diff --git "a/data/train/2795.txt" "b/data/train/2795.txt" new file mode 100644--- /dev/null +++ "b/data/train/2795.txt" @@ -0,0 +1,9691 @@ + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer + + + + + +BOB, SON OF BATTLE + +By Alfred Ollivant + + + +CONTENTS + + + PART I THE COMING OF THE TAILLESS TYKE + Chapter I. The Gray Dog + Chapter II. A Son of Hagar + Chapter III. Red Wull + Chapter IV. First Blood + + + PART II THE LITTLE MAN + Chapter V. A Man's Son + Chapter VI. A Licking or a Lie + Chapter VII. The White Winter + Chapter VIII. M'Adam and His Coat + + + PART III THE SHEPHERDS' TROPHY + Chapter IX. Rivals, + Chapter X. Red Wull Wins + Chapter XI. Oor Bob, + Chapter XII. How Red Wull Held the Bridge + Chapter XIII. The Face in the Frame + + + PART IV THE BLACK KILLER + Chapter XIV. A Mad Man + Chapter XV. Death on the Marches, + Chapter XVI. The Black Killer + Chapter XVII. A Mad Dog + Chapter XVIII. How the Killer was Singed + Chapter XIX. Lad and Lass + Chapter XX. The Snapping of the String + Chapter XXI. Horror of Darkness + + + PART V OWD BOB O' KENMUIR + Chapter XXII. A Man and a Maid + Chapter XXIII. Th' Owd Un + Chapter XXIV. A Shot in the Night + Chapter XXV. The Shepherds' Trophy. + + + PART VI THE BLACK KILLER + Chapter XXVI. Red-handed + Chapter XXVII. For the Defence + Chapter XXVIII. The Devil's Bowl + Chapter XXIX. The Devil's Bowl + Chapter XXX. The Tailless Tyke at Bay + + + Postscript + + + + +PART I THE COMING OF THE TAILLESS TYKE + + + +Chapter I. THE GRAY DOG + + +THE sun stared brazenly down on a gray farmhouse lying, long and low +in the shadow of the Muir Pike; on the ruins of peel-tower and barmkyn, +relics of the time of raids, it looked; on ranges of whitewashed +outbuildings; on a goodly array of dark-thatched ricks. + +In the stack-yard, behind the lengthy range of stables, two men were +thatching. One lay sprawling on the crest of the rick, the other stood +perched on a ladder at a lower level. + +The latter, small, old, with shrewd nut-brown countenance, was Tammas +Thornton, who had served the Moores of Kenmuir for more than half a +century. The other, on top of the stack, wrapped apparently in gloomy +meditation, was Sam'l Todd. A solid Dales--man, he, with huge hands and +hairy arms; about his face an uncomely aureole of stiff, red hair; and +on his features, deep-seated, an expression of resolute melancholy. + +"Ay, the Gray Dogs, bless 'em!" the old man was saying. "Yo' canna beat +'em not nohow. Known 'em ony time this sixty year, I have, and niver +knew a bad un yet. Not as I say, mind ye, as any on 'em cooms up to Rex +son o' Rally. Ah, he was a one, was Rex! We's never won Cup since his +day." + +"Nor niver shall agin, yo' may depend," said the other gloomily. + +Tammas clucked irritably. + +"G'long, Sam'! Todd!" he cried, "Yo' niver happy onless yo' making' +yo'self miser'ble. I niver see sich a chap. Niver win agin? Why, oor +young Bob he'll mak' a right un, I tell yo', and I should know. Not as +what he'll touch Rex son o' Rally, mark ye! I'm niver saying' so, Sam'l +Todd. Ah, he was a one, was Rex! I could tell yo' a tale or two o' Rex. +I mind me hoo--" + +The big man interposed hurriedly. + +"I've heard it afore, Tammas, I welly 'ave," he said. + +Tammas paused and looked angrily up. + +"Yo've heard it afore, have yo', Sam'l Todd?" he asked sharply. "And +what have yo' heard afore?" + +"Yo' stories, owd lad--yo' stories o' Rex son o' Rally." + +"Which on' em + +"All on 'em, Tammas, all on 'em--mony a time. I'm fair sick on 'em, +Tammas, I welly am," he pleaded. + +The old man gasped. He brought down his mallet with a vicious smack. + +"I'll niver tell yo' a tale agin, Sam'l Todd, not if yo' was to go on +yo' bended knees for't. Nay; it bain't no manner o' use talkin'. Niver +agin, says I." + +"I niver askt yo'," declared honest Sam'l. + +"Nor it wouldna ha' bin no manner o' use if yo' had," said the other +viciously. "I'll niver tell yo' a tale agin if I was to live to be a +hunderd." + +"Yo'll not live to be a hunderd, Tammas Thornton, nor near it," said +Sam'l brutally. + +"I'll live as long as some, I warrant," the old man replied with spirit. +"I'll live to see Cup back i' Kenmuir, as I said afore." + +"If yo' do," the other declared with emphasis, "Sam'l Todd niver spake a +true word. Nay, nay, lad; yo're owd, yo're wambly, your time's near run +or I'm the more mistook." + +"For mussy's sake hold yo' tongue, Sam'l Todd! It's clack-clack all +day--" The old man broke off suddenly, and buckled to his work with +suspicious vigor. "Mak' a show yo' bin workin', lad," he whispered. +"Here's Master and oor Bob." + +As he spoke, a tall gaitered man with weather-beaten face, strong, lean, +austere, and the blue-gray eyes of the hill-country, came striding into +the yard. And trotting soberly at his heels, with the gravest, saddest +eyes ever you saw, a sheep-dog puppy. + +A rare dark gray he was, his long coat, dashed here and there with +lighter touches, like a stormy sea moonlit. Upon his chest an escutcheon +of purest white, and the dome of his head showered, as it were, with +a sprinkling of snow. Perfectly compact, utterly lithe, inimitably +graceful with his airy-fairy action; a gentleman every inch, you could +not help but stare at him--Owd Bob o' Kenmuir. + +At the foot of the ladder the two stopped. And the young dog, placing +his forepaws on a lower rung, looked up, slowly waving his silvery +brush. + +"A proper Gray Dog!" mused Tammas, gazing down into the dark face +beneath him. "Small, yet big; light to get about on backs o' his sheep, +yet not too light. Wi' a coat hard a-top to keep oot Daleland weather, +soft as sealskin beneath. And wi' them sorrerful eyes on him as niver +goes but wi' a good un. Amaist he minds me o' Rex son o' Rally." + +"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" groaned Sam'l. But the old man heard him not. + +"Did 'Enry Farewether tell yo' hoo he acted this mornin', Master?" he +inquired, addressing the man at the foot of the ladder. + +"Nay," said the other, his stern eyes lighting. + +"Why, 'twas this way, it seems," Tammas continued. "Young bull gets +'isseif loose, somegate and marches oot into yard, o'erturns milkpail, +and s owd pigs i' ribs. And as he stands lookin' about un, thinking' +what he shall be up to next, oor Bob sees un 'An' what yo' doin' here, +Mr. Bull?' he seems to say, cockin' his ears and trottin' up gay-like. +Wi' that bull bloats fit to bust 'isseif, lashes wi's tail, waggles his +head, and gets agate o' chargin' 'im. But Bob leaps oot o' way, quick +as lightnin' yet cool as butter, and when he's done his foolin drives un +back agin." + +"Who seed all this?" interposed Sam'l, sceptically. + +"'Enry Farewether from the loft. So there, Fat'ead!" Tammas replied, and +continued his tale. "So they goes on; bull chargin' and Bob drivin' +un back and back, hoppin' in and oot agin, quiet as a cowcumber, yet +determined. At last Mr. Bull sees it's no manner o' use that gate, so he +turns, rares up, and tries to jump wall. Nary a bit. Young dog jumps +in on un and nips him by tail. Wi' that, bull tumbles down in a hurry, +turns wi' a kind o' groan, and marches back into stall, Bob after un. +And then, dang me!"--the old man beat the ladder as he loosed off this +last titbit,--"if he doesna sit' isseif i' door like a sentrynel till +'Enry Farewether coom up. Hoo's that for a tyke not yet a year?" + +Even Sam'l Todd was moved by the tale. + +"Well done, oor Bob!" he cried. + +"Good, lad!" said the Master, laying a hand on the dark head at his +knee. + +"Yo' may well say that," cried Tammas in a kind of ecstasy. "A proper +Gray Dog, I tell yo'. Wi' the brains of a man and the way of a woman. +Ah, yo' canna beat 'em nohow, the Gray Dogs o' Kenmuir!" + +The patter of cheery feet rang out on the plank-bridge over the stream +below them. Tammas glanced round. + +"Here's David," he said. "Late this mornin' he be." + +A fair-haired boy came spurring up the , his face all aglow with +the speed of his running. Straightway the young dog dashed off to +meet him with a fiery speed his sober gait belied. The two raced back +together into the yard. + +"Poor lad!" said Sam'l gloomily, regarding the newcomer. + +"Poor heart!" muttered Tammas. While the Master's face softened visibly. +Yet there looked little to pity in this jolly, rocking lad with the +tousle of light hair and fresh, rosy countenance. + +"G'mornin', Mister Moore! Morn'n, Tammas! Morn'n, Sam'l!" he panted as +he passed; and ran on through the hay-carpeted yard, round the corner of +the stable, and into the house. + +In the kitchen, a long room with red-tiled floor and latticed windows, +a woman, white-aproned and frail-faced, was bustling about her morning +business. To her skirts clung a sturdy, bare-legged boy; while at +the oak table in the centre of the room a girl with brown eyes and +straggling hair was seated before a basin of bread and milk. + +"So yo've coom at last, David!" the woman cried, as the boy entered; +and, bending, greeted him with a tender, motherly salutation, which he +returned as affectionately. "I welly thowt yo'd forgot us this mornin'. +Noo sit you' doon beside oor Maggie." And soon he, too, was engaged in a +task twin to the girl's. + +The two children munched away in silence, the little bare-legged boy +watching them, the while, critically. Irritated by this prolonged stare, +David at length turned on him. + +"Weel, little Andrew," he said, speaking in that paternal fashion in +which one small boy loves to address another. "Weel, ma little lad, +yo'm coomin' along gradely." He leant back in his chair the better to +criticise his subject. But Andrew, like all the Moores, slow of speech, +preserved a stolid silence, sucking a chubby thumb, and regarding his +patron a thought cynically. + +David resented the expression on the boy's countenance, and half rose to +his feet. + +"Yo' put another face on yo', Andrew Moore," he cried threateningly, "or +I'll put it for yo'." + +Maggie, however, interposed opportunely. + +"Did yo' feyther beat yo' last night?" she inquired in a low voice; and +there was a shade of anxiety in the soft brown eyes. + +"Nay," the boy answered; "he was a-goin' to, but he never did. Drunk," +he added in explanation. + +"What was he goin' to beat yo' for, David?" asked Mrs. Moore. + +"What for? Why, for the fun o't--to see me squiggle," the boy replied, +and laughed bitterly. + +"Yo' shouldna speak so o' your dad, David," reproved the other as +severely as was in her nature. + +"Dad! a fine dad! I'd dad him an I'd the chance," the boy muttered +beneath his breath. Then, to turn the conversation: + +"Us should be startin', Maggie," he said, and going to the door. "Bob! +Owd Bob, lad! Ar't coomin' along?" he called. + +The gray dog came springing up like an antelope, and the three started +off for school together. + +Mrs. Moore stood in the doorway, holding Andrew by the hand, and watched +the departing trio. + +"'Tis a pretty pair, Master, surely," she said softly to her husband, +who came up at the moment. + +"Ay, he'll be a fine lad if his fether'll let him," the tall man +answered. + +"Tis a shame Mr. M'Adam should lead him such a life," the woman +continued indignantly. She laid a hand on her husband's arm, and looked +up at him coaxingly. + +"Could yo' not say summat to un, Master, think 'ee? Happen he'd 'tend +to you," she pleaded. For Mrs. Moore imagined that there could be no one +but would gladly heed what James Moore, Master of Kenmuir, might say +to him. "He's not a bad