+M'Adam was, indeed, a changed being. He forgot to curse James
+Moore; he forgot to sneer at Owd Bob; he rarely visited the
+Sylvester Arms, to the detriment of Jem Burton's pocket and
+temper; and he was never drunk.
+
+"Soaks 'isseif at home, instead," suggested Tammas, the
+prejudiced. But the accusation was untrue.
+
+"Too drunk to git so far," said Long Kirby, kindly man.
+
+"I reck'n the Cup is kind o' company to him," said Jim Mason.
+"Happen it's lonesomeness as drives him here so much." And
+happen you were right, charitable Jim.
+
+"Best mak' maist on it while he has it, 'cos he'll not have it for
+long," Tammas remarked amid applause.
+
+Even Parson Leggy allowed--rather reluctantly, indeed, for he was
+but human--that the little man was changed wonderfully for the
+better.
+
+"But I am afraid it may not last," he said. "We shall see what
+happens when Owd Bob beats him for the Cup, as he certainly
+will. That'll be the critical moment."
+
+As things were, the little man spent all his spare moments with the
+Cup between his knees, burnishing it and crooning to Wullie:
+
+"I never saw a fairer,
+I never lo'ed a dearer,
+And neist my heart I'll wear her,
+For fear my jewel tine."
+
+There, Wullie! look at her! is she no bonnie? She shines like a
+twinkle--twinkle in the sky." And he would hold it out at arm's
+length, his head cocked sideways the better to scan its bright
+beauties.
+
+The little man was very jealous for his treasure. David might not
+touch it; might not smoke in the kitchen lest the fumes should
+tarnish its glory; while if he approached too closely he was ordered
+abruptly away.
+
+"As if I wanted to touch his nasty Cup!" he complained to Maggie.
+"I'd sooner ony day--"
+
+"Hands aff, Mr. David, immediate!" she cried indignantly.
+"'Pertinence, indeed!" as she tossed her head clear of the big
+fingers that were fondling her pretty hair.
+
+So it was that M'Adam, on coming quietly into the kitchen one
+day, was consumed with angry resentment to find David actually
+handling the object of his reverence; and the manner of his doing it
+added a thousandfold to the offence.
+
+The boy was lolling indolently against the mantelpiece, his fair
+head shoved right into the Cup, his breath dimming its lustre, and
+his two hands, big and dirty, slowly revolving it before his eyes.
+
+Bursting with indignation, the little man crept up behind the boy.
+David was reading through the long list of winners.
+
+"Theer's the first on 'em," he muttered, shooting out his tongue to
+indicate the locality: "'Andrew Moore's Rough, 178--.' And theer agin
+--' James Moore's Pinch, 179--.' And agin--'Beck, 182--.' Ah, and
+theer's 'im Tammas tells on! 'Rex, 183--,' and Rex, 183--.' Ay, but he
+was a rare un by all tell-in's! If he'd nob'but won but onst agin! Ah,
+and theer's none like the Gray Dogs--they all says that, and I say so
+masel'; none like the Gray Dogs o' Kenmuir, bless 'em! And we'll win
+agin too--" he broke off short; his eye had travelled down to the last
+name on the list.
+
+"'M'Adam's Wull'!" he read with unspeakable contempt, and put his
+great thumb across the name as though to wipe it out. "'M'Adam's
+Wull'! Goo' gracious sakes! P-hg-h-r-r! "--and he made a motion as
+though to spit upon the ground.
+
+But a little shoulder was into his side, two small fists were
+beating at his chest, and a shrill voice was yelling: "Devil!
+devil! stan' awa'!"--and he was tumbled precipitately away from
+the mantelpiece, and brought up abruptly against the side-wall.
+
+The precious Cup swayed on its ebony stand, the boy's hands,
+rudely withdrawn, almost overthrowing it. But the little man's first
+impulse, cursing and screaming though he was, was to steady it.
+
+"'M'Adam's Wull'! I wish he was here to teach ye, ye snod-faced,
+ox-limbed profleegit!" he cried, standing in front of the Cup, his
+eyes blazing.
+
+"Ay, 'M'Adam's Wull'! And why not 'M'Adam's Wull'? Ha' ye ony
+objections to the name?"
+
+"I didn't know yo' was theer," said David, a thought sheepishly.
+
+"Na; or ye'd not ha' said it."
+
+"I'd ha' thought it, though," muttered the boy.
+
+Luckily, however, his father did not hear. He stretched his hands
+up tenderly for the Cup, lifted it down, and began reverently to
+polish the dimmed sides with his handkerchief.
+
+"Ye're thinkin', nae doot," he cried, casting up a vicious glance at
+David, "that Wullie's no gude enough to ha' his name alangside o'
+they cursed Gray Dogs. Are ye no? Let's ha' the truth for aince--for
+a diversion."
+
+"Reck'n he's good enough if there's none better," David replied
+dispassionately.
+
+"And wha should there be better? Tell me that, ye muckle gowk."
+
+David smiled.
+
+"Eh, but that'd be long tellin', he said.
+
+"And what wad ye mean by that?" his father cried.
+
+"Nay; I was but thinkin' that Mr. Moore's Bob'll look gradely writ
+under yon." He pointed to the vacant space below Red Wull's
+name.
+
+The little man put the Cup back on its pedestal with hurried hands.
+The handkerchief dropped unconsidered to the floor; he turned and
+sprang furiously at the boy, who stood against the wall, still
+smiling; and, seizing him by the collar of his coat, shook him to
+and fro with fiery energy.
+
+"So ye're hopin', prayin', nae doot, that James Moore--curse
+him!--will win ma Cup awa' from me, yer ain dad. I wonder ye're no
+'shamed to crass ma door! Ye live on me; ye suck ma blood, ye
+foul-mouthed leech. Wullie and me brak' oorsel's to keep ye in hoose
+and hame--and what's yer gratitude? Ye plot to rob us of oor rights."
+
+He dropped the boy's coat and stood back.
+
+"No rights about it," said David, still keeping his temper.
+
+"If I win is it no ma right as muckle as ony Englishman's?"
+
+Red Wull, who had heard the rising voices, came trotting in,
+scowled at David, and took his stand beside his master.
+
+"Ah, _if_ yo' win it," said David, with significant emphasis on the
+conjunction.
+
+"And wha's to beat us?"
+
+David looked at his father in well-affected surprise.
+
+"I tell yo' Owd Bob's rinin'," he answered.
+
+"And what if he is?" the other cried.
+
+"Why, even yo' should know so much," the boy sneered.
+
+The little man could not fail to understand.
+
+"So that's it!" he said. Then, in a scream, with one finger pointing
+to the great dog: "And what o' him? What'll ma Wullie be doin' the
+while? Tell me that, and ha' a care! Mind ye, he stan's here
+hearkenin'!" And, indeed, the Tailless Tyke was bristling for battle.
+
+David did not like the look of things; and edged away toward the
+door.
+
+"What'll Wullie be doin', ye chicken-hearted brock?" his father
+cried.
+
+"Im?" said the boy, now close on the door. "Im!" he said, with a slow
+contempt that made the red bristles quiver on the dog's neck. "Lookin'
+on, I should think--lookin' on. What else is he fit for? I tell yo'
+oor Bob--"
+
+"--'Oor Bob'!" screamed the little man darting forward. "'Oor Bob'!
+Hark to him. I'll 'oor--' At him, Wullie! at him!"
+
+But the Tailless Tyke needed no encouragement. With a harsh roar
+he sprang through the air, only to crash against the closing door!
+
+The outer door banged, and in another second a mocking finger
+tapped on the windowpane.
+
+"Better luck to the two on yo' next time!" laughed a scornful voice;
+and David ran down the hill toward Kenmuir.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XII. HOW RED WULL HELD THE BRIDGE
+
+
+FROM that hour the fire of M'Adam's jealousy blazed into a
+mighty flame. The winning of the Dale Cup had become a
+mania with him. He had won it once, and would again despite all
+the Moores, all the Gray Dogs, all the undutiful sons in existence;
+on that point he was resolved. The fact of his having tasted the joys
+of victory served to whet his desire. And now he felt he could
+never be happy till the Cup was his own--won outright.
+
+At home David might barely enter the room There the trophy
+stood.
+
+"I'll not ha' ye touch ma Cup, ye dirty-fingered, ill-begotten
+wastrel. Wullie and me won it--you'd naught to do wi' it. Go you to
+James Moore and James Moore's dog."
+
+"Ay, and shall I tak' Cup wi' me? or will ye bide till it's took from
+ye?"
+
+So the two went on; and every day the tension approached nearer
+breaking-point.
+
+In the Dale the little man met with no sympathy. The hearts of the
+Dalesmen were to a man with Owd Bob and his master.
+
+Whereas once at the Sylvester Arms his shrill, ill tongue had been
+rarely still, now he maintained a sullen silence; Jem Burton, at
+least, had no cause of complaint. Crouched away in a corner, with
+Red Wull beside him, the little man would sit watching and
+listening as the Dalesmen talked of Owd Bob's doings, his
+staunchness, sagacity, and coming victory.
+
+Sometimes he could restrain himself no longer. Then he would
+spring to his feet, and stand, a little swaying figure, and denounce
+them passionately in almost pathetic eloquence. These orations
+always concluded in set fashion.
+
+"Ye're all agin us!" the little man would cry in quivering voice.
+
+"We are that," Tammas would answer complacently.
+
+"Fair means or foul, ye're content sae lang as Wullie and me are
+beat. I wonder ye dinna poison him--a little arsenic, and the way's
+clear for your Bob."
+
+"'The way is clear enough wi'oot that," from Tammas caustically.
+
+Then a lengthy silence, only broken by that exceeding bitter cry: "Eh,
+Wullie, Wullie, they're all agin us!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+And always the rivals--red and gray--went about seeking their
+opportunity. But the Master, with his commanding presence and
+stern eyes, was ever ready for them. Toward the end, M'Adam,
+silent and sneering, would secretly urge on Red Wull to the attack;
+until, one day in Grammoch-town, James Moore turned on him,
+his blue eyes glittering. "D'yo' think, yo' little fule," he cried in that
+hard voice of his, "that onst they got set we should iver git either of
+them off alive?" It seemed to strike the little man as a novel idea;
+for, from that moment, he was ever the first in his feverish
+endeavors to oppose his small form, buffer-like, between the
+would-be combatants.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Curse as M'Adam might, threaten as he might, when the time came
+Owd Bob won.
+
+The styles of the rivals were well contrasted: the patience, the
+insinuating eloquence, combined with the splendid dash, of the
+one; and the fierce, driving fury of the other.
+
+The issue was never in doubt. It may have been that the temper of
+the Tailless Tyke gave in the time of trial; it may have been that
+his sheep were wild, as M'Adam declared; certainly not, as the
+little man alleged in choking voice, that they had been chosen and
+purposely set aside to ruin his chance. Certain it is that his tactics
+scared them hopelessly: and he never had them in hand.
+
+Act for Owd Bob, his dropping, his driving, his penning, aroused
+the loud-tongued admiration of crowd and competitors alike. He
+was patient yet persistent, quiet yet firm, and seemed to coax his
+charges in the right way in that inimitable manner of his own.
+
+When, at length, the verdict was given, and it was known that,
+after an interval of half a century, the Shepherds' Trophy was won
+again by a Gray Dog of Kenmuir, there was such a  scene as has
+been rarely witnessed on the slope behind the Dalesman's
+Daughter.
+
+Great fists were slapped on mighty backs; great feet were stamped
+on the sun-dried banks of the Silver Lea; stalwart lungs were
+strained to their uttermost capacity; and roars of "Moore!" "Owd
+Bob o' Kenmuir!" "The Gray Dogs!" thundered up the hillside, and
+were flung, thundering, back.
+
+Even James Moore was visibly moved as he worked his way
+through the cheering mob; and Owd Bob, trotting alongside him in
+quiet dignity, seemed to wave his silvery brush in
+acknowledgment.
+
+Master Jacky Sylvester alternately turned cart-wheels and felled
+the Hon. Launcelot Bilks to the ground. Lady Eleanour, her cheeks
+flushed with pleasure, waved her parasol, and attempted to restrain
+her son's exuberance. Parson Leggy danced an unclerical jig, and
+shook hands with the squire till both those fine old gentlemen were
+purple in the face. Long Kirby selected a small man in the crowd,
+and bashed his hat down over his eyes. While Tammas, Rob
+Saunderson, Tupper, Hoppin, Londesley, and the rest joined hands
+and went raving round like so many giddy girls.
+
+Of them all, however, none was so uproarious in the mad heat of his
+enthusiasm as David M'Adam. He stood in the Kenmuir wagon beside
+Maggie, a conspicuous figure above the crowd, as he roared in hoarse
+ecstasy:
+
+"Weel done, oor Bob! Weel done, Mr. Moore! Yo've knocked him!
+Knock him agin! Owd Bob o' Kenmuir! Moore! Moore o'
+Kenmuir! Hip! Hip!" until the noisy young giant attracted such
+attention in his boisterous delight that Maggie had to lay a hand
+upon his arm to restrain his violence.
+
+Alone, on the far bank of the stream, stood the vanquished pair.
+
+The little man was trembling slightly; his face was still hot from
+his exertions; and as he listened to the ovation accorded to his
+conqueror, there was a piteous set grin upon his face. In front
+stood the defeated dog, his lips wrinkling and hackles rising, as he,
+too, saw and heard and understood.
+
+"It's a gran' thing to ha' a dutiful son. Wullie," the little man
+whispered, watching David's waving figure. "He's happy--and so
+are they a'--not sae much that James Moore has won, as that you
+and I are beat."
+
+Then, breaking down for a moment:
+
+"Eh, Wullie, Wullie! They're all agin us. It's you and I alane,
+lad."
+
+Again, seeing the squire followed by Parson Leggy, Viscount
+Birdsaye, and others of the gentry, forcing their way through the
+press to shake hands with the victor, he continued:
+
+"It's good to be in wi' the quality, Wullie. Niver mak' a friend of a
+man beneath ye in rank, nor an enemy of a man aboon ye: that's a
+soond principle, Wullie, if ye'd get on in honest England."
+
+He stood there, alone with his dog, watching the crowd on the far
+slope as it surged upward in the direction of the committee tent.
+Only when the black mass had packed itself in solid phalanges
+about that ring, inside which, just a year ago, he had stood in very
+different circumstances, and was at length still, a wintry smile
+played for a moment about his lips. He laughed a mirthless laugh.
+
+"Bide a wee, Wullie--he! he! Bide a wee.
+'The best-laid schemes o' mice and men
+Gang aft agley.'"
+
+As he spoke, there came down to him, above the tumult, a faint cry
+of mingled surprise and anger. The cheering ceased abruptly.
+There was silence; then there burst on the stillness a hurricane of
+indignation.
+
+The crowd surged forward, then turned. Every eye was directed
+across the stream. A hundred damning fingers pointed at the
+solitary figure there. There were hoarse yells of: "There he be
+Yon's him! What's he done wi' it? Thief! Throttle him!"
+
+The mob came lumbering down the slope like one man, thundering
+their imprecations on a thousand throats. They looked dangerous,
+and their wrath was stimulated by the knot of angry Dalesmen who
+led the van. There was more than one white face among the
+women at the top of the slope as they watched the crowd
+blundering blindly down the hill. There were more men than
+Parson Leggy, the squire, James Moore, and the local constables in
+the thick of it all, striving frantically with voice and gesture, ay,
+and stick too, to stem the advance.
+
+It was useless; on the dark wave rolled, irresistible.
+
+On the far bank stood the little man, motionless, awaiting them
+with a grin upon his face. And a little farther in front was the
+Tailless Tyke, his back and neck like a new-shorn wheat-field, as
+he rumbled a vast challenge.
+
+"Come on, gentlemen!" the little man cried. "Come on! I'll bide for
+ye, never fear. Ye're a thousand to one and a dog. It's the odds ye
+like, Englishmen a'."
+
+And the mob, with murder in its throat, accepted the invitation and
+came on.
+
+At the moment, however, from the slope above, clear above the
+tramp of the multitude, a great voice bellowed: "Way! Way! Way
+for Mr. Trotter!" The advancing host checked and opened out; and
+the secretary of the meeting bundled through.
+
+He was a small, fat man, fussy at any time, and perpetually
+perspiring. Now his face was crimson with rage and running; he
+gesticulated wildly; vague words bubbled forth, as his short legs
+twinkled down the slope.
+
+The crowd paused to admire. Some one shouted a witticism, and
+the crowd laughed. For the moment the situation was saved.
+
+The fat secretary hurried on down the slope, unheeding of any
+insult but the one. He bounced over the plank-bridge: and as he
+came closer, M'Adam saw that in each hand brandished a brick.
+
+"Hoots, man! dinna throw!" he cried, making a feint as though to
+turn in sudden terror.
+
+"What's this? What's this?" gasped the secretary, waving his arms.
+
+"Bricks, 'twad seem," the other answered, staying his flight.
+
+The secretary puffed up like a pudding in a hurry.
+
+"Where's the Cup? Champion, Challenge, etc.," he jerked out.
+"Mind, sir, you're responsible! wholly responsible! Dents,
+damages, delays! What's it all mean, sir? These--these monstrous
+creations "--he brandished the bricks, and M'Adam started back--
+"wrapped, as I live, in straw, sir, in the Cup case, sir! the Cup case!
+No Cup! Infamous! Disgraceful! Insult me--meeting--committee--
+every one! What's it mean, sir?" He paused to pant, his body filling
+and emptying like a bladder.
+
+M'Adam approached him with one eye on the crowd, which was
+heaving forward again, threatening still, but sullen and silent.
+
+"I pit 'em there," he whispered; and drew back to watch the effect
+of his disclosure.
+
+The secretary gasped.
+
+"You--you not only do this--amazing thing--these monstrosities"--
+he hurled the bricks furiously on the unoffending ground--"but
+you dare to tell me so!"
+
+The little man smiled.
+
+"'Do wrang and conceal it, do right and confess it,' that's
+Englishmen's motto, and mine, as a rule; but this time I had ma
+reasons."
+
+"Reasons, sir! No reasons can justify such an extraordinary breach
+of all the--the decencies. Reasons? the reasons of a maniac. Not to
+say more, sir. Fraudulent detention--fraudulent, I say, sir! What
+were your precious reasons?"
+
+The mob with Tammas and Long Kirby at their head had now
+well nigh reached the plank-bridge. They still looked dangerous,
+and there were isolated cries of:
+
+"Duck him!"
+
+"Chuck him in!"
+
+"An' the dog!"
+
+"Wi' one o' they bricks about their necks!"
+
+"There are my reasons!" said M'Adam, pointing to the forest of
+menacing faces. "Ye see I'm no beloved amang yonder gentlemen,
+and"--in a stage whisper in the other's ear--"I thocht maybe I'd be
+'tacked on the road."
+
+Tammas foremost of the crowd, had now his foot upon the first
+plank.
+
+"Ye robber! ye thief! Wait till we set hands on ye, you and yer
+gorilla!" he called.
+
+M'Adam half turned.
+
+"Wullie," he said quietly, "keep the bridge."
+
+At the order the Tailless Tyke shot gladly forward, and the leaders
+on the bridge as hastily back. The dog galloped on to the rattling
+plank, took his post fair and square in the centre of the narrow
+way, and stood facing the hostile crew like Cerberus guarding the
+gates of hell: his bull-head was thrust forward, hackles up, teeth
+glinting, and a distant rumbling in his throat, as though daring
+them to come on.
+
+"Yo' first, ole lad!" said Tammas, hopping agilely behind Long
+Kirby.
+
+"Nay; the old uns lead!" cried the big smith, his face gray-white.
+He wrenched round, pinned the old man by the arms, and held him
+forcibly before him as a covering shield. There ensued an
+unseemly struggle betwixt the two valiants, Tammas bellowing
+and kicking in the throes of mortal fear.
+
+"Jim Mason'll show us," he suggested at last.
+
+"Nay," said honest Jim; "I'm fear'd." He could say it with impunity;
+for the pluck of Postie Jim was a matter long past dispute.
+
+Then Jem Burton'd go first?
+
+Nay; Jem had a lovin' wife and dear little kids at 'ome.
+
+Then Big Bell?
+
+Big Bell'd see 'isseif further first.
+
+A tall figure came forcing through the crowd, his face a little paler
+than its wont, and a formidable knob-kerry in his hand.
+
+"I'm goin'!" said David.
+
+"But yo're not," answered burly Sam'l, gripping the boy from
+behind with arms like the roots of an oak. "Your time'll coom soon
+enough by the look on yo' wi' niver no hurry."
+
+And the sense of the Dalesmen was with the big man; for, as old
+Rob Saunderson said:
+
+"I reck'n he'd liefer claw on to your throat, lad, nor ony o' oors."
+
+As there was no one forthcoming to claim the honor of the lead,
+Tammas came forward with cunning counsel.
+
+"Tell yo' what, lads, we'd best let 'em as don't know nowt at all
+aboot him go first. And onst they're on, mind, we winna let 'em off;
+but keep a-shovin' and a-bovin 'on 'em forra'd. _Then_ us'll foller."
+
+By this time there was a little naked space of green round the
+bridge-head, like a fairy circle, into which the uninitiated might
+not penetrate. Round this the mob hedged: the Dalesmen in front,
+striving knavishly back and bawling to those behind to leggo that
+shovin'; and these latter urging valorously forward, yelling jeers
+and contumely at the front rank. "Come on! 'O's afraid? Lerrus
+through to 'em, then, ye Royal Stan'-backs!"--for well they knew
+the impossibility of their demand.
+
+And as they wedged and jostled thus, there stole out from their
+midst as gallant a champion as ever trod the grass. He trotted out
+into the ring, the observed of all, and paused to gaze at the gaunt
+figure on the bridge. The sun lit the sprinkling of snow on the
+dome of his head; one forepaw was off the ground; and he stood
+there, royally alert, scanning his antagonist.
+
+"Th' Owd Un!" went up in a roar fit to split the air as the hero of
+the day was recognized. And the Dalesmen gave a pace forward
+spontaneously as the gray knight-errant stole across the green.
+
+"Oor Bob'll fetch him!" they roared, their blood leaping to fever
+heat, and gripped their sticks, determined in stern reality to follow
+now.
+
+The gray champion trotted up on to the bridge, and paused again,
+the long hair about his neck rising like a ruff, and a strange
+glint in his eyes; and the holder of the bridge never moved. Red
+and Gray stood thus, face to face: the one gay yet resolute, the
+other motionless, his great head slowly sinking between his
+forelegs, seemingly petrified.
+
+There was no shouting now: it was time for deeds, not words.
+Only, above the stillness, came a sound from the bridge like the
+snore of a giant in his sleep, and blending, with it, a low, deep,
+purring thunder like some monster cat well pleased.
+
+"Wullie," came a solitary voice from the far side, "keep the
+bridge!"
+
+One ear went back, one ear was still forward; the great head was
+low and lower between his forelegs and the glowing eyes rolled
+upward so that the watchers could see the murderous white.
+
+Forward the gray dog stepped.
+
+Then, for the second time that afternoon, a voice, stern and hard,
+came ringing down from the slope above over the heads of the
+many.
+
+"Bob, lad, coom back!"
+
+"He! he! I thocht that was comin'," sneered the small voice over the
+stream.
+
+The gray dog heard, and checked.
+
+"Bob, lad, coom in, I say!"
+
+At that he swung round and marched slowly back, gallant as he
+had come, dignified still in his mortification.
+
+And Red Wull threw back his head and bellowed a paean of
+victory--challenge, triumph, scorn, all blended in that bull-like,
+blood-chilling blare.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the mean time, M'Adam and the secretary had concluded their
+business. It had been settled that the Cup was to be delivered over
+to James Moore not later than the following Saturday.
+
+"Saturday, see! at the latest!" the secretary cried as he turned and
+trotted off.
+
+"Mr. Trotter," M'Adam called after him. "I'm sorry, but ye maun
+bide this side the Lea till I've reached the foot o' the Pass.
+Gin they gentlemen"--nodding toward the crowd--"should set hands
+on me, why--" and he shrugged his shoulders significantly.
+"Forbye, Wullie's keepin' the bridge."
+
+With that the little man strolled off leisurely; now dallying to
+pick a flower, now to wave a mocking hand at the furious mob,
+and so slowly on to the foot of the Muirk Muir Pass.
+
+There he turned and whistled that shrill peculiar note.
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, to me!" he called.
+
+At that, with one last threat thrown at the' thousand souls he had
+held at bay for thirty minutes, the Tailless Tyke swung about and
+galloped after his lord.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XIII.  THE FACE IN THE FRAME
+
+
+ALL Friday M'Adam never left the kitchen. He sat opposite the
+Cup, in a coma, as it were; and Red Wull lay motionless at his
+feet.
+
+Saturday came, and still the two never budged. Toward the
+evening the little man rose, all in a tremble, and took the Cup
+down from the mantelpiece; then he sat down again with it in his
+arms.
+
+"Eh, Wullie, Wullie, is it a dream? Ha' they took her fra us? Eh,
+but it's you and I alane, lad."
+
+He hugged it to him, crying silently, and rocking to and fro like a
+mother with a dying child. And Red Wull sat up on his haunches,
+and weaved from side to side in sympathy.
+
+As the dark was falling, David looked in.
+
+At the sound of the opening door the little man swung round
+noiselessly, the Cup nursed in his arms, and glared, sullen and
+suspicious, at the boy; yet seemed not to recognize him. In the
+half-light David could see the tears coursing down the little
+wizened face.
+
+"'Pon ma life, he's gaein' daft!" was his comment as he turned away
+to Kenmuir. And again the mourners were left alone.
+
+"A few hours noo, Wullie," the little man wailed, "and she'll be
+gane. We won her, Wullie, you and I, won her fair: she's lit the
+hoose for us; she's softened a' for us--and God kens we needed it;
+she was the ae thing we had to look to and love. And noo they're
+takin' her awa', and 'twill be night agin. We've cherished her, we've
+garnished her, we've loved her like oor ain; and noo she maun gang
+to strangers who know her not."
+
+He rose to his feet, and the great dog rose with him. His voice
+heightened to a scream, and he swayed with the Cup in his arms
+till it seemed he must fall.
+
+"Did they win her fair, Wullie? Na; they plotted, they conspired,
+they worked ilka ain o' them agin us, and they beat us. Ay, and noo
+they're robbin' us--robbin' us! But they shallna ha' her. Oor's or
+naebody's, Wullie! We'll finish her sooner nor that."
+
+He banged the Cup down on the table and rushed madly out of the
+room, Red Wull at his heels. In a moment he came running back,
+brandishing a great axe about his head.
+
+"Come on, Wullie!" he cried. "'Scots wha hae'! Noo's the day and
+noo's the hour! Come on!"
+
+On the table before him, serene and beautiful, stood the target of
+his madness. The little man ran at it, swinging his murderous
+weapon like a flail.
+
+"Oor's or naebody's Wullie! Come on! 'Lay the proud usurpers
+low'!" He aimed a mighty buffet; and the Shepherds' Trophy--the
+Shepherds' Trophy which had won through the hardships of a
+hundred years--was almost gone. It seemed to quiver as the blow
+fell. But the cruel steel missed, and the axe-head sank into the
+wood, clean and deep, like a spade in snow.
+
+Red Wull had leapt on to the table, and in his cavernous voice was
+grumbling a chorus to his master's yells. The little man danced up
+and down, tugging and straining at the axe-handle.
+
+"You and I, Wullie!
+
+'Tyrants fall in every foe!
+Liberty's in every blow!'"
+
+The axe-head was as immoveable as the Muir Pike.
+
+"'Let us do or die!'"
+
+The shaft snapped, and the little man tottered back. Red Wull
+jumped down from the table, and, in doing so, brushed against the
+Cup. It toppled* over on to the floor, and rolled tinkling away in
+the dust. And the little man fled madly out of the house, still
+screaming his war-song.
+
+*N.B.--You may see the dent in the Cup's white sides to this day.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When, late that night, M'Adam returned home, the Cup was gone.
+Down on his hands and knees he traced out its path, plain to see,
+where it had rolled along the dusty floor. Beyond that there was no
+sign.
+
+At first he was too much overcome to speak. Then he raved round
+the room like a derelict ship, Red Wull following uneasily behind.
+He cursed; he blasphemed; he screamed and beat the walls with
+feverish hands. A stranger, passing, might well have thought this
+was a private Bedlam. At last, exhausted, he sat down and cried.
+
+"It's David, Wullie, ye may depend; David that's robbed his father's
+hoose. Oh, it's a grand thing to ha' a dutiful son!"--and he bowed
+his gray head in his hands.
+
+David, indeed, it was. He had come back to the Grange during his
+father's absence, and, taking the Cup from its grimy bed, had
+marched it away to its rightful home. For that evening at Kenmuir,
+James Moore had said to him:
+
+"David, your father's not sent the Cup. I shall come and fetch it
+to-morrow." And David knew he meant it. Therefore, in order to
+save a collision between his father and his friend--a collision the
+issue of which he dared hardly contemplate, knowing, as he did,
+the unalterable determination of the one and the lunatic passion of
+the other--the boy had resolved to fetch the Cup himself, then
+and there, in the teeth, if needs be, of his father and the Tailless
+Tyke. And he had done it.
+
+When he reached home that night he marched, contrary to his
+wont, straight into the kitchen.
+
+There sat his father facing the door, awaiting him, his hands upon
+his knees. For once the little man was alone; and David, brave
+though he was, thanked heaven devoutly that Red Wull was
+elsewhere.
+
+For a while father and son kept silence, watching one another like
+two fencers.
+
+"'Twas you as took ma Cup?" asked the little man at last, leaning
+forward in his chair.
+
+"'Twas me as took Mr. Moore's Cup," the boy replied. "I thowt yo'
+mun ha' done wi' it--I found it all bashed upon the floor."
+
+"You took it--pit up to it, nae doot, by James Moore."
+
+David made a gesture of dissent.
+
+"Ay, by James Moore," his father continued. "He dursena come
+hissel' for his ill-gotten spoils, so he sent the son to rob the father.
+The coward!"--his whole frame shook with passion. "I'd ha' thocht
+James Moore'd ha' bin man enough to come himself for what he
+wanted. I see noo I did him a wrang--I misjudged him. I kent him a
+heepocrite; ain o' yer unco gudes; a man as looks one thing, says
+anither, and does a third; and noo I ken he's a coward. He's fear'd o'
+me, sic as I am, five foot twa in ma stockin's." He rose from his
+chair and drew himself up to his full height.
+
+"Mr. Moore had nowt to do wi' it," David persisted.
+
+"Ye're lyin'. James Moore pit ye to it."
+
+"I tell yo' he did not."
+
+"Ye'd ha' bin willin' enough wi'oot him, if ye'd thocht o't, I grant ye.
+But ye've no the wits. All there is o' ye has gane to mak' yer
+rnuckle body. Hooiver, that's no matter. I'll settle wi' James Moore
+anither time. I'll settle wi' you noo, David M'Adam."
+
+He paused, and looked the boy over from bead to foot.
+
+"So, ye're not only an idler! a wastrel! a liar!"--he spat the words
+out. "Ye're--God help ye--a thief!"
+
+"I'm no thief!" the boy returned hotly. "I did but give to a mon what
+ma feyther--shame on him!--wrongfully kept from him."
+
+"Wrangfully?" cried the little man, advancing with burning face.
+
+"'Twas honorably done, keepin' what wasna your'n to keep! Holdin'
+back his rights from a man! Ay, if ony one's the thief, it's not me:
+it's you, I say, you!"--and he looked his father in the face with
+flashing eyes.
+
+"I'm the thief, am I?" cried the other, incoherent with passion.
+"Though ye're three times ma size, I'll teach ma son to speak so to
+me."
+
+The old strap, now long disused, hung in the chimney corner. As
+he spoke the little man sprang back, ripped it from the wall, and,
+almost before David realized what he was at, had brought it down
+with a savage slash across his son's shoulders; and as he smote he
+whistled a shrill, imperative note:
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, to me!"
+
+David felt the blow through his coat like a bar of hot iron laid
+across his back. His passion seethed within him; every vein
+throbbed; every nerve quivered. In a minute he would wipe out,
+once and for all, the score of years; for the moment, however,
+there was urgent business on hand. For outside he could hear the
+quick patter of feet hard-galloping, and the scurry of a huge
+creature racing madly to a call.
+
+With a bound he sprang at the open door; and again the strap came
+lashing down, and a wild voice:
+
+"Quick, Wullie! For God's sake, quick!"
+
+David slammed the door to. It shut with a rasping snap; and at the
+same moment a great body from without thundered against it with
+terrific violence, and a deep voice roared like the sea when
+thwarted of its prey.
+
+"Too late, agin!" said David, breathing hard; and shot the bolt
+home with a clang. Then he turned on his father.
+
+"Noo," said he, "man to man!"
+
+"Ay," cried the other, "father to son!"
+
+The little man half turned and leapt at the old musketoon hanging
+on the wall. He missed it, turned again, and struck with the strap
+full at the other's face. David caught the falling arm at the wrist,
+hitting it aside with such tremendous force that the bone all but
+snapped. Then he smote his father a terrible blow on the chest, and
+the little man staggered back, gasping, into the corner; while the
+strap dropped from his numbed fingers.
+
+Outside Red Wull whined and scratched; but the two men paid no
+heed.
