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diff --git a/old/bsonb10.txt b/old/bsonb10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dd3c918 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/bsonb10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9787 @@ +Project Gutenberg Etext of Bob Son of Battle, by Alfred Ollivant + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + +*It must legally be the first thing seen when opening the book.* +In fact, our legal advisors said we can't even change margins. + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. 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If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association/Carnegie-Mellon + University" within the 60 days following each + date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) + your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association / Carnegie-Mellon University". + +We are planning on making some changes in our donation structure +in 2000, so you might want to email me, hart@pobox.com beforehand. + + + + +*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 œheet, 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 œOfl'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 œs 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 + |