un at bottom, I do believe," she continued. "He +never took on so till his missus died. Eh, but he was main fond o' her." + +Her husband shook his head "Nay, mother," he said "'Twould nob' but +mak' it worse for t' lad. M'Adam'd listen to no one, let alone me." And, +indeed, he was right; for the tenant of the Grange made no secret of his +animosity for his straight-going, straight-speaking neighbor. + + * * * * * + +Owd Bob, in the mean time, had escorted the children to the larch-copse +bordering on the lane which leads to the village. Now he crept +stealthily back to the yard, and established himself behind the +water-butt. + +How he played and how he laughed; how he teased old Whitecap till that +gray gander all but expired of apoplexy and impotence; how he ran the +roan bull-calf, and aroused the bitter wrath of a portly sow, mother of +many, is of no account. + +At last, in the midst of his merry mischief-making, a stern voice +arrested him. + +"Bob, lad, I see 'tis time we larned you yo' letters." + +So the business of life began for that dog of whom the simple +farmer-folk of the Daleland still love to talk,--Bob, son of Battle, +last of the Gray Dogs of Kenmuir. + + + + +Chapter II. A SON OF HAGAR + + +It is a lonely country, that about the Wastrel-dale. + +Parson Leggy Hornbut will tell you that his is the smallest church in +the biggest parish north of the Derwent, and that his cure numbers more +square miles than parishioners. Of fells and ghylls it consists, of +becks and lakes; with here a scattered hamlet and there a solitary hill +sheep-farm. It is a country in which sheep are paramount; and every +other Dalesman is engaged in that profession which is as old as Abel. +And the talk of the men of the land is of wethers and gimmers, of +tup-hoggs, ewe tegs in wool, and other things which are but fearsome +names to you and me; and always of the doings or misdoings, the +intelligence or stupidity, of their adjutants, the sheep-dogs. + +Of all the Daleland, the country from the Black Water to Grammoch Pike +is the wildest. Above the tiny stone-built village of Wastrel-dale the +Muir Pike nods its massive head. Westward, the desolate Mere Marches, +from which the Sylvesters' great estate derives its name, reach away in +mile on mile of sheep infested, wind-swept moorland. On the far side of +the Marches is that twin dale where flows the gentle Silver Lea. And it +is there in the paddocks at the back of the Dalesman's Daughter, that, +in the late summer months, the famous sheep-dog Trials of the North are +held. There that the battle for the Dale Cup, the world-known Shepherds' +Trophy, is fought out. + +Past the little inn leads the turnpike road to the market-centre of the +district--Grammoch-town. At the bottom of the paddocks at the back of +the inn winds the Silver Lea. Just there a plank bridge crosses the +stream, and, beyond, the Murk Muir Pass crawls up the sheer side of the +Scaur on to the Mere Marches. + +At the head of the Pass, before it debouches on to those lonely +sheep-walks which divide the two dales, is that hollow, shuddering with +gloomy possibilities, aptly called the Devil's Bowl. In its centre the +Lone Tarn, weirdly suggestive pool, lifts its still face to the sky. It +was beside that black, frozen water, across whose cold surface the storm +was swirling in white snow-wraiths, that, many, many years ago (not in +this century), old Andrew Moore came upon the mother of the Gray Dogs of +Kenmuir. + +In the North, every one who has heard of the Muir Pike--and who has +not?--has heard of the Gray Dogs of Kenmuir, every one who has heard +of the Shepherd's Trophy--and who has not?--knows their fame. In that +country of good dogs and jealous masters the pride of place has long +been held unchallenged. Whatever line may claim to follow the Gray Dogs +always lead the van. And there is a saying in the land: "Faithfu' as the +Moores and their tykes." + + * * * * * + +On the top dresser to the right of the fireplace in the kitchen +of Kenmuir lies the family Bible. At the end you will find a loose +sheet--the pedigree of the Gray Dogs; at the beginning, pasted on the +inside, an almost similar sheet, long since yellow with age--the family +register of the Moores of Kenmuir. + +Running your eye down the loose leaf, once, twice, and again it will be +caught by a small red cross beneath a name, and under the cross the one +word "Cup." Lastly, opposite the name of Rex son of Rally, are two of +those proud, tell-tale marks. The cup referred to is the renowned Dale +Cup--Champion Challenge Dale Cup, open to the world. Had Rex won it but +once again the Shepherds' Trophy, which many men have lived to win, and +died still striving after, would have come to rest forever in the little +gray house below the Pike. + +It was not to be, however. Comparing the two sheets, you read beneath +the dog's name a date and a pathetic legend; and on the other sheet, +written in his son's boyish hand, beneath the name of Andrew Moore the +same date and the same legend. + +From that day James Moore, then but a boy, was master of Kenmuir. + +So past Grip and Rex and Rally, and a hundred others, until at the foot +of the page you come to that last name--Bob, son of Battle. + + * * * * * + +From the very first the young dog took to his work in a manner to +amaze even James Moore. For a while he watched his mother, Meg, at her +business, and with that seemed to have mastered the essentials of sheep +tactics. + +Rarely had such fiery elan been seen on the sides of the Pike; and with +it the young dog combined a strange sobriety, an admirable patience, +that justified, indeed, the epithet. "Owd." Silent he worked, and +resolute; and even in those days had that famous trick of coaxing the +sheep to do his wishes;--blending, in short, as Tammas put it, the +brains of a man with the way of a woman. + +Parson Leggy, who was reckoned the best judge of a sheep or sheep-dog +'twixt Tyne and Tweed, summed him up in the one word "Genius." And James +Moore himself, cautious man, was more than pleased. + +In the village, the Dalesmen, who took a personal pride in the Gray Dogs +of Kenmuir, began to nod sage heads when "oor" Bob was mentioned. Jim +Mason, the postman, whose word went as far with the villagers as Parson +Leggy's with the gentry, reckoned he'd never seen a young un as so took +his fancy. + +That winter it grew quite the recognized thing, when they had gathered +of a night round the fire in the Sylvester Arms, with Tammas in the +centre, old Jonas Maddox on his right, Rob Saunderson of the Holt on the +left, and the others radiating away toward the sides, for some one to +begin with: + +"Well, and what o' oor Bob, Mr. Thornton?" + +To which Tammas would always make reply: + +"Oh, yo' ask Sam'l there. He'll tell yo' better'n me, "--and would +forthwith plunge, himself, into a yarn. + +And the way in which, as the story proceeded, Tupper of Swinsthwaite +winked at Ned Hoppin of Fellsgarth, and Long Kirby, the smith, poked Jem +Burton, the publican, in the ribs, and Sexton Ross said, "Ma word, lad!" +spoke more eloquently than many words. + +One man only never joined in the chorus of admiration. Sitting always +alone in the background, little M'Adam would listen with an incredulous +grin on his sallow face. + +"Oh, ma certes! The devil's in the dog! It's no cannie ava!" he would +continually exclaim, as Tammas told his tale. + + * * * * * + +In the Daleland you rarely see a stranger's face. Wandering in the wild +country about the twin dales at the time of this story, you might have +met Parson Leggy, striding along with a couple of varmint terriers at +his heels, and young Cyril Gilbraith, whom he was teaching to tie flies +and fear God, beside him; or Jim Mason, postman by profession, poacher +by predilection, honest man and sportsman by nature, hurrying along with +the mail-bags on his shoulder, a rabbit in his pocket, and the faithful +Betsy a yard behind. Besides these you might have hit upon a quiet +shepherd and a wise-faced dog; Squire Sylvester, going his rounds upon +a sturdy cob; or, had you been lucky, sweet Lady Eleanour bent upon some +errand of mercy to one of the many tenants. + +It was while the Squire's lady was driving through the village on a +visit* to Tammas's slobbering grandson--it was shortly after Billy +Thornton's advent into the world--that little M'Adam, standing in the +door of the Sylvester Arms, with a twig in his mouth and a sneer fading +from his lips, made his ever-memorable remark: + +"Sall!" he said, speaking in low, earnest voice; "'tis a muckle wumman." + + Note:* It was this visit which figured in the Grammoch-town + _Argus_ (local and radical) under the heading of "Alleged + Wholesale Corruption by Tory Agents." And that is why, on + the following market day, Herbert Trotter, journalist, + erstwhile gentleman, and Secretary of the Dale Trials, found + himself trying to swim in the public horse-trough. + +"What? What be sayin', mon?" cried old Jonas, startled out of his usual +apathy. + +M'Adam turned sharply on the old man. + +"I said the wumman wears a muckle hat!" he snapped. + +Blotted out as it was, the observation still remains--a tribute of +honest admiration. Doubtless the Recording Angel did not pass it by. +That one statement anent the gentle lady of the manor is the only +personal remark ever credited to little M'Adam not born of malice and +all uncharitableness. And that is why it is ever memorable. + +The little Scotsman with the sardonic face had been the tenant of the +Grange these many years; yet he had never grown acclimatized to the +land of the Southron. With his shrivelled body and weakly legs he looked +among the sturdy, straight-limbed sons of the hill-country like some +brown, wrinkled leaf holding its place midst a galaxy of green. And as +he differed from them physically, so he did morally. + +He neither understood them nor attempted to. The North-country character +was an unsolved mystery to him, and that after ten years' study. +"One-half o' what ye say they doot, and they let ye see it; t'ither half +they disbelieve, and they tell ye so," he once said. And that explained +his attitude toward them, and consequently theirs toward him. + +He stood entirely alone; a son of Hagar, mocking. His sharp, ill tongue +was rarely still, and always bitter. There was hardly a man in the land, +from Langholm How to the market-cross in Grammoch-town, but had at +one time known its sting, endured it in silence--for they are slow of +speech, these men of the fells and meres--and was nursing his resentment +till a day should bring that chance which always comes. And when at +the Sylvester Arms, on one of those rare occasions when M'Adam was not +present, Tammas summed up the little man in that historic phrase of his, +"When he's drunk he's wi'lent, and when he bain't he's wicious," there +was an applause to gratify the blase heart of even Tammas Thornton. + +Yet it had not been till his wife's death that the little man had +allowed loose rein to his ill-nature. With her firmly gentle hand no +longer on the tiller of his life, it burst into fresh being. And alone +in the world with David, the whole venom of his vicious temperament was +ever directed against the boy's head. It was as though he saw in his +fair-haired son the unconscious cause of his ever-living sorrow. All +the more strange this, seeing that, during her life, the boy had been +to poor Flora M'Adam as her heart's core. And the lad was growing up the +very antithesis of his father. Big and