+
+David strode forward; there was murder in his face. The little man
+saw it: his time was come; but his bitterest foe never impugned
+Adam M'Adam's courage.
+
+He stood huddled in the corner, all dishevelled, nursing one arm
+with the other, entirely unafraid.
+
+"Mind, David," he said, quite calm, "murder 'twill be, not
+manslaughter."
+
+"Murder 'twill be," the boy answered, in thick, low voice, and was
+across the room.
+
+Outside Red Wull banged and clawed high up on the door with
+impotent pats.
+
+The little man suddenly slipped his hand in his pocket, pulled out
+something, and flung it. The missile pattered on his son's face like
+a rain-drop on a charging bull, and David smiled as he came on. It
+dropped softly on the table at his side; he looked down and--it was
+the face of his mother which gazed up at him!
+
+"Mither!" he sobbed, stopping short. "Mither! Ma God, ye saved
+him--and me!"
+
+He stood there, utterly unhinged, shaking and whimpering.
+
+It was some minutes before he pulled himself together; then he
+walked to the wall, took down a pair of shears, and seated himself
+at the table, still trembling. Near him lay the miniature, all torn
+and crumpled, and beside it the deep-buried axe-head.
+
+He picked up the strap and began cutting it into little pieces.
+
+"There! and there! and there!" he said with each snip. "An' ye hit
+me agin there may be no mither to save ye."
+
+M'Adam stood huddling in the corner. He shook like an aspen leaf;
+his eyes blazed in his white face; and he still nursed one arm with
+the other.
+
+"Honor yer father," he quoted in small, low voice.
+
+
+
+
+PART IV  THE BLACK KILLER
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XIV. A MAD MAN
+
+
+TAMMAS is on his feet in the tap-room of the Arms, brandishing
+a pewter mug.
+
+"Gen'lemen!" he cries, his old face flushed; "I gie you a toast. Stan'
+oop!"
+
+The knot of Dalesmen round the fire rises like one. The old man
+waves his mug before him, reckless of the good ale that drips on to
+the floor.
+
+"The best sheep-dog i' th' North--Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!" he cries.
+In an instant there is uproar: the merry applause of clinking
+pewters; the stamping of feet; the rattle of sticks. Rob Saunderson
+and old Jonas are cheering with the best; Tupper and Ned Hoppin
+are bellowing in one another's ears; Long Kirby and Jem Burton
+are thumping each other on the back; even Sam'l Todd and Sexton
+Ross are roused from their habitual melancholy.
+
+"Here's to Th' Owd Un! Here's to oor Bob!" yell stentorian voices;
+while Rob Saunderson has jumped on to a chair.
+
+"Wi' the best sheep-dog i' th' North I gie yo' the Shepherd's
+Trophy!--won outreet as will be!" he cries. Instantly the clamor
+redoubles.
+
+"The Dale Cup and Th' Owd Un! The Trophy and oor Bob! 'Ip, 'ip,
+for the gray dogs! 'Ip, 'ip, for the best sheep-dog as ever was or will
+be! 'Ooray, 'ooray!"
+
+It is some minutes before the noise subsides; and slowly the
+enthusiasts resume their seats with hoarse throats and red faces.
+
+"Gentlemen a'!"
+
+A little unconsidered man is standing up at the back of the room.
+His face is aflame, and his hands twitch spasmodically; and, in
+front, with hackles up and eyes gleaming, is a huge, bull-like dog.
+
+"Noo," cries the little man, "I daur ye to repeat that lie!"
+
+"Lie!" screams Tammas; "lie! I'll gie 'im lie! Lemme at im', I say!"
+
+The old man in his fury is half over the surrounding ring of chairs
+before Jim Mason on the one hand and Jonas Maddox on the other
+can pull him back.
+
+"Coom, Mr. Thornton," soothes the octogenarian, "let un be. Yo'
+surely bain't angered by the likes o' 'im!"--and he jerks
+contemptuously toward the solitary figure at his back.
+
+Tammas resumes his seat unwillingly.
+
+The little man in the far corner of the room remains silent, waiting
+for his challenge to be taken up. It is in vain. And as he looks at
+the range of broad, impassive backs turned on him, he smiles
+bitterly.
+
+"They dursen't Wullie, not a man of them a'!" he cries. "They're
+one--two--three--four--eleven to one, Wullie, and yet they
+dursen't. Eleven of them, and every man a coward! Long
+Kirby--Thornton--Tupper--Todd--Hoppin--Ross--Burton--and the
+rest, and not one but's a bigger man nor me, and yet--Weel, we
+might ha' kent it. We should ha' kent Englishmen by noo. They're
+aye the same and aye have bin. They tell lies, black lies--"
+
+Tammas is again half out his chair and, only forcibly restrained by
+the men on either hand.
+
+"--and then they ha' na the courage to stan' by 'em. Ye're English,
+ivery man o' ye, to yer marrow."
+
+The little man's voice rises as he speaks. He seizes the tankard
+from the table at his side.
+
+"Englishmen!" he cries, waving it before him. "Here's a health!
+The best sheep-dog as iver penned a flock--Adam M'Adam's Red Wull!"
+
+He pauses, the pewter at his lips, and looks at his audience with
+flashing eyes. There is no response from them.
+
+"Wullie, here's to you!" he cries. "Luck and life to ye, ma trusty
+fier! Death and defeat to yer enemies!"
+
+"'The warld's warld's wrack we share o't,
+The warstle and the care o't;"
+
+He raises the tankard and drains it to its uttermost dreg.
+
+Then drawing himself up, he addresses his audience once more:
+
+"An' noo I'll warn ye aince and for a', and ye may tell James Moore
+I said it: He may plot agin us, Wullie and me; he may threaten us;
+he may win the Cup outright for his muckle favorite; but there was
+niver a man or dog yet as did Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull a
+hurt but in the end he wush't his mither hadna borne him."
+
+A little later, and he walks out of the inn, the Tailless Tyke at his
+heels.
+
+After he is gone it is Rob Saunderson who says: "The little mon's
+mad; he'll stop at nothin"; and Tammas who answers:
+
+"Nay; not even murder."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The little man had aged much of late. His hair was quite white, his
+eyes unnaturally bright, and his hands were never still, as though
+he were in everlasting pain. He looked the picture of disease.
+
+After Owd Bob's second victory he had become morose and
+untalkative. At home he often sat silent for hours together,
+drinking and glaring at the place where the Cup had been.
+Sometimes he talked in low, eerie voice to Red Wull; and on two
+occasions, David, turning, suddenly, had caught his father
+glowering stealthily at him with such an expression on his face as
+chilled the boy's blood. The two never spoke now; and David held
+this silent, deadly enmity far worse than the old-time perpetual
+warfare.
+
+It was the same at the Sylvester Arms. The little man sat alone
+with Red Wull, exchanging words with no man, drinking steadily,
+brooding over his wrongs, only now and again galvanized into
+sudden action.
+
+Other people than Tammas Thornton came to the conclusion that
+M'Adam would stop at nothing in the undoing of James Moore or
+the gray dog. They said drink and disappointment had turned his
+head; that he was mad and dangerous. And on New Year's day
+matters seemed coming to a crisis; for it was reported that in the
+gloom of a snowy evening he had drawn a knife on the Master in
+the High Street, but slipped before he could accomplish his fell
+purpose.
+
+Most of them all, David was haunted with an ever-present anxiety
+as to the little man's intentions. The boy even went so far as to
+warn his friend against his father. But the Master only smiled
+grimly.
+
+"Thank ye, lad," he said. "But I reck'n we can 'fend for oorsel's,
+Bob and I. Eh, Owd Un?"
+
+Anxious as David might be, he was not so anxious as to be above
+taking a mean advantage of this state of strained apprehension to
+work on Maggie's fears.
+
+One evening he was escorting her home from church, when, just
+before they reached the larch copse: "Goo' sakes! What's that?" he
+ejaculated in horror-laden accents, starting back.
+
+"What, Davie?" cried the girl, shrinking up to him all in a tremble.
+
+"Couldna say for sure. It mought be owt, or agin it mought be
+nowt. But yo' grip my arm, I'll grip yo' waist."
+
+Maggie demurred.
+
+"Canst see onythin'?" she asked, still in a flutter.
+
+"Be'ind the 'edge."
+
+"Wheer?"
+
+"Theer! "--pointing vaguely.
+
+"I canna see nowt."
+
+"Why, theer, lass. Can yo' not see? Then yo' pit your head along o'
+mine--so--closer--closer." Then, in aggrieved tones: "Whativer
+is the matter wi' yo', wench? I might be a leprosy."
+
+But the girl was walking away with her head high as the
+snow-capped Pike.
+
+"So long as I live, David M'Adam," she cried, "I'll niver go to
+church wi' you agin!"
+
+"Iss, but you will though--onst," he answered low.
+
+Maggie whisked round in a flash, superbly indignant.
+
+"What d'yo' mean, sir-r-r?"
+
+"Yo' know what I mean, lass," he replied sheepish and shuffling
+before her queenly anger.
+
+She looked him up and down, and down and up again.
+
+"I'll niver speak to you agin, Mr. M'Adam," she cried; "not if it was
+ever so--Nay, I'll walk home by myself, thank you. I'll ha' nowt to
+do wi' you."
+
+So the two must return to Kenmuir, one behind the other, like a
+lady and her footman.
+
+David's audacity had more than once already all but caused a
+rupture between the pair. And the occurrence behind the hedge set
+the cap on his impertinences. That was past enduring and Maggie
+by her bearing let him know it.
+
+David tolerated the girl's new attitude for exactly twelve minutes
+by the kitchen clock. Then: "Sulk wi' me, indeed! I'll teach her!"
+and he marched out of the door, "Niver to cross it agin, ma
+word!"
+
+Afterward, however, he relented so far as to continue his visits
+as before; but he made it clear that he only came to see the
+Master and hear of Owd Bob's doings. On these occasions he loved
+best to sit on the window-sill outside the kitchen, and talk and
+chaff with Tammas and the men in the yard, feigning an uneasy
+bashfulness when reference made to Bessie Bolstock. And after
+sitting thus for some time, he would half turn, look over his
+shoulder, and remark in indifferent tones to the girl within:
+"Oh, good-evenin'! I forgot yo', "--and then resume his
+conversation. While the girl within, her face a little pinker,
+her lips a little tighter, and her chin a little higher, would go
+about her business, pretending neither to hear nor care.
+
+The suspicions that M'Adam nourished dark designs against James
+Moore were somewhat confirmed in that, on several occasions in
+the bitter dusks of January afternoons, a little insidious figure was
+reported to have been seen lurking among the farm-buildings of
+Kenmuir.
+
+Once Sam'l Todd caught the little man fairly, skulking away in the
+woodshed. Sam'l took him up bodily and carried him down the
+slope to the Wastrel, shaking him gently as he went.
+
+Across the stream he put him on his feet.
+
+"If I catches yo' cadgerin' aroun' the farm agin, little mon," he
+admonished, holding up a warning finger; "I'll tak' yo' and drap yo'
+in t' Sheep-wash, I warn yo' fair. I'd ha' done it noo an' yo'd bin a
+bigger and a younger mon. But theer! yo'm sic a scrappety bit.
+Noo, rin whoam." And the little man slunk silently away.
+
+For a time he appeared there no more. Then, one evening when it
+was almost dark, James Moore, going the round of the
+outbuildings, felt Owd Bob stiffen against his side.
+
+"What's oop, lad" he whispered, halting; and, dropping his hand on
+the old dog's neck felt a ruff of rising hair beneath it.
+
+"Steady, lad, steady," he whispered; "what is 't?" He peered
+forward into the gloom; and at length discerned a little familiar
+figure huddled away in the crevice between two stacks.
+
+"It's yo, is it, M'Adam?" he said, and, bending, seized a wisp of
+Owd Bob's coat in a grip like a vice.
+
+Then, in a great voice, moved to rare anger:
+
+"Oot o' this afore I do ye a hurt, ye meeserable spyin' creetur"
+he roared. "Yo' mun wait till dark cooms to hide yo', yo' coward,
+afore yo daur coom crawlin' aboot ma hoose, frightenin' the
+women-folk and up to yer devilments. If yo've owt to say to me,
+coom like a mon in the open day. Noo git aff wi' yo', afore I lay
+hands to yo'!"
+
+He stood there in the dusk, tall and mighty, a terrible figure, one
+hand pointing to the gate, the other still grasping the gray dog.
+
+The little man scuttled away in the half-light, and out of the yard.
+
+On the plank-bridge he turned and shook his fist at the darkening
+house.
+
+"Curse ye, James Moore!" he sobbed, "I'll be even wi' ye yet."
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XV. DEATH ON THE MARCHES
+
+
+ON the top of this there followed an attempt to poison Th' Owd
+Un. At least there was no other accounting for the affair.
+
+In the dead of a long-remembered night James Moore was waked
+by a low moaning beneath his room. He leapt out of bed and ran to
+the window to see his favorite dragging about the moonlit yard, the
+dark head down, the proud tail for once lowered, the lithe limbs
+wooden, heavy, unnatural--altogether pitiful.
+
+In a moment he was downstairs and out to his friend's assistance.
+"Whativer is't, Owd Un?" he cried in anguish.
+
+At the sound of that dear voice the old dog tried to struggle to him,
+could not, and fell, whimpering.
+
+In a second the Master was with him, examining him tenderly, and
+crying for Sam'l, who slept above the stables.
+
+There was every symptom of foul play: the tongue was swollen
+and almost black; the breathing labored; the body twitched
+horribly; and the soft gray eyes all bloodshot and straining in
+agony.
+
+With the aid of Sam'l and Maggie, drenching first and stimulants
+after, the Master pulled him around for the moment. And soon Jim
+Mason and Parson Leggy, hurriedly summoned, came running
+hot-foot to the rescue.
+
+Prompt and stringent measures saved the victim--but only just. For
+a time the best sheep-dog in the North was pawing at the Gate of
+Death. In the end, as the gray dawn broke, the danger passed.
+
+The attempt to get at him, if attempt it was, aroused passionate
+indignation in the countryside. It seemed the culminating-point of
+the excitement long bubbling.
+
+There were no traces of the culprit; not a vestige to lead to
+incrimination, so cunningly had the criminal accomplished his foul
+task. But as to the perpetrator, if there where no proofs there were
+yet fewer doubts.
+
+At the Sylvester Arms, Long Kirby asked M'Adam point-blank for
+his explanation of the matter.
+
+"Hoo do I 'count for it?" the little man cried. "I dinna 'count for it
+ava."
+
+"Then hoo did it happen?" asked Tammas with asperity.
+
+"I dinna believe it did happen," the little man replied. "It's a lee o'
+James Moore's--a characteristic lee." Whereon they chucked him
+out incontinently; for the Terror for once was elsewhere.
+
+Now that afternoon is to be remembered for threefold causes.
+Firstly, because, as has been said, M'Adam was alone. Secondly,
+because, a few minutes after his ejectment, the window of the
+tap-room was thrown open from without, and the little man looked
+in. He spoke no word, but those dim, smouldering eyes of his
+wandered from face to face, resting for a second on each, as if to
+burn them on his memory. "I'll remember ye, gentlemen," he said
+at length quietly, shut the window, and was gone.
+
+Thirdly, for a reason now to be told.
+
+Though ten days had elapsed since the attempt on him, the gray
+dog had never been his old self since. He had attacks of shivering;
+his vitality seemed sapped; he tired easily, and, great heart, would
+never own it. At length on this day, James Moore, leaving the old
+dog behind him, had gone over to Grammoch-town to consult
+Dingley, the vet. On his way home he met Jim Mason with Gyp,
+the faithful Betsy's unworthy successor, at the Dalesman's
+Daughter. Together they started for the long tramp home over the
+Marches. And that journey is marked with a red stone in this story.
+
+All day long the hills had been bathed in impenetrable fog.
+Throughout there had been an accompanying drizzle; and in the
+distance the wind had moaned a storm-menace. To the darkness of
+the day was added the sombreness of falling night as the three
+began the ascent of the Murk Muir Pass. By the time they emerged
+into the Devil's Bowl it was altogether black and blind. But the
+threat of wind had passed, leaving utter stillness; and they could
+hear the splash of an otter on the far side of the Lone Tarn as they
+skirted that gloomy water's edge. When at length the last steep rise
+on to the Marches had been topped, a breath of soft air smote them
+lightly, and the curtain of fog began drifting away.
+
+The two men swung steadily through the heather with that
+reaching stride the birthright of moor-men and highlanders. They
+talked but little, for such was their nature: a word or two on sheep
+and the approaching lambing-time; thence on to the coming Trials;
+the Shepherds' Trophy; Owd Bob and the attempt on him; and
+from that to M'Adam and the Tailless Tyke.
+
+"D'yo' reck'n M'Adam had a hand in't?" the postman was asking.
+
+"Nay; there's no proof."
+
+"Ceptin' he's mad to get shut o' Th' Owd Un afore Cup Day."
+
+"Im or me--it mak's no differ. For a dog is disqualified from
+competing for the Trophy who has changed hands during the six
+months prior to the meeting. And this holds good though the
+change be only from father to son on the decease of the former."
+
+Jim looked up inquiringly at his companion.
+
+"D'yo' think it'll coom to that?" he asked.
+
+"What?"
+
+"Why--murder."
+
+"Not if I can help it," the other answered grimly.
+
+The fog had cleared away by now, and the moon was up. To their
+right, on the crest of a rise some two hundred yards away, a low
+wood stood out black against the sky. As they passed it, a
+blackbird rose up screaming, and a brace of wood-pigeons winged
+noisily away.
+
+"Hullo! hark to the yammerin'!" muttered Jim, stopping; "and at
+this time o' night too!"
+
+Some rabbits, playing in the moonlight on the outskirts of the
+wood, sat up, listened, and hopped back into security. At the same
+moment a big hill-fox slunk out of the covert. He stole a pace
+forward and halted, listening with one ear back and one pad raised;
+then cantered silently away in the gloom, passing close to the two
+men and yet not observing them.
+
+"What's up, I wonder?" mused the postman.
+
+"The fox set 'em clackerin', I reck'n," said the Master.
+
+"Not he; he was scared 'maist oot o' his skin," the other answered.
+Then in tones of suppressed excitement, with his hands on James
+Moore's arm: "And, look'ee, theer's ma Gyp a-beckonin' on us!"
+
+There, indeed, on the crest of the rise beside the wood, was the
+little lurcher, now looking back at his master, now creeping
+stealthily forward.
+
+"Ma word! theer's summat wrong yonder!" cried Jim, and jerked
+the post-bags off his shoulder. "Coom on, Master! "--and he set off
+running toward the dog; while James Moore, himself excited now,
+followed with an agility that belied his years.
+
+Some score yards from the lower edge of the spinney, upon the
+farther side of the ridge, a tiny beck babbled through its bed of
+peat. The two men, as they topped the rise, noticed a flock of
+black-faced mountain-sheep clustered in the dip 'twixt wood and
+stream. They stood martialled in close array, facing half toward the
+wood, half toward the newcomers, heads up, eyes glaring,
+handsome as sheep only look when scared.
+
+On the crest of the ridge the two men halted beside Gyp. The
+postman stood with his head a little forward, listening intently.
+Then he dropped in the heather like a dead man, pulling the other
+with him.
+
+"Doon, mon!" he whispered, clutching at Gyp with his spare hand.
+
+"What is't, Jim?" asked the Master, now thoroughly roused.
+
+"Summat movin' i' th' wood," the other whispered, listening
+weasel-eared.
+
+So they lay motionless for a while; but there came no sound from
+the copse.
+
+"'Appen 'twas nowt," the postman at length allowed, peering
+cautiously about. "And yet I thowt--I dunno reetly what I thowt."
+
+Then, starting to his knees with a hoarse cry of terror: "Save us!
+what's yon theer?"
+
+Then for the first time the Master raised his head and noticed,
+lying in the gloom between them and the array of sheep, a still,
+white heap.
+
+James Moore was a man of deeds, not words.
+
+"It's past waitin'!" he said, and sprang forward, his heart in
+his mouth.
+
+The sheep stamped and shuffled as he came, and yet did not break.
+
+"Ah, thanks be!" he cried, dropping beside the motionless body;
+"it's nob'but a sheep." As he spoke his hands wandered deftly over
+the carcase. "But what's this?" he called. "Stout* she was as me.
+Look at her fleece--crisp, close, strong; feel the flesh--firm as a
+rock. And ne'er a bone broke, ne're a scrat on her body a pin could
+mak'. As healthy as a mon--and yet dead as mutton!"
+
+*N.B. Stout--Hearty.
+
+Jim, still trembling from the horror of his fear, came up, and knelt
+beside his friend. "Ah, but there's bin devilry in this!" he said; "I
+reck'ned they sheep had bin badly skeared, and not so long agone."
+
+"Sheep-murder, sure enough!" the other answered. "No fox's
+doin'--a girt-grown two-shear as could 'maist knock a h'ox."
+
+Jim's hands travelled from the body to the dead creature's throat.
+He screamed.
+
+"By gob, Master! look 'ee theer!" He held his hand up in the
+moonlight, and it dripped red. "And warm yet! warm!"
+
+"Tear some bracken, Jim!" ordered the other, "and set alight. We
+mun see to this."
+
+The postman did as bid. For a moment the fern smouldered and
+smoked, then the flame ran crackling along and shot up in the
+darkness, weirdly lighting the scene: to the right the low wood, a
+block of solid blackness against the sky; in front the wall of sheep,
+staring out of the gloom with bright eyes; and as centre-piece that
+still, white body, with the kneeling men and lurcher sniffing
+tentatively round.
+
+The victim was subjected to a critical examination. The throat, and
+that only, had been hideously mauled; from the raw wounds the
+flesh hung in horrid shreds; on the ground all about were little
+pitiful dabs of wool, wrenched off apparently in a struggle; and,
+crawling among the fern-roots, a snake-like track of red led down
+to the stream.
+
+"A dog's doin', and no mistakin' thot," said Jim at length, after a
+minute inspection.
+
+"Ay," declared the Master with slow emphasis, "and a sheep-dog's
+too, and an old un's, or I'm no shepherd."
+
+The postman looked up.
+
+"Why thot?" he asked, puzzled.
+
+"Becos," the Master answered, "'im as did this killed for
+blood--and for blood only. If had bin ony other dog--greyhound,
+bull, tarrier, or even a young sheep-dog--d'yo' think he'd ha'
+stopped wi' the one? Not he; he'd ha' gone through 'em, and be
+runnin' 'em as like as not yet, nippin' 'em, pullin' 'em down, till he'd
+maybe killed the half. But 'im as did this killed for blood, I say. He
+got it--killed just the one, and nary touched the others, d'yo 'see,
+Jim?"
+
+The postman whistled, long and low.
+
+"It's just what owd Wrottesley'd tell on," he said. "I never nob'but
+half believed him then--I do now though. D'yo' mind what th' owd
+lad'd tell, Master?"
+
+James Moore nodded.
+
+"Thot's it. I've never seen the like afore myself, but I've heard ma
+grandad speak o't mony's the time. An owd dog'll git the cravin'
+for sheep's blood on him, just the same as a mon does for the
+drink; he creeps oot o' nights, gallops afar, hunts his sheep, downs
+'er, and satisfies the cravin'. And he nary kills but the one, they say,
+for he knows the value o' sheep same as you and me. He has his
+gallop, quenches the thirst, and then he's for home, maybe a score
+mile away, and no one the wiser i' th' mornin'. And so on, till he
+cooms to a bloody death, the murderin' traitor."
+
+"If he does!" said Jim.
+
+"And he does, they say, nigh always. For he gets bolder and bolder
+wi' not bein' caught, until one fine night a bullet lets light into him.
+And some mon gets knocked nigh endways when they bring his
+best tyke home i' th' mornin', dead, wi' the sheep's wool yet stickin'
+in his mouth."
+
+The postman whistled again.
+
+"It's what owd Wrottesley'd tell on to a tick. And he'd say, if ye
+mind, Master, as hoo the dog'd niver kill his master's sheep--kind o'
+conscience-like."
+
+"Ay, I've heard that," said the Master. "Queer too, and 'im bein'
+such a bad un!"
+
+Jim Mason rose slowly from his knees.
+
+"Ma word," he said, "I wish Th' Owd Un was here. He'd 'appen
+show us summat!"
+
+"I nob'but wish he was, pore owd lad!" said the Master.
+
+As he spoke there was a crash in the wood above them; a sound as
+of some big body bursting furiously through brushwood.
+
+The two men rushed to the top of the rise. In the darkness they
+could see nothing; only, standing still and holding their breaths,
+they could hear the faint sound, ever growing fainter, of some
+creature splashing in a hasty gallop over the wet moors.
+
+"Yon's him! Yon's no fox, I'll tak' oath. And a main big un, too,
+hark to him!" cried Jim. Then to Gyp, who had rushed off in hot
+pursuit: "Coom back, chunk-'ead. What's use o' you agin a gallopin'
+potamus?"
+
+Gradually the sounds died away and away, and were no more.
+
+"Thot's 'im, the devil!" said the Master at length.
+
+"Nay; the devil has a tail, they do say," replied Jim
+thoughtfully. For already the light of suspicion was focusing its
+red glare.
+
+"Noo I reck'n we're in for bloody times amang the sheep for a
+while," said the Master, as Jim picked up his bags.
+
+"Better a sheep nor a mon," answered the postman, still harping on
+the old theme.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XVI. THE BLACK KILLER
+
+
+THAT, as James Moore had predicted, was the first only of a long
+succession of such solitary crimes.
+
+Those who have not lived in a desolate country like that about
+the Muir Pike, where sheep are paramount and every other man
+engaged in the profession pastoral, can barely imagine the
+sensation aroused. In market place, tavern, or cottage, the
+subject of conversation was always the latest sheep-murder and
+the yet-undetected criminal.
+
+Sometimes there would be a lull, and the shepherds would begin to
+breathe more freely. Then there would come a stormy night, when
+the heavens were veiled in the cloak of crime, and the wind
+moaned fitfully over meres and marches, and another victim would
+be added to the lengthening list.
+
+It was always such black nights, nights of wind and weather, when
+no man would be abroad, that the murderer chose for his bloody
+work; and that was how he became known from the Red Screes to the
+Muir Pike as the Black Killer. In the Daleland they still call a
+wild, wet night "A Black Killer's night:" for they say: "His
+ghaist'll be oot the night."
+
+There was hardly a farm in the countryside but was marked with
+the seal of blood. Kenmuir escaped, and the Grange; Rob
+Saunderson at the Holt, and Tupper at Swinsthwaite; and they were
+about the only lucky ones.
+
+As for Kenmuir, Tammas declared with a certain grim pride: "He
+knows better'n to coom wheer Th' Owd Un be." Whereat M'Adam was
+taken with a fit of internal spasms, rubbing his knees and
+cackling insanely for a half-hour afterward. And as for the luck
+of the Grange--well, there was a reason for that too, so the
+Dalesmen said.
+
+Though the area of crime stretched from the Black Water to
+Grammoch-town, twenty-odd miles, there was never a sign of the
+perpetrator. The Killer did his bloody work with a thoroughness
+and a devilish cunning that defied detection.
+
+It was plain that each murder might be set down to the same
+agency. Each was stamped with the same unmistakable sign-manual:
+one sheep killed, its throat torn into red ribands, and the
+others untouched.
+
+It was at the instigation of Parson Leggy that the squire
+imported a bloodhound to track the Killer to his doom. Set on at
+a fresh killed carcase at the One Tree Knowe, he carried the line
+a distance in the direction of the Muir Pike; then was thrown out
+by a little bustling beck, and never acknowledged the scent
+again. Afterward he became unmanageable, and could be no further
+utilized. Then there was talk of inducing Tommy Dobson and his
+pack to come over from Eskdale, but that came to nothing. The
+Master of the Border Hunt lent a couple of foxhounds, who
+effected nothing; and there were a hundred other attempts and as
+many failures. Jim Mason set a cunning trap or two and caught
+his own bob-tailed tortoise-shell and a terrible wigging from his
+missus; Ned Hoppin sat up with a gun two nights over a new slain
+victim and Londesley of the Home Farm poisoned a carcase. But the
+Killer never returned to the kill, and went about in the midst of
+the all, carrying on his infamous traffic and laughing up his
+sleeve.
+
+In the meanwhile the Dalesmen raged and swore vengeance; their
+impotence, their unsuccess, and their losses heating their wrath
+to madness. And the bitterest sting of it all lay in this; that
+though they could not detect him, they were nigh to positive as
+to the culprit.
+
+Many a time was the Black Killer named in low-voiced conclave;
+many a time did Long Kirby, as he stood in the Border Ram and
+watched M'Adam and the Terror walking down the High, nudge Jim
+Mason and whisper:
+
+"Theer's the Killer--oneasy be his grave!" To which practical
+Jim always made the same retort:
+
+"Ay, theer's the Killer; but wheer's the proof?"
+
+And therein lay the crux. There was scarcely a man in the
+countryside who doubted the guilt of the Tailless Tyke; but, as
+Jim said, where was the proof? They could but point to his well-won
+nickname; his evil notoriety; say that, magnificent sheep-dog
+as he was, he was known even in his work as a rough handler of
+stock; and lastly remark significantly that the grange was one of
+the few farms that had so far escaped unscathed. For with the
+belief that the Black Killer was a sheep-dog they held it as an
+article of faith that he would in honour spare his master's
+flock.
+
+There may, indeed, have been prejudice in their judgement. For
+each has his private grudge against the Terror; and nigh every
+man bore on his own person, or his clothes, or on the body of his
+dog, the mark of that huge savage.
+
+Proof?
+
+"Why, he near killed ma Lassie!" cries Londesley.
+
+"And he did kill the Wexer!"
+
+"And Wan Tromp!"
+
+"And see pore old Wenus!" says John Swan, and pulls out that fair
+Amazon, battered almost past recognition, but a warrioress still.
+
+"That's Red Wull--bloody be his end!"
+
+"And he laid ma Rasper by for nigh three weeks!" continues
+Tupper, pointing to the yet-unhealed scars on the neck of the big
+bobtail. "See thisey--his work."
+
+"And look here!" cries Saunderson, exposing a ragged wound in
+Shep's throat; "thot's the Terror--black be his fa'!"
+
+"Ay," says Long Kirby with an oath; "the tykes love him nigh as
+much as we do."
+
+"Yes," says Tammas. "Yo' jest watch!"
+
+The old man slips out of the tap-room; and in another moment from
+the road without comes a heavy, regular pat-pat-pat, as of some
+big creature approaching, and, blending with the sound, little
+shuffling footsteps.
+
+In an instant every dog in the room has risen to his feet and
+stands staring at the door with sullen, glowing eyes; lips
+wrinkling, bristles rising, throats rumbling.
+
+An unsteady hand fumbles at the door; a reedy voice calls,
+"Wullie, come here!" and the dogs move away, surly to either side
+of the fireplace, tails down, ears back, grumbling still; the
+picture of cowed passion.
+Then the door opens; Tammas enters, grinning; and each, after a
+moment's scrutiny, resumes his former position before the fire.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Meanwhile over M'Adam, seemingly all unsuspicious of these
+suspicions, a change had come. Whether it was that for the time
+he heard less of the best sheep-dog in the North, or for some
+more occult reason, certain it is that he became his old self.
+His tongue wagged as gayly and bitterly as ever, and hardly a
+night passed but he infuriated Tammas almost to blows with his
+innuendoes and insidious sarcasms.
+
+Old Jonas Maddox, one evening at the Sylvester Arms, inquired of
+him what his notion was as to the identity of the Killer.
+
+"I hae ma suspicions, Mr. Maddox; I hae ma suspicions," the
+little man replied, cunningly wagging his head and giggling. But
+more than that they could not elicit from him. A week later,
+however, to the question:
+
+"And what are yo' thinkin' o' this black Killer, Mr. M'adam?"
+
+"Why _black?_" the little man asked earnestly; "why _black_ mair
+than white--or _gray_ we'll say?" Luckily for him, however, the
+Dalesmen are slow of wit as of speech.
+
+David, too, marked the difference in his father, who nagged at
+him now and then with all the old spirit. At first he rejoiced
+in then change, preferring his outward and open warfare to that
+aforetime stealthy enmity. But soon he almost wished the other
+back; for the older he grew the more difficult did he find it to
+endure calmly these everlasting bickerings.
+
+For one reason he was truly glad of the altered condition of
+affairs; he believed that, for the nonce, at least his father had
+abandoned any ill designs he might have cherished against James
+Moore; those sneaking visits to Kenmuir were, he hoped,
+discontinued.
+
+Yet Maggie Moore, had she been on speaking terms with him, could
+have undeceived him. For, one night, when alone in the kitchen,
+on suddenly looking up, she had seen to her horror a dim,
+moonlike face glued against the windowpane. In the first mad
+panic of the moment she almost screamed, and dropped her work;
+then--a true Moore--controlled herself and sat feigning to work,
+yet watching all the while.
+
+It was M'Adam, she recognized that: the face pale in its
+framework of black; the hair lying dank and dark on his forehead;
+and the white eyelids blinking, slow, regular, horrible. She
+thought of the stories she had heard of his sworn vengeance on
+her father, and her heart stood still, though she never moved.
+At length with a gasp of relief she discerned that the eyes were
+not directed on her. Stealthily following their gaze, she saw
+they rested on the Shepherds' Trophy; and on the Cup they
+remained fixed, immovable, while she sat motionless and watched.
+
+An hour, it seemed to her, elapsed before they shifted their
+direction, and wandered round the room. For a second they dwelt
+upon her; then the face withdrew into the night.
+
+Maggie told no one what she had seen. Knowing well how terrible
+her father was in his anger, she deemed it wiser to keep silence.
+While as for David M'Adam, she would never speak to him again!
+
+And not for a moment did that young man surmise whence his father
+came when, on the night in question, M'Adam returned to the
+Grange, chuckling to himself. David was growing of late
+accustomed to these fits of silent, unprovoked merriment; and
+when his father began giggling and muttering to Red Wull, at
+first he paid no heed.
+
+"He! he! Wullie. Aiblins we'll beat him yet. There's many a
+slip twixt Cup and lip--eh, Wullie, he! he!" And he made
+allusion to the flourishing of the wicked and their fall; ending
+always with the same refrain: "He! he! Wullie. Aiblins we'll
+beat him yet."
+
+In this strain he continued until David, his patience exhausted,
+asked roughly:
+
+"What is't yo' mumblin' aboot? Wha is it yo'll beat, you and yer
+Wullie?"
+
+The lad's tone was as contemptuous as his words. Long ago he had
+cast aside any semblance of respect for his father.
+
+M'Adam only rubbed his knees and giggled.
+
+"Hark to the dear lad, Wullie! Listen hoo pleasantly he
+addresses his auld dad!" Then turning on his son, and leering at
+him: "What is it, ye ask? Wha should it be but the Black Killer?
+Wha else is there I'd be wushin' to hurt?"
+
+"The Black Killer!" echoed the boy, and looked at his father in
+amazement.
+
+Now David was almost the only man in Wastrel-dale who denied Red
+Wull's identity with the Killer. "Nay," he said once; "he'd kill
+me, given half a chance, but a sheep--no." Yet, though himself
+of this opinion, he knew well what the talk was, and was
+astonished accordingly at his father's remark.
+
+"The Black Killer, is it? What d'you know o' the Killer?" he
+inquired.
+
+"Why _black_, I wad ken? Why _black?_" the little man asked,
+leaning forward in his chair.
+
+Now David, though repudiating in the village Red Wull's
+complicity with the crimes, at home was never so happy as when
+casting cunning innuendoes to that effect.
+
+"What would you have him then?" he asked. "Red, yaller, muck-dirt
+colour?"--and he stared significantly at the Tailless Tyke,
+who was lying at his master's feet. The little man ceased
+rubbing his knees and eyed the boy. David shifted uneasily
+beneath that dim, persistent stare.
+
+"Well?" he said at length gruffly.
+
+The little man giggled, and his two thin hands took up their task
+again.
+
+"Aiblins his puir auld doited fool of a dad kens mair than the
+dear lad thinks for, ay, or wushes--eh, Wullie, he! he!"
+
+"Then what is it you do know, or think yo' know?" David asked
+irritably.
+
+The little man nodded and chuckled.
+
+"Naethin' ava, laddie, naethin' worth the mention. Only aiblins
+the Killer'll be caught afore sae lang."
+
+David smiled incredulously, wagging his head in offensive
+scepticism.
+
+"Yo'll catch him yo'self, I s'pose, you and yer Wullie? Tak' a
+chair on to the Marches, whistle a while, and when the Killer
+comes, why! pit a pinch o' salt upon his tail--if he had one."
+
+At the last words, heavily punctuated by the speaker, the little
+man stopped his rubbing as though shot.
+
+"What wad ye mean by that?" he asked softly.
+
+"What wad I?" the boy replied.
+
+"I dinna ken for sure," the little man answered; "and it's
+aiblins just as well for you, dear lad"--in fawning accents--
+"that I dinna." He began rubbing and giggling afresh. "It's a
+gran' thing, Wullie, to ha' a dutiful son; a shairp lad wha has
+no silly sens o' shame aboot sharpenin' his wits at his auld
+dad's expense. And yet, despite oor facetious lad there, aiblins
+we will ha' a hand in the Killer's catchin', you and I, Wullie--
+he! he!" And the great dog at his feet wagged his stump tail in
+reply.
+
+David rose from his chair and walked across the room to where his
+father sat.
+
+"If yo' know sic a mighty heap," he shouted, "happen you'll just
+tell me what yo' do know!"
+
+M'Adam stopped stroking Red Wull's massive head, and looked up.
+
+"Tell ye? Ay, wha should I tell if not ma dear David? Tell?
+Ay, I'll tell ye this"--with a sudden snarl of bitterness--"That
+you'd be the vairy last person I wad tell."
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XVII.  A MAD DOG
+
+
+DAVID and Maggie, meanwhile, were drifting further and further
+apart. He now thought the girl took too much upon herself; that
+this assumption of the woman and the mother was overdone. Once,
+on a Sunday, he caught her hearing Andrew his catechism. He
+watched the performance through a crack in the door, and listened,
+giggling, to her simple teaching. At length his merriment grew so
+boisterous that she looked up, saw him, and, straightway rising to
+her feet, crossed the room and shut the door; tendering her
+unspoken rebuke with such a sweet dignity that he slunk away for
+once decently ashamed. And the incident served to add point to his
+hostility.
+
+Consequently he was seldom at Kenmuir, and more often at home,
+quarrelling with his father.
+
+Since that day, two years before, when the boy had been an
+instrument in the taking of the Cup from him, father and son had
+been like two vessels charged with electricity, contact between
+which might result at any moment in a shock and a flash. This was
+the outcome not of a moment, but of years.
+
+Of late the contest had raged markedly fierce; for M'Adam noticed
+his son's more frequent presence at home, and commented on the
+fact in his usual spirit of playful raillery.
+
+"What's come to ye, David?" he asked one day. "Yer auld dad's
+head is nigh turned wi' yer condescension. Is James Moore feared
+ye'll steal the Cup fra him, as ye stole it from me, that he'll not ha'
+ye at Kenmuir? or what is it?"
+
+"I thought I could maybe keep an eye on the Killer gin I stayed
+here," David answered, leering at Red Wull.
+
+"Ye'd do better at Kenmuir--eh, Wullie!" the little man replied.
+
+"Nay," the other answered, "he'll not go to Kenmuir. There's Th'
+Owd Un to see to him there o' nights."
+
+The little man whipped round.
+
+"Are ye so sure he is there o' nights, ma lad?" he asked with slow
+significance.
+
+"He was there when some one--I dinna say who, though I have ma
+thoughts--tried to poison him," sneered the boy, mimicking his
+father's manner.
+
+M'Adam shook his head.
+
+"If he was poisoned, and noo I think aiblins he was, he didna pick
+it up at Kenmuir, I tell ye that," he said, and marched out of the
+room.
+
+In the mean time the Black Killer pursued his bloody trade
+unchecked. The public, always greedy of a new sensation, took up
+the matter. In several of the great dailies, articles on the "Agrarian
+Outrages" appeared, followed by lengthy correspondence.
+Controversy raged high; each correspondent had his own theory
+and his own solution of the problem; and each waxed indignant as
+his were discarded for another's.
+
+The Terror had reigned already two months when, with the advent
+of the lambing-time, matters took a yet more serious aspect.
+
+It was bad enough to lose one sheep, often the finest in the pack;
+but the hunting of a flock at a critical moment, which was
+incidental to the slaughter of the one, the scaring of these woolly
+mothers-about-to-be almost out of their fleeces, spelt for the small
+farmers something akin to ruin, for the bigger ones a loss hardly
+bearable.
+
+Such a woful season had never been known; loud were the curses,
+deep the vows of revenge. Many a shepherd at that time patrolled
+all night through with his dogs, only to find in the morning that the
+Killer had slipped him and havocked in some secluded portion of
+his beat.
+
+It was heartrending work; and all the more so in that, though his
+incrimination seemed as far off as ever, there was still the same
+positiveness as to the culprit's identity.
+
+Long Kirby, indeed, greatly daring, went so far on one occasion as
+to say to the little man: "And d'yo' reck'n the Killer is a sheep-dog,
+M'Adam?"
+
+"I do," the little man replied with conviction.
+
+"And that he'll spare his own sheep?"
+
+"Niver a doubt of it."
+
+"Then," said the smith with a nervous cackle, "it must lie between
+you and Tupper and Saunderson."
+
+The little man leant forward and tapped the other on the arm.
+
+"Or Kenmuir, ma friend," he said. "Ye've forgot Kenmuir."
+
+"So I have," laughed the smith, "so I have."
+
+"Then I'd not anither time," the other continued, still tapping. "I'd
+mind Kenmuir, d'ye see, Kirby?"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was about the middle of the lambing-time, when the Killer was
+working his worst, that the Dalesmen had a lurid glimpse of Adam
+M'Adam as he might be were he wounded through his Wullie.
+
+Thus it came about: It was market-day in Grammoch-town, and in
+the Border Ram old Rob Saunderson was the centre of interest. For
+on the previous night Rob, who till then had escaped unscathed,
+had lost a sheep to the Killer: and--far worse--his flock of
+Herdwicks, heavy in lamb, had been galloped with disastrous
+consequences.
+
+The old man, with tears in his eyes, was telling how on four nights
+that week he had been up with Shep to guard against mishap; and
+on the fifth, worn out with his double labor, had fallen asleep at his
+post. But a very little while he slumbered; yet when, in the dawn,
+he woke and hurried on his rounds, he quickly came upon a
+mangled sheep and the pitiful relic of his flock. A relic, indeed!
+For all about were cold wee lambkins and their mothers, dead and
+dying of exhaustion and their unripe travail--a slaughter of the
+innocents.
+
+The Dalesmen were clustered round the old shepherd, listening
+with lowering countenances, when a dark gray head peered in at
+the door and two wistful eyes dwelt for a moment on the speaker.
+
+"Talk o' the devil!" muttered M'Adam, but no man heard him. For
+Red Wull, too, had seen that sad face, and, rising from his master's
+feet, had leapt with a roar at his enemy, toppling Jim Mason like a
+ninepin in the fury of his charge.
+
+In a second every dog in the room, from the battered Venus to
+Tupper's big Rasper, was on his feet, bristling to have at the tyrant
+and wipe out past injuries, if the gray dog would but lead the
+dance.
+
+It was not to be, however. For Long Kirby was standing at the door
+with a cup of hot coffee in his hand. Barely had he greeted the gray
+dog with--
+
+"Ullo, Owd Un!" when hoarse yells of "'Ware, lad! The Terror!"
+mingled with Red Wull's roar.
+
+Half turning, he saw the great dog bounding to the attack.
+Straightway he flung the boiling contents of his cup full in that
+rage-wracked countenance. The burning liquid swished against the
+huge bull-head. Blinding, bubbling, scalding, it did its fell work
+well; nothing escaped that merciless torrent. With a cry of agony,
+half bellow, half howl, Red Wull checked in his charge. From
+without the door was banged to; and again the duel was postponed.
+While within the tap-room a huddle of men and dogs were left
+alone with a mad man and a madder brute.
+
+Blind, demented, agonized, the Tailless Tyke thundered about the
+little room gnashing, snapping, oversetting; men, tables, chairs
+swirled off their legs as though they had been dolls. He spun round
+like a monstrous teetotum; he banged his tortured head against the
+wall; he burrowed into the unyielding floor. And all the while
+M'Adam pattered after him, laying hands upon him only to be
+flung aside as a terrier flings a rat. Now up, now down again, now
+tossed into a corner, now dragged upon the floor, yet always
+following on and crying in supplicating tones, "Wullie, Wullie, let
+me to ye! let yer man ease ye!" and then, with a scream and a
+murderous glance, "By ----, Kirby, I'll deal wi' you later!"
+
+The uproar was like hell let loose. You could hear the noise of
+oaths and blows, as the men fought for the door, a half-mile away.
+And above it the horrid bellowing and the screaming of that shrill
+voice.
+
+Long Kirby was the first man out of that murder-hole; and after
+him the others toppled one by one--men and dogs jostling one
+another in the frenzy of their fear. Big Bell, Londesley, Tupper,
+Hoppin, Teddy Bolstock, white-faced and trembling; and old
+Saunderson they pulled out by his heels. Then the door was shut
+with a clang, and the little man and mad dog were left alone.
+
+In the street was already a big-eyed crowd, attracted by the uproar;
+while at the door was James Moore, seeking entrance. "Happen I
+could lend the little mon a hand," said he; but they withheld him
+forcibly.
+
+Inside was pandemonium: bangings like the doors of hell; the
+bellowing of that great voice; the patter of little feet; the slithering
+of a body on the floor; and always that shrill, beseeching prayer,
+"Wullie, Wullie, let me to ye!" and, in a scream, "By ----, Kirby, I'll
+be wi' ye soon!"
+
+Jim Mason it was who turned, at length, to the smith and
+whispered, "Kirby, lad, yo'd best skip it."
+
+The big man obeyed and ran. The stamp-stamp of his feet on the
+hard road rang above the turmoil. As the long legs vanished round
+the corner and the sound of the fugitive died away, a panic seized
+the listening crowd.
+
+A woman shrieked; a girl fainted; and in two minutes the street
+was as naked of men as the steppes of Russia in winter: here a
+white face at a window; there a door ajar; and peering round a far
+corner a frightened boy. One man only scorned to run. Alone,
+James Moore stalked down the centre of the road, slow and calm,
+Owd Bob trotting at his heels.
+
+It was a long half-hour before the door of the inn burst open, and
+M'Adam came out with a run, flinging the door behind him.
+
+He rushed into the middle of the road; his sleeves were rolled at
+the wrist like a surgeon's; and in his right hand was a
+black-handled jack-knife.
+
+"Noo, by ----!" he cried in a terrible voice, "where is he?"
+
+He looked up and down the road, darting his fiery glances
+everywhere; and his face was whiter than his hair.
+
+Then he turned and hunted madly down the whole length of the
+High, nosing like a weasel in every cranny, stabbing at the air as he
+went, and screaming, "By ----, Kirby, wait till I get ye!"
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XVIII.  HOW THE KILLER WAS SINGED
+
+
+No further harm came of the incident; but it served as a healthy
+object-lesson for the Dalesmen.
+
+A coincidence it may have been, but, as a fact, for the fortnight
+succeeding Kirby's exploit there was a lull in the crimes. There
+followed, as though to make amends, the seven days still
+remembered in the Daleland as the Bloody Week.
+
+On the Sunday the Squire lost a Cheviot ewe, killed not a hundred
+yards from the Manor wall. On the Monday a farm on the Black
+Water was marked with the red cross. On Tuesday--a black
+night--Tupper at Swinsthwaite came upon the murderer at his
+work; he fired into the darkness without effect; and the Killer
+escaped with a scaring. On the following night Viscount Birdsaye
+lost a shearling ram, for which he was reported to have paid a
+fabulous sum. Thursday was the one blank night of the week. On
+Friday Tupper was again visited and punished heavily, as though in
+revenge for that shot.
+
+On the Saturday afternoon a big meeting was held at the Manor to
+discuss measures. The Squire presided; gentlemen and magistrates
+were there in numbers, and every farmer in the country-side.
+
+To start the proceedings the Special Commissioner read a futile
+letter from the Board of Agriculture. After him Viscount Birdsaye
+rose and proposed that a reward more suitable to the seriousness of
+the case than the paltry 5 pounds of the Police should be offered, and
+backed his proposal with a 25 pound cheque. Several others
+spoke, and, last of all, Parson Leggy rose.
+
+He briefly summarized the history of the crimes; reiterated his
+belief that a sheep-dog was the criminal; declared that nothing had
+occurred to shake his conviction; and concluded by offering a
+remedy for their consideration. Simple it was, so he said, to
+laughableness; yet, if their surmise was correct, it would serve as
+an effectual preventive if not cure, and would at least give them
+time to turn round. He paused.
+
+"My suggestion is: That every man-jack of you who owns a
+sheep-dog ties him up at night."
+
+The farmers were given half an hour to consider the proposal, and
+clustered in knots talking it over. Many an eye was directed on
+M'Adam; but that little man appeared all unconscious.
+
+"Weel, Mr. Saunderson," he was saying in, shrill accents, "and
+shall ye tie Shep?"
+
+"What d'yo' think?" asked Rob, eying the man at whom the
+measure was aimed.
+
+"Why, it's this way, I'm thinkin'," the little man replied. "Gin ye
+haud Shep's the guilty one I _wad_, by all manner o' means--or
+shootin'd be aiblins better. If not, why"--he shrugged his shoulders
+significantly; and having shown his hand and driven the nail well
+home, the little man left the meeting.
+
+James Moore stayed to see the Parson's resolution negatived, by a
+large majority, and then he too quitted the hall. He had foreseen
+the result, and, previous to the meeting, had warned the Parson
+how it would be.
+
+"Tie up!" he cried almost indignantly, as Owd Bob came galloping
+up to his whistle; "I think I see myself chainin' yo', owd lad, like
+any murderer. Why, it's yo' has kept the Killer off Kenmuir so far,
+I'll lay."
+
+At the lodge-gate was M'Adam, for once without his familiar
+spirit, playing with the lodge-keeper's child; for the little man
+loved all children but his own, and was beloved of them. As the
+Master approached he looked up.
+
+"Weel, Moore," he called, "and are you gaein' to tie yer dog?"
+
+"I will if you will yours," the Master answered grimly.
+
+"Na," the little man replied, "it's Wullie as frichts the Killer aff the
+Grange. That's why I've left him there noo."
+
+"It's the same wi' me," the Master said. "He's not come to Kenmuir
+yet, nor he'll not so long as Th' Owd Un's loose, I reck'n."
+
+"Loose or tied, for the matter o' that," the little man rejoined,
+"Kenmuir'll escape." He made the statement dogmatically,
+snapping his lips.
+
+The Master frowned.
+
+"Why that?" he asked.
+
+"Ha' ye no heard what they're sayin'?" the little man inquired with
+raised eyebrows.
+
+"Nay; what?"
+
+"Why, that the mere repitation o' th' best sheep-dog in the North'
+should keep him aff. An' I guess they're reet," and he laughed
+shrilly as he spoke.
+
+The Master passed on, puzzled.
+
+"Which road are ye gaein' hame?" M'Adam called after him.
+"Because," with a polite smile, "I'll tak' t'ither."
+
+"I'm off by the Windy Brae," the Master answered, striding on.
+"Squire asked me to leave a note wi' his shepherd t'other side o' the
+Chair." So he headed away to the left, making for home by the
+route along the Silver Mere.
+
+It is a long sweep of almost unbroken moorland, the well-called
+Windy Brae; sloping gently down in mile on mile of heather from
+the Mere Marches on the top to the fringe of the Silver Mere
+below. In all that waste of moor the only break is the
+quaint-shaped Giant's Chair, puzzle of geologists, looking as
+though plumped down by accident in the heathery wild. The
+ground rises suddenly from the uniform grade of the Brae; up it
+goes, ever growing steeper, until at length it runs abruptly into a
+sheer curtain of rock--the Fall--which rises perpendicular some
+forty feet, on the top of which rests that tiny grassy bowl--not
+twenty yards across--they call the Scoop.
+
+The Scoop forms the seat of the Chair and reposes on its collar of
+rock, cool and green and out of the world, like wine in a metal
+cup; in front is the forty-foot Fall; behind, rising sheer again, the
+wall of rock which makes the back of the Chair. Inaccessible from
+above, the only means of entrance to that little dell are two narrow
+sheep-tracks, which crawl dangerously up between the sheer wall
+on the one hand and the sheer Fall on the other, entering it at
+opposite sides.
+
+It stands out clear-cut from the gradual incline, that peculiar
+eminence; yet as the Master and Owd Bob debouched on to the
+Brae it was already invisible in the darkening night.
+
+Through the heather the two swung, the Master thinking now with
+a smile of David and Maggie; wondering what M'Adam had
+meant; musing with a frown on the Killer; pondering on his
+identity--for he was half of David's opinion as to Red Wull's
+innocence; and thanking his stars that so far Kenmuir had escaped,
+a piece of luck he attributed entirely to the vigilance of Th' Owd
+Un, who, sleeping in the porch, slipped out at all hours and went
+his rounds, warding off danger. And at the thought he looked down
+for the dark head which should be travelling at his knee; yet
+could not see it, so thick hung the pall of night.
+
+So he brushed his way along, and ever the night grew blacker;
+until, from the swell of the ground beneath his feet, he knew
+himself skirting the Giant's Chair.
+
+Now as he sped along the foot of the rise, of a sudden there burst
+on his ear the myriad patter of galloping feet. He turned, and at the
+second a swirl of sheep almost bore him down. It was velvet-black,
+and they fled furiously by, yet he dimly discovered, driving at their
+trails, a vague hound-like form.
+
+"The Killer, by thunder!" he ejaculated, and, startled though he
+was, struck down at that last pursuing shape, to miss and almost
+fall.
+
+"Bob, lad!" he cried, "follow on!" and swung round; but in the
+darkness could not see if the gray dog had obeyed.
+
+The chase swept on into the night, and, far above him on the
+hill-side, he could now hear the rattle of the flying feet. He started
+hotly in pursuit, and then, recognizing the futility of following
+where he could not see his hand, desisted. So he stood motionless,
+listening and peering into the blackness, hoping Th' Owd Un was
+on the villain's heels.
+
+He prayed for the moon; and, as though in answer, the lantern of
+the night shone out and lit the dour face of the Chair above him.
+He shot a glance at his feet; and thanked heaven on finding the
+gray dog was not beside him.
+
+Then he looked up. The sheep had broken, and were scattered over
+the steep hill-side, still galloping madly. In the rout one pair of
+darting figures caught and held his gaze: the foremost dodging,
+twisting, speeding upward, the hinder hard on the leader's heels,
+swift, remorseless, never changing. He looked for a third pursuing
+form; but none could he discern.
+
+"He mun ha' missed him in the dark," the Master muttered, the
+sweat standing on his brow, as he strained his eyes upward.
+
+Higher and higher sped those two dark specks, far out-topping the
+scattered remnant of the flock. Up and up, until of a sudden the
+sheer Fall dropped its relentless barrier in the path of the fugitive.
+Away, scudding along the foot of the rock-wall struck the familiar
+track leading to the Scoop, and up it, bleating pitifully, nigh spent,
+the Killer hard on her now.
+
+"He'll doon her in the Scoop!" cried the Master hoarsely, following
+with fascinated eyes. "Owd Un! Owd Un! wheer iver are yo' gotten
+to?" he called in agony; but no Owd Un made reply.
+
+As they reached the summit, just as he had prophesied, the two
+black dots were one; and down they rolled together into the hollow
+of the Scoop, out of the Master's ken. At the same instant the
+moon, as though loth to watch the last act of the bloody play,
+veiled her face.
+
+It was his chance. "Noo!"--and up the hillside he sped like a young
+man, girding his loins for the struggle. The slope grew steep and
+steeper; but on and on he held in the darkness, gasping painfully,
+yet running still, until the face of the Fall blocked his way too.
+
+There he paused a moment, and whistled a low call. Could he but
+dispatch the old dog up the one path to the Scoop, while he took
+the other, the murderer's one road to safety would be blocked.
+
+He waited, all expectant; but no cold muzzle was shoved into his
+hand. Again he whistled. A pebble from above almost dropped on
+him, as if the criminal up there had moved to the brink of the Fall
+to listen; and he dared no more.
+
+He waited till all was still again, then crept, cat-like, along the
+rock-foot, and hit, at length, the track up which a while before had
+fled Killer and victim. Up that ragged way he crawled on hands
+and knees. The perspiration rolled off his face; one elbow brushed
+the rock perpetually; one hand plunged ever and anon into that
+naked emptiness on the other side.
+
+He prayed that the moon might keep in but a little longer; that his
+feet might be saved from falling, where a slip might well mean
+death, certain destruction to any chance of success. He cursed his
+luck that Th' Owd Un had somehow missed him in the dark; for
+now he must trust to chance, his own great strength, and his good
+oak stick. And as he climbed, he laid his plan: to rush in on the
+Killer as he still gorged and grapple with him. If in the darkness he
+missed--and in that narrow arena the contingency was
+improbable--the murderer might still, in the panic of the moment,
+forget the one path to safety and leap over the Fall to his
+destruction.
+
+At length he reached the summit and paused to draw breath. The
+black void before him was the Scoop, and in its bosom--not ten
+yards away--must be lying the Killer and the killed.
+
+He crouched against the wet rock-face and listened. In that dark
+silence, poised 'twixt heaven and earth, he seemed a million
+miles apart from living soul.
+
+No sound, and yet the murderer must be there. Ay, there was the
+tinkle of a dislodged stone; and again, the tread of stealthy feet.
+
+The Killer was moving; alarmed; was off.
+
+Quick!
+
+He rose to his full height; gathered himself, and leapt.
+
+Something collided with him as he sprang; something wrestled
+madly with him; something wrenched from beneath him; and in a
+clap he heard the thud of a body striking ground far below, and the
+slithering and splattering of some creature speeding furiously
+down the hill-side and away.
+
+"Who the blazes?" roared he.
+
+"What the devil?" screamed a little voice.
+
+The moon shone out.
+
+"Moore!"
+
+"M'Adam!"
+
+And there they were still struggling over the body of a dead sheep.
+
+In a second they had disengaged and rushed to the edge of the Fall.
+In the quiet they could still hear the scrambling hurry of the
+fugitive far below them. Nothing was to be seen, however, save an
+array of startled sheep on the hill-side, mute witnesses of the
+murderer's escape.
+
+The two men turned and eyed each other; the one grim, the other
+sardonic: both dishevelled and suspicious.
+
+"Well?''
+
+"Weel?"
+
+A pause and, careful scrutiny.
+
+"There's blood on your coat."
+
+"And on yours."
+
+Together they walked hack into the little moonlit hollow. There
+lay the murdered sheep in a pool of blood. Plain it was to see
+whence the marks on their coats came. M'Adam touched the
+victim's head with his foot. The movement exposed its throat.
+With a shudder he replaced it as it was.
+
+The two men stood back and eyed one another.
+
+"What are yo' doin' here?"
+
+"After the Killer. What are you?"
+
+"After the Killer?"
+
+"Hoo did you come?"
+
+"Up this path," pointing to the one behind him. "Hoo did you?"
+
+"Up this."
+
+Silence; then again:
+
+"I'd ha' had him but for yo'."
+
+"I did have him, but ye tore me aff,"
+
+A pause again.
+
+"Where's yer gray dog?" This time the challenge was unmistakable.
+
+"I sent him after the Killer. Wheer's your Red Wull?"
+
+"At hame, as I tell't ye before."
+
+"Yo' mean yo' left him there?" M'Adam's fingers twitched.
+
+"He's where I left him."
+
+James Moore shrugged his shoulders. And the other began:
+
+"When did yer dog leave ye?"
+
+"When the Killer came past."
+
+"Ye wad say ye missed him then?"
+
+"I say what I mean."
+
+"Ye say he went after the Killer. Noo the Killer was here," pointing
+to the dead sheep. "Was your dog here, too?"
+
+"If he had been he'd been here still."
+
+"Onless he went over the Fall!"
+
+"That was the Killer, yo' fule."
+
+"Or your dog."
+
+"There was only _one_ beneath me. I felt him."
+
+"Just so," said M'Adam, and laughed. The other's brow contracted.
+
+"An' that was a big un," he said slowly. The little man stopped his
+cackling.
+
+"There ye lie," he said, smoothly. "He was small."
+
+They looked one another full in the eyes.
+
+"That's a matter of opinion," said the Master.
+
+"It's a matter of fact," said the other.
+
+The two stared at one another, silent and stern, each trying to
+fathom the other's soul; then they turned again to the brink of
+the Fall. Beneath them, plain to see, was the splash and furrow
+in the shingle marking the Killer's line of retreat. They looked
+at one another again, and then each departed the way he had come
+to give his version of the story.
+
+"'If Th' Owd Un had kept wi' me, I should ha' had him."
+
+And--
+
+"I tell ye I did have him, but James Moore pulled me aff.
+Strange, too, his dog not bein' wi' him!"
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XIX.  LAD AND LASS
+
+
+AN immense sensation this affair of the Scoop created in the
+Daleland. It spurred the Dalesmen into fresh endeavors. James
+Moore and M'Adam were examined and re-examined as to the
+minutest details of the matter. The whole country-side was
+placarded with huge bills, offering 100 pounds reward for the
+capture of the criminal dead or alive. While the vigilance of the
+watchers was such that in a single week they bagged a donkey, an
+old woman, and two amateur detectives.
+
+In Wastrel-dale the near escape of the Killer, the collision between
+James Moore and Adam, and Owd Bob's unsuccess, who was not
+wont to fail, aroused intense excitement, with which was mingled
+a certain anxiety as to their favorite.
+
+For when the Master had reached home that night, he had found
+the old dog already there; and he must have wrenched his foot in
+the pursuit or run a thorn into it, for he was very lame. Whereat,
+when it was reported at the Sylvester Arms, M'Adam winked at
+Red Wull and muttered, "Ah, forty foot is an ugly tumble."
+
+A week later the little man called at Kenmuir. As he entered the
+yard, David was standing outside the kitchen window, looking very
+glum and miserable. On seeing his father, however, the boy started
+forward, all alert.
+
+"What d'yo' want here?" he cried roughly.
+
+"Same as you, dear lad," the little man giggled, advancing. "I
+come on a visit."
+
+"Your visits to Kenmuir are usually paid by night, so I've heard,"
+David sneered.
+
+The little man affected not to hear.
+
+"So they dinna allow ye indoors wi' the Cup," he laughed. "They
+know yer little ways then, David."
+
+"Nay, I'm not wanted in there," David answered bitterly, but not so
+loud that his father could hear. Maggie within the kitchen heard,
+however, but paid no heed; for her heart was hard against the boy,
+who of late, though he never addressed her, had made himself as
+unpleasant in a thousand little ways as only David M'Adam could.
+
+At that moment the Master came stalking into the yard, Owd Bob
+preceding him; and as the old dog recognized his visitor he bristled
+involuntarily.
+
+At the sight of the Master M'Adam hurried forward.
+
+"I did but come to ask after the tyke," he said, "Is he gettin'
+over his lameness?"
+
+James Moore looked surprised; then his stern face relaxed into a
+cordial smile. Such generous anxiety as to the welfare of Red
+Wull's rival was a wholly new characteristic in the little man.
+
+"I tak' it kind in yo', M'Adam," he said, "to come and inquire."
+
+"Is the thorn oot?" asked the little man with eager interest,
+shooting his head forward to stare closely at the other.
+
+"It came oot last night wi' the poulticin'," the Master answered,
+returning the other's gaze, calm and steady.
+
+"I'm glad o' that," said the little man, still staring. But his yellow,
+grinning face said as plain  words, "What a liar ye are, James
+Moore."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The days passed on. His father's taunts and gibes, always becoming
+more bitter, drove David almost to distraction.
+
+He longed to make it up with Maggie; he longed for that tender
+sympathy which the girl had always extended to him when his
+troubles with his father were heavy on him. The quarrel had lasted
+for months now, and he was well weary of it, and utterly ashamed.
+For, at least, he had the good grace to acknowledge that no one
+was to blame but himself; and that it had been fostered solely by
+his ugly pride.
+
+At length he could endure it no longer, and determined to go to the
+girl and ask forgiveness. It would be a bitter ordeal to him; always
+unwilling to acknowledge a fault, even to himself, how much
+harder would it be to confess it to this strip of a girl. For a time he
+thought it was almost more than he could do. Yet, like his father,
+once set upon a course, nothing could divert him. So, after a week
+of doubts and determinations, of cowardice and courage, he pulled
+himself together and off he set.
+
+An hour it took him from the Grange to the bridge over the
+Wastrel--an hour which had wont to be a quarter. Now, as he
+walked on up the slope from the stream, very slowly, heartening
+himself for his penance, he was aware of a strange disturbance in
+the yard above him: the noisy cackling of hens, the snorting of pigs
+disturbed, and above the rest the cry of a little child ringing out in
+shrill distress.
+
+He set to running, and sped up the slope as fast as his long legs
+would carry him. As he took the gate in his stride, he saw the
+white-clad figure of Wee Anne fleeing with unsteady, toddling
+steps, her fair hair streaming out behind, and one bare arm striking
+wildly back at a great pursuing sow.
+
+David shouted as he cleared the gate, but the brute paid no heed,
+and was almost touching the fugitive when Owd Bob came
+galloping round the corner, and in a second had flashed between
+pursuer and pursued. So close were the two that as he swung round
+on the startled sow, his tail brushed the baby to the ground; and
+there she lay kicking fat legs to heaven and calling on all her gods.
+
+David, leaving the old dog to secure the warrior pig, ran round to
+her; but he was anticipated. The whole matter had barely occupied
+a minute's time; and Maggie, rushing from the kitchen, now had
+the child in her arms and was hurrying back with her to the house.
+
+"Eh, ma pet, are yo' hurted, dearie?" David could hear her asking
+tearfully, as he crossed the yard and established himself in the
+door.
+
+"Well," said he, in bantering tones, "yo'm a nice wench to ha'
+charge o' oor Annie!"