hearty, with never an ache or ill +in the whole of his sturdy young body; of frank, open countenance; while +even his speech was slow and burring like any Dale-bred boy's. And +the fact of it all, and that the lad was palpably more Englishman than +Scot--ay, and gloried in it--exasperated the little man, a patriot +before everything, to blows. While, on top of it, David evinced an +amazing pertness fit to have tried a better man than Adam M'Adam. + +On the death of his wife, kindly Elizabeth Moore had, more than once, +offered such help to the lonely little man as a woman only can give in +a house that knows no mistress. On the last of these occasions, after +crossing the Stony Bottom, which divides the two farms, and toiling up +the hill to the Grange, she had met M'Adam in the door. + +"Yo' maun let me put yo' bit things straight for yo', mister," she had +said shyly; for she feared the little man. + +"Thank ye, Mrs. Moore," he had answered with the sour smile the Dalesmen +knew so well, "but ye maun think I'm a waefu' ." And there he had +stood, grinning sardonically, opposing his small bulk in the very centre +of the door. + +Mrs. Moore had turned down the hill, abashed and hurt at the reception +of her offer; and her husband, proud to a fault, had forbidden her +to repeat it. Nevertheless her motherly heart went out in a great +tenderness for the little orphan David. She knew well the desolateness +of his life; his father's aversion from him, and its inevitable +consequences. + +It became an institution for the boy to call every morning at Kenmuir, +and trot off to the village school with Maggie Moore. And soon the lad +came to look on Kenmuir as his true home, and James and Elizabeth Moore +as his real parents. His greatest happiness was to be away from the +Grange. And the ferret-eyed little man there noted the fact, bitterly +resented it, and vented his ill-humor accordingly. + +It was this, as he deemed it, uncalled-for trespassing on his authority +which was the chief cause of his animosity against James Moore. The +Master of Kenmuir it was at whom he was aiming when he remarked one +day at the Arms: "Masel', I aye prefaire the good man who does no go to +church, to the bad man who does. But then, as ye say, Mr. Burton, I'm +peculiar." + +The little man's treatment of David, exaggerated as it was by eager +credulity, became at length such a scandal to the Dale that Parson Leggy +determined to bring him to task on the matter. + +Now M'Adam was the parson's pet antipathy. The bluff old minister, with +his brusque manner and big heart, would have no truck with the man who +never went to church, was perpetually in liquor, and never spoke good of +his neighbors. Yet he entered upon the interview fully resolved not to +be betrayed into an unworthy expression of feeling; rather to appeal to +the little man's better nature. + +The conversation had not been in progress two minutes, however, before +he knew that, where he had meant to be calmly persuasive, he was fast +become hotly abusive. + +"You, Mr. Hornbut, wi' James Moore to help ye, look after the lad's +soul, I'll see to his body," the little man was saying. + +The parson's thick gray eyebrows lowered threateningly over his eyes. + +"You ought to be ashamed of yourself to talk like that. Which d'you +think the more important, soul or body? Oughtn't you, his father, to be +the very first to care for the boy's soul? If not, who should? Answer +me, sir." + +The little man stood smirking and sucking his eternal twig, entirely +unmoved by the other's heat. + +"Ye're right, Mr. Hornbut, as ye aye are. But my argiment is this: that +I get at his soul best through his leetle carcase." + +The honest parson brought down his stick with an angry thud. + +"M'Adam, you're a brute--a brute!" he shouted. At which outburst the +little man was seized with a spasm of silent merriment. + +"A fond dad first, a brute afterward, aiblins--he! he! Ah, Mr. Hornbut! +ye 'ford me vast diversion, ye do indeed, 'my loved, my honored, +much-respected friend." + +"If you paid as much heed to your boy's welfare as you do to the bad +poetry of that profligate ploughman--" + +An angry gleam shot into the other's eyes. "D'ye ken what blasphemy is, +Mr. Hornbut?" he asked, shouldering a pace forward. + +For the first time in the dispute the parson thought he was about to +score a point, and was calm accordingly. + +"I should do; I fancy I've a specimen of the breed before me now. And +d'you know what impertinence is?" + +"I should do; I fancy I've--I awd say it's what gentlemen aften are +unless their mammies whipped 'em as lads." + +For a moment the parson looked as if about to seize his opponent and +shake him. + +"M'Adam," he roared, "I'll not stand your insolences!" + +The little man turned, scuttled indoors, and came running back with a +chair. + +"Permit me!" he said blandly, holding it before him like a haircutter +for a customer. + +The parson turned away. At the gap in the hedge he paused. + +"I'll only say one thing more," he called slowly. "When your wife, whom +I think we all loved, lay dying in that room above you, she said to you +in my presence--" + +It was M'Adam's turn to be angry. He made a step forward with burning +face. + +"Aince and for a', Mr. Hornbut," he cried passionately, "onderstand I'll +not ha' you and yer likes lay yer tongues on ma wife's memory whenever +it suits ye. You can say what ye like aboot me--lies, sneers, snash--and +I'll say naethin'. I dinna ask ye to respect me; I think ye might do sae +muckle by her, puir lass. She never harmed ye. Gin ye canna let her bide +in peace where she lies doon yonder"--he waved in the direction of the +churchyard--"ye'll no come on ma land. Though she is dead she's mine." + +Standing in front of his house, with flushed face and big eyes, the +little man looked almost noble in his indignation. And the parson, +striding away down the hill, was uneasily conscious that with him was +not the victory. + + + + +Chapter III. RED WULL + + +THE winter came and went; the lambing season was over, and spring +already shyly kissing the land. And the back of the year's work broken, +and her master well started on a fresh season, M'Adam's old collie, +Cuttie Sark, lay down one evening and passed quietly away. + +The little black-and-tan lady, Parson Leggy used to say, had been +the only thing on earth M'Adam cared for. Certainly the two had been +wondrously devoted; and for many a market-day the Dalesmen missed the +shrill, chuckling cry which heralded the pair's approach: "Weel done, +Cuttie Sark!" + +The little man felt his loss acutely, and, according to his wont, vented +his ill-feeling on David and the Dalesmen. In return, Tammas, whose +forte lay in invective and alliteration, called him behind his back, +"A wenomous one!" and "A wiralent wiper!" to the applause of tinkling +pewters. + +A shepherd without his dog is like a ship without a rudder, and M'Adam +felt his loss practically as well as otherwise. Especially did he +experience this on a day when he had to take a batch of draft-ewes over +to Grammoch-town. To help him Jem Burton had lent the services of his +herring-gutted, herring-hearted, greyhound lurcher, Monkey. But before +they had well topped Braithwaite Brow, which leads from the village +on to the marches, M'Adam was standing in the track with a rock in his +hand, a smile on his face, and the tenderest blandishments in his voice +as he coaxed the dog to him. But Master Monkey knew too much for that. +However, after gamboling a while longer in the middle of the flock, a +boulder, better aimed than its predecessors, smote him on the hinder +parts and sent him back to the Sylvester Arms, with a sore tail and a +subdued heart. + +For the rest, M'Adam would never have won over the sheep-infested +marches alone with his convoy had it not been for the help of old +Saunderson and Shep, who caught him on the way and aided him. + +It was in a very wrathful mood that on his way home he turned into the +Dalesman's Daughter in Silverdale. + +The only occupants of the tap-room, as he entered, were Teddy Bolstock, +the publican, Jim Mason, with the faithful Betsy beneath his chair and +the post-bags flung into the corner, and one long-limbed, drover-like +man--a stranger. + +"And he coom up to Mr. Moore," Teddy was saying, "and says he, 'I'll gie +ye twal' pun for yon gray dog o' yourn.' 'Ah,' says Moore, 'yo' may gie +me twal' hunner'd and yet you'll not get ma Bob.'--Eh, Jim?" + +"And he did thot," corroborated Jim. "'Twal' hunner'd,' says he." + +"James Moore and his dog agin" snapped M'Adam. "There's ithers in the +warld for bye them twa." + +"Ay, but none like 'em," quoth loyal Jim. + +"Na, thanks be. Gin there were there'd be no room for Adam M'Adam in +this 'melancholy vale.'" + +There was silence a moment, and then--: + +"You're wantin' a tyke, bain't you, Mr. M'Adam?" Jim asked. + +The little man hopped round all in a hurry. + +"What!" he cried in well-affected eagerness, scanning the yellow mongrel +beneath the chair. "Betsy for sale! Guid life! Where's ma check-book?" +Whereat Jim, most easily snubbed of men, collapsed. + +M'Adam took off his dripping coat and crossed the room to hang it on a +chair-back. The stranger drover followed the meagre, shirt-clad figure +with shifty eyes; then he buried his face in his mug. + +M'Adam reached out a hand for the chair; and as he did so, a bomb in +yellow leapt out from beneath it, and, growling horribly, attacked his +ankles. + +"Curse ye!" cried M'Adam, starting back. + +"Ye devil, let me alone!" Then turning fiercely on the drover, "Yours, +mister?" he asked. The man nodded. "Then call him aff, can't ye? D--n +ye!" At which Teddy Bolstock withdrew, sniggering; and Jim Mason slung +the post-bags on to his shoulder and plunged out into the rain, the +faithful Betsy following, disconsolate. + +The cause of the squall, having beaten off the attacking force, had +withdrawn again beneath its chair. M'Adam stooped down, still cursing, +his wet coat on his arm, and beheld a tiny yellow puppy, crouching +defiant in the dark, and glaring out with fiery light eyes. Seeing +itself remarked, it bared its little teeth, raised its little bristles, +and growled a hideous menace. + +A sense of humor is many a man's salvation, and was M'Adam's one +redeeming feature. The laughableness of the thing--this ferocious atomy +defying him--struck home to the little man. Delighted at such a display +of vice in so tender a plant, he fell to chuckling. + +"Ye leetle devil!" he laughed. "He! he! ye leetle devil!" and flipped +together finger and thumb in vain endeavor to coax the puppy to him. + +But it growled, and glared more terribly. + +"Stop it, ye little snake, or I'll flatten you!" cried the big drover, +and shuffled his feet threateningly. Whereat the puppy, gurgling like +hot water in a kettle, made a feint as though to advance and wipe them +out, these two bad men. + +M'Adam laughed again, and smote his leg. + +"Keep a ceevil tongue and yer distance," says he, "or I'll e'en ha' to +mak' ye. Though he is but as big as a man's thumb, a dog's a dog for +a' that--he! he! the leetle devil." And he fell to flipping finger and +thumb afresh. + +"Ye're maybe wantin' a dog?" inquired the stranger. "Yer friend said as +much." + +"Ma friend lied; it's his way," M'Adam replied. + +"I'm willin' to part wi' him," the other pursued. + +The little man yawned. "Weel, I'll tak' him to oblige ye," he said +indifferently. + +The drover rose to his feet. + +"It's givin' 'im ye, fair givin' im ye, mind! But I'll do it!"