+
+It was a sore subject with the girl, and well he knew it. Wee Anne,
+that golden-haired imp of mischief, was forever evading her
+sister-mother's eye and attempting to immolate herself. More than
+once she had only been saved from serious hurt by the watchful
+devotion of Owd Bob, who always found time, despite his many
+labors, to keep a guardian eye on his well-loved lassie. In the
+previous winter she had been lost on a bitter night on the Muir
+Pike; once she had climbed into a field with the Highland bull, and
+barely escaped with her life, while the gray dog held the brute in
+check; but a little while before she had been rescued from
+drowning by the Tailless Tyke; there had been numerous other
+mischances; and now the present mishap. But the girl paid no heed
+to her tormentor in her joy at finding the child all unhurt.
+
+"Theer! yo' bain't so much as scratted, ma precious, is yo'?" she
+cried. "Rin oot agin, then," and the baby toddled joyfully away.
+
+Maggie rose to her feet and stood with face averted. David's eyes
+dwelt lovingly upon her, admiring the pose of the neat head with
+its thatch of pretty brown hair; the slim figure, and slender
+ankles, peeping modestly from beneath her print frock.
+
+"Ma word! if yo' dad should hear tell o' hoo his Anne--" he broke
+off into a long-drawn whistle.
+
+Maggie kept silence; but her lips quivered, and the flush deepened
+on her cheek.
+
+"I'm fear'd I'll ha' to tell him," the boy continued, "'Tis but ma
+duty."
+
+"Yo' may tell wham yo' like what yo' like," the girl replied coldly;
+yet there was a tremor in her voice.
+
+"First yo' throws her in the stream," David went on remorselessly;
+"then yo' chucks her to the pig, and if it had not bin for me--"
+
+"Yo', indeed!" she broke in contemptuously. "Yo'! 'twas Owd Bob
+reskied her. Yo'd nowt' to do wi' it, 'cept lookin' on--'bout what
+yo're fit for."
+
+"I tell yo'," David pursued stubbornly, "an it had not bin for me
+yo' wouldn't have no sister by noo. She'd be lyin', she would, pore
+little lass, cold as ice, pore mite, wi' no breath in her. An' when yo'
+dad coom home there'd be no Wee Anne to rin to him, and climb
+on his knee, and yammer to him, and beat his face. An he'd say,
+'What's gotten to oor Annie, as I left wi' yo'?' And then yo'd have to
+tell him, 'I never took no manner o' fash after her, dad; d'reckly yo'
+back was turned, I--'"
+
+The girl sat down, buried her face in her apron, and indulged in the
+rare luxury of tears.
+
+"Yo're the cruellest mon as iver was, David M'Adam," she sobbed,
+rocking to and fro.
+
+He was at her side in a moment, tenderly bending over her.
+
+"Eh, Maggie, but I am sorry, lass--"
+
+She wrenched away from beneath his hands.
+
+"I hate yo'," she cried passionately.
+
+He gently removed her hands from before her tear-stained face.
+
+"I was nob'but laffin', Maggie," he pleaded; "say yo' forgie me."
+
+"I don't," she cried, struggling. "I think yo're the hatefullest lad as
+iver lived."
+
+The moment was critical; it was a time for heroic measures.
+
+"No, yo' don't, lass," he remonstrated; and, releasing her wrists,
+lifted the little drooping face, wet as it was, like the earth after a
+spring shower, and, holding it between his two big hands, kissed it
+twice.
+
+"Yo' coward!" she cried, a flood of warm red crimsoning her
+cheeks; and she struggled vainly to be free.
+
+"Yo' used to let me," he reminded her in aggrieved tones.
+
+"I niver did!" she cried, more indignant than truthful.
+
+"Yes, yo' did, when we was little uns; that is, yo' was allus for
+kissin' and I was allus agin it. And noo," with whole-souled
+bitterness, "I mayn't so much as keek at yo' over a stone wall."
+
+However that might be, he was keeking at her from closer range
+now; and in that position--for he held her firmly still--she could
+not help but keek back. He looked so handsome--humble for
+once; penitent yet reproachful; his own eyes a little moist; and,
+withal, his old audacious self--that, despite herself, her anger grew
+less hot.
+
+"Say yo' forgie me and l'll let yo' go."
+
+"I don't, nor niver shall," she answered firmly; but there was less
+conviction in her heart than voice.
+
+"Iss yo' do, lass," he coaxed, and kissed her again.
+
+She struggled faintly.
+
+"Hoo daur yo'?" she cried through her tears. But he was not to be
+moved.
+
+"Will yo' noo?" he asked.
+
+She remained dumb, and he kissed her again.
+
+"Impidence!" she cried.
+
+"Ay," said he, closing her mouth.
+
+"I wonder at ye, Davie!" she said, surrendering.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+After that Maggie must needs give in; and it was well understood,
+though nothing definite had been said, that the boy and girl were
+courting. And in the Dale the unanimous opinion was that the
+young couple would make "a gradely pair, surely."
+
+M'Adam was the last person to hear the news, long after it had
+been common knowledge in the village. It was in the Sylvester
+Arms he first heard it, and straightway fell into one of those
+foaming frenzies characteristic of him.
+
+"The dochter o' Moore o' Kenmuir, d'ye say? sic a dochter o' sic a
+man! The dochter o' th' one man in the warld that's harmed me
+aboon the rest! I'd no ha' believed it gin ye'd no tell't me. Oh,
+David, David! I'd no ha' thocht it even o' you, ill son as ye've aye
+bin to me. I think he might ha' waited till his auld dad was gone,
+and he'd no had to wait lang the noo." Then the little man sat down
+and burst into tears. Gradually, however, he resigned himself, and
+the more readily when he realized that David by his act had
+exposed a fresh wound into which he might plunge his barbed
+shafts. And he availed himself to the full of his new opportunities.
+Often and often David was sore pressed to restrain himself.
+
+"Is't true what they're sayin' that Maggie Moore's nae better than
+she should be?" the little man asked one evening with anxious
+interest.
+
+"They're not sayin' so, and if they were 'twad be a lie," the boy
+answered angrily.
+
+M'Adam leant back in his chair and nodded his head.
+
+"Ay, they tell't me that gin ony man knew 'twad be David
+M'Adam."
+
+David strode across the room.
+
+"No, no mair o' that," he shouted. "Y'ought to be 'shamed, an owd
+mon like you, to speak so o' a lass." The little man edged close up
+to his son, and looked up into the fair flushed face towering above
+him.
+
+"David," he said in smooth soft tones, "I'm 'stonished ye dinna
+strike yen auld dad." He stood with his hands clasped behind his
+back as if daring the young giant to raise a finger against him. "Ye
+maist might noo," he continued suavely. "Ye maun be sax inches
+taller, and a good four stane heavier. Hooiver, aiblins ye're wise to
+wait. Anither year twa I'll be an auld man, as ye say, and feebler,
+and Wullie here'll be gettin' on, while you'll be in the prime o' yer
+strength. Then I think ye might hit me wi' safety to your person,
+and honor to yourself."
+
+He took a pace back, smiling.
+
+"Feyther," said David, huskily, "one day yo'll drive me too far."
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XX. THE SNAPPING OF THE STRING
+
+
+THE spring was passing, marked throughout with the bloody trail
+of the Killer. The adventure in the Scoop scared him for a while
+into innocuousness; then he resumed his game again with
+redoubled zest. It seemed likely he would harry the district till
+some lucky accident carried him off, for all chance there was of
+arresting him.
+
+You could still hear nightly in the Sylvester Arms and elsewhere
+the assertion, delivered with the same dogmatic certainty as of
+old, "It's the Terror, I tell yo'!" and that irritating,
+inevitable reply: "Ay; but wheer's the proof?" While often, at
+the same moment, in a house not far away, a little lonely man was
+sitting before a low-burnt fire, rocking to and fro, biting his
+nails, and muttering to the great dog whose head lay between his
+knees: "If we had but the proof, Wullie! if we had but the proof!
+I'd give ma right hand aff my arm gin we had the proof
+to-morrow."
+
+Long Kirby, who was always for war when some one else was to
+do the fighting, suggested that David should be requested, in the
+name of the Dalesmen, to tell M'Adam that he must make an end
+to Red Wull. But Jim Mason quashed the proposal, remarking truly
+enough that there was too much bad blood as it was between father
+and son; while Tammas proposed with a sneer that the smith
+should be his own agent in the matter.
+
+Whether it was this remark of Tammas's which stung the big man
+into action, or whether it was that the intensity of his hate gave
+him unusual courage, anyhow, a few days later, M'Adam caught
+him lurking in the granary of the Grange.
+
+The little man may not have guessed his murderous intent; yet the
+blacksmith's white-faced terror, as he crouched away in the darkest
+corner, could hardly have escaped remark; though--and Kirby may
+thank his stars for it--the treacherous gleam of a gun-barrel,
+ill-concealed behind him, did.
+
+"Hullo, Kirby!" said M'Adam cordially, "ye'll stay the night wi'
+me?" And the next thing the big man heard was a giggle on the far
+side the door, lost in the clank of padlock and rattle of chain.
+Then--through a crack--"Good-night to ye. Hope ye'll be comfie."
+And there he stayed that night, the following day and next
+night--thirty-six hours in all, with swedes for his hunger and the
+dew off the thatch for his thirst.
+
+Meanwhile the struggle between David and his father seemed
+coming to a head. The little man's tongue wagged more bitterly
+than ever; now it was never at rest--searching out sores, stinging,
+piercing.
+
+Worst of all, he was continually dropping innuendoes, seemingly
+innocent enough, yet with a world of subtile meaning at their back,
+respecting Maggie. The leer and wink with which, when David
+came home from Kenmuir at nights, he would ask the simple
+question, "And was she kind, David--eh, eh?" made the boy's blood
+boil within him.
+
+And the more effective the little man saw his shots to be, the more
+persistently he plied them. And David retaliated in kind. It was a
+war of reprisals. There was no peace; there were no truces in
+which to bury the dead before the opponents set to slaying others.
+And every day brought the combatants nearer to that final struggle,
+the issue of which neither cared to contemplate.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+There came a Saturday, toward the end of the spring, long to be
+remembered by more than David in the Dale.
+
+For that young man the day started sensationally. Rising before
+cock-crow, and going to the window, the first thing he saw in the
+misty dawn was the gaunt, gigantic figure of Red Wull, hounding
+up the hill from the Stony Bottom; and in an instant his faith was
+shaken to its foundation.
+
+The dog was travelling up at a long, slouching trot; and as he
+rapidly approached the house, David saw that his flanks were all
+splashed with red mud, his tongue out, and the foam dripping from
+his jaws, as though he had come far and fast.
+
+He slunk up to the house, leapt on to the sill of the unused
+back-kitchen, some five feet from the ground, pushed with his paw
+at the cranky old hatchment, which was its only covering; and, in a
+second, the boy, straining out of the window the better to see,
+heard the rattle of the boards as the dog dropped within the house.
+
+For the moment, excited as he was, David held his peace. Even the
+Black Killer took only second place in his thoughts that morning.
+For this was to be a momentous day for him.
+
+That afternoon James Moore and Andrew would, he knew, be over
+at Grammoch-town, and, his work finished for the day, he was
+resolved to tackle Maggie and decide his fate. If she would have
+him--well, he would go next morning and thank God for it,
+kneeling beside her in the tiny village church; if not, he would
+leave the Grange and all its unhappiness behind, and straightway
+plunge out into the world.
+
+All through a week of stern work he had looked forward to this
+hard-won half-holiday. Therefore, when, as he was breaking off at
+noon, his father turned to him and said abruptly:
+
+"David, ye're to tak' the Cheviot lot o'er to Grammoch-town at
+once," he answered shortly:
+
+"Yo' mun tak' 'em yo'sel', if yo' wish 'em to go to-day."
+
+"Na," the little man answered; "Wullie and me, we're busy. Ye're
+to tak' 'em, I tell ye."
+
+"I'll not," David replied. "If they wait for me, they wait till
+Monday," and with that he left the room.
+
+"I see what 'tis," his father called after him; "she's give ye a tryst at
+Kenmuir. Oh, ye randy David!"
+
+"Yo' tend yo' business; I'll tend mine," the boy answered hotly.
+
+Now it happened that on the previous day Maggie had given him a
+photograph of herself, or, rather, David had taken it and Maggie
+had demurred. As he left the room it dropped from his pocket. He
+failed to notice his loss, but directly he was gone M'Adam pounced
+on it.
+
+"He! he! Wullie, what's this?" he giggled, holding the photograph
+into his face. "He! he! it's the jade hersel', I war'nt; it's Jezebel!"
+
+He peered into the picture.
+
+"She kens what's what, I'll tak' oath, Wullie. See her eyes--sae saft
+and languishin'; and her lips--such lips, Wullie!" He held the
+picture down for the great dog to see: then walked out of the room,
+still sniggering, and chucking the face insanely beneath its
+cardboard chin.
+
+Outside the house he collided against David. The boy had missed
+his treasure and was hurrying back for it.
+
+"What yo' got theer?" he asked suspiciously.
+
+"Only the pictur' o' some randy quean," his father answered,
+chucking away at the inanimate chin.
+
+"Gie it me!" David ordered fiercely. "It's mine."
+
+"Na, na," the little man replied. "It's no for sic douce lads as dear
+David to ha' ony touch wi' leddies sic as this."
+
+"Gie it me, I tell ye, or I'll tak' it!" the boy shouted.
+
+"Na, na; it's ma duty as yer dad to keep ye from sic limmers." He
+turned, still smiling, to Red Wull.
+
+"There ye are, Wullie!" He threw the photograph to the dog. "Tear
+her, Wullie, the Jezebel!"
+
+The Tailless Tyke sprang on the picture, placed one big paw in the
+very centre of the face, forcing it into the muck, and tore a corner
+off; then he chewed the scrap with unctious, slobbering gluttony,
+dropped it, and tore a fresh piece.
+
+David dashed forward.
+
+"Touch it, if ye daur, ye brute!" he yelled; but his father seized him
+and held him back.
+
+"'And the dogs o' the street,'" he quoted. David turned furiously on
+him.
+
+"I've half a mind to brak' ivery bone in yer body!" he shouted,
+"robbin' me o' what's mine and throwin' it to yon black brute!"
+
+"Whist, David, whist!" soothed the little man. "Twas but for yer
+ain good yer auld dad did it. 'Twas that he had at heart as he aye
+has. Rin aff wi' ye noo to Kenmuir. She'll mak' it up to ye, I war'nt.
+She's leeberal wi' her favors, I hear. Ye've but to whistle and she'll
+come."
+
+David seized his father by the shoulder.
+
+"An' yo' gie me much more o' your sauce," he roared.
+
+"Sauce, Wullie," the little man echoed in a gentle voice.
+
+"I'll twist yer neck for yo'!"
+
+"He'll twist my neck for me."
+
+"I'll gang reet awa', I warn yo', and leave you and yer Wullie to yer
+lone."
+
+The little man began to whimper.
+
+"It'll brak' yer auld dad's heart, lad," he said.
+
+"Nay; yo've got none. But 'twill ruin yo', please God. For yo' and
+yer Wullie'll get ne'er a soul to work for yo'--yo' cheeseparin',
+dirty-tongued Jew."
+
+The little man burst into an agony of affected tears, rocking to and
+fro, his face in his hands.
+
+"Waesucks, Wullue! d'ye hear him? He is gaein' to leave us--the
+son o' my bosom! my Benjamin! my little Davie! he's gaein' awa'!"
+
+David turned away down the hill; and M'Adam lifted his stricken
+face and waved a hand at him.
+
+"'Adieu, dear amiable youth!'" he cried in broken voice; and
+straightway set to sobbing again.
+
+Half-way down to the Stony Bottom David turned.
+
+"I'll gie yo' a word o' warnin'," he shouted back. "I'd advise yo' to
+keep a closer eye to yer Wullie's goings on, 'specially o' nights, or
+happen yo'll wake to a surprise one mornin'."
+
+In an instant the little man ceased his fooling.
+
+"And why that?" he asked, following down the hill.
+
+"I'll tell yo'. When I wak' this mornin' I walked to the window, and
+what d'yo' think I see? Why, your Wullie gollopin' like a good un
+up from the Bottom, all foamin', too, and red-splashed, as if he'd
+coom from the Screes. What had he bin up to, I'd like to know?"
+
+"What should he be doin'," the little man replied, "but havin' an eye
+to the stock? and that when the Killer might be oot."
+
+David laughed harshly.
+
+"Ay, the Killer was oot, I'll go bail, and yo' may hear o't afore the
+evenin', ma man," and with that he turned away again.
+
+As he had foreseen, David found Maggie alone. But in the heat of
+his indignation against his father he seemed to have forgotten his
+original intent, and instead poured his latest troubles into the girl's
+sympathetic ear.
+
+"There's but one mon in the world he wishes worse nor me," he
+was saying. It was late in the afternoon, and he was still inveighing
+against his father and his fate. Maggie sat in her father's chair by
+the fire, knitting; while he lounged on the kitchen table, swinging
+his long legs.
+
+"And who may that be?" the girl asked.
+
+"Why, Mr. Moore, to be sure, and Th' Owd Un, too. He'd do either
+o' them a mischief if he could."
+
+"But why, David?" she asked anxiously. "I'm sure dad niver hurt
+him, or ony ither mon for the matter o' that."
+
+David nodded toward the Dale Cup which rested on the
+mantelpiece in silvery majesty.
+
+"It's yon done it," he said. "And if Th' Owd Un wins agin, as win he
+will, bless him! why, look out for 'me and ma Wullie'; that's all."
+
+Maggie shuddered, and thought of the face at the window.
+
+"'Me and ma Wullie,'" David continued; "I've had about as much of
+them as I can swaller. It's aye the same--'Me and ma Wullie,' and
+'Wullie and me,' as if I never put ma hand to a stroke! Ugh!"--he
+made a gesture of passionate disgust--"the two on 'em fair
+madden me. I could strike the one and throttle t'other," and he
+rattled his heels angrily together.
+
+"Hush, David," interposed the girl; "yo' munna speak so o' your
+dad; it's agin the commandments."
+
+"'Tain't agin human nature," he snapped in answer. "Why, 'twas
+nob'but yester' morn' he says in his nasty way, 'David, ma gran'
+fellow, hoo ye work! ye 'stonish me!' And on ma word,
+Maggie"--there were tears in the great boy's eyes--"ma back was
+nigh broke wi' toilin'. And the Terror, he stands by and shows his
+teeth, and looks at me as much as to say, 'Some day, by the grace o'
+goodness, I'll ha' my teeth in your throat, young mon.'"
+
+Maggie's knitting dropped into her lap and she looked up, her soft
+eyes for once flashing.
+
+"It's cruel, David; so 'tis!" she cried. "I wonder yo' bide wi' him. If
+he treated me so, I'd no stay anither minute. If it meant the House
+for me I'd go," and she looked as if she meant it.
+
+David jumped off the table.
+
+"Han' yo' niver guessed why I stop, lass, and me so happy at
+home?" he asked eagerly.
+
+Maggie's eyes dropped again.
+
+"Hoo should I know?" she asked innocently.
+
+"Nor care, neither, I s'pose," he said in reproachful accents.
+"Yo' want me me to go and leave yo', and go reet awa'; I see hoo
+'tis. Yo' wouldna mind, not yo', if yo' was niver to see pore
+David agin. I niver thowt yo' welly like me, Maggie; and noo I
+know it."
+
+"Yo' silly lad," the girl murmured, knitting steadfastly.
+
+"Then yo' do," he cried, triumphant, "I knew yo' did." He
+approached close to her chair, his face clouded with eager anxiety.
+
+"But d'yo' like me more'n just _likin'_, Maggie? d'yo'," he bent
+and whispered in the little ear.
+
+The girl cuddled over her work so that he could not see her face.
+
+"If yo' won't tell me yo' can show me," he coaxed. "There's other
+things besides words."
+
+He stood before her, one hand on the chair-back on either side. She
+sat thus, caged between his arms, with drooping eyes and
+heightened color.
+
+"Not so close, David, please," she begged, fidgeting uneasily; but
+the request was unheeded.
+
+"Do'ee move away a wee," she implored.
+
+"Not till yo've showed me," he said, relentless.
+
+"I canna, Davie," she cried with laughing, petulance.
+
+"Yes, yo' can, lass."
+
+"Tak' your hands away, then."
+
+"Nay; not till yo've showed me."
+
+A pause.
+
+"Do'ee, Davie," she supplicated.
+
+And--
+
+"Do'ee," he pleaded.
+
+She tilted her face provokingly, but her eyes were still down.
+
+"It's no manner o' use, Davie."
+
+"Iss, 'tis," he coaxed.
+
+"Niver."
+
+"Please."
+
+A lengthy pause.
+
+"Well, then--" She looked up, at last, shy, trustful, happy; and the
+sweet lips were tilted further to meet his.
+
+And thus they were situated, lover-like, when a low, rapt voice
+broke in on them,--
+
+ 'A dear-lov'd lad, convenience snug,
+A treacherous inclination.'
+
+"Oh, Wullie, I wush you were here!"
+
+It was little M'Adam. He was leaning in at the open window,
+leering at the young couple, his eyes puckered, an evil expression
+on his face.
+
+"The creetical moment! and I interfere! David, ye'll never forgie
+me."
+
+The boy jumped round with an oath; and Maggie, her face flaming,
+started to her feet. The tone, the words, the look of the little man at
+the window were alike insufferable.
+
+"By thunder! I'll teach yo' to come spyin' on me!" roared David.
+Above him on the mantelpiece blazed the Shepherds' Trophy.
+Searching any missile in his fury, he reached up a hand for it.
+
+"Ay, gie it me back, Ye robbed me o't," the little man cried, holding
+out his arms as if to receive it.
+
+"Dinna, David," pleaded Maggie, with restraining hand on her
+lover's arm.
+
+"By the Lord! I'll give him something!" yelled the boy. Close by
+there stood a pail of soapy water. He seized it, swung it, and
+slashed its contents at the leering face in the window.
+
+The little man started back, but the dirty torrent caught him and
+soused him through. The bucket followed, struck him full on the
+chest, and rolled him over in the mud. After it with a rush came
+David.
+
+"I'll let yo' know, spyin' on me!" he yelled. "I'll--"
+
+Maggie, whose face was as white now as it had been crimson, clung
+to him, hampering him.
+
+"Dinna, David, dinna!" she implored. "He's yer ain dad."
+
+"I'll dad him! I'll learn him!" roared David half through the
+window.
+
+At the moment Sam'l Todd came floundering furiously round the
+corner, closely followed by 'Enry and oor Job.
+
+"Is he dead?" shouted Sam'l seeing the prostrate form.
+
+"Ho! ho!" went the other two.
+
+They picked up the draggled little man and hustled him out of the
+yard like a thief, a man on either side and a man behind.
+
+As they forced him through the gate, he struggled round.
+
+"By Him that made ye! ye shall pay for this, David M'Adam, you
+and yer--"
+
+But Sam'l's big hand descended on his mouth, and he was borne
+away before that last ill word had flitted into being.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXI. HORROR OF DARKNESS
+
+
+IT was long past dark that night when M'Adam staggered home.
+
+All that evening at the Sylvester Arms his imprecations against
+David had made even the hardest shudder. James Moore, Owd
+Bob, and the Dale Cup were for once forgotten as, in his passion,
+he cursed his son.
+
+The Dalesmen gathered fearfully away from the little dripping
+madman. For once these men, whom, as a rule, no such geyser
+outbursts could quell, were dumb before him; only now and then
+shooting furtive glances in his direction, as though on the brink of
+some daring enterprise of which he was the objective. But
+M'Adam noticed nothing, suspected nothing.
+
+When, at length, he lurched into the kitchen of the Grange, there
+was no light and the fire burnt low. So dark was the room that a
+white riband of paper pinned on to the table escaped his remark.
+
+The little man sat down heavily, his clothes still sodden, and
+resumed his tireless anathema.
+
+"I've tholed mair fra him, Wullie, than Adam M'Adam ever thocht
+to thole from ony man. And noo it's gane past bearin'. He struck
+me, Wullie! struck his ain father. Ye see it yersel', Wullie. Na, ye
+werena there. Oh, gin ye had but bin, Wullie! Him and his madam!
+But I'll gar him ken Adam M'Adam. I'll stan' nae mair!"
+
+He sprang to his feet and, reaching up with trembling hands, pulled
+down the old bell-mouthed blunderbuss that hung above the
+mantelpiece.
+
+"We'll mak' an end to't, Wullie, so we will, aince and for a'!" And
+he banged the weapon down upon the table. It lay right athwart
+that slip of still condemning paper, yet the little man saw it not.
+
+Resuming his seat, he prepared to wait. His hand sought the pocket
+of his coat, and fingered tenderly a small stone bottle, the fond
+companion of his widowhood. He pulled it out, uncorked it, and
+took a long pull; then placed it on the table by his side.
+
+Gradually the gray head lolled; the shrivelled hand dropped and
+hung limply down, the finger-tips brushing the floor; and he dozed
+off into a heavy sleep, while Red Wull watched at his feet.
+
+It was not till an hour later that David returned home.
+
+As he approached the lightless house, standing in the darkness like
+a body with the spirit fled, he could but contrast this dreary home
+of his with the bright kitchen and cheery faces he had left.
+
+Entering the house, he groped to the kitchen door and opened it;
+then struck a match and stood in the doorway peering in.
+
+"Not home, bain't he?" he muttered, the tiny light above his head.
+"Wet inside as well as oot by noo, I'll lay. By gum! but 'twas a
+lucky thing for him I didna get ma hand on him this evenin'. I
+could ha' killed him." He held the match above his head.
+
+Two yellow eyes, glowing in the darkness like cairngorms, and a
+small dim figure bunched up in a chair, told him his surmise was
+wrong. Many a time had he seen his father in such case before, and
+now he muttered contemptuously:
+
+"Drunk; the leetle swab! Sleepin' it off, I reck'n."
+
+Then he saw his mistake. The hand that hung above the floor
+twitched and was still again.
+
+There was a clammy silence. A mouse, emboldened by the quiet,
+scuttled across the hearth. One mighty paw lightly moved; a
+lightning tap, and the tiny beast lay dead.
+
+Again that hollow stillness: no sound, no movement; only those
+two unwinking eyes fixed on him immovable.
+
+At length a small voice from the fireside broke the quiet.
+
+"Drunk--the--leetle--swab!"
+
+Again a clammy silence, and a life-long pause.
+
+"I thowt yo' was sleepin'," said David, at length, lamely.
+
+"Ay, so ye said. 'Sleepin' it aff'; I heard ye." Then, still in the same
+small voice, now quivering imperceptibly, "Wad ye obleege me,
+sir, by leetin' the lamp? Or, d'ye think, Wullie, 'twad be soilin' his
+dainty fingers? They're mair used, I'm told, to danderin' with the
+bonnie brown hair o' his--"
+
+"I'll not ha' ye talk o' ma Maggie so," interposed the boy
+passionately.
+
+"_His_ Maggie, mark ye, Wullie--_his_! I thocht 'twad soon get that
+far."
+
+"Tak' care, dad! I'll stan' but little more," the boy warned him in
+choking voice; and began to trim the lamp with trembling fingers.
+
+M'Adam forthwith addressed himself to Red Wull.
+
+"I suppose no man iver had sic a son as him, Wullie. Ye ken what
+I've done for him, an' ye ken hoo he's repaid it. He's set himsel' agin
+me; he's misca'd me; he's robbed me o' ma Cup; last of all, he
+struck me--struck me afore them a'. We've toiled for him, you and
+I, Wullie; we've slaved to keep him in hoose an' hame, an' he's
+passed his time, the while, in riotous leevin', carousin' at Kenmuir,
+amusin' himself' wi' his--" He broke off short. The lamp was lit,
+and the strip of paper, pinned on to the table, naked and glaring,
+caught his eye.
+
+"What's this?" he muttered; and unloosed the nail that clamped it
+down.
+
+This is what he read:
+
+"Adam Mackadam yer warned to mak' an end to yer Red Wull will
+be best for him and the Sheep. This is the first yo'll have two more
+the third will be the last--"
+
+It was written in pencil, and the only signature was a dagger,
+rudely lined in red.
+
+M'Adam read the paper once, twice, thrice. As he slowly
+assimilated its meaning, the blood faded from his face. He stared
+at it and still stared, with whitening face and pursed lips. Then he
+stole a glance at David's broad back.
+
+"What d'ye ken o' this, David?" he asked, at length, in a dry thin
+voice, reaching forward in his chair.
+
+"O' what?"
+
+"O' this," holding up the slip. "And ye'el obleege me by the truth
+for once."
+
+David turned, took up the paper, read it, and laughed harshly.
+
+"It's coom to this, has it?" he said, still laughing, and yet with
+blanching face.
+
+"Ye ken what it means. I daresay ye pit it there; aiblins writ it.
+Ye'll explain it." The little man spoke in the same small, even
+voice, and his eyes never moved off his son's face.
+
+"I've heard naethin'.... I'd like the truth, David, if ye can tell it."
+
+The boy smiled a forced, unnatural smile, looking from his father
+to the paper in his hand.
+
+"Yo' shall have it, but yo'll not like it. It's this: Tupper lost a sheep
+to the Killer last night."
+
+"And what if he did?" The little man rose smoothly to his feet.
+Each noticed the others' face--dead-white.
+
+"Why, he--lost--it--on--Wheer d'yo' think?" He drawled the
+words out, dwelling almost lovingly on each.
+
+"Where?"
+
+"On--the--Red--Screes."
+
+The crash was coming--inevitable now. David knew it, knew that
+nothing could avert it, and braced himself to meet it. The smile
+had fled from his face, and his breath fluttered in his throat like the
+wind before a thunderstorm.
+
+"What of it?" The little man's voice was calm as a summer sea.
+
+"Why, your Wullie--as I told yo'--was on the Screes last night."
+
+"Go on, David."
+
+"And this," holding up the paper, "tells you that they ken as I ken
+noo, as maist o' them ha' kent this mony a day, that your Wullie,
+Red Wull--the Terror--"
+
+"Go on."
+
+"Is--"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"The Black Killer."
+
+It was spoken.
+
+The frayed string was snapped at last. The little man's hand flashed
+to the bottle that stood before him.
+
+"Ye--liar!" he shrieked, and threw it with all his strength at the
+boy's head. David dodged and ducked, and the bottle hurtled over
+his shoulder.
+
+Crash! it whizzed into the lamp behind, and broke on the wall
+beyond, its contents trickling down the wall to the floor.
+
+For a moment, darkness. Then the spirits met the lamp's
+smouldering wick and blazed into flame.
+
+By the sudden light David saw his father on the far side the table,
+pointing with crooked forefinger. By his side Red Wull was
+standing alert, hackles up, yellow fangs bared, eyes lurid; and, at
+his feet, the wee brown mouse lay still and lifeless.
+
+"Oot o' ma hoose! Back to Kenmuir! Back to yer ----" The
+unpardonable word, unmistakable, hovered for a second on his lips
+like some foul bubble, and never burst.
+
+"No mither this time!" panted David, racing round the table.
+
+"Wullie!"
+
+The Terror leapt to the attack; but David overturned the table as he
+ran, the blunderbuss crashing to the floor; it fell, opposing a
+momentary barrier in the dog's path.
+
+"Stan' off, ye--!" screeched the little man, seizing a chair in both
+hands; "stan' off, or I'll brain ye!"
+
+But David was on him.
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, to me!"
+
+Again the Terror came with a roar like the sea. But David, with a
+mighty kick catching him full on the jaw, repelled the attack.
+
+Then he gripped his father round the waist and lifted him from the
+ground. The little man, struggling in those iron arms, screamed,
+cursed, and battered at the face above him, kicking and biting in
+his frenzy.
+
+"The Killer! wad ye ken wha's the Killer? Go and ask 'em at
+Kenmuir! Ask yer ----"
+
+David swayed slightly, crushing the body in his arms till it seemed
+every rib must break; then hurled it from him with all the might of
+passion. The little man fell with a crash and a groan.
+
+The blaze in the corner flared, flickered, and died. There was
+hell-black darkness, and silence of the dead.
+
+David stood against the wall, panting, every nerve tightstrung as
+the hawser of a straining ship.
+
+In the corner lay the body of his father, limp and still; and in the
+room one other living thing was moving.
+
+He clung close to the wall, pressing it with wet hands. The horror
+of it all, the darkness, the man in the corner, that moving
+something, petrified him.
+
+"Feyther!" he whispered.
+
+There was no reply. A chair creaked at an invisible touch.
+Something was creeping, stealing, crawling closer.
+
+David was afraid.
+
+"Feyther!" he whispered in hoarse agony, "are yo' hurt?"
+
+The words were stifled in his throat. A chair overturned with a
+crash; a great body struck him on the chest; a hot, pestilent breath
+volleyed in his face, and wolfish teeth were reaching for his throat.
+
+"Come on, Killer!" he screamed.
+
+The horror of suspense was past. It had come, and with it he was
+himself again.
+
+Back, back, back, along the wall he was borne. His hands entwined
+themselves around a hairy throat; he forced the great head with its
+horrid lightsome eyes from him; he braced himself for the effort,
+lifted the huge body at his breast, and heaved it from him. It struck
+the wall and fell with a soft thud.
+
+As he recoiled a hand clutched his ankle and sought to trip him.
+David kicked back and down with all his strength. There was one
+awful groan, and he staggered against the door and out.
+
+There he paused, leaning against the wall to' breathe.
+
+He struck a match and lifted his foot to see where the hand had
+clutched him.
+
+God! there was blood on his heel.
+
+Then a great fear laid hold on him. A cry was suffocated in his
+breast by the panting of his heart.
+
+He crept back to the kitchen door and listened.
+
+Not a sound.
+
+Fearfully he opened it a crack.
+
+Silence of the tomb.
+
+He banged it to. It opened behind him, and the fact lent wings to
+his feet.
+
+He turned and plunged out into the night, and ran through the
+blackness for his life. And a great owl swooped softly by and
+hooted mockingly:
+
+"For your life! for your life! for your life!"
+
+
+
+
+PART V  OWD BOB O' KENMUIR
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXII  A MAN AND A MAID
+
+
+IN the village even the Black Killer and the murder on the Screes
+were forgotten in this new sensation. The mystery in which the
+affair was wrapped, and the ignorance as to all its details, served to
+whet the general interest. There had been a fight; M'Adam and the
+Terror had been mauled; and David had disappeared--those were
+the facts. But what was the origin of the affray no one could say.
+
+One or two of the Dalesmen had, indeed, a shrewd suspicion.
+Tupper looked guilty; Jem Burton muttered, "I knoo hoo 'twould
+be"; while as for Long Kirby, he vanished entirely, not to reappear
+till three months had sped.
+
+Injured as he had been, M'Adam was yet sufficiently recovered to
+appear in the Sylvester Arms on the Saturday following the battle.
+He entered the tap-room silently with never a word to a soul; one
+arm was in a sling and his head bandaged. He eyed every man
+present critically; and all, except Tammas, who was brazen, and
+Jim Mason, who was innocent, fidgeted beneath the stare. Maybe
+it was well for Long Kirby he was not there.
+
+"Onythin' the matter?" asked Jem, at length, rather lamely, in view
+of the plain evidences of battle.
+
+"Na, na; naethin' oot o' the ordinar'," the little man replied,
+giggling. "Only David set on me, and me sleepin'. And," with a
+shrug, "here I am noo." He sat down, wagging his bandaged head
+and grinning. "Ye see he's sae playfu', is Davie. He wangs ye o'er
+the head wi' a chair, kicks ye in the jaw, stamps on yer wame, and
+all as merry as May." And nothing further could they get from him,
+except that if David reappeared it was his firm resolve to hand
+him over to the police for attempted parricide.
+
+"'Brutal assault on an auld man by his son!' 'Twill look well in
+the Argus; he! he! They couldna let him aff under two years, I'm
+thinkin'."
+
+M'Adam's version of the affair was received with quiet incredulity.
+The general verdict was that he had brought his punishment
+entirely on his own head. Tammas, indeed, who was always rude
+when he was not witty, and, in fact, the difference between the two
+things is only one of degree, told him straight: "It served yo' well
+reet. An' I nob'but wish he'd made an end to yo'."
+
+"He did his best, puir lad," M'Adam reminded him gently.
+
+"We've had enough o' yo'," continued the uncompromising old
+man. "I'm fair grieved he didna slice yer throat while he was at it."
+
+At that M'Adam raised his eyebrows, stared, and then broke into a
+low whistle.
+
+"That's it, is it?" he muttered, as though a new light was dawning
+on him. "Ah, noo I see."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The days passed on. There was still no news of the missing one,
+and Maggie's face became pitifully white and haggard.
+
+Of course she did not believe that David had attempted to murder
+his father, desperately tried as she knew he had been. Still, it was a
+terrible thought to her that he might at any moment be arrested;
+and her girlish imagination was perpetually conjuring up horrid
+pictures of a trial, conviction, and the things that followed.
+
+Then Sam'l started a wild theory that the little man had murdered
+his son, and thrown the mangled body down the dry well at the
+Grange. The story was, of course, preposterous, and, coming from
+such a source, might well have been discarded with the ridicule it
+deserved. Yet it served to set the cap on the girl's fears; and she
+resolved, at whatever cost, to visit the Grange, beard M'Adam, and
+discover whether he could not or would not allay her gnawing
+apprehension.
+
+Her intent she concealed from her father, knowing well that were
+she to reveal it to him, he would gently but firmly forbid the
+attempt; and on an afternoon some fortnight after David's
+disappearance, choosing her opportunity, she picked up a
+shawl, threw it over her head, and fled with palpitating heart out of
+the farm and down the slope to the Wastrel.
+
+The little plank-bridge rattled as she tripped across it; and she fled
+faster lest any one should have heard and come to look. And,
+indeed, at the moment it rattled again behind her, and she started
+guiltily round. It proved, however, to be only Owd Bob, sweeping
+after, and she was glad.
+
+"Comin' wi' me, lad?" she asked as the old dog cantered up,
+thankful to have that gray protector with her.
+
+Round Langholm now fled the two conspirators; over the
+summer-clad lower slopes of the Pike, until, at length, they
+reached the Stony Bottom. Down the bramble-covered bank of the
+ravine the girl slid; picked her way from stone to stone across the
+streamlet tinkling in that rocky bed; and scrambled up the opposite
+bank.
+
+At the top she halted and looked back. The smoke from Kenmuir
+was winding slowly up against the sky; to her right the low gray
+cottages of the village cuddled in the bosom of the Dale; far away
+over the Marches towered the gaunt Scaur; before her rolled the
+swelling slopes of the Muir Pike; while behind--she glanced
+timidly over her shoulder--was the hill, at the top of which
+squatted the Grange, lifeless, cold, scowling.
+
+Her heart failed her. In her whole life she had never spoken to
+M'Adam. Yet she knew him well enough from all David's
+accounts--ay, and hated him for David's sake. She hated him and
+feared him, too; feared him mortally--this terrible little man. And,
+with a shudder, she recalled the dim face at the window, and
+thought of his notorious hatred of her father. But even M'Adam
+could hardly harm a girl coming, broken-hearted, to seek her lover.
+Besides, was not Owd Bob with her?
+
+And, turning, she saw the old dog standing a little way up the hill,
+looking back at her as though he wondered why she waited. "Am I
+not enough?" the faithful gray eyes seemed to say.
+
+"Lad, I'm fear'd," was her answer to the unspoken question.
+
+Yet that look determined her. She clenched her little teeth, drew
+the shawl about her, and set off running up the hill.
+
+Soon the run dwindled to a walk, the walk to a crawl, and the
+crawl to a halt. Her breath was coming painfully, and her heart
+pattered against her side like the beatings of an imprisoned bird.
+Again her gray guardian looked up, encouraging her forward.
+
+"Keep close, lad," she whispered, starting forward afresh. And the
+old dog ranged up beside her, shoving into her skirt, as though to
+let her feel his presence.
+
+So they reached the top of the hill; and the house stood before
+them, grim, unfriendly.
+
+The girl's face was now quite white, yet set; the resemblance to her
+father was plain to see. With lips compressed and breath
+quick-coming, she crossed the threshold, treading softly as though
+in a house of the dead. There she paused and lifted a warning
+finger at her companion, bidding him halt without; then she turned
+to the door on the left of the entrance and tapped.
+
+She listened, her head buried in the shawl, close to the wood
+panelling. There was no answer; she could only hear the drumming
+of her heart.
+
+She knocked again. From within came the scraping of a chair
+cautiously shoved back, followed by a deep-mouthed cavernous
+growl.
+
+Her heart stood still, but she turned the handle and entered, leaving
+a crack open behind.
+
+On the far side the room a little man was sitting. His head was
+swathed in dirty bandages, and a bottle was on the table beside
+him. He was leaning forward; his face was gray, and there was a
+stare of naked horror in his eyes. One hand grasped the great dog
+who stood at his side, with yellow teeth glinting, and muzzle
+hideously wrinkled; with the other he pointed a palsied finger at
+her.
+
+"Ma God! wha are ye?" he cried hoarsely.
+
+The girl stood hard against the door, her fingers still on the handle;
+trembling like an aspen at the sight of that uncannie pair.
+
+That look in the little man's eyes petrified her: the swollen pupils;
+lashless lids, yawning wide; the broken range of teeth in that
+gaping mouth, froze her very soul. Rumors of the man's insanity
+tided back on her memory.
+
+"I'm--I--" the words came in trembling gasps.
+
+At the first utterance, however, the little man's hand dropped; he
+leant back in his chair and gave a soul-bursting sigh of relief.
+
+No woman had crossed that threshold since his wife died; and, for
+a moment, when first the girl had entered silent-footed, aroused
+from dreaming of the long ago, he had thought this shawl-clad
+figure with the pale face and peeping hair no earthly visitor; the
+spirit, rather, of one he had loved long since and lost, come to
+reproach him with a broken troth.
+
+"Speak up, I canna hear," he said, in tones mild compared with
+those last wild words.
+
+"I--I'm Maggie Moore," the girl quavered.
+
+"Moore! Maggie Moore, d'ye say?" he cried, half rising from his
+chair, a flush of color sweeping across his face, "the dochter o'
+James Moore?" He paused for an answer, glowering at her; and she
+shrank, trembling, against the door.
+
+The little man leant back in his chair. Gradually a grim smile crept
+across his countenance.
+
+"Weel, Maggie Moore," he said, halfamused, "ony gate ye're a
+good plucked un." And his wizened countenance looked at her
+almost kindly from beneath its dirty crown of bandages.
+
+At that the girl's courage returned with a rush. After all this little
+man was not so very terrible. Perhaps he would be kind. And in the
+relief of the moment, the blood swept back into her face.
+
+There was not to be peace yet, however. The blush was still hot
+upon her cheeks, when she caught the patter of soft steps in the
+passage without. A dark muzzle flecked with gray pushed in at the
+crack of the door; two anxious gray eyes followed.
+
+Before she could wave him back, Red Wull had marked the
+intruder. With a roar he tore himself from his master's restraining
+hand, and dashed across the room.
+
+"Back, Bob!" screamed Maggie, and the dark head withdrew. The
+door slammed with a crash as the great dog flung himself against
+it, and Maggie was hurled, breathless and white-faced, into a
+corner.
+
+M'Adam was on his feet, pointing with a shrivelled finger, his face
+diabolical.
+
+"Did you bring him? did you bring _that_ to ma door?"
+
+Maggie huddled in the corner in a palsy of trepidation. Her eyes
+gleamed big and black in the white face peering from the shawl.
+
+Red Wull was now beside her snarling horribly. With nose to the
+bottom of the door and busy paws he was trying to get out; while,
+on the other side, Owd Bob, snuffling also at the crack, scratched
+and pleaded to get in. Only two miserable wooden inches
+separated the pair.
+
+"I brought him to protect me. I--I was afraid."
+
+M'Adam sat down and laughed abruptly.
+
+"Afraid! I wonder ye were na afraid to bring him here. It's the first
+time iver he's set foot on ma land, and 't had best be the last" He
+turned to the great dog. "Wullie, Wullie, wad ye?" he called.
+"Come here. Lay ye doon--so--under ma chair--good lad. Noo's no
+the time to settle wi' him"--nodding toward the door. "We can wait
+for that, Wullie; we can wait." Then, turning to Maggie, "Gin ye
+want him to mak' a show at the Trials two months hence, he'd best
+not come here agin. Gin he does, he'll no leave ma land alive;
+Wullie'll see to that. Noo, what is 't ye want o'me?"
+
+The girl in the corner, scared almost out of her senses by this last
+occurrence, remained dumb.
+
+M'Adam marked her hesitation, and grinned sardonically.
+
+"I see hoo 'tis," said he; "yer dad's sent ye. Aince before he
+wanted somethin' o' me, and did he come to fetch it himself like
+a man? Not he. He sent the son to rob the father." Then, leaning
+forward in his chair and glaring at the girl, "Ay, and mair than
+that! The night the lad set on me he cam'"--with hissing
+emphasis--"straight from Kenmuir!" He paused and stared at her
+intently, and she was still dumb before him. "Gin I'd ben killed,
+Wullie'd ha' bin disqualified from competin' for the Cup. With
+Adam M'Adam's Red Wull oot o' the way--noo d'ye see? Noo d'ye
+onderstan'?"
+
+She did not, and he saw it and was satisfied. What he had been
+saying she neither knew nor cared. She only remembered the
+object of her mission; she only saw before her the father of the
+man she loved; and a wave of emotion surged up in her breast.
+
+She advanced timidly toward him, holding out her hands.
+
+"Eh, Mr. M'Adam," she pleaded, "I come to ask ye after David."
+The shawl had slipped from her head, and lay loose upon her
+shoulders; and she stood before him with her sad face, her pretty
+hair all tossed, and her eyes big with unshed tears--a touching
+suppliant.
+
+"Will ye no tell me wheer he is? I'd not ask it, I'd not trouble yo',
+but I've bin waitin' a waefu' while, it seems, and I'm wearyin' for
+news o' him."
+
+The little man looked at her curiously. "Ah, noo I mind me,"--this
+to himself. "You' the lass as is thinkin' o' marryin' him?"
+
+"We're promised," the girl answered simply.
+
+"Weel," the other remarked, "as I said afore, ye're a good plucked
+un." Then, in a tone in which, despite the cynicism, a certain
+indefinable sadness was blended, "Gin he mak's you as good
+husband as he mad' son to me, ye'll ha' made a maist remairkable
+match, my dear."
+
+Maggie fired in a moment.
+
+"A good feyther makes a good son," she answered almost pertly;
+and then, with infinite tenderness, "and I'm prayin' a good wife'll
+make a good husband."
+
+He smiled scoffingly.
+
+"I'm feared that'll no help ye much," he said.
+
+But the girl never heeded this last sneer, so set was she on her
+purpose. She had heard of the one tender place in the heart of this
+little man with the tired face and mocking tongue, and she
+resolved to attain her end by appealing to it.
+
+"Yo' loved a lass yo'sel' aince, Mr. M'Adam," she said. "Hoo would
+yo' ha' felt had she gone away and left yo'? Yo'd ha' bin mad; yo'
+know yo' would. And, Mr. M'Adam, I love the lad yer wife loved."
+She was kneeling at his feet now with both hands on his knees,
+looking up at him. Her sad face and quivering lips pleaded for her
+more eloquently than any words.
+
+The little man was visibly touched.
+
+"Ay, ay, lass, that's enough," he said, trying to avoid those big
+beseeching eyes which would not be avoided.
+
+"Will ye no tell me?" she pleaded.
+
+"I canna tell ye, lass, for why, I dinna ken," he answered
+querulously. In truth, he was moved to the heart by her misery.
+
+The girl's last hopes were dashed. She had played her last card and
+failed. She had clung with the fervor of despair to this last
+resource, and now it was torn from her. She had hoped, and now
+there was no hope. In the anguish of her disappointment she
+remembered that this was the man who, by his persistent cruelty,
+had driven her love into exile.
+
+She rose to her feet and stood back.
+
+"Nor ken, nor care!" she cried bitterly.
+
+At the words all the softness fled from the little man's face.
+
+"Ye do me a wrang, lass; ye do indeed," he said, looking up at her
+with an assumed ingenuousness which, had she known him better,
+would have warned her to beware. "Gin I kent where the lad was
+I'd be the vairy first to let you, and the p'lice, ken it too; eh, Wullie!
+he! he!" He chuckled at his wit and rubbed his knees, regardless of
+the contempt blazing in the girl's face.
+
+"I canna tell ye where he is now, but ye'd aiblins care to hear o'
+when I saw him last." He turned his chair the better to address her.
+
+"Twas like so: I was sittin' in this vairy chair it was, asleep, when
+he crep' up behind an' lep' on ma back. I knew naethin' o't till I
+found masel' on the floor an' him kneelin' on me. I saw by the look
+on him he was set on finishin' me, so I said--"
+
+The girl waved her hand at him, superbly disdainful.
+
+"Yo' ken yo're lyin', ivery word o't," she cried.
+
+The little man hitched his trousers, crossed his legs, and yawned.
+
+"An honest lee for an honest purpose is a matter ony man may be
+proud of, as you'll ken by the time you're my years, ma lass."
+
+The girl slowly crossed the room. At the door she turned.
+
+"Then ye'll no tell me wheer he is?" she asked with a
+heart-breaking trill in her voice.
+
+"On ma word, lass, I dinna ken," he cried, half passionately.
+
+"On your word, Mr. M'Adam" she said with a quiet scorn in her
+voice that might have stung Iscariot.
+
+The little man spun round in his chair, an angry red dyeing his
+cheeks. In another moment he was suave and smiling again.
+
+"I canna tell ye where he is noo," he said, unctuously; "but aiblins,
+I could let ye know where he's gaein' to."
+
+"Can yo'? will yo'?" cried the simple girl all unsuspecting. In a
+moment she was across the room and at his knees.
+
+"Closer, and I'll whisper." The little ear, peeping from its nest of
+brown, was tremblingly approached to his lips. The little man lent
+forward and whispered one short, sharp word, then sat back,
+grinning, to watch the effect of his disclosure.
+
+He had his revenge, an unworthy revenge on such a victim. And,
+watching the girl's face, the cruel disappointment merging in the
+heat of her indignation, he had yet enough nobility to regret his
+triumph.
+
+She sprang from him as though he were unclean.
+
+"An' yo' his father!" she cried, in burning tones.
+
+She crossed the room, and at the door paused. Her face was white
+again and she was quite composed.
+
+"If David did strike you, you drove him to it," she said, speaking in
+calm, gentle accents. "Yo' know, none so well, whether yo've bin a
+good feyther to him, and him no mither, poor laddie! Whether yo've
+bin to him what she'd ha' had yo' be. Ask yer conscience, Mr.
+M'Adam. An' if he was a wee aggravatin' at times, had he no
+reason? He'd a heavy cross to bear, had David, and yo' know best if
+yo' helped to ease it for him."
+
+The little man pointed to the door; but the girl paid no heed.
+
+"D'yo' think when yo' were cruel to him, jeerin' and fleerin', he
+never felt it, because he was too proud to show ye? He'd a big saft
+heart, had David, beneath the varnish. Mony's the time when
+mither was alive, I've seen him throw himsel' into her arms,
+sobbin', and cry, 'Eh, if I had but mither! 'Twas different when
+mither was alive; he was kinder to me then. An' noo I've no one;
+I'm alone.' An' he'd sob and sob in mither's arms, and she, weepin'
+hersel', would comfort him, while he, wee laddie, would no be
+comforted, cryin' broken-like, 'There's none to care for me noo; I'm
+alone. Mither's left me and eh! I'm prayin' to be wi' her!'"
+
+The clear, girlish voice shook. M'Adam, sitting with face averted,
+waved to her, mutely ordering her to be gone. But she held on,
+gentle, sorrowful, relentless.
+
+"An' what'll yo' say to his mither when yo meet her, as yo' must
+soon noo, and she asks yo', 'An what o' David? What o' th' lad I left
+wi' yo', Adam, to guard and keep for me, faithful and true, till this
+Day?' And then yo'll ha' to speak the truth, God's truth; and yo'll ha'
+to answer, 'Sin' the day yo' left me I niver said a kind word to the
+lad. I niver bore wi' him, and niver tried to. And in the end I drove
+him by persecution to try and murder me.' Then maybe she'll look
+at yo'--yo' best ken hoo--and she'll say, 'Adam, Adam! is this what I
+deserved fra yo'?'"
+
+The gentle, implacable voice ceased. The girl turned and slipped
+softly out of the room; and M'Adam was left alone to his thoughts
+and his dead wife's memory.
+
+"Mither and father, baith! Mither and father, baith!" rang
+remorselessly in his ears.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXIII  TH' OWD UN
+
+
+THE Black Killer still cursed the land. Sometimes there would be
+a cessation in the crimes; then a shepherd, going his rounds, would
+notice his sheep herding together, packing in unaccustomed
+squares; a raven, gorged to the crop, would rise before him and
+flap wearily away, and he would come upon the murderer's latest
+victim.
+
+The Dalesmen were in despair, so utterly futile had their efforts
+been. There was no proof; no hope, no apparent probability that
+the end was near. As for the Tailless Tyke, the only piece of
+evidence against him had flown with David, who, as it chanced,
+had divulged what he had seen to no man.
+
+The 100 pound reward offered had brought no issue. The police
+had done nothing. The Special Commissioner had been equally
+successful. After the affair in the Scoop the Killer never ran a risk,
+yet never missed a chance.
+
+Then, as a last resource, Jim Mason made his attempt. He took a
+holiday from his duties and disappeared into the wilderness. Three
+days and three nights no man saw him.
+
+On the morning of the fourth he reappeared, haggard, unkempt, a
+furtive look haunting his eyes, sullen for once, irritable, who had
+never been irritable before--to confess his failure. Cross-examined
+further, he answered with unaccustomed fierceness: "I seed nowt, I
+tell ye. Who's the liar as said I did?"
+
+But that night his missus heard him in his sleep conning over
+something to himself in slow, fearful whisper, "Two on 'em; one
+ahint t'other. The first big--bull-like; t'ither--" At which point Mrs.
+Mason smote him a smashing blow in the ribs, and he woke in a
+sweat, crying terribly, "Who said I seed--"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The days were slipping away; the summer was hot upon the land,
+and with it the Black Killer was forgotten; David was forgotten;
+everything sank into oblivion before the all-absorbing interest of
+the coming Dale trials.
+
+The long-anticipated battle for the Shepherds' Trophy was looming
+close; soon everything that hung upon the issue of that struggle
+would be decided finally. For ever the justice of Th' Owd Un'
+claim to his proud title would be settled. If he won, he won
+outright--a thing unprecedented in the annals of the Cup; if he
+won, the place of Owd Bob o' Kenmuir as first in his profession
+was assured for all time. Above all, it was the last event in the six
+years' struggle 'twixt Red and Gray It was the last time those two
+great rivals would meet in battle. The supremacy of one would be
+decided once and for all. For win or lose, it was the last public
+appearance of the Gray Dog of Kenmuir.
+
+And as every hour brought the great day nearer, nothing else was
+talked of in the country-side. The heat of the Dalesmen's
+enthusiasm was only intensified by the fever of their apprehension.
+Many a man would lose more than he cared to contemplate were
+Th' Owd Un beat. But he'd not be! Nay; owd, indeed, he was--two
+years older than his great rival; there were a hundred risks, a
+hundred chances; still: "What's the odds agin Owd Bob o'
+Kenmuir? I'm takin' 'em. Who'll lay agin Th' Owd Un?"
+
+And with the air saturated with this perpetual talk of the old dog,
+these everlasting references to his certain victory; his ears
+drumming with the often boast that the gray dog was the best in
+the North, M'Adam became the silent, ill-designing man of six
+months since--morose, brooding, suspicious, muttering of
+conspiracy, plotting revenge.
+
+The scenes at the Sylvester Arms were replicas of those of
+previous years. Usually the little man sat isolated in a far corner,
+silent and glowering, with Red Wull at his feet. Now and then he
+burst into a paroxysm of insane giggling, slapping his thigh, and
+muttering, "Ay, it's likely they'll beat us, Wullie. Yet aiblins there's
+a wee somethin'--a somethin' we ken and they dinna, Wullie,--eh!
+Wullie, he! he!" And sometimes he would leap to his feet and
+address his pot-house audience, appealing to them passionately,
+satirically, tearfully, as the mood might be on him; and his theme
+was always the same: James Moore, Owd Bob, the Cup, and the
+plots agin him and his Wullie; and always he concluded with that
+hint of the surprise to come.
+
+Meantime, there was no news of David; he had gone as utterly as a
+ship foundered in mid-Atlantic. Some said he'd 'listed; some, that
+he'd gone to sea. And "So he 'as," corroborated Sam'l, "floatin',
+'eels uppards."
+
+With no gleam of consolation, Maggie's misery was such as to
+rouse compassion in all hearts. She went no longer blithely singing
+about her work; and all the springiness had fled from her gait. The
+people of Kenmuir vied with one another in their attempts to
+console their young mistress.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Maggie was not the only one in whose life David's absence had
+created a void. Last as he would have been to own it, M'Adam felt
+acutely the boy's loss. It may have been he missed the
+ever-present butt; it may have been a nobler feeling. Alone with
+Red Wull, too late he felt his loneliness. Sometimes, sitting in
+the kitchen by himself, thinking of the past, he experienced
+sharp pangs of remorse; and this was all the more the case after
+Maggie's visit. Subsequent to that day the little man, to do him
+justice, was never known to hint by word or look an ill thing of
+his enemy's daughter. Once, indeed, when Melia Ross was drawing
+on a dirty imagination with Maggie for subject, M'Adam shut her
+up with: "Ye're a maist amazin' big liar, Melia Ross."
+
+Yet, though for the daughter he had now no evil thought, his
+hatred for the father had never been so uncompromising.
+
+He grew reckless in his assertions. His life was one long threat
+against James Moore's. Now he openly stated his conviction that,
+on the eventful night of the fight, James Moore, with object easily
+discernible, had egged David on to murder him.
+
+"Then why don't yo' go and tell him so, yo' muckle liar?" roared
+Tammas at last, enraged to madness.
+
+"I will!" said M'Adam. And he did.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was on the day preceding the great summer sheep fair at
+Grammoch-town that he fulfilled his vow.
+
+That is always a big field-day at Kenmuir; and on this occasion
+James Moore and Owd Bob had been up and working on the Pike
+from the rising of the sun. Throughout the straggling lands of
+Kenmuir the Master went with his untiring adjutant, rounding up,
+cutting out, drafting. It was already noon when the flock started
+from the yard.
+
+On the gate by the stile, as the party came up, sat M'Adam.
+
+"I've a word to say to you, James Moore," he announced, as the
+Master approached.
+
+"Say it then, and quick. I've no time to stand gossipin' here, if yo'
+have," said the Master.
+
+M'Adam strained forward till he nearly toppled off the gate.
+
+"Queer thing, James Moore, you should be the only one to escape
+this Killer."
+
+"Yo' forget yoursel', M'Adam."
+
+"Ay, there's me," acquiesced the little man. "But you--hoo d'yo'
+'count for _your_ luck?"
+
+James Moore swung round and pointed proudly at the gray dog,
+now patrolling round the flock.
+
+"There's my luck!" he said.
+
+M'Adam laughed unpleasantly.
+
+"So I thought," he said, "so I thought! And I s'pose ye're thinkin'
+that yer luck," nodding at the gray dog, "will win you the Cup for
+certain a month hence."
+
+"I hope so!" said the Master.
+
+"Strange if he should not after all," mused the little man.
+
+James Moore eyed him suspiciously. "What d'yo' mean?" he asked
+sternly. M'Adam shrugged his shoulders. "There's mony a slip
+'twixt Cup and lip, that's a'. I was thinkin' some mischance might
+come to him."
+
+The Master's eyes flashed dangerously. He recalled the many
+rumors he had heard, and the attempt on the old dog early in the
+year.
+
+"I canna think ony one would be coward enough to murder him,"
+he said, drawing himself up.
+
+M'Adam leant forward. There was a nasty glitter in his eye, and his
+face was all a-tremble.
+
+"Ye'd no think ony one 'd be cooard enough to set the son to
+murder the father. Yet some one did--set the lad on to 'sassinate
+me. He failed at me, and next, I suppose, he'll try at Wullie!" There
+was a flush on the sallow face, and a vindictive ring in the thin
+voice. "One way or t'ither, fair or foul, Wullie or me, ain or baith,
+has got to go afore Cup Day, eh, James Moore! eh?"
+
+The Master put his hand on the latch of the gate, "That'll do,
+M'Adam," he said. "I'll stop to hear no more, else I might get angry
+wi' yo'. Noo git off this gate, yo're trespassin' as 'tis."
+
+He shook the gate. M'Adam tumbled off, and went sprawling into
+the sheep clustered below. Picking himself up, he dashed on
+through the flock, waving his arms, kicking fantastically, and
+scattering confusion everywhere.
+
+"Just wait till I'm thro' wi' 'em, will yo'?" shouted the Master,
+seeing the danger.
+
+It was a request which, according to the etiquette of shepherding,
+one man was bound to grant another. But M'Adam rushed on
+regardless, dancing and gesticulating. Save for the lightning
+vigilance of Owd Bob, the flock must have broken.
+
+"I think yo' might ha' waited!" remonstrated the Master, as the little
+man burst his way through.
+
+"Noo, I've forgot somethin'!" the other cried, and back he started as
+he had gone.
+
+It was more than human nature could tolerate.
+
+"Bob, keep him off!"
+
+A flash of teeth; a blaze of gray eyes; and the old dog had leapt
+forward to oppose the little man's advance.
+
+"Shift oot o' ma light!" cried he, striving to dash past.
+
+"Hold him, lad!"
+
+And hold him the old dog did, while his master opened the gate
+and put the flock through, the opponents dodging in front of one
+another like opposing three-quarter-backs at the Rugby game.
+
+"Oot o' ma path, or I'll strike!" shouted the little man in a fury, as
+the last sheep passed through the gate.
+
+"I'd not," warned the Master.
+
+"But I will!" yelled M'Adam; and, darting forward as the gate
+swung to, struck furiously at his opponent.
+
+He missed, and the gray dog charged at him like a mail-train.
+
+"Hi! James Moore--" but over he went like a toppled wheelbarrow,
+while the old dog turned again, raced at the gate, took it
+magnificently in his stride, and galloped up the lane after his
+master.
+
+At M'Adam's yell, James Moore had turned.
+
+"Served yo' properly!" he called back. "He'll larn ye yet it's not wise
+to tamper wi' a gray dog or his sheep. Not the first time he's
+downed ye, I'm thinkin'!"
+
+The little man raised himself painfully to his elbow and crawled
+toward the gate. The Master, up the lane, could hear him cursing
+as he dragged himself. Another moment, and a head was poked
+through the bars of the gate, and a devilish little face looked after
+him.
+
+"Downed me, by--, he did!" the little man cried passionately. "I
+owed ye baith somethin' before this, and noo, by ----, I owe ye
+somethin' more. An' mind ye, Adam M'Adam pays his debts!"
+
+"I've heard the contrary," the Master replied drily, and turned away
+up the lane toward the Marches.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXIV  A SHOT IN THE NIGHT
+
+
+IT was only three short weeks before Cup Day that one afternoon
+Jim Mason brought a letter to Kenmuir. James Moore opened it as
+the postman still stood in the door.
+
+It was from Long Kirby--still in retirement--begging him for
+mercy's sake to keep Owd Bob safe within doors at nights; at all
+events till after the great event was over. For Kirby knew, as did
+every Dalesman, that the old dog slept in the porch, between the
+two doors of the house, of which the outer was only loosely closed
+by a chain, so that the ever-watchful guardian might slip in and out
+and go his rounds at any moment of the night.
+
+This was how the smith concluded his ill-spelt note: "Look out for
+M'Adam i tell you i _know_ hel tri at thowd un afore cup day--failin
+im you if the ole dog's bete i'm a ruined man i say so for the luv o'
+God keep yer eyes wide."
+
+The Master read the letter, and handed it to the postman, who
+perused it carefully.
+
+"I tell yo' what," said Jim at length, speaking with an earnestness
+that made the other stare, "I wish yo'd do what he asks yo': keep
+Th' Owd Un in o' nights, I mean, just for the present."
+
+The Master shook his head and laughed, tearing the letter to
+pieces.
+
+"Nay," said he; "M'Adam or no M'Adam, Cup or no Cup, Th' Owd
+Un has the run o' ma land same as he's had since a puppy. Why,
+Jim, the first night I shut him up that night the Killer comes, I'll
+lay."
+
+The postman turned wearily away, and the Master stood looking
+after him, wondering what had come of late to his former cheery
+friend.
+
+Those two were not the only warnings James Moore received.
+During the weeks immediately preceding the Trials, the danger
+signal was perpetually flaunted beneath his nose.
+
+Twice did Watch, the black cross-bred chained in the straw-yard,
+hurl a brazen challenge on the night air. Twice did the Master,
+with lantern, Sam'l and Owd Bob, sally forth and search every hole
+and corner on the premises--to find nothing. One of the
+dairy-maids gave notice, avowing that the farm was haunted; that,
+on several occasions in the early morning, she had seen a bogie
+flitting down the slope to the Wastrel--a sure portent, Sam'l
+declared, of an approaching death in the house. While once a
+shearer, coming up from the village, reported having seen, in the
+twilight of dawn, a little ghostly figure, haggard and startled,
+stealing silently from tree to tree in the larch-copse by the lane.
+The Master, however, irritated by these constant alarms, dismissed
+the story summarily.
+
+"One thing I'm sartin o'," said he. "There's not a critter moves on
+Kenmuir at nights but Th' Owd Un knows it."
+
+Yet, even as he said it, a little man, draggled, weary-eyed, smeared
+with dew and dust, was limping in at the door of a house barely a
+mile away. "Nae luck, Wullie, curse it!" he cried, throwing
+himself into a chair, and addressing some one who was not
+there--"nae luck. An' yet I'm sure o't as I am that there's a God in
+heaven."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+M'Adam had become an old man of late. But little more than fifty,
+yet he looked to have reached man's allotted years. His sparse hair
+was quite white; his body shrunk and bowed; and his thin hand
+shook like an aspen as it groped to the familiar bottle.
+
+In another matter, too, he was altogether changed. Formerly,
+whatever his faults, there had been no harder-working man in the
+country-side. At all hours, in all weathers, you might have seen
+him with his gigantic attendant going his rounds. Now all that was
+different: he never put his hand to the plough, and with none to
+help him the land was left wholly untended; so that men said that,
+of a surety, there would be a farm to let on the March Mere
+Estate come Michaelmas.