--he +smacked a great fist into a hollow palm. "Ye may have the dog for a +pun'--I'll only ask _you_ a pun'," and he walked away to the window. + +M'Adam drew back, the better to scan his would-be benefactor; his lower +jaw dropped, and he eyed the stranger with a drolly sarcastic air. + +"A poun', man! A pouxi'--for yon noble dorg!" he pointed a crooked +forefinger at the little creature, whose scowling mask peered from +beneath the chair. "Man, I couldna do it. Na, na; ma conscience wadna +permit me. 'Twad be fair robbin' ye. Ah, ye Englishmen!" he spoke half +to himself, and sadly, as if deploring the unhappy accident of his +nationality; "it's yer grand, open-hairted generosity that grips a +puir Scotsman by the throat. A poun'! and for yon!" He wagged his head +mournfully, cocking it sideways the better to scan his subject. + +"Take him or leave him," ordered the drover truculently, still gazing +out of the window. + +"Wi' yer permission I'll leave him," M'Adam answered meekly. + +"I'm short o' the ready," the big man pursued, "or I wouldna part with +him. Could I bide me time there's many'd be glad to give me a tenner +for one o' that bree--" he caught himself up hastily--"for a dog sic as +that." + +"And yet ye offer him me for a poun'! Noble indeed!" + +Nevertheless the little man had pricked his ears at the other's slip +and quick correction. Again he approached the puppy, dangling his coat +before him to protect his ankles; and again that wee wild beast sprang +out, seized the coat in its small jaw, and worried it savagely. + +M'Adam stooped quickly and picked up his tiny assailant; and the +puppy, suspended by its neck, gurgled and slobbered; then, wriggling +desperately round, made its teeth meet in its adversary's shirt. At +which M'Adam shook it gently and laughed. Then he set to examining it. + +Apparently some six weeks old; a tawny coat, fiery eyes, a square head +with small, cropped ears, and a comparatively immense jaw; the whole +giving promise of great strength, if little beauty. And this effect +was enhanced by the manner of its docking. For the miserable relic of +a tail, yet raw, looked little more than a red button adhering to its +wearer's stern. + +M'Adam's inspection was as minute as it was apparently absorbing; he +omitted nothing from the square muzzle to the lozenge-like scut. And +every now and then he threw a quick glance at the man at the window, who +was watching the careful scrutiny a thought uneasily. + +"Ye've cut him short," he said at length, swinging round on the drover. + +"Ay; strengthens their backs," the big man answered with averted gaze. + +M'Adam's chin went up in the air; his mouth partly opened and his +eyelids partly closed as he eyed his informant. + +"Oh, ay," he said. + +"Gie him back to me," ordered the drover surlily. He took the puppy +and set it on the floor; whereupon it immediately resumed its former +fortified position. "Ye're no buyer; I knoo that all along by that face +on ye," he said in insulting tones. + +"Ye wad ha' bought him yerseif', nae doot?" M'Adam inquired blandly. + +"In course; if you says so." + +"Or airblins ye bred him?" + +"'Appen I did." + +"Ye'll no be from these parts?" + +"Will I no?" answered the other. + +A smile of genuine pleasure stole over M'Adam's face. He laid his hand +on the other's arm. + +"Man," he said gently, "ye mind me o' hame." Then almost in the same +breath: "Ye said ye found him?" + +It was the stranger's turn to laugh. + +"Ha! ha! Ye teekle me, little mon. Found 'im? Nay; I was give 'im by a +friend. But there's nowt amiss wi' his breedin', ye may believe me." + +The great fellow advanced to the chair under which the puppy lay. It +leapt out like a lion, and fastened on his huge boot. + +"A rare bred un, look 'ee! a rare game un. Ma word, he's a big-hearted +un! Look at the back on him; see the jaws to him; mark the pluck of +him!" He shook his booted foot fiercely, tossing his leg to and fro like +a tree in a wind. But the little creature, now raised ceilingward, now +dashed to the ground, held on with incomparable doggedness, till its +small jaw was all bloody and muzzle wrinkled with the effort. + +"Ay, ay, that'll do," M'Adam interposed, irritably. + +The drover ceased his efforts. + +"Now, I'll mak' ye a last offer." He thrust his head down to a level +with the other's, shooting out his neck. "It's throwin' him at ye, mind. +'Tain't buyin' him ye'll be--don't go for to deceive yourself. Ye may +have him for fifteen shillin'. Why do I do it, ye ask? Why, 'cos I think +ye'll be kind to him," as the puppy retreated to its chair, leaving a +spotted track of red along its route. + +"Ay, ye wadna be happy gin ye thocht he'd no a comfortable hame, +conseederate man?" M'Adam answered, eyeing the dark track on the floor. +Then he put on his coat. + +"Na, na, he's no for me. Weel, I'll no detain ye. Good-nicht to ye, +mister!" and he made for the door. + +"A gran' worker he'll be," called the drover after him. + +"Ay; muckle wark he'll mak' amang the sheep wi' sic a jaw and sic a +temper. Weel, I maun be steppin'. Good-nicht to ye." + +"Ye'll niver have sich anither chanst." + +"Nor niver wush to. Na, na; he'll never mak' a sheep-dog"; and the +little man turned up the collar of his coat. + +"Will he not?" cried the other scornfully. "There niver yet was one o' +that line--" he stopped abruptly. + +The little man spun round. + +"Iss?" he said, as innocent as any child; "ye were sayin'?" + +The other turned to the window and watched the rain falling +monotonously. + +"Ye'll be wantin' wet," he said adroitly. + +"Ay, we could do wi' a drappin'. And he'll never mak' a sheep-dog." +He shoved his cap down on his head. "Weel, good-nicht to ye!" and he +stepped out into the rain. + + * * * * * + +It was long after dark when the bargain was finally struck. + +Adam M'Adam's Red Wull became that little man's property for the +following realizable assets: ninepence in cash--three coppers and a +doubtful sixpence; a plug of suspicious tobacco in a well-worn pouch; +and an old watch. + +"It's clean givin' 'im ye," said the stranger bitterly, at the end of +the deal. + +"It's mair the charity than aught else mak's me sae leeberal," the other +answered gently. "I wad not like to see ye pinched." + +"Thank ye kindly," the big man replied with some acerbity, and plunged +out into the darkness and rain. Nor was that long-limbed drover-man ever +again seen in the countryside. And the puppy's previous history--whether +he was honestly come by or no, whether he was, indeed, of the famous Red +McCulloch* strain, ever remained a mystery in the Daleland. + + *N. B.--You may know a Red McCulloch anywhere by the ring of + white upon his tail some two inches from the root. + + + + +Chapter IV. FIRST BLOOD + + +AFTER that first encounter in the Dalesman's Daughter, Red Wull, for +so M'Adam called him, resigned himself complacently to his lot; +recognizing, perhaps, his destiny. + +Thenceforward the sour little man and the vicious puppy grew, as it +were, together. The two were never apart. Where M'Adam was, there was +sure to be his tiny attendant, bristling defiance as he kept ludicrous +guard over his master. + +The little man and his dog were inseparable. M'Adam never left him even +at the Grange. + +"I couldna trust ma Wullie at hame alone wi' the dear lad," was his +explanation. "I ken weel I'd come back to find a wee corpse on the +floor, and David singin': + + 'My heart is sair, I daur na tell, + My heart is sair for somebody.' + +Ay, and he'd be sair elsewhere by the time I'd done wi' him--he! he!" + +The sneer at David's expense was as characteristic as it was unjust. +For though the puppy and the boy were already sworn enemies, yet the +lad would have scorned to harm so small a foe. And many a tale did David +tell at Kenmuir of Red Wull's viciousness, of his hatred of him (David), +and his devotion to his master; how, whether immersed in the pig-bucket +or chasing the fleeting rabbit, he would desist at once, and bundle, +panting, up at his master's call; how he routed the tomcat and drove him +from the kitchen; and how he clambered on to David's bed and pinned him +murderously by the nose. + +Of late the relations between M'Adam and James Moore had been unusually +strained. Though they were neighbors, communications between the two +were of the rarest; and it was for the first time for many a long +day that, on an afternoon shortly after Red Wull had come into his +possession, M'Adam entered the yard of Kenmuir, bent on girding at the +master for an alleged trespass at the Stony Bottom. + +"Wi' yer permission, Mr. Moore," said the little man, "I'll wheestle ma +dog," and, turning, he whistled a shrill, peculiar note like the cry of +a disturbed peewit. + +Straightway there came scurrying desperately up, ears back, head down, +tongue out, as if the world depended on his speed, a little tawny beetle +of a thing, who placed his forepaws against his master's ankles +and looked up into his face; then, catching sight of the strangers, +hurriedly he took up his position between them and M'Adam, assuming his +natural attitude of grisly defiance. Such a laughable spectacle he made, +that martial mite, standing at bay with bristles up and teeth bared, +that even James Moore smiled. + +"Ma word! Ha' yo' brought his muzzle, man?" cried old Tammas, the +humorist; and, turning, climbed all in a heat on to an upturned bucket +that stood by. Whereat the puppy, emboldened by his foe's retreat, +advanced savagely to the attack, buzzing round the slippery pail like a +wasp on a windowpane, in a vain attempt to reach the old man. + +Tammas stood on the top, hitching his trousers and looking down on his +assailant, the picture of mortal fear. + +"'Elp! Oh, 'elp!" he bawled. "Send for the sogers! Fetch the p'lice! +For lawk-amussy's sake call him off, man!" Even Sam'l Todd, watching +the scene from the cart-shed, was tickled and burst into a loud guffaw, +heartily backed by 'Enry and oor Job. While M'Adam remarked: "Ye're +fitter for a stage than a stable-bucket, Mr. Thornton." + +"How didst come by him?" asked Tammas, nodding at the puppy. + +"Found him," the little man replied, sucking his twig. "Found him in +ma stockin' on ma birthday. A present from ma leetle David for his auld +dad, I doot." + +"So do I," said Tammas, and was seized with sudden spasm of seemingly +causeless merriment. For looking up as M'Adam was speaking, he had +caught a glimpse of a boy's fair head, peering cautiously round the +cow-shed, and, behind, the flutter of short petticoats. They disappeared +as silently as they had come; and two small figures, just returned from +school, glided away and sought shelter in the friendly darkness of a +coal-hole. + +"Coom awa', Maggie, coom awa'! 'Tis th' owd un, 'isself," whispered a +disrespectful voice. + +M'Adam looked round suspiciously. + +"What's that?" he asked sharply. + +At the moment, however, Mrs. Moore put her head out of the kitchen +window. + +"Coom thy ways in, Mister M'Adam, and tak' a soop o' tea," she called +hospitably. + +"Thank ye kindly, Mrs. Moore, I will," he answered, politely for him. +And this one good thing must be allowed of Adam M'Adam: that, if there +was only one woman of whom he was ever known to speak well, there was +also only one, in the whole course of his life, against whom he ever +insinuated evil--and that was years afterward, when men said his brain +was sapped. Flouts and jeers he had for every man, but a woman, good or +bad, was sacred to him. For the sex that had given him his mother and +his wife he had that sentiment of tender reverence which, if a man still +preserve, he cannot be altogether bad. As he turned into the house he +looked back at Red Wull. + +"Ay, we may leave him," he said. "That is, gin ye're no afraid, Mr. +Thornton?" + +Of what happened while the men were within doors, it is enough to tell +two things. First, that Owd Bob was no bully. Second, this: In the code +of sheep-dog honor there is written a word in stark black letters; and +opposite it another word, writ large in the color of blood. The first +is "Sheep-murder"; the second, "Death." It is the one crime only to +be wiped away in blood; and to accuse of the crime is to offer the one +unpardonable insult. Every sheep-dog knows it, and every shepherd. + +That afternoon, as the men still talked, the quiet echoes of the +farm rung with a furious animal cry, twice repeated: "Shot for +sheep-murder"--"Shot for sheep-murder"; followed by a hollow stillness. + + * * * * * + +The two men finished their colloquy. The matter was concluded +peacefully, mainly owing to the pacifying influence of Mrs. Moore. +Together the three went out into the yard; Mrs. Moore seizing the +opportunity to shyly speak on David's behalf. + +"He's such a good little lad, I do think," she was saying. + +"Ye should ken, Mrs. Moore," the little man answered, a thought +bitterly; "ye see enough of him." + +"Yo' mun be main proud of un, mester," the woman continued, heedless of +the sneer: "an' 'im growin' such a gradely lad." + +M'Adam shrugged his shoulders. + +"I barely ken the lad," he said. "By sight I know him, of course, but +barely to speak to. He's but seldom at hame." + +"An' hoo proud his mother'd be if she could see him," the woman +continued, well aware of his one tender place. "Eh, but she was fond o' +him, so she was." + +An angry flush stole over the little man's face. Well he understood the +implied rebuke; and it hurt him like a knife. + +"Ay, ay, Mrs. Moore," he began. Then breaking off, and looking about +him--"Where's ma Wullie?" he cried excitedly. "James Moore!" whipping +round on the Master, "ma Wullie's gone--gone, I say!" + +Elizabeth Moore turned away indignantly. "I do declar' he tak's more +fash after yon little yaller beastie than iver he does after his own +flesh," she muttered. + +"Wullie, ma we doggie! Wullie, where are ye? James Moore, he's gone--ma +Wullie's gone!" cried the little man, running about the yard, searching +everywhere. + +"Cannot 'a' gotten far," said the Master, reassuringly, looking about +him. + +"Niver no tellin'," said Sam'l, appearing on the scene, pig-bucket +in hand. "I misdoot yo'll iver see your dog agin, mister." He turned +sorrowfully to M'Adam. + +That little man, all dishevelled, and with the perspiration standing on +his face, came hurrying out of the cow-shed and danced up to the Master. + +"It's robbed I am--robbed, I tell ye!" he cried recklessly. "Ma wee +Wull's bin stolen while I was ben your hoose, James Moore!" + +"Yo' munna say that, ma mon. No robbin' at Kenmuir," the Master answered +sternly. + +"Then where is he? It's for you to say." + +"I've ma own idee, I 'aye," Sam'l announced opportunely, pig-bucket +uplifted. + +M'Adam turned on him. + +"What, man? What is it?" + +"I misdoot yo'll iver see your dog agin, mister," Sam'l repeated, as if +he was supplying the key to the mystery. + +"Noo, Sam'l, if yo' know owt tell it," ordered his master. + +Sam'l grunted sulkily. + +"Wheer's oor Bob, then?" he asked. + +At that M'Adam turned on the Master. + +"'Tis that, nae doot. It's yer gray dog, James Moore, yer ---- dog. I +might ha' kent it,"--and he loosed off a volley of foul words. + +"Sweerin' will no find him," said the Master coldly. "Noo, Sam'l." + +The big man shifted his feet, and looked mournfully at M'Adam. + +"'Twas 'appen 'aif an hour agone, when I sees oor Bob goin' oot o' +yard wi' little yaller tyke in his mouth. In a minnit I looks agin--and +theer! little yaller 'un was gone, and oor Bob a-sittin' a-lickin' +his chops. Gone foriver, I do reck'n. Ah, yo' may well take on, Tammas +Thornton!" For the old man was rolling about the yard, bent double with +merriment. + +M'Adam turned on the Master with the resignation of despair. + +"Man, Moore," he cried piteously, "it's yer gray dog has murdered ma wee +Wull! Ye have it from yer ain man." + +"Nonsense," said the Master encouragingly. "'Tis but yon girt oof." + +Sam'l tossed his head and snorted. + +"Coom, then, and i'll show yo'," he said, and led the way out of the +yard. And there below them on the to the stream, sitting like +Justice at the Courts of Law, was Owd Bob. + +Straightway Sam'l whose humor was something of the calibre of old +Ross's, the sexton, burst into horse-merriment. "Why's he sittin' so +still, think 'ee? Ho! Ho! See un lickin' his chops--ha! ha!"--and he +roared afresh. While from afar you could hear the distant rumbling of +'Enry and oor Job. + +At the sight, M'Adam burst into a storm of passionate invective, and +would have rushed on the dog had not James Moore forcibly restrained +him. + +"Bob, lad," called the Master, "coom here!" + +But even as he spoke, the gray dog cocked his ears, listened a moment, +and then shot down the . 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 below them, a little angry, smutty-faced figure was +crawling out of a rabbit-burrow. + +"Ye murderin' devil, wad ye duar touch ma Wullie?" yelled M'Adam, and, +breaking away, pursued hotly down the hill; for the gray dog had picked +up the puppy, like a lancer a tent-peg, and was sweeping on, his captive +in his mouth, toward the stream. + +Behind, hurried James Moore and Sam'l, wondering what the issue of the +comedy would be. After them toddled old Tammas, chuckling. While over +the yard-wall was now a little cluster of heads: 'Enry, oor Job, Maggie +and David, and Vi'let Thornton, the dairy-maid. + +Straight on to the plank-bridge galloped Owd Bob. In the middle he +halted, leant over, and dropped his prisoner; who fell with a cool plop +into the running water beneath. + +Another moment and M'Adam had reached the bank of the stream. In he +plunged, splashing and cursing, and seized the struggling puppy; then +waded back, the waters surging about his waist, and Red Wull, limp as +a wet rag, in his hand. The little man's hair was dripping, for his cap +was gone; his clothes clung to him, exposing the miserableness of his +figure; and his eyes blazed like hot ashes in his wet face. + +He sprang on to the bank, and, beside himself with passion, rushed at +Owd Bob. + +"Curse ye for a ----" + +"Stan' back, or yo'll have him at your throat!" shouted the Master, +thundering up. "Stan' back, I say, yo' fule!" And, as the little man +still came madly on, he reached forth his hand and hurled him back; at +the same moment, bending, he buried the other hand deep in Owd Bob's +shaggy neck. It was but just in time; for if ever the fierce desire of +battle gleamed in gray eyes, it did in the young dog's as M'Adam came +down on him. + +The little man staggered, tottered, and fell heavily. At the shock, the +blood gushed from his nose, and, mixing with the water on his face, ran +down in vague red streams, dripping off his chin; while Red Wull, jerked +from his grasp, was thrown afar, and lay motionless. + +"Curse ye!" M'Adam screamed, his face dead-white save for the running +red about his jaw. "Curse ye for a cowardly Englishman!" and, struggling +to his feet, he made at the Master. + +But Sam'l interposed his great bulk between the two. + +"Easy, little mon," he said leisurely, regarding the small fury before +him with mournful interest. "Eh, but thee do be a little spit-cat, +surely!" + +James Moore stood, breathing deep, his hand still buried in Owd Bob's +coat. + +"If yo'd touched him," he explained, "I couldna ha' stopped him. He'd +ha' mauled yo' afore iver I could ha' had him off. They're bad to hold, +the Gray Dogs, when they're roosed." + +"Ay, ma word, that they are!" corroborated Tammas, speaking from the +experience of sixty years. "Once on, yo' canna get 'em off." + +The little man turned away. + +"Ye're all agin me," he said, and his voice shook. A pitiful figure he +made, standing there with the water dripping from him. A red stream was +running slowly from his chin; his head was bare, and face working. + +James Moore stood eyeing him with some pity and some contempt. Behind +was Tammas, enjoying the scene. While Sam'l regarded them all with an +impassive melancholy. + +M'Adam turned and bent over Red Wull, who still lay like a dead thing. +As his master handled him, the button-tail quivered feebly; he opened +his eyes, looked about him, snarled faintly, and glared with devilish +hate at the gray dog and the group with him. + +The little man picked him up, stroking him tenderly. Then he turned away +and on to the bridge. Half-way across he stopped. It rattled feverishly +beneath him, for he still trembled like a palsied man. + +"Man, Moore!" he called, striving to quell the agitation in his +voice--"I wad shoot yon dog." + +Across the bridge he turned again. "Man, Moore!" he called and paused. +"Ye'll not forget this day." And with that the blood flared up a dull +crimson into his white face. + + + + +PART II THE LITTLE MAN + + + + +Chapter V. A MAN'S SON + + +THE storm, long threatened, having once burst, M'Adam allowed loose rein +to his bitter animosity against James Moore. + +The two often met. For the little man frequently returned home from the +village by the footpath across Kenmuir. It was out of his way, but +he preferred it in order to annoy his enemy and keep a watch upon his +doings. + +He haunted Kenmuir like its evil genius. His sallow face was perpetually +turning up at inopportune moments. When Kenmuir Queen, the prize +short-horn heifer, calved unexpectedly and unattended in the dip by the +lane, Tammas and the Master, summoned hurriedly by Owd Bob, came running +up to find the little man leaning against the stile, and shaking with +silent merriment. Again, poor old Staggy, daring still in his dotage, +took a fall while scrambling on the steep banks of the Stony Bottom. +There he lay for hours, unnoticed and kicking, until James Moore and +Owd Bob came upon him at length, nearly exhausted. But M'Adam was before +them. Standing on the far bank with Red Wull by his side, he called +across the gulf with apparent concern: "He's bin so sin' yesternight." +Often James Moore, with all his great strength of character, could +barely control himself. + +There were two attempts to patch up the feud. Jim Mason, who went about +the world seeking to do good, tried in his shy way to set things right. +But M'Adam and his Red Wull between them soon shut him and Betsy up. + +"You mind yer letters and yer wires, Mr. Poacher-Postman. Ay, I saw 'em +baith: th' ain doon by the Haughs, t'ither in the Bottom. And there's +Wullie, the humorsome chiel, havin' a rare game wi' Betsy." There, +indeed, lay the faithful Betsy, suppliant on her back, paws up, throat +exposed, while Red Wull, now a great-grown puppy, stood over her, his +habitually evil expression intensified into a fiendish grin, as with +wrinkled muzzle and savage wheeze he waited for a movement as a pretext +to pin: "Wullie, let the leddy be--ye've had yer dinner." + +Parson Leggy was the other would-be mediator; for he hated to see the +two principal parishioners of his tiny cure at enmity. First he tackled +James Moore on the subject; but that laconic person cut him short with, +"I've nowt agin the little mon," and