+
+Instead of working, the little man sat all day in the kitchen at
+home, brooding over his wrongs, and brewing vengeance. Even the
+Sylvester Arms knew him no more; for he stayed where he was
+with his dog and his bottle. Only, when the shroud of night had
+come down to cover him, he slipped out and away on some errand
+on which not even Red Wull accompanied him.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+So the time glided on, till the Sunday before the Trials came
+round.
+
+All that day M'Adam sat in his kitchen, drinking, muttering,
+hatching revenge.
+
+"Curse it, Wullie! curse it! The time's slippin'--slippin'--slippin'!
+Thursday next--but three days mair! and I haena the proof--I
+haena the proof!"--and he rocked to and fro, biting his nails in
+the agony of his impotence.
+
+All day long he never moved. Long after sunset he sat on; long
+after dark had eliminated the features of the room.
+
+"They're all agin us, Wullie. It's you and I alane, lad. M'Adam's to
+be beat somehow, onyhow; and Moore's to win. So they've settled
+it, and so 'twill be--onless, Wullie, onless--but curse it! I've no the
+proof!"--and he hammered the table before him and stamped on
+the floor.
+
+At midnight he arose, a mad, desperate plan looming through his
+fuddled brain.
+
+"I swore I'd pay him, Wullie, and I will. If I hang for it I'll be even
+wi' him. I haena the proof, but I _know_--I _know_!" He groped his way
+to the mantel piece with blind eyes and swirling brain. Reaching up
+with fumbling hands, he took down the old blunderbuss from
+above the fireplace.
+
+"Wullie," he whispered, chuckling hideously, "Wullie, come on!
+You and I--he! he!" But the Tailless Tyke was not there. At
+nightfall he had slouched silently out of the house on business he
+best wot of. So his master crept out of the room alone--on tiptoe,
+still chuckling.
+
+The cool night air refreshed him, and he stepped stealthily along,
+his quaint weapon over his shoulder: down the hill; across the
+Bottom; skirting the Pike; till he reached the plank-bridge over the
+Wastrel.
+
+He crossed it safely, that Providence whose care is drunkards
+placing his footsteps. Then he stole up the slope like a hunter
+stalking his prey.
+
+Arrived at the gate, he raised himself cautiously, and peered over
+into the moonlit yard. There was no sign or sound of living
+creature. The little gray house slept peacefully in the shadow of the
+Pike, all unaware of the man with murder in his heart laboriously
+climbing the yard-gate.
+
+The door of the porch was wide, the chain hanging limply down,
+unused; and the little man could see within, the moon shining on
+the iron studs of the inner door, and the blanket of him who should
+have slept there, and did not.
+
+"He's no there, Wullie! He's no there!" He jumped down from the
+gate. Throwing all caution to the winds, he reeled recklessly across
+the yard. The drunken delirium of battle was on him. The fever of
+anticipated victory flushed his veins. At length he would take toll
+for the injuries of years.
+
+Another moment, and he was in front of the good oak door,
+battering at it madly with clubbed weapon, yelling, dancing,
+screaming vengeance.
+
+"Where is he? What's he at? Come and tell me that, James Moore!
+Come doon, I say, ye coward! Come and meet me like a man!
+
+Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled,
+Scots wham Bruce has aften led--
+Welcome to your gory bed
+Or to victorie!'"
+
+The soft moonlight streamed down on the white-haired madman
+thundering at the door, screaming his war-song.
+
+The quiet farmyard, startled from its sleep, awoke in an uproar.
+Cattle shifted in their stalls; horses whinnied; fowls chattered,
+aroused by the din and dull thudding of the blows: and above the
+rest, loud and piercing, the shrill cry of a terrified child.
+
+Maggie, wakened from a vivid dream of David chasing the police,
+hurried a shawl around her, and in a minute had the baby in her
+arms and was comforting her--vaguely fearing the while that the
+police were after David.
+
+James Moore flung open a window, and, leaning out, looked down
+on the dishevelled figure below him.
+
+M'Adam heard the noise, glanced up, and saw his enemy.
+Straightway he ceased his attack on the door, and, running beneath
+the window, shook his weapon up at his foe.
+
+"There ye are, are ye? Curse ye for a coward! curse ye for a
+liar! Come doon, I say, James Moore! come doon--I daur ye to it!
+Aince and for a' let's settle oor account."
+
+The Master, looking down from above, thought that at length the
+little man's brain had gone.
+
+"What is't yo' want?" he asked, as calmly as he could, hoping to
+gain time.
+
+"What is't I want?" screamed the madman. "Hark to him! He
+crosses me in ilka thing; he plots agin me; he robs me o' ma Cup;
+he sets ma son agin me and pits him on to murder me! And in the
+end he--"
+
+"Coom, then, coom! I'll--"
+
+"Gie me back the Cup ye stole, James Moore! Gie me back ma son
+ye've took from me! And there's anither thing. What's yer gray dog
+doin'? Where's yer--"
+
+The Master interposed again:
+
+"I'll coom doon and talk things over wi' yo'." he said soothingly.
+But before he could withdraw, M'Adam had jerked his weapon to
+his shoulder and aimed it full at his enemy's head.
+
+The threatened man looked down the gun's great quivering mouth,
+wholly unmoved.
+
+"Yo' mon hold it steadier, little mon, if yo'd hit!" he said grimly.
+"There, I'll coom help yo'!" He withdrew slowly; and all the time
+was wondering where the gray dog was.
+
+In another moment he was downstairs, undoing the bolts and bars
+of the door. On the other side stood M'Adam, his blunderbuss at
+his shoulder, his finger trembling on the trigger, waiting.
+
+"Hi, Master! Stop, or yo're dead!" roared a voice from the loft on
+the other side the yard.
+
+"Feyther! feyther! git yo' back!" screamed Maggie, who saw it all
+from the window above the door.
+
+Their cries were too late! The blunderbuss went off with a roar,
+belching out a storm of sparks and smoke. The shot peppered the
+door like hail, and the whole yard seemed for a moment wrapped
+in flame.
+
+"Aw! oh! ma gummy! A'm waounded A'm a goner! A'm shot!
+'Elp! Murder! Eh! Oh!" bellowed a lusty voice--and it was not
+James Moore's.
+
+The little man, the cause of the uproar, lay quite still upon the
+ground, with another figure standing over him. As he had stood,
+finger on trigger, waiting for that last bolt to be drawn, a gray
+form, shooting whence no one knew, had suddenly and silently
+attacked him from behind, and jerked him backward to the ground.
+With the shock of the fall the blunderbuss had gone off.
+
+The last bolt was thrown back with a clatter, and the Master
+emerged. In a glance he took in the whole scene: the fallen man;
+the gray dog; the still-smoking weapon.
+
+"Yo', was't Bob lad?" he said. "I was wonderin' wheer yo' were. Yo'
+came just at the reet moment, as yo' aye do!" Then, in a loud voice,
+addressing the darkness: "Yo're not hurt, Sam'l Todd--I can tell
+that by yer noise; it was nob'but the shot off the door warmed yo'.
+Coom away doon and gie me a hand."
+
+He walked up to M'Adam, who still lay gasping on the ground.
+The shock of the fall and recoil of the weapon had knocked the
+breath out of the little man's body; beyond that he was barely hurt.
+
+The Master stood over his fallen enemy and looked sternly down
+at him.
+
+"I've put up wi' more from you, M'Adam, than I would from ony
+other man," he said. "But this is too much--comin' here at night
+wi' loaded arms, scarin' the wimmen and childer oot o' their
+lives, and I can but think meanin' worse. If yo' were half a man I'd
+gie yo' the finest thrashin' iver yo' had in yer life. But, as yo' know
+well, I could no more hit yo' than I could a woman. Why yo've got
+this down on me yo' ken best. I niver did yo' or ony ither mon a
+harm. As to the Cup, I've got it and I'm goin' to do ma best to keep
+it--it's for yo' to win it from me if yo' can o' Thursday. As for what
+yo' say o' David, yo' know it's a lie. And as for what yo're drivin' at
+wi' yer hints and mysteries, I've no more idee than a babe unborn.
+Noo I'm goin' to lock yo' up, yo're not safe abroad. I'm thinkin' I'll
+ha' to hand ye o'er to the p'lice."
+
+With the help of Sam'l he half dragged, half supported the stunned
+little man across the yard; and shoved him into a tiny
+semi-subterraneous room, used for the storage of coal, at the end of
+the farm-buildings.
+
+"Yo' think it over that side, ma lad," called the Master grimly, as
+he turned the key, "and I will this." And with that he retired to bed.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Early in the morning he went to release his prisoner. But he was a
+minute too late. For scuttling down the slope and away was a little
+black-begrimed, tottering figure with white hair blowing in the
+wind. The little man had broken away a wooden hatchment which
+covered a manhole in the wall of his prison-house, squeezed his
+small body through, and so escaped.
+
+"Happen it's as well," thought the Master, watching the flying
+figure. Then, "Hi, Bob, lad!" he called; for the gray dog, ears back,
+tail streaming, was hurling down the slope after the fugitive.
+
+On the bridge M'Adam turned, and, seeing his pursuer hot upon
+him, screamed, missed his footing, and fell with a loud splash into
+the stream--almost in that identical spot into which, years before,
+he had plunged voluntarily to save Red Wull.
+
+On the bridge Owd Bob halted and looked down at the man
+struggling in the water below. He made a half move as though to
+leap in to the rescue of his enemy; then, seeing it was unnecessary,
+turned and trotted back to his master.
+
+"Yo' nob'but served him right, I'm thinkin'," said the Master. "Like
+as not he came here wi' the intent to mak' an end to yo.' Well, after
+Thursday, I pray God we'll ha' peace. It's gettin' above a joke." The
+two turned back into the yard.
+
+But down below them, along the edge of the stream, for the second
+time in this story, a little dripping figure was tottering homeward.
+The little man was crying--the hot tears mingling on his cheeks
+with the undried waters of the Wastrel--crying with rage,
+mortification, weariness.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXV  THE SHEPHERDS' TROPHY
+
+Cup Day.
+
+
+It broke calm and beautiful, no cloud on the horizon, no threat of
+storm in the air; a fitting day on which the Shepherds' Trophy must
+be won outright.
+
+And well it was so. For never since the founding of the Dale Trials
+had such a concourse been gathered together on the North bank of
+the Silver Lea. From the Highlands they came; from the far
+Campbell country; from the Peak; from the county of many acres;
+from all along the silver fringes of the Solway; assembling in that
+quiet corner of the earth to see the famous Gray Dog of Kenmuir
+fight his last great battle for the Shepherds' Trophy.
+
+By noon the gaunt Scaur looked down on such a gathering as it had
+never seen. The paddock at the back of the Dalesman's Daughter
+was packed with a clammering, chattering multitude: animated
+groups of farmers; bevies of solid rustics; sharp-faced townsmen;
+loud-voiced bookmakers; giggling girls; amorous boys,--thrown
+together like toys in a sawdust bath; whilst here and there, on the
+outskirts of the crowd, a lonely man and wise-faced dog, come
+from afar to wrest his proud title from the best sheep-dog in the
+North.
+
+At the back of the enclosure was drawn up a formidable array of
+carts and carriages, varying as much in quality and character as did
+their owners. There was the squire's landau rubbing axle-boxes
+with Jem Burton's modest moke-cart; and there Viscount
+Birdsaye's flaring barouche side by side with the red-wheeled
+wagon of Kenmuir.
+
+In the latter, Maggie, sad and sweet in her simple summer garb,
+leant over to talk to Lady Eleanour; while golden-haired wee
+Anne, delighted with the surging crowd around, trotted about the
+wagon, waving to her friends, and shouting from very joyousness.
+
+Thick as flies clustered that motley assembly on the north bank of
+the Silver Lea. While on the other side the stream was a little
+group of judges, inspecting the course.
+
+The line laid out ran thus: the sheep must first be found in the big
+enclosure to the right of the starting flag; then up the slope and
+away from the spectators; around a flag and obliquely down the
+hill again; through a gap in the wall; along the hillside, parrallel to
+the Silver Lea; abruptly to the left through a pair of flags--the
+trickiest turn of them all; then down the slope to the pen, which
+was set up close to the bridge over the stream.
+
+The proceedings began with the Local Stakes, won by Rob
+Saunderson's veteran, Shep. There followed the Open Juveniles,
+carried off by Ned Hoppin's young dog. It was late in the afternoon
+when, at length, the great event of the meeting was reached.
+
+In the enclosure behind the Dalesman's Daughter the clamor of the
+crowd increased tenfold, and the yells of the bookmakers were
+redoubled.
+
+"Walk up, gen'lemen, walk up! the ole firm! Rasper? Yessir--
+twenty to one bar two! Twenty to one bar two! Bob? What
+price, Bob? Even money, sir--no, not a penny longer, couldn't do it!
+Red Wull? 'oo says Red Wull?"
+
+On the far side the stream is clustered about the starting flag the
+finest array of sheep-dogs ever seen together.
+
+"I've never seen such a field, and I've seen fifty," is Parson Leggy's
+verdict.
+
+There, beside the tall form of his master, stands Owd Bob o'
+Kenmuir, the observed of all. His silvery brush fans the air, and he
+holds his dark head high as he scans his challengers, proudly
+conscious that to-day will make or mar his fame. Below him, the
+mean-looking, smooth-coated black dog is the unbeaten Pip,
+winner of the renowned Cambrian Stakes at Llangollen--as many
+think the best of all the good dogs that have come from
+sheep-dotted Wales. Beside him that handsome sable collie, with
+the tremendous coat and slash of white on throat and face, is the
+famous MacCallum More, fresh from his victory at the Highland
+meeting. The cobby, brown dog, seeming of many breeds, is from
+the land o' the Tykes--Merry, on whom the Yorkshiremen are
+laying as though they loved him. And Jess, the wiry black-and-tan,
+is the favorite of the men of of the Derwent and Dove. Tupper's big
+blue Rasper is there; Londesley's Lassie; and many more--too
+many to mention: big and small, grand and mean, smooth and
+rough--and not a bad dog there.
+
+And alone, his back to the others, stands a little bowed,
+conspicuous figure--Adam M'Adam; while the great dog beside
+him, a hideous incarnation of scowling defiance, is Red Wull, the
+Terror o' the Border.
+
+The Tailless Tyke had already run up his fighting colors. For
+MacCallum More, going up to examine this forlorn great
+adversary, had conceived for him a violent antipathy, and,
+straightway, had spun at him with all the fury of the Highland
+cateran, who attacks first and explains afterward. Red Wull,
+forthwith, had turned on him with savage, silent gluttony;
+bob-tailed Rasper was racing up to join in the attack; and in
+another second the three would have been locked inseparably--but
+just in time M'Adam intervened. One of the judges came hurrying
+up.
+
+"Mr. M'Adam," he cried angrily, "if that brute of yours gets
+fighting again, hang me if I don't disqualify him! Only last year at
+the Trials he killed the young Cossack dog."
+
+A dull flash of passion swept across M'Adam's face. "Come here,
+Wullie!" he called. "Gin yon Hielant tyke attacks ye agin, ye're to
+be disqualified."
+
+He was unheeded. The battle for the Cup had begun--little Pip
+leading the dance.
+
+On the opposite slope the babel had subsided now. Hucksters left
+their wares, and bookmakers their stools, to watch the struggle.
+Every eye was intent on the moving figures of man and dog and
+three sheep over the stream.
+
+One after one the competitors ran their course and penned their
+sheep--there was no single failure. And all received their just meed
+of applause, save only Adam M'Adam's Red Wull.
+
+Last of all, when Owd Bob trotted out to uphold his title, there
+went up such a shout as made Maggie's wan cheeks to blush with
+pleasure, and wee Anne to scream right lustily.
+
+His was an incomparable exhibition. Sheep should be humored
+rather than hurried; coaxed, rather than coerced. And that
+sheep-dog has attained the summit of his art who subdues his own
+personality and leads his sheep in pretending to be led. Well might
+the bosoms of the Dalesmen swell with pride as they watched their
+favorite at his work; well might Tammas pull out that hackneyed
+phrase, "The brains of a mon and the way of a woman"; well might
+the crowd bawl their enthusiasm, and Long Kirby puff his cheeks
+and rattle the money in his trouser pockets.
+
+But of this part it is enough to say that Pip, Owd Bob, and Red
+Wull were selected to fight out the struggle afresh.
+
+The course was altered and stiffened. On the far side the stream it
+remained as before; up the slope; round a flag; down the hill again;
+through the gap in the wall; along the hillside; down through the
+two flags; turn; and to the stream again. But the pen was removed
+from its former position, carried over the bridge, up the near slope,
+and the hurdles put together at the very foot of the spectators.
+
+The sheep had to be driven over the plank bridge, and the penning
+done beneath the very nose of the crowd. A stiff course, if ever
+there was one; and the time allowed, ten short minutes.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The spectators hustled and elbowed in their endeavors to obtain a
+good position. And well they might; for about to begin was the
+finest exhibition of sheep-handling any man there was ever to
+behold.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Evan Jones and Little Pip led off.
+
+Those two, who had won on many a hard-fought field, worked
+together as they had never worked before. Smooth and swift, like a
+yacht in Southampton Water; round the flag, through the gap, they
+brought their sheep. Down between the two flags--accomplishing
+right well that awkward turn; and back to the bridge.
+
+There they stopped: the sheep would not face that narrow way.
+Once, twice, and again, they broke; and each time the gallant little
+Pip, his tongue out and tail quivering, brought them back to the
+bridge-head.
+
+At length one faced it; then another, and--it was too late. Time
+was up. The judges signalled; and the Welshman called off his dog
+and withdrew.
+
+Out of sight of mortal eye, in a dip of the ground, Evan Jones sat
+down and took the small dark head between his knees--and you
+may be sure the dog's heart was heavy as the man's. "We did our
+pest, Pip," he cried brokenly, "but we're peat--the first time ever
+we've been!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+No time to dally.
+
+James Moore and Owd Bob were off on their last run.
+
+No applause this time; not a voice was raised; anxious faces;
+twitching fingers; the whole crowd tense as a stretched wire. A
+false turn, a wilful sheep, a cantankerous judge, and the gray dog
+would be beat. And not a man there but knew it.
+
+Yet over the stream master and dog went about their business
+never so quiet, never so collected; for all the world as though they
+were rounding up a flock on the Muir Pike.
+
+The old dog found his sheep in a twinkling and a wild, scared trio
+they proved. Rounding the first flag, one bright-eyed wether made
+a dash for the open. He was quick; but the gray dog was quicker: a
+splendid recover, and a sound like a sob from the watchers on the
+hill.
+
+Down the slope they came for the gap in the wall. A little below
+the opening, James Moore took his stand to stop and turn them;
+while a distance behind his sheep loitered Owd Bob, seeming to
+follow rather than drive, yet watchful of every movement and
+anticipating it. On he came, one eye on his master, the other on his
+sheep; never hurrying them, never flurrying them, yet bringing
+them rapidly along.
+
+No word was spoken; barely a gesture made; yet they worked,
+master and dog, like one divided.
+
+Through the gap, along the hill parallel to the spectators, playing
+into one another's hands like men at polo.
+
+A wide sweep for the turn at the flags, and the sheep wheeled as
+though at the word of command, dropped through them, and
+travelled rapidly for the bridge.
+
+"Steady!" whispered the crowd.
+
+"Steady, man!" muttered Parson Leggy.
+
+"Hold 'em, for God's sake!" croaked Kirby huskily. "D--n! I knew
+it! I saw it coming!"
+
+The pace down the hill had grown quicker--too quick. Close on the
+bridge the three sheep made an effort to break. A dash--and two
+were checked; but the third went away like the wind, and after him
+Owd Bob, a gray streak against the green.
+
+Tammas was cursing silently; Kirby was white to the lips; and in
+the stillness you could plainly hear the Dalesmen's sobbing breath,
+as it fluttered in their throats.
+
+"Gallop! they say he's old and slow!" muttered the Parson. "Dash!
+Look at that!" For the gray dog, racing like the Nor'easter over the
+sea, had already retrieved the fugitive.
+
+Man and dog were coaxing the three a step at a time toward the
+bridge.
+
+One ventured--the others followed.
+
+In the middle the leader stopped and tried to turn--and time was
+flying, flying, and the penning alone must take minutes. Many a
+man's hand was at his watch, but no one could take his eyes off the
+group below him to look.
+
+"We're beat! I've won bet, Tammas!" groaned Sam'l. (The two had a
+long-standing wager on the matter.) "I allus knoo hoo 'twould be. I
+allus told yo' th' owd tyke--"
+
+Then breaking into a bellow, his honest face crimson with
+enthusiasm: "Coom on, Master! Good for yo', Owd Un! Yon's the
+style!"
+
+For the gray dog had leapt on the back of the hindmost sheep; it
+had surged forward against the next, and they were over, and
+making up the slope amidst a thunder of applause.
+
+At the pen it was a sight to see shepherd and dog working together.
+The Master, his face stern and a little whiter than its wont, casting
+forward with both hands, herding the sheep in; the gray dog, his
+eyes big and bright, dropping to hand; crawling and creeping,
+closer and closer.
+
+"They're in!--Nay--Ay--dang me! Stop 'er! Good, Owd Un! Ah-h-h,
+they're in!" And the last sheep reluctantly passed through--on the
+stroke of time.
+
+A roar went up from the crowd; Maggie's white face turned pink;
+and the Dalesmen mopped their wet brows. The mob surged
+forward, but the stewards held them back.
+
+"Back, please! Don't encroach! M'Adam's to come!"
+
+From the far bank the little man watched the scene. His coat and
+cap were off, and his hair gleamed white in the sun; his sleeves
+were rolled up; and his face was twitching but set as he
+stood--ready.
+
+The hubbub over the stream at length subsided. One of the judges
+nodded to him.
+
+"Noo, Wullie--noo or niver!--'Scots wha hae'! "--and they were
+off.
+
+"Back, gentlemen! back! He's off--he's coming! M'Adam's
+coming!"
+
+They might well shout and push; for the great dog was on to his
+sheep before they knew it; and they went away with a rush, with
+him right on their backs. Up the slope they swept and round the
+first flag, already galloping. Down the hill for the gap, and
+M'Adam was flying ahead to turn them. But they passed him like a
+hurricane, and Red Wull was in front with a rush and turned them
+alone.
+
+"M'Adam wins! Five to four M'Adam! I lay agin Owd Bob!" rang
+out a clear voice in the silence.
+
+Through the gap they rattled, ears back, feet twinkling like the
+wings of driven grouse.
+
+"He's lost 'em! They'll break! They're away!" was the cry.
+
+Sam'l was half up the wheel of the Kenmuir wagon; every man
+was on his toes; ladies were standing in their carriages; even Jim
+Mason's face flushed with momentary excitement.
+
+The sheep were tearing along the hillside, all together, like a white
+scud. After them, galloping like a Waterloo winner, raced Red
+Wull. And last of all, leaping over the ground like a demoniac,
+making not for the two flags, but the plank-bridge, the
+white-haired figure of M'Adam.
+
+"He's beat! The Killer's beat!" roared a strident voice.
+
+"M'Adam wins! Five to four M'Adam! I lay agin Owd Bob!" rang
+out the clear reply.
+
+Red Wull was now racing parallel to the fugitives and above them.
+All four were travelling at a terrific rate; while the two flags were
+barely twenty yards in front, below the line of flight and almost
+parallel to it. To effect the turn a change of direction must be
+made almost through a right angle.
+
+"He's beat! he's beat! M'Adam's beat! Can't make it nohow!" was
+the roar.
+
+From over the stream a yell--"Turn 'em, Wullie!"
+
+At the word the great dog swerved down on the flying three. They
+turned, still at the gallop, like a troop of cavalry, and dropped,
+clean and neat, between the flags; and down to the stream they
+rattled, passing M'Adam on the way as though he was standing.
+
+"Weel done, Wullie!" came the scream from the far bank; and
+from the crowd went up an involuntary burst of applause.
+
+"Ma word!
+
+"Did yo' see that?"
+
+"By gob!"
+
+It was a turn, indeed, of which the smartest team in the galloping
+horse-gunners might well have been proud. A shade later, and they
+must have overshot the mark; a shade sooner, and a miss.
+
+"He's not been two minutes so far. We're beaten--don't you think
+so, Uncle Leggy?" asked Muriel Sylvester, looking up piteously
+into the parson's face.
+
+"It's not what I think, my dear; it's what the judges think," the
+parson replied; and what he thought their verdict would be was
+plainly writ on his face for all to read.
+
+Right on to the centre of the bridge the leading sheep galloped
+and--stopped abruptly.
+
+Up above in the crowd there was utter silence; staring eyes; rigid
+fingers. The sweat was dripping off Long Kirby's face; and, at the
+back, a green-coated bookmaker slipped his note-book in his
+pocket, and glanced behind him. James Moore, standing in front of
+them all, was the calmest there.
+
+Red Wull was not to be denied. Like his forerunner he leapt on the
+back of the hindmost sheep. But the red dog was heavy where
+the gray was light. The sheep staggered, slipped, and fell.
+
+Almost before it had touched the water, M'Adam, his face afire
+and eyes flaming, was in the stream. In a second he had hold of
+the struggling creature, and, with an almost superhuman effort, had
+half thrown, half shoved it on to the bank.
+
+Again a tribute of admiration, led by James Moore.
+
+The little man scrambled, panting, on to the bank and raced after
+sheep and dog. His face was white beneath the perspiration; his
+breath came in quavering gasps; his trousers were wet and clinging
+to his legs; he was trembling in every limb, and yet indomitable.
+
+They were up to the pen, and the last wrestle began. The crowd,
+silent and motionless, craned forward to watch the uncanny,
+white-haired little man and the huge dog, working so close below
+them. M'Adam's face was white; his eyes staring, unnaturally
+bright; his bent body projected forward; and he tapped with his
+stick on the ground like a blind man, coaxing the sheep in. And the
+Tailless Tyke, his tongue out and flanks heaving, crept and
+crawled and worked up to the opening, patient as he had never
+been before.
+
+They were in at last.
+
+There was a lukewarm, half-hearted cheer; then silence.
+
+Exhausted and trembling, the little man leant against the pen, one
+hand on it; while Red Wull, his flanks still heaving, gently licked
+the other. Quite close stood James Moore and the gray dog; above
+was the black wall of people, utterly still; below, the judges
+comparing notes. In the silence you could almost hear the panting
+of the crowd.
+
+Then one of the judges went up to James Moore and shook him by
+the hand.
+
+The gray dog had won. Owd Bob o' Kenmuir had won the
+Shepherds' Trophy outright.
+
+A second's palpitating silence; a woman's hysterical laugh--and a
+deep-mouthed bellow rent the expectant air: shouts, screams,
+hat-tossings, back-clappings blending in a din that made the
+many-winding waters of the Silver Lea quiver and quiver again.
+
+Owd Bob o' Kenmuir had won the Shepherds' Trophy outright.
+
+Maggie's face flushed a scarlet hue. Wee Anne flung fat arms
+toward her triumphant Bob, and screamed with the best. Squire
+and parson, each red-cheeked, were boisterously shaking hands.
+Long Kirby, who had not prayed for thirty years, ejaculated with
+heartfelt earnestness, "Thank God!" Sam'l Todd bellowed in
+Tammas's ear, and almost slew him with his mighty buffets.
+Among the Dalesmen some laughed like drunken men; some cried
+like children; all joined in that roaring song of victory.
+
+To little M 'Adam, standing with his back to the crowd, that storm
+of cheering came as the first announcement of defeat.
+
+A wintry smile, like the sun over a March sea, crept across his
+face.
+
+"We might a kent it, Wullie," he muttered, soft and low. The
+tension loosed, the battle lost, the little man almost broke down.
+There were red dabs of color in his face; his eyes were big; his lips
+pitifully quivering; he was near to sobbing.
+
+An old man--utterly alone he had staked his all on a throw--and lost.
+
+Lady Eleanour marked the forlorn little figure, standing solitary on
+the fringe of the uproarious mob. She noticed the expression on his
+face; and her tender heart went out to the lone man in his defeat.
+
+She went up to him and laid a hand upon his arm.
+
+"Mr. M'Adam," she said timidly, "won't you come and sit down in
+the tent? You look _so_ tired! I can find you a corner where no one
+shall disturb you."
+
+The little man wrenched roughly away. The unexpected kindness,
+coming at that moment, was almost too much for him. A few paces
+off he turned again.
+
+"It's reel kind o' yer ladyship," he said huskily; and tottered away to
+be alone with Red Wull.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Meanwhile the victors stood like rocks in the tideway. About them
+surged a continually changing throng, shaking the man's hand,
+patting the dog.
+
+Maggie had carried wee Anne to tender her congratulations; Long
+Kirby had come; Tammas, Saunderson, Hoppin, Tupper,
+Londesley--all but Jim Mason; and now, elbowing through the
+press, came squire and parson.
+
+"Well done, James! well done, indeed! Knew you'd win! told you so
+eh, eh!" Then facetiously to Owd Bob: "Knew you would, Robert,
+old man! Ought to Robert the Dev--musn't be a naughty boy--eh,
+eh!"
+
+"The first time ever the Dale Cup's been won outright!" said the
+Parson, "and I daresay it never will again. And I think Kenmuir's
+the very fittest place for its final home, and a Gray Dog of
+Kenmuir for its winner."
+
+"Oh, by the by!" burst in the squire. "I've fixed the Manor dinner
+for to-day fortnight, James. Tell Saunderson and Tupper, will you?
+Want all the tenants there." He disappeared into the crowd, but in a
+minute had fought his way back. "I'd forgotten something!" he
+shouted. "Tell your Maggie perhaps you'll have news for her after
+it eh! eh!" and he was gone again.
+
+Last of all, James Moore was aware of a white, blotchy, grinning
+face at his elbow.
+
+"I maun congratulate ye, Mr. Moore. Ye've beat us--you and the
+gentlemen--judges."
+
+"'Twas a close thing, M'Adam," the other answered. "An' yo' made
+a gran' fight. In ma life I niver saw a finer turn than yours by the
+two flags yonder. I hope yo' bear no malice."
+
+"Malice! Me? Is it likely? Na, na. 'Do onto ivery man as he does
+onto you--and somethin' over,' that's my motter. I owe ye mony a
+good turn, which I'll pay ye yet. Na, na; there's nae good fechtin'
+agin fate--and the judges. Weel, I wush you well o' yer victory.
+Aiblins' twill be oor turn next."
+
+Then a rush, headed by Sam'l, roughly hustled the one away and
+bore the other off on its shoulders in boisterous triumph.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In giving the Cup away, Lady Eleanour made a prettier speech than
+ever. Yet all the while she was haunted by a white, miserable face;
+and all the while she was conscious of two black moving dots in
+the Murk Muir Pass opposite her--solitary, desolate, a contrast to
+the huzzaing crowd around.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+That is how the champion challenge Dale Cup, the world-known
+Shepherds' Trophy, came to wander no more; won outright by the
+last of the Gray Dogs of Kenmuir--Owd Bob.
+
+Why he was the last of the Gray Dogs is now to be told.
+
+
+
+
+PART VI THE BLACK KILLER
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXVI RED-HANDED
+
+
+THE SUN was hiding behind the Pike. Over the lowlands the
+feathery breath of night hovered still. And the hillside was
+shivering in the chillness of dawn.
+
+Down on the silvery sward beside the Stony Bottom there lay the
+ruffled body of a dead sheep. All about the victim the dewy ground
+was dark and patchy like dishevelled velvet; bracken trampled
+down; stones displaced as though by straggling feet; and the whole
+spotted with the all-pervading red.
+
+A score yards up the hill, in a writhing confusion of red and gray,
+two dogs at death-grips. While yet higher, a pack of wild-eyed
+hill-sheep watched, fascinated, the bloody drama.
+
+The fight raged. Red and gray, blood-spattered, murderous-eyed;
+the crimson froth dripping from their jaws; now rearing high with
+arching crests and wrestling paws; now rolling over in tumbling,
+tossing, worrying disorder--the two fought out their blood-feud.
+
+Above, the close-packed flock huddled and stamped, ever edging
+nearer to watch the issue. Just so must the women of Rome have
+craned round the arenas to see two men striving in death-struggle.
+
+The first cold flicker of dawn stole across the green. The red eye of
+the morning peered aghast over the shoulder of the Pike. And from
+the sleeping dale there arose the yodling of a man driving his cattle
+home.
+
+Day was upon them.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+James Moore was waked by a little whimpering cry beneath his
+window. He leapt out of bed and rushed to look; for well he knew
+'twas not for nothing that the old dog was calling.
+
+"Lord o' mercy! whativer's come to yo', Owd Un?" he cried in
+anguish. And, indeed, his favorite, war-daubed almost past
+recognition, presented a pitiful spectacle.
+
+In a moment the Master was downstairs and out, examining him.
+
+"Poor old lad, yo' have caught it this time!" he cried. There was a
+ragged tear on the dog's cheek; a deep gash in his throat from
+which the blood still welled, staining the white escutcheon on his
+chest; while head and neck were clotted with the red.
+
+Hastily the Master summoned Maggie. After her, Andrew came
+hurrying down. And a little later a tiny, night-clad, naked-footed
+figure appeared in the door, wide-eyed, and then fled, screaming.