would say no more. And, indeed, the +quarrel was none of his making. + +Of the parson's interview with M'Adam, it is enough to say here that, +in the end, the angry old minister would of a surety have assaulted his +mocking adversary had not Cyril Gilbraith forcibly withheld him. + +And after that the vendetta must take its course unchecked. + +David was now the only link between the two farms. Despite his father's +angry commands, the boy clung to his intimacy with the Moores with a +doggedness that no thrashing could overcome. Not a minute of the day +when out of school, holidays and Sundays included, but was passed at +Kenmuir. It was not till late at night that he would sneak back to the +Grange, and creep quietly up to his tiny bare room in the roof--not +supperless, indeed, motherly Mrs. Moore had seen to that. And there he +would lie awake and listen with a fierce contempt as his father, hours +later, lurched into the kitchen below, lilting liquorishly: + + "We are na fou, we're nae that fou, + But just a drappie in our e'e; + The cock may craw, the day may daw', + And ay we'll taste the barley bree!" + +And in the morning the boy would slip quietly out of the house while his +father still slept; only Red Wull would thrust out his savage head as +the lad passed, and snarl hungrily. + +Sometimes father and son would go thus for weeks without sight of one +another. And that was David's aim--to escape attention. It was only his +cunning at this game of evasion that saved him a thrashing. + +The little man seemed devoid of all natural affection for his son. He +lavished the whole fondness of which his small nature appeared capable +on the Tailless Tyke, for so the Dalesmen called Red Wull. And the dog +he treated with a careful tenderness that made David smile bitterly. + +The little man and his dog were as alike morally as physically they were +contrasted. Each owed a grudge against the world and was determined to +pay it. Each was an Ishmael among his kind. + +You saw them thus, standing apart, leper-like, in the turmoil of life; +and it came quite as a revelation to happen upon them in some quiet spot +of nights, playing together, each wrapped in the game, innocent, tender, +forgetful of the hostile world. + +The two were never separated except only when M'Adam came home by the +path across Kenmuir. After that first misadventure he never allowed his +friend to accompany him on the journey through the enemy's country; for +well he knew that sheep-dogs have long memories. + +To the stile in the lane, then, Red Wull would follow him. There he +would stand, his great head poked through the bars, watching his master +out of sight; and then would turn and trot, self-reliant and defiant, +sturdy and surly, down the very centre of the road through the +village--no playing, no enticing away, and woe to that man or dog who +tried to stay him in his course! And so on, past Mother Ross's shop, +past the Sylvester Arms, to the right by Kirby's smithy, over the +Wastrel by the Haughs, to await his master at the edge of the Stony +Bottom. + +The little man, when thus crossing Kenmuir, often met Owd Bob, who had +the free run of the farm. On these occasions he passed discreetly by; +for, though he was no coward, yet it is bad, single-handed, to attack +a Gray Dog of Kenmuir; while the dog trotted soberly on his way, only +a steely glint in the big gray eyes betraying his knowledge of the +presence of his foe. As surely, however, as the little man, in his +desire to spy out the nakedness of the land, strayed off the public +path, so surely a gray figure, seeming to spring from out the blue, +would come fiercely, silently driving down on him; and he would turn and +run for his life, amid the uproarious jeers of any of the farm-hands who +were witness to the encounter. + +On these occasions David vied with Tammas in facetiousness at his +father's expense. + +"Good on yo', little un!" he roared from behind a wall, on one such +occurrence. + +"Bain't he a runner, neither?" yelled Tammas, not to be outdone. + +"See un skip it--ho! ho! Look to his knees a-wamblin'! from the +undutiful son in ecstasy. An' I'd knees like yon, I'd wear petticoats." +As he spoke, a swinging box on the ear nearly knocked the young +reprobate down. + +"D'yo' think God gave you a dad for you to jeer at? Y'ought to be +ashamed o' yo'self. Serve yo' right if he does thrash yo' when yo' get +home." And David, turning round, found James Moore close behind him, his +heavy eyebrows lowering over his eyes. + +Luckily, M'Adam had not distinguished his son's voice among the others. +But David feared he had; for on the following morning the little man +said to him: + +"David, ye'll come hame immediately after school to-day." + +"Will I?" said David pertly. + +''Ye will. + +"Why?" + +"Because I tell ye to, ma lad"; and that was all the reason he would +give. Had he told the simple fact that he wanted help to drench a +"husking" ewe, things might have gone differently. As it was, David +turned away defiantly down the hill. + +The afternoon wore on. Schooltime was long over; still there was no +David. + +The little man waited at the door of the Grange, fuming, hopping from +one leg to the other, talking to Red Wull, who lay at his feet, his head +on his paws, like a tiger waiting for his prey. + +At length he could restrain himself no longer; and started running down +the hill, his heart burning with indignation. + +"Wait till we lay hands on ye, ma lad," he muttered as he ran. "We'll +warm ye, we'll teach ye." + +At the edge of the Stony Bottom he, as always, left Red Wull. Crossing +it himself, and rounding Langholm How, he espied James Moore, David, and +Owd Bob walking away from him and in the direction of Kenmuir. The gray +dog and David were playing together, wrestling, racing, and rolling. The +boy had never a thought for his father. + +The little man ran up behind them, unseen and unheard, his feet softly +pattering on the grass. His hand had fallen on David's shoulder before +the boy had guessed his approach. + +"Did I bid ye come hame after school, David?" he asked, concealing his +heat beneath a suspicious suavity. + +"Maybe. Did I say I would come?" + +The pertness of tone and words, alike, fanned his father's resentment +into a blaze. In a burst of passion he lunged forward at the boy with +his stick. But as he smote, a gray whirlwind struck him fair on the +chest, and he fell like a snapped stake, and lay, half stunned, with a +dark muzzle an inch from his throat. + +"Git back, Bob!" shouted James Moore, hurrying up. "Git back, I tell +yo'!" He bent over the prostrate figure, propping it up anxiously. + +"Are yo' hurt, M'Adam? Eh, but I am sorry. He thought yo' were going for +to strike the lad." + +David had now run up, and he, too, bent over his father with a very +scared face. + +"Are yo' hurt, feyther?" he asked, his voice trembling. + +The little man rose unsteadily to his feet and shook off his supporters. +His face was twitching, and he stood, all dust-begrimed, looking at his +son. + +"Ye're content, aiblins, noo ye've seen yer father's gray head bowed in +the dust," he said. + +"'Twas an accident," pleaded James Moore. "But I _am_ sorry. He thought +yo' were goin' to beat the lad." + +"So I was--so I will." + +"If ony's beat it should be ma Bob here tho' he nob'but thought he was +doin' right. An' yo' were aff the path." + +The little man looked at his enemy, a sneer on his face. + +"Ye canna thrash him for doin' what ye bid him. Set yer dog on me, if ye +will, but dinna beat him when he does yer biddin'!" + +"I did not set him on yo', as you know," the Master replied warmly. + +M'Adam shrugged his shoulders. + +"I'll no argie wi' ye, James Moore," he said. "I'll leave you and +what ye call yer conscience to settle that. My business is not wi' +you.--David!" turning to his son. + +A stranger might well have mistaken the identity of the boy's father. +For he stood now, holding the Master's arm; while a few paces above +them was the little man, pale but determined, the expression on his face +betraying his consciousness of the irony of the situation. + +"Will ye come hame wi' me and have it noo, or stop wi' him and wait till +ye get it?" he asked the boy. + +"M'Adam, I'd like yo' to--" + +"None o' that, James Moore.--David, what d'ye say?" + +David looked up into his protector's face. + +"Yo'd best go wi' your feyther, lad," said the Master at last, thickly. +The boy hesitated, and clung tighter to the shielding arm; then he +walked slowly over to his father. + +A bitter smile spread over the little man's face as he marked this new +test of the boy's obedience to the other. + +"To obey his frien' he foregoes the pleasure o' disobeyin' his father," +he muttered. "Noble!" Then he turned homeward, and the boy followed in +his footsteps. + +James Moore and the gray dog stood looking after them. + +"I know yo'll not pay off yer spite agin me on the lad's head, M'Adam," +he called, almost appealingly. + +"I'll do ma duty, thank ye, James Moore, wi'oot respect o' persons," the +little man cried back, never turning. + +Father and son walked away, one behind the other, like a man and his +dog, and there was no word said between them. Across the Stony Bottom, +Red Wull, scowling with bared teeth at David, joined them. Together the +three went up the bill to the Grange. + +In the kitchen M'Adam turned. + +"Noo, I'm gaein' to gie ye the gran'est thrashin' ye iver dreamed of. +Tak' aff yer coat!" + +The boy obeyed, and stood up in his thin shirt, his face white and set +as a statue's. Red Wull seated himself on his haunches close by, his +ears pricked, licking his lips, all attention. + +The little man suppled the great ash-plant in his hands and raised it. +But the expression on the boy's face arrested his arm. + +"Say ye're sorry and I'll let yer aff easy." + +"I'll not." + +"One mair chance--yer last! Say yer 'shamed o' yerself'!" + +"I'm not." + +The little man brandished his cruel, white weapon, and Red Wull shifted +a little to obtain a better view. + +"Git on wi' it," ordered David angrily. + +The little man raised the stick again and--threw it into the farthest +corner of the room. + +It fell with a rattle on the floor, and M'Adam turned away. + +"Ye're the pitifulest son iver a man had," he cried brokenly. "Gin +a man's son dinna haud to him, wha can he expect to?--no one. Ye're +ondootiful, ye're disrespectfu', ye're maist ilka thing ye shouldna be; +there's but ae thing I thocht ye were not--a coward. And as to that, +ye've no the pluck to say ye're sorry when, God knows, ye might be. I +canna thrash ye this day. But ye shall gae nae mair to school. I send +ye there to learn. Ye'll not learn--ye've learnt naethin' except +disobedience to me--ye shall stop at hame and work." + +His father's rare emotion, his broken voice and working face, moved +David as all the stripes and jeers had failed to do. His conscience +smote him. For the first time in his life it dimly dawned on him that, +perhaps, his father, too, had some ground for complaint; that, perhaps, +he was not a good son. + +He half turned. + +"Feyther--" + +"Git oot o' ma sight!" M'Adam cried. + +And the boy turned and went. + + + + +Chapter VI. A LICKING OR A LIE + + +THENCEFORWARD David buckled down to work at home, and in one point only +father and son resembled--industry. A drunkard M'Adam was, but a drone, +no. + +The boy worked at the Grange with tireless, indomitable energy; yet he +could never satisfy his father. + +The little man would stand, a sneer on his face and his thin lips +contemptuously curled, and flout the lad's brave labors. + +"Is he no a gran' worker, Wullie? 