+
+They doctored the old warrior on the table in the kitchen. Maggie
+tenderly washed his wounds, and dressed them with gentle, pitying
+fingers; and he stood all the while grateful yet fidgeting,
+looking up into his master's face as if imploring to be gone.
+
+"He mun a had a rare tussle wi' some one--eh, dad?" said the girl,
+as she worked.
+
+"Ay; and wi' whom? 'Twasn't for nowt he got fightin', I war'nt. Nay;
+he's a tale to tell, has The Owd Un, and--A h-h-h! I thowt as much.
+Look 'ee!" For bathing the bloody jaws, he had come upon a cluster
+of tawny red hair, hiding in the corners of the lips.
+
+The secret was out. Those few hairs told their own accusing tale.
+To but one creature in the Daleland could they belong--"Th'
+Tailless Tyke."
+
+"He mun a bin trespassin'!" cried Andrew.
+
+"Ay, and up to some o' his bloody work, I'll lay my life," the
+Master answered. "But Th' Owd Un shall show us."
+
+The old dog's hurts proved less severe than had at first seemed
+possible. His good gray coat, forest-thick about his throat, had
+never served him in such good stead. And at length, the wounds
+washed and sewn up, he jumped down all in a hurry from the table
+and made for the door.
+
+"Noo, owd lad, yo' may show us," said the Master, and, with
+Andrew, hurried after him down the hill, along the stream, and
+over Langholm How. And as they neared the Stony Bottom, the
+sheep, herding in groups, raised frightened heads to stare.
+
+Of a sudden a cloud of poisonous flies rose, buzzing, up before
+them; and there in a dimple of the ground lay a murdered sheep.
+Deserted by its comrades, the glazed eyes staring helplessly
+upward, the throat horribly worried, it slept its last sleep.
+
+The matter was plain to see. At last the Black Killer had visited
+Kenmuir.
+
+"I guessed as much," said the Master, standing over the mangled
+body. "Well, it's the worst night's work ever the Killer done. I
+reck'n Th' Owd Un come on him while he was at it; and then they
+fought. And, ma word! it munn ha' bin a fight too." For all
+around were traces of that terrible struggle: the earth torn up
+and tossed, bracken uprooted, and throughout little dabs of wool
+and tufts of tawny hair, mingling with dark-stained iron-gray
+wisps.
+
+James Moore walked slowly over the battlefield, stooping down as
+though he were gleaning. And gleaning he was.
+
+A long time he bent so, and at length raised himself.
+
+"The Killer has killed his last," he muttered; "Red Wull has run his
+course." Then, turning to Andrew: "Run yo' home, lad, and fetch
+the men to carry yon away," pointing to the carcass, "And Bob, lad,
+yo 'ye done your work for to-day, and right well too; go yo' home
+wi' him. I'm off to see to this!"
+
+He turned and crossed the Stony Bottom. His face was set like a
+rock. At length the proof was in his hand. Once and for all the
+hill-country should be rid of its scourge.
+
+As he stalked up the hill, a dark head appeared at his knee. Two
+big grey eyes; half doubting, half penitent, wholly wistful, looked
+up at him, and a silvery brush signalled a mute request.
+
+"Eh, Owd Un, but yo' should ha' gone wi' Andrew," the Master
+said. "Hooiver, as yo' are here, come along." And he strode away
+up the hill, gaunt and menacing, with the gray dog at his heels.
+
+As they approached the house, M'Adam was standing in the door,
+sucking his eternal twig. James Moore eyed him closely as he
+came, but the sour face framed in the door betrayed nothing.
+Sarcasm, surprise, challenge, were all writ there, plain to read; but
+no guilty consciousness of the other's errand, no storm of passion
+to hide a failing heart. If it was acting it was splendidly done.
+
+As man and dog passed through the gap in the hedge, the
+expression on the little man's face changed again. He started
+forward.
+
+"James Moore, as I live!" he cried, and advanced with both hands
+extended, as though welcoming a long-lost brother. "'Deed and it's
+a weary while sin' ye've honored ma puir hoose." And, in fact, it
+was nigh twenty years. "I tak' it gey kind in ye to look in on a
+lonely auld man. Come ben and let's ha' a crack. James Moore
+kens weel hoo welcome he aye is in ma bit biggin'."
+
+The Master ignored the greeting.
+
+"One o' ma sheep been killed back o' t' Dyke," he announced
+shortly, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
+
+"The Killer?"
+
+"The Killer."
+
+The cordiality beaming in every wrinkle of the little man's face
+was absorbed in a wondering interest; and that again gave place to
+sorrowful sympathy.
+
+"Dear, dear! it's come to that, has it--at last?" he said gently, and
+his eyes wandered to the gray dog and dwelt mournfully upon him.
+"Man, I'm sorry--I canna tell ye I'm surprised. Masel', I kent it all
+alang. But gin Adam M'Adam had tell't ye, no ha' believed him.
+Weel, weel, he's lived his life, gin ony dog iver did; and noo he
+maun gang where he's sent a many before him. Puir mon! puir
+tyke!" He heaved a sigh, profoundly melancholy, tenderly
+sympathetic. Then, brightening up a little: "Ye'll ha' come for the
+gun?"
+
+James Moore listened to this harangue at first puzzled. Then he
+caught the other's meaning, and his eyes flashed.
+
+"Ye fool, M'Adam! did ye hear iver tell o' a sheep-dog worryin' his
+master's sheep?"
+
+The little man was smiling and suave again now, rubbing his hands
+softly together.
+
+"Ye're right, I never did. But your dog is not as ither dogs--'There's
+none like him--none,' I've heard ye say so yersel, mony a time. An'
+I'm wi' ye. There's none like him--for devilment." His voice began
+to quiver and his face to blaze. "It's his cursed cunning that's
+deceived ivery one but me--whelp o' Satan that he is!" He
+shouldered up to his tall adversary. "If not him, wha else had done
+it?" he asked, looking, up into the other's face as if daring him to
+speak.
+
+The Master's shaggy eyebrows lowered. He towered above the
+other like the Muir Pike above its surrounding hills.
+
+"Wha, ye ask?" he replied coldly, "and I answer you. Your Red
+Wull, M'Adam, your Red Wull. It's your Wull's the Black Killer!
+It's your Wull's bin the plague o' the land these months past! It's
+your Wull's killed ma sheep back o'yon!"
+
+At that all the little man's affected good-humor fled.
+
+"Ye lee, mon! ye lee!" he cried in a dreadful scream, dancing up to
+his antagonist. "I knoo hoo 'twad be. I said so. I see what ye're at.
+Ye've found at last--blind that ye've been!--that it's yer ain hell's
+tyke that's the Killer; and noo ye think by yer leein' impitations to
+throw the blame on ma Wullie. Ye rob me o' ma Cup, ye rob me o'
+ma son, ye wrang me in ilka thing; there's but ae thing left
+me--Wullie. And noo ye're set on takin' him awa'. But ye shall
+not--I'll kill ye first!"
+
+He was all a-shake, bobbing up and down like a stopper in a
+soda-water bottle, and almost sobbing.
+
+"Ha' ye no wranged me enough wi' oo that? Ye lang-leggit liar, wi'
+yer skulkin murderin' tyke!" he cried. "Ye say it's Wullie. Where's
+yer proof?"--and he snapped his fingers in the other's face.
+
+The Master was now as calm as his foe was passionate. "Where?"
+he replied sternly; "why, there!" holding out his right hand. "Yon's
+proof enough to hang a hunner'd." For lying in his broad palm was
+a little bundle of that damning red hair.
+
+"Where?"
+
+"There!"
+
+"Let's see it!" The little man bent to look closer.
+
+"There's for yer proof!" he cried, and spat deliberately down into
+the other's naked palm. Then he stood back, facing his enemy in a
+manner to have done credit to a nobler deed.
+
+James Moore strode forward. It looked as if he was about to make
+an end of his miserable adversary, so strongly was he moved. His
+chest heaved, and the blue eyes blazed. But just as one had thought
+to see him take his foe in the hollow of his hand and crush him,
+who should come stalking round the corner of the house but the
+Tailless Tyke?
+
+A droll spectacle he made, laughable even at that moment. He
+limped sorely, his head and neck were swathed in bandages, and
+beneath their ragged fringe the little eyes gleamed out fiery and
+bloodshot.
+
+Round the corner he came, unaware of strangers; then straightway
+recognizing his visitors, halted abruptly. His hackles ran up, each
+individual hair stood on end till his whole body resembled a
+new-shorn wheat-field; and a snarl, like a rusty brake shoved hard
+down escaped from between his teeth. Then he trotted heavily
+forward, his head sinking low and lower as he came.
+
+And Owd Bob, eager to take up the gage of battle, advanced, glad
+and gallant, to meet him. Daintily he picked his way across the
+yard, head and tail erect, perfectly self-contained. Only the long
+gray hair about his neck stood up like the ruff of a lady of the court
+of Queen Elizabeth.
+
+But the war-worn warriors were not to be allowed their will.
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, wad ye!" cried the little man.
+
+"Bob, lad, coom in!" called the other. Then he turned and looked
+down at the man beside him, contempt flaunting in every feature.
+
+"Well?" he said shortly.
+
+M'Adam's hands were opening and shutting; his face was quite
+white beneath the tan; but he spoke calmly.
+
+"I'll tell ye the whole story, and it's the truth," he said slowly. "I
+was up there the morn"--pointing to the window above--"and I see
+Wullie crouchin' down alangside the Stony Bottom. (Ye ken he has
+the run o' ma land o' neets, the same as your dog.) In a minnit I see
+anither dog squatterin' alang on your side the Bottom. He creeps up
+to the sheep on th' hillside, chases 'em, and doons one. The sun
+was risen by then, and I see the dog clear as I see you noo. It was
+that dog there--I swear it!" His voice rose as he spoke, and he
+pointed an accusing finger at Owd Bob.
+
+"Noo, Wullie! thinks I. And afore ye could clap yer hands, Wullie
+was over the Bottom and on to him as he gorged--the bloody-minded
+murderer! They fought and fought--I could hear the roarin'
+a't where I stood. I watched till I could watch nae langer, and, all in
+a sweat, I rin doon the stairs and oot. When I got there, there was
+yer tyke makin' fu' split for Kenmuir, and Wullie comin' up the hill
+to me. It's God's truth, I'm tellin' ye. Tak' him hame, James Moore,
+and let his dinner be an ounce o' lead. 'Twill be the best day's work
+iver ye done."
+
+The little man must be lying--lying palpably. Yet he spoke with an
+earnestness, a seeming belief in his own story, that might have
+convinced one who knew him less well. But the Master only
+looked down on him with a great scorn.
+
+"It's Monday to-day," he said coldly. "I gie yo' till Saturday. If yo've
+not done your duty by then--and well you know what 'tis--I shall
+come do it for ye. Ony gate, I shall come and see. I'll remind ye
+agin o' Thursday--yo'll be at the Manor dinner, I suppose. Noo I've
+warned yo', and you know best whether I'm in earnest or no. Bob,
+lad!"
+
+He turned away, but turned again.
+
+"I'm sorry for ye, but I've ma duty to do--so've you. Till Saturday I
+shall breathe no word to ony soul o' this business, so that if you see
+good to put him oot o' the way wi'oot bother, no one need iver
+know as hoo Adam M'Adam's Red Wull was the Black Killer."
+
+He turned away for the second time. But the little man sprang after
+him, and clutched him by the arm.
+
+"Look ye here, James Moore!" he cried in thick, shaky, horrible
+voice. "Ye're big, I'm sma'; ye're strang, I'm weak; ye've ivery one
+to your back, I've niver a one; you tell your story, and they'll
+believe ye--for you gae to church; I'll tell mine, and they'll think I
+lie--for I dinna. But a word in your ear! If iver agin I catch ye on
+ma land, by--!"--he swore a great oath--"I'll no spare ye. You ken
+best if I'm in earnest or no." And his face was dreadful to see in its
+hideous determinedness.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXVII  FOR THE DEFENCE
+
+
+THAT night a vague story was whispered In the Sylvester Arms.
+But Tammas, on being interrogated, pursed his lips and said: "Nay,
+I'm sworn to say nowt." Which was the old man's way of putting
+that he knew nowt.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On Thursday morning, James Moore and Andrew came down
+arrayed in all their best. It was the day of the squire's annual dinner
+to his tenants.
+
+The two, however, were not allowed to start upon their way until
+they had undergone a critical inspection by Maggie; for the girl
+liked her mankind to do honor to Kenmuir on these occasions. So
+she brushed up Andrew, tied his scarf, saw his boots and hands
+were clean, and titivated him generally till she had converted the
+ungainly hobbledehoy into a thoroughly "likely young mon."
+
+And all the while she was thinking of that other boy for whom on
+such gala days she had been wont to perform like offices. And her
+father, marking the tears in her eyes, and mindful of the squire's
+mysterious hint, said gently:
+
+"Cheer up, lass. Happen I'll ha' news for you the night!"
+
+The girl nodded, and smiled wanly.
+
+"Happen so, dad," she said. But in her heart she doubted.
+
+Nevertheless it was with a cheerful countenance that, a little later,
+she stood in the door with wee Anne and Owd Bob and waved the
+travellers Godspeed; while the golden-haired lassie, fiercely
+gripping the old dog's tail with one hand and her sister with the
+other, screamed them a wordless farewell.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The sun had reached its highest when the two wayfarers passed
+through the gray portals of the Manor.
+
+In the stately entrance hall, imposing with all the evidences of
+a long and honorable line, were gathered now the many tenants
+throughout the wide March Mere Estate. Weather-beaten,
+rent-paying sons of the soil; most of them native-born, many of
+them like James Moore, whose fathers had for generations owned
+and farmed the land they now leased at the hands of the
+Sylvesters--there in the old hall they were assembled, a mighty
+host. And apart from the others, standing as though in irony
+beneath the frown of one of those steel-clad warriors who held
+the door, was little M'Adam, puny always, paltry now, mocking his
+manhood.
+
+The door at the far end of the hall opened, and the squire entered,
+beaming on every one.
+
+"Here you are--eh, eh! How are you all? Glad to see ye! Good-day,
+James! Good-day, Saunderson! Good-day to you all! Bringin' a
+friend with me eh, eh!" and he stood aside to let by his agent,
+Parson Leggy, and last of all, shy and blushing, a fair-haired young
+giant.
+
+"If it bain't David!" was the cry. "Eh, lad, we's fain to see yo'! And
+yo'm lookin' stout, surely!" And they thronged about the boy,
+shaking him by the hand, and asking him his story.
+
+'Twas but a simple tale. After his flight on the eventful night he
+had gone south, drovering. He had written to Maggie, and been
+surprised and hurt to receive no reply. In vain he had waited, and
+too proud to write again, had remained ignorant of his father's
+recovery, neither caring nor daring to return. Then by mere
+chance, he had met the squire at the York cattle-show; and that
+kind man, who knew his story, had eased his fears and obtained
+from him a promise to return as soon as the term of his
+engagement had expired. And there he was.
+
+The Dalesmen gathered round the boy, listening to his tale, and in
+return telling him the home news, and chaffing him about Maggie.
+
+Of all the people present, only one seemed unmoved, and that was
+M'Adam. When first David had entered he had started forward, a
+flush of color warming his thin cheeks; but no one had noticed his
+emotion; and now, back again beneath his armor, he watched the
+scene, a sour smile playing about his lips.
+
+"I think the lad might ha' the grace to come and say he's sorry for
+'temptin' to murder me. Hooiver"--with a characteristic shrug--"I
+suppose I'm onraisonable."
+
+Then the gong rang out its summons, and the squire led the way
+into the great dining-hall. At the one end of the long table, heavy
+with all the solid delicacies of such a feast, he took his seat with
+the Master of Kenmuir upon his right. At the other end was Parson
+Leggy. While down the sides the stalwart Dalesmen were arrayed,
+with M'Adam a little lost figure in the centre.
+
+At first they talked but little, awed like children: knives plied,
+glasses tinkled, the carvers had all their work, only the tongues
+were at rest. But the squire's ringing laugh and the parson's cheery
+tones soon put them at their ease; and a babel of voices rose and
+waxed.
+
+Of them all, only M'Adam sat silent. He talked to no man, and you
+may be sure no one talked to him. His hand crept oftener to his
+glass than plate, till the sallow face began to flush, and the dim
+eyes to grow unnaturally bright.
+
+Toward the end of the meal there was loud tapping on the table,
+calls for silence, and men pushed back their chairs. The squire was
+on his feet to make his annual speech.
+
+He started by telling them how glad he was to see them there. He
+made an allusion to Owd Bob and the Shepherds' Trophy which
+was heartily applauded. He touched on the Black Killer, and said
+he had a remedy to propose: that Th' Owd Un should be set upon
+the criminal's track--a suggestion which was received with
+enthusiasm, while M'Adam's cackling laugh could be heard high
+above the rest.
+
+From that he dwelt upon the existing condition of agriculture, the
+depression in which he attributed to the late Radical Government.
+He said that now with the Conservatives in office, and a ministry
+composed of "honorable men and gentlemen," he felt convinced
+that things would brighten. The Radicals' one ambition was to set
+class against class, landlord against tenant. Well, during the last
+five hundred years, the Sylvesters had rarely been--he was sorry to
+have to confess it--good men (laughter and dissent); but he never
+yet heard of the Sylvester--though he shouldn't say it--who was a
+bad landlord (loud applause).
+
+This was a free country, and any tenant of his who was not
+content (a voice, "'Oo says we bain't?")--"thank you, thank you!"
+--well, there was room for him outside. (Cheers.) He thanked God
+from the bottom of his heart that, during the forty years he had
+been responsible for the March Mere Estate, there had never been
+any friction between him and his people (cheers), and he didn't
+think there ever would be. (Loud cheers.)
+
+"Thank you, thank you!" And his motto was, "Shun a Radical as
+you do the devil!"--and he was very glad to see them all there--
+very glad; and he wished to give them a toast, "The Queen! God
+bless her!" and--wait a minute!--with her Majesty's name to couple
+--he was sure that gracious lady would wish it--that of "Owd Bob o'
+Kenmuir!" Then he sat down abruptly amid thundering applause.
+
+The toasts duly honoured, James Moore, by prescriptive right as
+Master of Kenmuir, rose to answer.
+
+He began by saying that he spoke "as representing all the
+tenants,"--but he was interrupted.
+
+"Na," came a shrill voice from half-way down the table. "Yell
+except me, James Moore. I'd as lief be represented by Judas!"
+
+There were cries of "Hold ye gab, little mon!" and the squire's
+voice, "That'll do, Mr. M'Adam!"
+
+The little man restrained his tongue, but his eyes gleamed like a
+ferret's; and the Master continued his speech.
+
+He spoke briefly and to the point, in short phrases. And all the
+while M'Adam kept up a low-voiced, running commentary. At length
+he could control himself no longer. Half rising from his chair,
+he leant forward with hot face and burning eyes, and cried: "Sit
+doon, James Moore! Hoo daur ye stan' there like an honest man, ye
+whitewashed sepulchre? Sit doon, I say, or"--threateningly--"wad
+ye hae me come to ye?"
+
+At that the Dalesmen laughed uproariously, and even the Master's
+grim face relaxed. But the squire's voice rang out sharp and stern.
+
+"Keep silence and sit down, Mr. M'Adam! D'you hear me, sir? If I
+have to speak to you again it will be to order you to leave the
+room."
+
+The little man obeyed, sullen and vengeful, like a beaten cat.
+
+The Master concluded his speech by calling on all present to give
+three cheers for the squire, her ladyship, and the young ladies.
+
+The call was responded to enthusiastically, every man standing.
+Just as the noise was at its zenith, Lady Eleanour herself, with her
+two fair daughters, glided into the gallery at the end of the hall;
+whereat the cheering became deafening.
+
+Slowly the clamor subsided. One by one the tenants sat down. At
+length there was left standing only one solitary figure--M 'Adam.
+
+His face was set, and he gripped the chair in front of him with thin,
+nervous hands.
+
+"Mr. Sylvester," he began in low yet clear voice, "ye said this is a
+free country and we're a' free men. And that bein' so, I'll tak' the
+liberty, wi' yer permission, to say a word. It's maybe the last time
+I'll be wi' ye, so I hope ye'll listen to me."
+
+The Dalesmen looked surprised, and the squire uneasy.
+Nevertheless he nodded assent.
+
+The little man straightened himself. His face was tense as though
+strung up to a high resolve. All the passion had fled from it, all the
+bitterness was gone; and left behind was a strange, enobling
+earnestness. Standing there in the silence of that great hall, with
+every eye upon him, he looked like some prisoner at the bar about
+to plead for his life.
+
+"Gentlemen," he began, "I've bin amang ye noo a score years, and I
+can truly say there's not a man in this room I can ca' 'Friend.'" He
+looked along the ranks of upturned faces. "Ay, David, I see ye, and
+you, Mr. Hornbut, and you, Mr. Sylvester--ilka one o' you, and not
+one as'd back me like a comrade gin a trouble came upon me."
+There was no rebuke in the grave little voice--it merely stated a
+hard fact.
+
+"There's I doot no one amang ye but has some one--friend or
+blood--wham he can turn to when things are sair wi' him. I've no
+one.
+
+"'I bear alane my lade o' care'--alane wi' Wullie, who stands to
+me, blaw or snaw, rain or shine. And whiles I'm feared he'll be
+took from me." He spoke this last half to himself, a grieved,
+puzzled expression on his face, as though lately he had dreamed
+some ill dream.
+
+"Forbye Wuilie, I've no friend on God's earth. And, mind ye, a bad
+man aften mak's a good friend--but ye've never given me the
+chance. It's a sair thing that, gentlemen, to ha' to fight the battle o'
+life alane: no one to pat ye on th' back, no one to say 'Weel done.' It
+hardly gies a man a chance. For gin he does try and yet fails, men
+never mind the tryin', they only mark the failin'."
+
+"I dinna blame ye. There's somethin' bred in me, it seems, as sets
+ivery one agin me. It's the same wi' Wullie and the tykes--they're
+doon on him same as men are on me. I suppose we was made so.
+Sin' I was a lad it's aye bin the same. From school days I've had
+ivery one agin me."
+
+"In ma life I've had three fiends. Ma mither--and she went; then ma
+wife"--he gave a great swallow--"and she's awa'; and I may say
+they're the only two human bein's as ha' lived on God's earth in ma
+time that iver tried to bear wi' me;--and Wullie. A man's mither--a
+man's wife--a man's dog! it's aften a' he has in this warld; and the
+more he prizes them the more like they are to be took from him."
+The little earnest voice shook, and the dim eyes puckered and
+filled.
+
+"Sin' I've bin amang ye--twenty-odd years--can any man here mind
+speakin' any word that wasna ill to me?" He paused; there was no
+reply.
+
+"I'll tell ye. All the time I've lived here I've had one kindly word
+spoke to me, and that a fortnight gone, and not by a man then--by
+her ladyship, God bless her!" He glanced up into the gallery.
+There was no one visible there; but a curtain at one end shook as
+though it were sobbing.
+
+"Weel, I'm thinkin' we'll be gaein' in a wee while noo, Wullie and
+me, alane and thegither, as we've aye done. And it's time we went.
+Ye've had enough o' us, and it's no for me to blame ye. And when
+I'm gone what'll ye say o' me? 'He was a drunkard.' I am. 'He was a
+sinner.' I am. 'He was ilka thing he shouldna be.' I am. 'We're glad
+he's gone.' That's what ye'll say o' me. And it's but ma deserts."
+
+The gentle, condemning voice ceased, and began again.
+
+"That's what I am. Gin things had been differ', aiblins I'd ha' bin
+differ'. D'ye ken Robbie Burns? That's a man I've read, and read,
+and read. D'ye ken why I love him as some o' you do yer Bibles?
+Because there's a humanity about him. A weak man hissel', aye
+slippin', slippin', slippin', and tryin' to haud up; sorrowin' ae
+minute, sinnin' the next; doin' ill deeds and wishin' 'em
+undone--just a plain human man, a sinner. And that's why I'm
+thinkin he's tender for us as is like him. _He understood._ It's what he
+wrote--after ain o' his tumbles, I'm thinkin'--that I was goin' to tell
+ye:
+
+'Then gently scan yer brother man,
+Still gentler sister woman,
+Though they may gang a kennin' wrang,
+To step aside is human'--
+
+the doctrine o' Charity. Gie him his chance, says Robbie, though he
+be a sinner. Mony a mon'd be differ', mony bad'd be gude, gin they
+had but their chance. Gie 'em their chance, says he; and I'm wi'
+him. As 'tis, ye see me here--a bad man wi' still a streak o' good in
+him. Gin I'd had ma chance, aiblins 'twad be--a good man wi' just a
+spice o' the devil in him. A' the differ' betune what is and what
+might ha' bin."
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXVIII  THE DEVIL'S BOWL
+
+
+HE sat down. In the great hall there was silence, save for a tiny
+sound from the gallery like a sob suppressed.
+
+The squire rose hurriedly and left the room. After him, one by one,
+trailed the tenants. At length, two only remained--M'Adam, sitting
+solitary with a long array of empty chairs on either hand; and, at
+the far end of the table, Parson Leggy, stern, upright, motionless.
+
+When the last man had left the room the parson rose, and with lips
+tight-set strode across the silent hall.
+
+"M'Adam," he said rapidly and almost roughly, "I've listened to
+what you've said, as I think we all have, with a sore heart. You hit
+hard--but I think you were right. And if I've not done my duty by
+you as I ought--and I fear I've not--it's now my duty as God's
+minister to be the first to say I'm sorry." And it was evident from
+his face what an effort the words cost him.
+
+The little man tilted back his chair, and raised his head.
+
+It was the old M'Adam who looked up. The thin lips were curled; a
+grin was crawling across the mocking face; and he wagged his
+head gently, as he looked at the speaker through the slits of his
+half-closed eyes.
+
+"Mr. Hornbut, I believe ye thocht me in earnest, 'deed and I do!"
+He leaned back in his chair and laughed softly. "Ye swallered it all
+down like best butter. Dear, dear! to think o' that!" Then, stretching
+forward:
+
+"Mr. Hornbut, I was playin' wi' ye."
+
+The parson's face, as he listened, was ugly to watch. He shot out a
+hand and grabbed the scoffer by his coat; then dropped it again and
+turned abruptly away.
+
+As he passed through the door a little sneering voice called after
+him:
+
+"Mr. Hornbut, I ask ye hoo you, a minister o' the Church of
+England, can reconcile it to yer conscience to think--though it be
+but for a minute--that there can be ony good in a man and him no
+churchgoer? Sir, ye're a heretic--not to say a heathen!" He
+sniggered to himself, and his hand crept to a half-emptied wine
+decanter.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+An hour later, James Moore, his business with the squire
+completed, passed through the hall on his way out. Its only
+occupant was now M'Adam, and the Master walked straight up to
+his enemy.
+
+"M'Adam," he said gruffly, holding out a sinewy hand, "I'd like to
+say--"
+
+The little man knocked aside the token of friendship.
+
+"Na, na. No cant, if ye please, James Moore. That'll aiblins go
+doon wi' the parsons, but not wi' me. I ken you and you ken me,
+and all the whitewash i' th' warld'll no deceive us."
+
+The Master turned away, and his face was hard as the nether
+millstone. But the little man pursued him.
+
+"I was nigh forgettin'," he said. "I've a surprise for ye, James Moore.
+But I hear it's yer birthday on Sunday, and I'll keep it till then--he!
+he!"
+
+"Ye'll see me before Sunday, M'Adam," the other answered. "On
+Saturday, as I told yo', I'm comin' to see if yo've done yer duty."
+
+"Whether ye come, James Moore, is your business. Whether ye'll
+iver go, once there, I'll mak' mine. I've warned ye twice noo--" and
+the little man laughed that harsh, cackling laugh of his.
+
+At the door of the hall the Master met David. "Noo, lad, yo're
+comin' along wi' Andrew and me," he said; "Maggie'll niver forgie
+us if we dinna bring yo' home wi' us."
+
+"Thank you kindly, Mr. Moore," the boy replied. "I've to see squire
+first; and then yo' may be sure I'll be after you."
+
+The Master faltered a moment.
+
+"David, ha'n yo' spoke to yer father yet?" he asked in low voice.
+"Yo' should, lad."
+
+The boy made a gesture of dissent.
+
+"I canna," he said petulantly.
+
+"I would, lad," the other advised. "An' yo' don't yo' may be sorry
+after."
+
+As he turned away he heard the boy's steps, dull and sodden, as he
+crossed the hall; and then a thin, would-be cordial voice in the
+emptiness:
+
+"I declar' if 'tisna David! The return o' the Prodeegal--he! he! So
+ye've seen yer auld dad at last, and the last; the proper place, say
+ye, for yen father--he! he! Eh, lad, but I'm blithe to see ye. D'ye
+mind when we was last thegither? Ye was kneelin' on ma chest:
+'Your time's come, dad,' says you, and wangs me o'er the face--he!
+he! I mind it as if 'twas yesterday. Weel, weel, we'll say nae mair
+about it. Boys will be boys. Sons will be sons. Accidents will
+happen. And if at first ye don't succeed, why, try, try again--he!
+he!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Dusk was merging into darkness when the Master and Andrew
+reached the Dalesman's Daughter. It had been long dark when they
+emerged from the cosy parlor of the inn and plunged out into the
+night.
+
+As they crossed the Silver Lea and trudged over that familiar
+ground, where a fortnight since had been fought out the battle of
+the Cup, the wind fluttered past them in spasmodic gasps.
+
+"There s trouble in the wind," said the Master.
+
+"Ay," answered his laconic son.
+
+All day there had been no breath of air, and the sky dangerously
+blue. But now a world of black was surging up from the horizon,
+smothering the star-lit night; and small dark clouds, like puffs of
+smoke, detaching themselves from the main body, were driving
+tempestuously forward--the vanguard of the storm.
+
+In the distance was a low rumbling like heavy tumbrils on the floor
+of heaven. All about, the wind sounded hollow like a mighty
+scythe on corn. The air was oppressed with a leaden blackness--no
+glimmer of light on any hand; and as they began the ascent of the
+Pass they reached out blind hands to feel along the rock-face.
+
+A sea-fret, cool and wetting, fell. A few big rain-drops splashed
+heavily down. The wind rose with a leap and roared past them up
+the rocky track. And the water-gates of heaven were flung wide.
+
+Wet and weary, they battled on; thinking sometimes of the cosy
+parlor behind; sometimes of the home in front; wondering whether
+Maggie, in flat contradiction of her father's orders, would be up to
+welcome them; or whether only Owd Bob would come out to meet
+them.
+
+The wind volleyed past them like salvoes of artillery. The rain
+stormed at them from above; spat at them from the rock-face; and
+leapt up at them from their feet.
+
+Once they halted for a moment, finding a miserable shelter in a
+crevice of the rock.
+
+"It's a Black Killer's night," panted the Master. "I reck'n he's oot."
+
+"Ay," the boy gasped, "reck'n he is." Up and up they climbed
+through the blackness, blind and buffeted. The eternal thunder of
+the rain was all about them; the clamor of the gale above; and far
+beneath, the roar of angry waters.
+
+Once, in a lull in the storm, the Master turned and looked back
+into the blackness along the path they had come.
+
+"Did ye hear onythin'?" he roared above the muffled soughing of
+the wind.
+
+"Nay!" Andrew shouted back.
+
+"I thowt I heard a step!" the Master cried, peering down. But
+nothing could he see.
+
+Then the wind leaped to life again like a giant from his sleep,
+drowning all sound with its hurricane voice; and they turned and
+bent to their task again.
+
+Nearing the summit, the Master turned once more.
+
+"There it was again!" he called; but his words were swept away on
+the storm; and they buckled to the struggle afresh.
+
+Ever and anon the moon gleamed down through the riot of tossing
+sky. Then they could see the wet wall above them, with the water
+tumbling down its sheer face; and far below, in the roaring
+gutter of the Pass a brown-stained torrent. Hardly, however, had
+they time to glance around when a mass of cloud would hurry
+jealously up, and all again was blackness and noise.
+
+At length, nigh spent, they topped the last and steepest pitch of the
+Pass, and emerged into the Devil's Bowl. There, overcome with
+their exertions, they flung themselves on to the soaking ground to
+draw breath.
+
+Behind them, the wind rushed with a sullen roar up the funnel of
+the Pass. It screamed above them as though ten million devils were
+a-horse; and blurted out on to the wild Marches beyond.
+
+As they lay there, still panting, the moon gleamed down in
+momentary graciousness. In front, through the lashing rain, they
+could discern the hillocks that squat, hag-like, round the Devil's
+Bowl; and lying in its bosom, its white waters, usually so still,
+ploughed now into a thousand furrows, the Lone Tarn.
+
+The Master raised his head and craned forward at the ghostly
+scene. Of a sudden he reared himself on to his arms, and stayed
+motionless awhile. Then he dropped as though dead, forcing down
+Andrew with an iron hand.
+
+"Lad, did'st see?" he whispered.
+
+"Nay; what was't?" the boy replied, roused by his father's tone.
+
+"There!"
+
+But as the Master pointed forward, a blur of cloud intervened and
+all was dark. Quickly it passed; and again the lantern of the night
+shone down. And Andrew, looking with all his eyes, saw indeed.