'Tis a pleasure to watch him, his +hands in his pockets, his eyes turned heavenward!" as the boy snatched +a hard-earned moment's rest. "You and I, Wullie, we'll brak' oorsel's +slavin' for him while he looks on and laffs." + +And so on, the whole day through, week in, week out; till he sickened +with weariness of it all. + +In his darkest hours David thought sometimes to run away. He was +miserably alone on the cold bosom of the world. The very fact that he +was the son of his father isolated him in the Daleland. Naturally of a +reserved disposition, he had no single friend outside Kenmuir. And it +was only the thought of his friends there that withheld him. He could +not bring himself to part from them; they were all he had in the world. + +So he worked on at the Grange, miserably, doggedly, taking blows and +abuse alike in burning silence. But every evening, when work was ended, +he stepped off to his other home beyond the Stony Bottom. And on Sundays +and holidays--for of these latter he took, unasking, what he knew to be +his due--all day long, from cock-crowing to the going down of the sun, +he would pass at Kenmuir. In this one matter the boy was invincibly +stubborn. Nothing his father could say or do sufficed to break him of +the habit. He endured everything with white-lipped, silent doggedness, +and still held on his way. + +Once past the Stony Bottom, he threw his troubles behind him with a +courage that did him honor. Of all the people at Kenmuir two only ever +dreamed the whole depth of his unhappiness, and that not through David. +James Moore suspected something of it all, for he knew more of M'Adam +than did the others. While Owd Bob knew it as did no one else. He could +tell it from the touch of the boy's hand on his head; and the story was +writ large upon his face for a dog to read. And he would follow the lad +about with a compassion in his sad gray eyes greater than words. + +David might well compare his gray friend at Kenmuir with that other at +the Grange. + +The Tailless Tyke had now grown into an immense dog, heavy of muscle and +huge of bone. A great bull head; undershot jaw, square and lengthy and +terrible; vicious, yellow-gleaming eyes; cropped ears; and an expression +incomparably savage. His coat was a tawny, lion-like yellow, short, +harsh, dense; and his back, running up from shoulder to loins, ended +abruptly in the knob-like tail. He looked like the devil of a dogs' +hell. And his reputation was as bad as his looks. He never attacked +unprovoked; but a challenge was never ignored, and he was greedy of +insults. Already he had nigh killed Rob Saunderson's collie, Shep; Jem +Burton's Monkey fled incontinently at the sound of his approach; while +he had even fought a round with that redoubtable trio, the Vexer, Venus, +and Van Tromp. + +Nor, in the matter of war, did he confine himself to his own kind. +His huge strength and indomitable courage made him the match of almost +anything that moved. Long Kirby once threatened him with a broomstick; +the smith never did it again. While in the Border Ram he attacked Big +Bell, the Squire's underkeeper, with such murderous fury that it took +all the men in the room to pull him off. + +More than once had he and Owd Bob essayed to wipe out mutual memories, +Red Wull, in this case only, the aggressor. As yet, however, while they +fenced a moment for that deadly throat-grip, the value of which each +knew so well, James Moore had always seized the chance to intervene. + +"That's right, hide him ahint yer petticoats," sneered M'Adam on one of +these occasions. + +"Hide? It'll not be him I'll hide, I warn you, M'Adam," the Master +answered grimly, as he stood, twirling his good oak stick between the +would-be duellists. Whereat there was a loud laugh at the little man's +expense. + +It seemed as if there were to be other points of rivalry between the two +than memories. For, in the matter of his own business--the handling of +sheep--Red Wull bid fair to be second only throughout the Daleland to +the Gray Dog of Kenmuir. And M'Adam was patient and painstaking in the +training of his Wullie in a manner to astonish David. It would have been +touching, had it not been so unnatural in view of his treatment of his +own blood, to watch the tender carefulness with which the little man +moulded the dog beneath his hands. After a promising display he would +stand, rubbing his palms together, as near content as ever he was. + +"Weel done, Wullie! Weel done. Bide a wee and we'll show 'em a thing or +two, you and I, Wullie. + + "'The warld's wrack we share o't, + The warstle and the care o't.' + +For it's you and I alane, lad." And the dog would trot up to him, place +his great forepaws on his shoulders, and stand thus with his great head +overtopping his master's, his ears back, and stump tail vibrating. + +You saw them at their best when thus together, displaying each his one +soft side to the other. + +From the very first David and Red Wull were open enemies: under the +circumstances, indeed, nothing else was possible. Sometimes the great +dog would follow on the lad's heels with surly, greedy eyes, never +leaving him from sunrise to sundown, till David could hardly hold his +hands. + +So matters went on for a never-ending year. Then there came a climax. + +One evening, on a day throughout which Red Wull had dogged him thus +hungrily, David, his work finished, went to pick up his coat, which he +had left hard by. On it lay Red Wull. + +"Git off ma coat!" the boy ordered angrily, marching up. But the great +dog never stirred: he lifted a lip to show a fence of white, even teeth, +and seemed to sink lower in the ground; his head on his paws, his eyes +in his forehead. + +"Come and take it!" he seemed to say. + +Now what, between master and dog, David had endured almost more than he +could bear that day. + +"Yo' won't, won't yo', girt brute!" he shouted, and bending, snatched +a corner of the coat and attempted to jerk it away. At that, Red Wull +rose, shivering, to his feet, and with a low gurgle sprang at the boy. + +David, quick as a flash, dodged, bent, and picked up an ugly stake, +lying at his feet. Swinging round, all in a moment, he dealt his +antagonist a mighty buffet on the side of the head. Dazed with the blow, +the great dog fell; then, recovering himself, with a terrible, deep roar +he sprang again. Then it must have gone hard with the boy, fine-grown, +muscular young giant though he was. For Red Wull was now in the first +bloom of that great strength which earned him afterward an undying +notoriety in the land. + +As it chanced, however, M'Adam had watched the scene from the kitchen. +And now he came hurrying out of the house, shrieking commands and curses +at the combatants. As Red Wull sprang, he interposed between the two, +head back and eyes flashing. His small person received the full shock +of the charge. He staggered, but recovered, and in an imperative voice +ordered the dog to heel. + +Then he turned on David, seized the stake from his hand, and began +furiously belaboring the boy. + +"I'll teach ye to strike--a puir--dumb--harmless--creetur, +ye--cruel--cruel---lad!" he cried. "Hoo daur ye strike--ma----Wullie? +yer--father's----Wullie? Adam--M 'Adam's--Red Wull?" He was panting from +his exertions, and his eyes were blazing. "I pit up as best I can wi' +all manner o' disrespect to masel'; but when it comes to takin' ma puir +Wullie, I canna thole it. Ha' ye no heart?" he asked, unconscious of the +irony of the question. + +"As much as some, I reck'n," David muttered. + +"Eh, what's that? What d'ye say?" + +"Ye may thrash me till ye're blind; and it's nob'but yer duty; but if +only one daurs so much as to look at yer Wullie ye're mad," the boy +answered bitterly. And with that he turned away defiantly and openly in +the direction of Kenmuir. + +M'Adam made a step forward, and then stopped. + +"I'll see ye agin, ma lad, this evenin'," he cried with cruel +significance. + +"I doot but yo'll be too drunk to see owt--except, 'appen, your bottle," +the boy shouted back; and swaggered down the hill. + + * * * * * + +At Kenmuir that night the marked and particular kindness of Elizabeth +Moore was too much for the overstrung lad. Overcome by the contrast of +her sweet motherliness, he burst into a storm of invective against his +father, his home, his life--everything. + +"Don't 'ee, Davie, don't 'ee, dearie!" cried Mrs. Moore, much +distressed. And taking him to her she talked to the great, sobbing boy +as though he were a child. At length he lifted his face and looked up; +and, seeing the white, wan countenance of his dear comforter, was struck +with tender remorse that he had given way and pained her, who looked so +frail and thin herself. + +He mastered himself with an effort; and, for the rest of the evening, +was his usual cheery self. He teased Maggie into tears; chaffed stolid +little Andrew; and bantered Sam'l Todd until that generally impassive +man threatened to bash his snout for him. + +Yet it was with a great swallowing at his throat that, later, he turned +down the for home. + +James Moore and Parson Leggy accompanied him to the bridge over the +Wastrel, and stood a while watching as he disappeared into the summer +night. + +"Yon's a good lad," said the Master half to himself. + +"Yes," the parson replied; "I always thought there was good in the boy, +if only his father'd give him a chance. And look at the way Owd Bob +there follows him. There's not another soul outside Kenmuir he'd do that +for." + +"Ay, sir," said the Master. "Bob knows a mon when he sees one." + +"He does," acquiesced the other. "And by the by, James, the talk in the +village is that you've settled not to run him for the Cup. Is, that so?" + +The Master nodded. + +"It is, sir. They're all mad I should, but I mun cross 'em. They say +he's reached his prime--and so he has o' his body, but not o' his brain. +And a sheep-dog--unlike other dogs--is not at his best till his brain +is at its best--and that takes a while developin', same as in a mon, I +reck'n." + +"Well, well," said the parson, pulling out a favorite phrase, "waiting's +winning--waiting's winning." + + * * * * * + +David slipped up into his room and into bed unseen, he hoped. Alone with +the darkness, he allowed himself the rare relief of tears; and at length +fell asleep. He awoke to find his father standing at his bedside. The +little man held a feeble dip-candle in his hand, which lit his sallow +face in crude black and white. In the doorway, dimly outlined, was the +great figure of Red Wull. + +"Whaur ha' ye been the day?" the little man asked. Then, looking down on +the white stained face beneath him, he added hurriedly: "If ye like to +lie, I'll believe ye." + +David was out of bed and standing up in his night-shirt. He looked at +his father contemptuously. + +"I ha' bin at Kenmuir. I'll not lie for yo' or your likes," he said +proudly. + +The little man shrugged his shoulders. + +"'Tell a lee and stick to it,' is my rule, and a good one, too, in +honest England. I for one 'll no think ony the worse o' ye if yer memory +plays yer false." + +"D'yo' think I care a kick what yo' think o' me?" the boy asked +brutally. "Nay; there's 'nough liars in this fam'ly wi'oot me." + +The candle trembled and was still again. + +"A lickin' or a lie--tak' yer choice!" + +The boy looked scornfully down on his father. Standing on his naked +feet, he already towered half a head above the