+
+There, in front, by the fretting waters of the Tarn, packed in a solid
+phalanx, with every head turned in the same direction, was a flock
+of sheep. They were motionless, all-intent, staring with
+horror-bulging eyes. A column of steam rose from their bodies into
+the rain-pierced air. Panting and palpitating, yet they stood with
+their backs to the water, as though determined to sell their lives
+dearly. Beyond them, not fifty yards away, crouched a
+humpbacked boulder, casting a long, misshapen shadow in the
+moonlight. And beneath it were two black objects, one still
+struggling feebly.
+
+"The Killer!" gasped the boy, and, all ablaze with excitement,
+began forging forward.
+
+"Steady, lad, steady!" urged his father, dropping a restraining hand
+on the boy's shoulder.
+
+Above them a huddle of clouds flung in furious rout across the
+night, and the moon was veiled.
+
+"Follow, lad!" ordered the Master, and began to crawl silently
+forward. As stealthily Andrew pursued. And over the sodden
+ground they crept, one behind the other, like two' night-hawks on
+some foul errand.
+
+On they crawled, lying prone during the blinks of moon, stealing
+forward in the dark; till, at length, the swish of the rain on the
+waters of the Tarn, and the sobbing of the flock in front, warned
+them they were near.
+
+They skirted the trembling pack, passing so close as to brush
+against the flanking sheep; and yet unnoticed, for the sheep were
+soul-absorbed in the tragedy in front. Only, when the moon was in,
+Andrew could hear them huddling and stamping in the darkness.
+And again, as it shone out, fearfully they edged closer to watch the
+bloody play.
+
+Along the Tarn edge the two crept. And still the gracious moon hid
+their approach, and the drunken wind drowned with its revelry the
+sound of their coming.
+
+So they stole on, on hands and knees, with hearts aghast and
+fluttering breath; until, of a sudden, in a lull of wind, they could
+hear, right before them, the smack and slobber of bloody lips,
+chewing their bloody meal.
+
+"Say thy prayers, Red Wull. Thy last minute's come!" muttered the
+Master, rising to his knees. Then, in Andrew's ear: "When I rush,
+lad, follow!" For he thought, when the moon rose, to jump in on
+the great dog, and, surprising him as he lay gorged and
+unsuspicious, to deal him one terrible swashing blow, and end
+forever the lawless doings of the Tailless Tyke.
+
+The moon flung off its veil of cloud. White and cold, it stared
+down into the Devil's Bowl; on murderer and murdered.
+
+Within a hand's cast of the avengers of blood humped the black
+boulder. On the border of its shadow lay a dead sheep; and
+standing beside the body, his coat all ruffled by the hand of the
+storm--Owd Bob--Owd Bob o' Kenmuir.
+
+Then the light went in, and darkness covered the land.
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXIX  THE DEVIL'S BOWL
+
+
+IT was Owd Bob. There could be no mistaking. In the wide world
+there was but one Owd Bob o' Kenmuir. The silver moon gleamed
+down on the dark head and rough gray coat, and lit the white
+escutcheon on his chest.
+
+And in the darkness James Moore was lying with his face pressed
+downward that he might not see.
+
+Once he raised himself on his arms; his eyes were shut and face
+uplifted, like a blind man praying. He passed a weary hand across
+his brow; his head dropped again; and he moaned and moaned like
+a man in everlasting pain.
+
+Then the darkness lifted a moment, and he stole a furtive glance,
+like a murderer's at the gallows-tree, at the scene in front.
+
+It was no dream; clear and cruel in the moonlight the humpbacked
+boulder; the dead sheep; and that gray figure, beautiful,
+motionless, damned for all eternity.
+
+The Master turned his face and looked at Andrew, a dumb, pitiful
+entreaty in his eyes; but in the boy's white, horror-stricken
+countenance was no comfort. Then his head lolled down again,
+and the strong man was whimpering.
+
+"He! he! he! 'Scuse ma laffin', Mr. Moore--he! he! he!"
+
+A little man, all wet and shrunk, sat hunching on a mound above
+them, rocking his shrivelled form to and fro in the agony of his
+merriment.
+
+"Ye raskil--he! he! Ye rogue--he! he!" and he shook his fist
+waggishly at the unconscious gray dog. "I owe ye anither grudge
+for this--ye've anteecipated me"--and he leant back and shook this
+way and that in convulsive mirth.
+
+The man below him rose heavily to his feet, and tumbled toward
+the mocker, his great figure swaying from side to side as though in
+blind delirium, moaning still as he went. And there was that on his
+face which no man can mistake. Boy that he was, Andrew knew it.
+
+"Feyther! feyther! do'ee not!" he pleaded, running after his father
+and laying impotent hands on him.
+
+But the strong man shook him off like a fly, and rolled on, swaying
+and groaning, with that awful expression plain to see in the
+moonlight.
+
+In front the little man squatted in the rain, bowed double still; and
+took no thought to flee.
+
+"Come on, James Moore! Come on!" he laughed, malignant joy in
+his voice; and something gleamed bright in his right hand, and
+was hid again. "I've bin waitin' this a weary while noo. Come
+on!"
+
+Then had there been done something worse than sheep-murder in
+the dreadful lonesomeness of the Devil's Bowl upon that night; but
+of a sudden, there sounded the splash of a man's foot, falling
+heavily behind; a hand like a falling tree smote the Master on the
+shoulder; and a voice roared above the noise of the storm:
+
+"Mr. Moore! Look, man! look!"
+
+The Master tried to shake off that detaining grasp; but it pinned
+him where he was, immovable.
+
+"Look, I tell yo'!" cried that great voice again.
+
+A hand pushed past him and pointed; and sullenly he turned,
+ignoring the figure at his side, and looked.
+
+The wind had dropped suddenly as it had risen; the little man on
+the mound had ceased to chuckle; Andrew's sobs were hushed; and
+in the background the huddled flock edged closer. The world hung
+balanced on the pinpoint of the moment. Every eye was in the one
+direction.
+
+With dull, uncomprehending gaze James Moore stared as bidden.
+There was the gray dog naked in the moonlight, heedless still of
+any witnesses; there the murdered sheep, lying within and without
+that distorted shade; and there the humpbacked boulder.
+
+He stared into the shadow, and still stared.
+
+Then he started as though struck. The shadow of the boulder had
+moved!
+
+Motionless, with head shot forward and bulging eyes, he gazed.
+
+Ay, ay, ay; he was sure of it--a huge dim outline as of a lion
+_couchant_, in the very thickest of the blackness.
+
+At that he was seized with such a palsy of trembling that he must
+have fallen but for the strong arm about his waist.
+
+Clearer every moment grew that crouching figure; till at length
+they plainly could discern the line of arching loins, the crest, thick
+as a stallion's, the massive, wagging head. No mistake this time.
+There he lay in the deepest black, gigantic, revelling in his horrid
+debauch--the Black Killer!
+
+And they watched him at his feast. Now he burrowed into the
+spongy flesh; now turned to lap the dark pool which glittered in
+the moonlight at his side like claret in a silver cup. Now lifting his
+head, he snapped irritably at the rain-drops, and the moon caught
+his wicked, rolling eye and the red shreds of flesh dripping from
+his jaw. And again, raising his great muzzle as if about to howl, he
+let the delicious nectar trickle down his throat and ravish his
+palate.
+
+So he went on, all unsuspicious, wisely nodding in slow-mouthed
+gluttony. And in the stillness, between the claps of wind, they
+could hear the smacking of his lips.
+
+While all the time the gray dog stood before him, motionless, as
+though carved in stone.
+
+At last, as the murderer rolled his great head from side to side, he
+saw that still figure. At the sight he leaped back, dismayed. Then
+with a deep-mouthed roar that shook the waters of the Tarn he was
+up and across his victim with fangs bared, his coat standing erect
+in wet, rigid furrows from topknot to tail.
+
+So the two stood, face to face, with perhaps a yard of rain-pierced
+air between them.
+
+The wind hushed its sighing to listen. The moon stared down,
+white and dumb. Away at the back the sheep edged closer. While
+save for the everlasting thunder of the rain, there was utter
+stillness.
+
+An age, it seemed, they waited so. Then a voice, clear yet low and
+far away, like a bugle in a distant city, broke the silence.
+
+"Eh, Wullie!" it said.
+
+There was no anger in the tones, only an incomparable reproach;
+the sound of the cracking of a man's heart.
+
+At the call the great dog leapt round, snarling in hideous passion.
+He saw the small, familiar figure, clear-cut against the tumbling
+sky; and for the only time in his life Red Wull was afraid.
+
+His blood-foe was forgotten; the dead sheep was forgotten;
+everything was sunk in the agony of that moment. He cowered
+upon the ground, and a cry like that of a lost soul was wrung from
+him; it rose on the still night air and floated, wailing, away; and
+the white waters of the Tarn thrilled in cold pity; out of the lonely
+hollow; over the desolate Marches; into the night.
+
+On the mound above stood his master. The little man's white hair
+was bared to the night wind; the rain trickled down his face; and
+his hands were folded behind his back. He stood there, looking
+down into the dell below him, as a man may stand at the tomb of
+his lately buried wife. And there was such an expression on his
+face as I cannot describe.
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, to me!" he cried at length; and his voice sounded
+weak and far, like a distant memory.
+
+At that, the huge brute came crawling toward him on his belly,
+whimpering as he came, very pitiful in his distress. He knew his
+fate as every sheep-dog knows it. That troubled him not. His pain,
+insufferable, was that this, his friend and father, who had trusted
+him, should have found him in his sin.
+
+So he crept up to his master's feet; and the little man never moved.
+
+"Wullie--ma Wullie!" he said very gently. "They've aye bin agin
+me--and noo you! A man's mither--a man's wife--a man's dog!
+they're all I've iver had; and noo ain o' they three has turned agin
+me! Indeed I am alone!"
+
+At that the great dog raised himself, and placing his forepaws on
+his master's chest tenderly, lest he should hurt him who was
+already hurt past healing, stood towering above him; while the
+little man laid his two colds hands on the dog's shoulders.
+
+So they stood, looking at one another, like a man and his love.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At M'Adam's word, Owd Bob looked up, and for the first time saw
+his master.
+
+He seemed in nowise startled, but trotted over to him. There was
+nothing fearful in his carriage, no haunting blood-guiltiness in the
+true gray eyes which never told a lie, which never, dog-like, failed
+to look you in the face. Yet his tail was low, and, as he stopped at
+his master's feet, he was quivering. For he, too, knew, and was not
+unmoved.
+
+For weeks he had tracked the Killer; for weeks he had followed
+him as he crossed Kenmuir, bound on his bloody errands; yet
+always had lost him on the Marches. Now, at last, he had run him
+to ground. Yet his heart went out to his enemy in his distress.
+
+"I thowt t'had been yo', lad," the Master whispered, his hand on the
+dark head at his knee--"I thowt t'had bin yo'!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Rooted to the ground, the three watched the scene between
+M'Adam and his Wull.
+
+In the end the Master was whimpering; Andrew crying; and David
+turned his back.
+
+At length, silent, they moved away.
+
+"Had I--should I go to him" asked David hoarsely, nodding toward his
+father.
+
+"Nay, nay, lad," the Master replied. "Yon's not a matter for a mon's
+friends."
+
+So they marched out of the Devil's Bowl, and left those two alone
+together.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+A little later, as they trampled along, James Moore heard little
+pattering, staggering footsteps behind.
+
+He stopped, and the other two went on.
+
+"Man," a voice whispered, and a face, white and pitiful, like a
+mother's pleading for her child, looked into his--"Man, ye'll no
+tell them a' I'd no like 'em to ken 'twas ma Wullie. Think an 't
+had bin yer ain dog."
+
+"You may trust me!" the other answered thickly.
+
+The little man stretched out a palsied hand.
+
+"Gie us yer hand on't. And G-God bless ye, James Moore!"
+
+So these two shook hands in the moonlight, with none to witness it but
+the God who made them.
+
+And that is why the mystery of the Black Killer is yet unsolved in the
+Daleland. Many have surmised; besides those three only one other
+knows--knows now which of those two he saw upon a summer night was the
+guilty, which the innocent. And Postie Jim tells no man.
+
+
+
+
+
+Chapter XXX. THE TAILLESS TYKE AT BAY
+
+
+ON the following morning there was a sheep-auction at the
+Dalesman's Daughter.
+
+Early as many of the farmers arrived, there was one earlier.
+Tupper, the first man to enter the sand-floored parlor, found
+M'Adam before him.
+
+He was sitting a little forward in his chair; his thin hands rested
+on his knees; and on his face was a gentle, dreamy expression such
+as no man had ever seen there before. All the harsh wrinkles
+seemed to have fled in the night; and the sour face, stamped deep
+with the bitterness of life, was softened now, as if at length at
+peace.
+
+"When I coom doon this mornin'," said Teddy Bolstock in a
+whisper, "I found 'im sittin' just so. And he's nor moved nor spoke
+since."
+
+"Where's th' Terror, then?" asked Tupper, awed somehow into
+like hushed tones.
+
+"In t' paddock at back," Teddy answered, "marchin' hoop and doon,
+hoop and doon, for a' the world like a sentry-soger. And so he was
+when I looked oot o' window when I wake."
+
+Then Londesley entered, and after him, Ned Hoppin, Rob
+Saunderson, Jim Mason, and others, each with his dog. And each
+man, as he came in and saw the little lone figure for once without
+its huge attendant genius, put the same question; while the dogs
+sniffed about the little man, as though suspecting treachery. And
+all the time M'Adam sat as though he neither heard nor saw, lost in
+some sweet, sad dream; so quite, so silent, that more than one
+thought he slept.
+
+After the first glance, however, the farmers paid him little heed,
+clustering round the publican at the farther end of the room to hear
+the latest story of Owd Bob.
+
+It appeared that a week previously, James Moore with a pack of
+sheep had met the new Grammoch-town butcher at the Dalesmen's
+Daughter. A bargain concluded, the butcher started with the flock
+for home. As he had no dog, the Master offered him Th' Owd Un.
+"And he'll pick me i' th' town to-morrow," said he.
+
+Now the butcher was a stranger in the land. Of course he had heard
+of Owd Bob o' Kenmuir, yet it never struck him that this
+handsome gentleman with the quiet, resolute manner, who handled
+sheep as he had never seen them handled, was that hero--"the best
+sheep-dog in the North."
+
+Certain it is that by the time the flock was penned in the enclosure
+behind the shop, he coveted the dog--ay, would even offer ten
+pounds for him!
+
+Forthwith the butcher locked him up in an outhouse--summit of
+indignity; resolving to make his offer on the morrow.
+
+When the morrow came he found no dog in the outhouse, and,
+worse, no sheep in the enclosure. A sprung board showed the way
+of escape of the one, and a displaced hurdle that of the other. And
+as he was making the discovery, a gray dog and a flock of sheep,
+travelling along the road toward the Dalesman's Daughter, met the
+Master.
+
+From the first, Owd Bob had mistrusted the man. The attempt to
+confine him set the seal on his suspicions. His master's sheep were
+not for such a rogue; and he worked his own way out and took the
+sheep along with him.
+
+The story was told to a running chorus of--"Ma word! Good, Owd
+Un!--Ho! ho! did he thot?"
+
+Of them all, only M'Adam sat strangely silent.
+
+Rob Saunderson, always glad to draw the little man, remarked it.
+
+"And what d'yo' think o' that, Mr. M'Adam, for a wunnerfu' story of
+a wunnerfu' tyke?" he asked.
+
+"It's a gude tale, a vera gude tale," the little man answered
+dreamily. "And James Moore didna invent it; he had it from the
+Christmas number o' the _Flock-keeper_ in saxty." (On the following
+Sunday, old Rob, from sheer curiosity, reached down from his
+shelf the specified number of the paper. To his amazement he
+found the little man was right. There was the story almost
+identically. None the less is it also true of Owd Bob o' Kenmuir.)
+
+"Ay, ay," the little man continued, "and in a day or two James
+Moore'll ha' anither tale to tell ye--a better tale, ye'll think it--mair
+laffable. And yet--ay---no---I'll no believe it! I niver loved James
+Moore, but I think, as Mr. Hornbut aince said, he'd rather die than
+lie. Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!" he continued in a whisper. "Up till the
+end I canna shake him aff. Hafflins I think that where I'm gaein' to
+there'll be gray dogs sneakin' around me in the twilight. And
+they're aye behind and behind, and I canna, canna--"
+
+Teddy Bolstock interrupted, lifting his hand for silence.
+
+"D'yo' hear thot?--Thunder!"
+
+They listened; and from without came a gurgling, jarring roar,
+horrible to hear.
+
+"It's comin' nearer!"
+
+"Nay, it's goin' away!"
+
+"No thunder thot!"
+
+"More like the Lea in flood. And yet--Eh, Mr. M'Adam, what is
+it?"
+
+The little man had moved at last. He was on his feet, staring about
+him, wild-eyed.
+
+"Where's yer dogs?" he almost screamed.
+
+"Here's ma--Nay, by thunder! but he's not!" was the astonished cry.
+
+In the interest of the story no man had noticed that his dog had
+risen from his side; no one had noticed a file of shaggy figures
+creeping out of the room.
+
+"I tell ye it's the tykes! I tell ye it's the tykes! They're on ma
+Wullie--fifty to one they're on him! My God! My God! And me not
+there! Wullie, Wullie! "--in a scream--"I'm wi' ye!"
+
+At the same moment Bessie Boistock rushed in, white-faced.
+
+"Hi! Feyther! Mr. Saunderson! all o' you! T'tykes fightin' mad!
+Hark!"
+
+There was no time for that. Each man seized his stick and rushed
+for the door; and M'Adam led them all.
+
+A rare thing it was for M'Adam and Red Wull to be apart. So rare,
+that others besides the men in that little tap-room noticed it.
+
+Saunderson's old Shep walked quietly to the back door of the
+house and looked out.
+
+There on the slope below him he saw what he sought, stalking up
+and down, gaunt and grim, like a lion at feeding-time. And as the
+old dog watched, his tail was gently swaying as though he were
+well pleased.
+
+He walked back into the tap-room just as Teddy began his tale.
+Twice he made the round of the room, silent-footed. From dog to
+dog he went, stopping at each as though urging him on to some
+great enterprise. Then he made for the door again, looking back to
+see if any followed.
+
+One by one the others rose and trailed out after him: big blue
+Rasper, Londesley's Lassie, Ned Hoppin's young dog; Grip and
+Grapple, the publican's bull-terriers; Jim Mason's Gyp, foolish and
+flirting even now; others there were; and last of all, waddling
+heavily in the rear, that scarred Amazon, the Venus.
+
+Out of the house they pattered, silent and unseen, with murder in
+their hearts. At last they had found their enemy alone. And slowly,
+in a black cloud, like the shadow of death, they dropped down the
+slope upon him.
+
+And he saw them coming, knew their errand--as who should better
+than the Terror of the Border?--and was glad. Death it might be,
+and such an one as he would wish to die--at least distraction from
+that long-drawn, haunting pain. And he smiled grimly as he looked
+at the approaching crowd, and saw there was not one there but he
+had humbled in his time.
+
+He ceased his restless pacing, and awaited them. His great head
+was high as he scanned them contemptuously, daring them to
+come on.
+
+And on they came, marching slow and silent like soldiers at a
+funeral: young and old; bob-tailed and bull; terrier and collie;
+flocking like vultures to the dead. And the Venus, heavy with
+years, rolled after them on her bandy legs panting in her hurry lest
+she should be late. For had she not the blood of her blood to
+avenge?
+
+So they came about him, slow, certain, murderous, opening out to
+cut him off on every side. There was no need. He never thought to
+move. Long odds 'twould be--crushingly heavy; yet he loved them
+for it, and was trembling already with the glory of the coming
+fight.
+
+They were up to him now; the sheep-dogs walking round him on
+their toes, stiff and short like cats on coals; their hacks a little
+humped; heads averted; yet eying him askance.
+
+And he remained stock-still nor looked at them. His great chin was
+cocked, and his muzzle wrinkled in a dreadful grin. As he stood
+there, shivering a little, his eyes rolling back, his breath grating in
+his throat to set every bristle on end, he looked a devil indeed.
+
+The Venus ranged alongside him. No preliminary stage for her;
+she never walked where she could stand, or stood where she could
+lie. But stand she must now, breathing hard through her nose,
+never taking her eyes off that pad she had marked for her own.
+Close beside her were crop-eared Grip and Grapple, looking up at
+the line above them where hairy neck and shoulder joined. Behind
+was big Rasper, and close to him Lassie. Of the others, each had
+marked his place, each taken up his post.
+
+Last of all, old Shep took his stand full in front of his enemy, their
+shoulders almost rubbing, head past head.
+
+So the two stood a moment, as though they were whispering; each
+diabolical, each rolling back his eyes to watch the other. While
+from the little mob there rose a snarling, bubbling snore, like some
+giant wheezing in his sleep.
+
+Then like lightning each struck. Rearing high, they wrestled with
+striving paws and the expression of fiends incarnate. Down they
+went, Shep underneath, and the great dog with a dozen of these
+wolves of hell upon him. Rasper, devilish, was riding on his back;
+the Venus--well for him!--had struck and missed; but Grip and
+Grapple had their hold; and the others, like leaping demoniacs,
+were plunging into the whirlpool vortex of the fight.
+
+And there, where a fortnight before he had fought and lost the
+battle of the Cup, Red Wull now battled for his life.
+
+Long odds! But what cared he? The long-drawn agony of the night
+was drowned in that glorious delirium. The hate of years came
+bubbling forth. In that supreme moment he would avenge his
+wrongs. And he went in to fight, revelling like a giant in the red
+lust of killing.
+
+Long odds! Never before had he faced such a galaxy of foes. His
+one chance lay in quickness: to prevent the swarming crew getting
+their hold till at least he had diminished their numbers.
+
+Then it was a sight to see the great brute, huge as a bull-calf,
+strong as a bull, rolling over and over and up again, quick as a
+kitten; leaping here, striking there; shaking himself free; swinging
+his quarters; fighting with feet and body and teeth--every inch of
+him at war. More than once he broke right through the mob; only
+to turn again and face it. No flight for him; nor thought of it.
+
+Up and down the slope the dark mass tossed, like some hulk the
+sport of the waves. Black and white, sable and gray, worrying at
+that great centre-piece. Up and down, roaming wide, leaving
+everywhere a trail of red.
+
+Gyp he had pinned and hurled over his shoulder. Grip followed; he
+shook her till she rattled, then flung her afar; and she fell with a
+horrid thud, not to rise. While Grapple, the death to avenge, hung
+tighter. In a scarlet, soaking patch of the ground lay Big Bell's
+lurcher, doubled up in a dreadful ball. And Hoppin's young dog,
+who three hours before had been the children's tender playmate,
+now fiendish to look on, dragged after the huddle up the hill. Back
+the mob rolled on her. When it was passed, she lay quite still,
+grinning; a handful of tawny hair and flesh in her dead mouth.
+
+So they fought on. And ever and anon a great figure rose up from
+the heaving inferno all around; rearing to his full height, his head
+ragged and bleeding, the red foam dripping from his jaws. Thus he
+would appear momentarily, like some dark rock amid a raging sea;
+and down he would go again.
+
+Silent now they fought, dumb and determined. Only you might
+have heard the rend and rip of tearing flesh; a hoarse gurgle as
+some dog went down; the panting of dry throats; and now and then
+a sob from that central figure. For he was fighting for his life. The
+Terror of the Border was at bay.
+
+All who meant it were on him now. The Venus, blinded with
+blood, had her hold at last; and never but once in a long life of
+battles had she let go; Rasper, his breath coming in rattles, had him
+horribly by the loins; while a dozen other devils with red eyes and
+wrinkled nostrils clung still.
+
+Long odds! And down he went, smothered beneath the weight of
+numbers, yet struggled up again. His great head was torn and
+dripping; his eyes a gleam of rolling red and white; the little tail
+stern and stiff like the gallant stump of a flagstaff shot away. He
+was desperate, but indomitable; and he sobbed as he fought
+doggedly on.
+
+Long odds! It could not last. And down he went at length, silent
+still--never a cry should they wring from him in his agony; the
+Venus glued to that mangled pad; Rasper beneath him now; three
+at his throat; two at his ears; a crowd on flanks and body.
+
+The Terror of the Border was down at last!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Wullie, ma Wullie!" screamed M'Adam, bounding down the slope
+a crook's length in front of the rest. "Wullie! Wullie! to me!"
+
+At the shrill cry the huddle below was convulsed. It heaved and
+swelled and dragged to and fro, like the sea lashed into life by
+some dying leviathan.
+
+A gigantic figure, tawny and red, fought its way to the surface. A
+great tossing head, bloody past recognition, flung out from the
+ruck. One quick glance he shot from his ragged eyes at the little
+flying form in front; then with a roar like a waterfall plunged
+toward it, shaking off the bloody leeches as he went.
+
+"Wullie! Wullie! I'm wi' ye!" cried that little voice, now so near.
+
+Through--through--through!--an incomparable effort and his
+last. They hung to his throat, they clung to his muzzle, they were
+round and about him. And down he went again with a sob and a
+little suffocating cry, shooting up at his master one quick,
+beseeching glance as the sea of blood closed over him--worrying,
+smothering, tearing, like foxhounds at the kill.
+
+They left the dead and pulled away the living. And it was no light
+task, for the pack were mad for blood.
+
+At the bottom of the wet mess of hair and red and flesh was old
+Shep, stone-dead. And as Saunderson pulled the body out, his face
+was working; for no man can lose in a crack the friend of a dozen
+years, and remain unmoved.
+
+The Venus lay there, her teeth clenched still in death; smiling that
+her vengeance was achieved. Big Rasper, blue no longer, was
+gasping out his life. Two more came crawling out to find a quiet
+spot where they might lay them down to die. Before the night had
+fallen another had gone to his account. While not a dog who
+fought upon that day but carried the scars of it with him to his
+grave.
+
+The Terror o' th' Border, terrible in his life, like Samson, was yet
+more terrible in his dying.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Down at the bottom lay that which once had been Adam M'Adam's
+Red Wull.
+
+At the sight the little man neither raved nor swore: it was past that
+for him. He sat down, heedless of the soaking ground, and took the
+mangled head in his lap very tenderly.
+
+"They've done ye at last, Wullie--they've done ye at last," he said
+quietly; unalterably convinced that the attack had been organized
+while he was detained in the tap-room.
+
+On hearing the loved little voice, the dog gave one weary wag of
+his stump-tail. And with that the Tailless Tyke, Adam M'Adam's
+Red Wull, the Black Killer, went to his long home.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+One by one the Dalesmen took away their dead, and the little man
+was left alone with the body of his last friend.
+
+Dry-eyed he sat there, nursing the dead dog's head; hour after
+hour--alone--crooning to himself:
+
+"'Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought,
+An' wi' the weary warl' fought!
+An'  mony an anxious day I thought
+We wad be beat.'
+
+An' noo we are, Wullie--noo we are!"
+
+So he went on, repeating the lines over and over again, always
+with the same sad termination.
+
+"A man's mither--a man's wife--a man's dog! They three are a' little
+M'Adam iver had to back him! D'ye mind the auld mither,
+Wullie? And her, 'Niver be down-hearted, Adam; ye've aye got yer
+mither,' And ae day I had not. And Flora, Wullie (ye remember
+Flora, Wullie? Na, na; ye'd not) wi' her laffin' daffin' manner, cryin'
+to one: 'Adam, ye say ye're alane. But ye've me--is that no enough
+for ony man?' And God kens it was--while it lasted!" He broke
+down and sobbed a while. "And you Wullie--and you! the only
+man friend iver I had!" He sought the dog's bloody paw with his
+right hand.
+
+"'An' here's a hand, my trusty fier,
+An gie's a hand o' thine;
+An'  we'll tak' a right guid willie-waught,
+For auld lang syne.'"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+He sat there, muttering, and stroking the poor head upon his lap,
+bending over it, like a mother over a sick child.
+
+"They've done ye at last, lad--done ye sair. And noo I'm thinkin'
+they'll no rest content till I'm gone. And oh, Wullie!"--he bent
+down and whispered--"I dreamed sic an awfu' thing--that ma
+Wullie--but there! 'twas but a dream."
+
+So he sat on, crooning to the dead dog; and no man approached
+him. Only Bessie of the inn watched the little lone figure from
+afar.
+
+It was long past noon when at length he rose, laying the dog's head
+reverently down, and tottered away toward that bridge which once
+the dead thing on the slope had held against a thousand.
+
+He crossed it and turned; there was a look upon his face, half
+hopeful, half fearful, very piteous to see.
+
+"Wullie, Wullie, to me!" he cried; only the accents, formerly so
+fiery, were now weak as a dying man's.
+
+A while he waited in vain.
+
+"Are ye no comin', Wullie?" he asked at length in quavering tones.
+"Ye've not used to leave me."
+
+He walked away a pace, then turned again and whistled that shrill,
+sharp call, only now it sounded like a broken echo of itself.
+
+"Come to me, Wullie!" he implored, very pitifully. "'Tis the first
+time iver I kent ye not come and me whistlin'. What ails ye, lad?"
+
+He recrossed the bridge, walking blindly like a sobbing child; and
+yet dry-eyed.
+
+Over the dead body he stooped.
+
+"What ails ye, Wullie?" he asked again. "Will you, too, leave me?"
+
+Then Bessie, watching fearfully, saw him bend, sling the great
+body on his back, and stagger away.
+
+Limp and hideous, the carcase hung down from the little man's
+shoulders. The huge head, with grim, wide eyes and lolling tongue,
+jolted and swagged with the motion, seeming to grin a ghastly
+defiance at the world it had left. And the last Bessie saw of them
+was that bloody, rolling head, with the puny legs staggering
+beneath their load, as the two passed out of the world's ken.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+In the Devil's Bowl, next day, they found the pair: Adam M'Adam
+and his Red Wull, face to face; dead, not divided; each, save for
+the other, alone. The dog, his saturnine expression glazed and
+ghastly in the fixedness of death, propped up against that
+humpbacked boulder beneath which, a while before, the Black
+Killer had dreed his weird; and, close by, his master lying on his
+back, his dim dead eyes staring up at the heaven, one hand still
+clasping a crumpled photograph; the weary body at rest at last, the
+mocking face--mocking no longer--alight with a whole-souled,
+transfiguring happiness.
+
+
+
+
+POSTSCRIPT
+
+
+Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull lie buried together: one just
+within, the other just without, the consecrated pale.
+
+The only mourners at the funeral were David, James Moore,
+Maggie, and a gray dog peering through the lych-gate.
+
+During the service a carriage stopped at the churchyard, and a lady
+with a stately figure and a gentle face stepped out and came across
+the grass to pay a last tribute to the dead. And Lady Eleanour, as
+she joined the little group about the grave, seemed to notice a
+more than usual solemnity in the parson's voice as he intoned:
+"Earth to earth--ashes to ashes--dust to dust; in sure and certain
+hope of the Resurrection to eternal life."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When you wander in the gray hill-country of the North, in the
+loneliest corner of that lonely land you may chance upon a low
+farmhouse, lying in the shadow of the Muir Pike.
+
+Entering, a tall old man comes out to greet you--the Master of
+Kenmuir. His shoulders are bent now; the hair that was so dark is
+frosted; but the blue-gray eyes look you as proudly in the face as of
+yore.
+
+And while the girl with the glory of yellow hair is preparing food
+for you--they are hospitable to a fault, these Northerners--you will
+notice on the mantelpiece, standing solitary, a massive silver cup,
+dented.
+
+That is the world-known Shepherds' Trophy, won outright, as the
+old man will tell you, by Owd Bob, last and best of the Gray Dogs
+of Kenmuir. The last because he is the best; because once, for a
+long-drawn unit of time, James Moore had thought him to be the
+worst.
+
+When at length you take your leave, the old man accompanies you
+to the top of the slope to point you your way.
+
+"Yo' cross the stream; over Langholm How, yonder; past the
+Bottom; and oop th' hill on far side. Yo'll come on th' house o' top.
+And happen yo'll meet Th' Owd Un on the road. Good-day to you,
+sir, good-day."
+
+So you go as he has bidden you; across the stream, skirting the
+How, over the gulf and up the hill again.
+
+On the way, as the Master has foretold, you come upon an old gray
+dog, trotting soberly along. Th' Owd Un, indeed, seems to spend
+the evening of his life going thus between Kenmuir and the
+Grange. The black muzzle is almost white now; the gait, formerly
+so smooth and strong, is stiff and slow; venerable, indeed, is he of
+whom men still talk as the best sheep-dog in the North.
+
+As he passes, he pauses to scan you. The noble head is high, and
+one foot raised; and you look into two big gray eyes such as you
+have never seen before--soft, a little dim, and infinitely sad.
+
+That is Owd Bob o' Kenmuir, of whom the tales are many as the
+flowers on the May. With him dies the last of the immortal line of
+the Gray Dogs of Kenmuir.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+You travel on up the bill, something pensive, and knock at the
+door of the house on the top.
+
+A woman, comely with the inevitable comeliness of motherhood,
+opens to you. And nestling in her arms is a little boy with golden
+hair and happy face, like one of Correggio's cherubs.
+
+You ask the child his name. He kicks and crows, and looks up at
+his mother; and in the end lisps roguishly, as if it was the merriest
+joke in all this merry world, "Adum Mataddum."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg Etext of Bob Son of Battle, by Alfred Ollivant
+
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