other and was twice the +man. + +"D'yo' think I'm fear'd o' a thrashin' fra yo'? Goo' gracious me!" he +sneered. "Why, I'd as lief let owd Grammer Maddox lick me, for all I +care." + +A reference to his physical insufficiencies fired the little man as +surely as a lighted match powder. + +"Ye maun be cauld, standin' there so. Rin ye doon and fetch oor little +frien'"--a reference to a certain strap hanging in the kitchen. "I'll +see if I can warm ye." + +David turned and stumbled down the unlit, narrow stairs. The hard, cold +boards struck like death against his naked feet. At his heels followed +Red Wull, his hot breath fanning the boy's bare legs. + +So into the kitchen and back up the stairs, and Red Wull always +following. + +"I'll no despair yet o' teachin' ye the fifth commandment, though I kill +masel' in doin' it!" cried the little man, seizing the strap from the +boy's numb grasp. + + * * * * * + +When it was over, M'Adam turned, breathless, away. At the threshold +of the room he stopped and looked round: a little, dim-lit, devilish +figure, framed in the door; while from the blackness behind, Red Wull's +eyes gleamed yellow. + +Glancing back, the little man caught such an expression on David's +face that for once he was fairly afraid. He banged the door and hobbled +actively down the stairs. + + + + +Chapter VII. THE WHITE WINTER + + +M'ADAM--in his sober moments at least--never touched David again; +instead, he devoted himself to the more congenial exercise of the +whiplash of his tongue. And he was wise; for David, who was already +nigh a head the taller of the two, and comely and strong in proportion, +could, if he would, have taken his father in the hollow of his hand and +crumpled him like a dry leaf. Moreover, with his tongue, at least, the +little man enjoyed the noble pleasure of making the boy wince. And so +the war was carried on none the less vindictively. + +Meanwhile another summer was passing away, and every day brought fresh +proofs of the prowess of Owd Bob. Tammas, whose stock of yarns anent Rex +son of Rally had after forty years' hard wear begun to pall on the +loyal ears of even old Jonas, found no lack of new material now. In +the Dalesman's Daughter in Silverdale and in the Border Ram at +Grammoch-town, each succeeding market day brought some fresh tale. Men +told how the gray dog had outdone Gypsy Jack, the sheep-sneak; how he +had cut out a Kenmuir shearling from the very centre of Londesley's +pack; and a thousand like stories. + +The Gray Dogs of Kenmuir have always been equally heroes and favorites +in the Daleland. And the confidence of the Dalesmen in Owd Bob was now +invincible. Sometimes on market days he would execute some unaccountable +maneuvre, and... strange shepherd would ask: "What's the gray dog at?" +To which the nearest Dalesman would reply: "Nay, I canno tell ye! But +he's reet enough. Yon's Owd Bob o' Kenmuir." + +Whereon the stranger would prick his ears and watch with close +attention. + +"Yon's Owd Bob o' Kenmuir, is he?" he would say; for already among the +faculty the name was becoming known. And never in such a case did the +young dog fail to justify the faith of his supporters. + +It came, therefore, as a keen disappointment to every Dalesman, from +Herbert Trotter, Secretary of the Trials, to little Billy Thornton, when +the Master persisted in his decision not to run the dog for the Cup in +the approaching Dale Trials; and that though parson, squire, and even +Lady Eleanour essayed to shake his purpose. It was nigh fifty years +since Rex son o' Rally had won back the Trophy for the land that gave +it birth; it was time, they thought, for a Daleland dog, a Gray Dog of +Kenmuir--the terms are practically synonymous--to bring it home again. +And Tammas, that polished phrase-maker, was only expressing the feelings +of every Dalesman in the room when, one night at the Arms, he declared +of Owd Bob that "to ha' run was to ha' won." At which M'Adam sniggered +audibly and winked at Red Wull. "To ha' run was to ha' one--lickin'; to +rin next year'll be to--" + +"Win next year." Tammas interposed dogmatically. "Onless"--with +shivering sarcasm--"you and yer Wullie are thinkin' o' winnin'." + +The little man rose from his solitary seat at the back of the room and +pattered across. "Wullie and I are thinkin' o' t," he whispered loudly +in the old man's ear. "And mair: what Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull think +o' doin', that, ye may remairk, Mr. Thornton, they do. Next year we rin, +and next year--we win. Come, Wullie, we'll leave 'em to chew that"; and +he marched out of the room amid the jeers of the assembled topers. + +When quiet was restored, it was Jim Mason who declared: "One thing +certain, win or no, they'll not be far off." + + * * * * * + +Meanwhile the summer ended abruptly. Hard on the heels of a sweltering +autumn the winter came down. In that year the Daleland assumed very +early its white cloak. The Silver Mere was soon ice-veiled; the Wastrel +rolled sullenly down below Kenmuir, its creeks and quiet places tented +with jagged sheets of ice; while the Scaur and Muir Pike raised hoary +heads against the frosty blue. It was the season still remembered in the +North as the White Winter--the worst, they say, since the famous 1808. + +For days together Jim Mason was stuck with his bags in the Dalesman's +Daughter, and there was no communication between the two Dales. On +the Mere Marches the snow massed deep and impassable in thick, billowy +drifts. In the Devil's Bowl men said it lay piled some score feet deep. +And sheep, seeking shelter in the ghylls and protected spots, were +buried and lost in their hundreds. + +That is the time to test the hearts of shepherds and sheep-dogs, when +the wind runs ice-cold across the waste of white, and the low woods on +the upland walks shiver black through a veil of snow, and sheep must be +found and folded or lost: a trial of head as well as heart, of resource +as well as resolution. + +In that winter more than one man and many a dog lost his life in the +quiet performance of his duty, gliding to death over the slippery +snow-shelves, or overwhelmed beneath an avalanche of the warm, +suffocating white: "smoored," as they call it. Many a deed was done, +many a death died, recorded only in that Book which holds the names of +those--men or animals, souls or no souls--who tried. + +They found old Wrottesley, the squire's head shepherd, lying one morning +at Gill's foot, like a statue in its white bed, the snow gently blowing +about the venerable face, calm and beautiful in death. And stretched +upon his bosom, her master's hands blue, and stiff, still clasped about +her neck, his old dog Jess. She had huddled there, as a last hope, to +keep the dear, dead master warm, her great heart riven, hoping where +there was no hope. + +That night she followed him to herd sheep in a better land. Death from +exposure, Dingley, the vet., gave it; but as little M'Adam, his eyes +dimmer than their wont, declared huskily; "We ken better, Wullie." + +Cyril Gilbraith, a young man not overburdened with emotions, told with +a sob in his voice how, at the terrible Rowan Rock, Jim Mason had stood, +impotent, dumb, big-eyed, watching Betsy--Betsy, the friend and partner +of the last ten years--slipping over the ice-cold surface, silently +appealing to the hand that had never failed her before--sliding to +Eternity. + +In the Daleland that winter the endurance of many a shepherd and his +dog was strained past breaking-point. From the frozen Black Water to +the white-peaked Grammoch Pike two men only, each always with his shaggy +adjutant, never owned defeat; never turned back; never failed in a thing +attempted. + +In the following spring, Mr. Tinkerton, the squire's agent, declared +that James Moore and Adam M'Adam--Owd Bob, rather, and Red Wull--had +lost between them fewer sheep than any single farmer on the whole March +Mere Estate--a proud record. + +Of the two, many a tale was told that winter. They were invincible, +incomparable; worthy antagonists. + +It was Owd Bob who, when he could not drive the band of Black Faces over +the narrow Razorback which led to safety, induced them to _follow_ him +across that ten-inch death-track, one by one, like children behind +their mistress. It was Red Wull who was seen coming down the precipitous +Saddler's How, shouldering up that grand old gentleman, King o' the +Dale, whose leg was broken. + +The gray dog it was who found Cyril Gilbraith by the White Stones, with +a cigarette and a sprained ankle, on the night the whole village was out +with lanterns searching for the well-loved young scapegrace. It was the +Tailless Tyke and his master who one bitter evening came upon little +Mrs. Burton, lying in a huddle beneath the lea of the fast-whitening +Druid's Pillar with her latest baby on her breast. It was little M'Adam +who took off his coat and wrapped the child in it; little M'Adam who +unwound his plaid, threw it like a breastband across the dog's great +chest, and tied the ends round the weary woman's waist. Red Wull it was +who dragged her back to the Sylvester Arms and life, straining like a +giant through the snow, while his master staggered behind with the babe +in his arms. When they reached the inn it was M'Adam who, with a smile +on his face, told the landlord what he thought of him for sending _his_ +wife across the Marches on such a day and on his errand. To which: "I'd +a cauld," pleaded honest Jem. + +For days together David could not cross the Stony Bottom to Kenmuir. +His enforced confinement to the Grange led, however, to no more frequent +collisions than usual with his father. For M'Adam and Red Wull were out, +at all hours, in all weathers, night and day, toiling at their work of +salvation. + +At last, one afternoon, David managed to cross the Bottom at a point +where a fallen thorn-tree gave him a bridge over the soft snow. He +stayed but a little while at Kenmuir, yet when he started for home it +was snowing again. + +By the time he had crossed the ice-draped bridge over the Wastrel, a +blizzard was raging. The wind roared past him, smiting him so that he +could barely stand; and the snow leaped at him so that he could not see. +But he held on doggedly; slipping, sliding, tripping, down and up +again, with one arm shielding his face. On, on, into the white darkness, +blindly on sobbing, stumbling, dazed. + +At length, nigh dead, he reached the brink of the Stony Bottom. He +looked up and he looked down, but nowhere in that blinding mist could he +see the fallen thorn-tree. He took a step forward into the white morass, +and 'sank up to his thigh. He struggled feebly to free himself, and sank +deeper. The snow wreathed, twisting, round him like a white flame, and +he collapsed, softly crying, on that soft bed. + +"I canna--I canna!" he moaned. + + * * * * * + +Little Mrs. Moore, her face whiter and frailer than ever, stood at the +window, looking out into the storm. + +"I canna rest for thinkin' o' th' lad," she said. Then, turning, she saw +her husband, his fur cap down over his ears, buttoning his pilot-coat +about his throat, while Owd Bob stood at his feet, waiting. + +"Ye're no goin', James?" she asked, anxiously. + +"But I am, lass," he answered; and she knew him too well to say more. + +So those two went quietly out to save life or lose it, nor counted the +cost. + +Down a wind-shattered --over a spar of ice--up an eternal hill--a +forlorn hope. + +In a whirlwind chaos of snow, the tempest storming at them, the white +earth lashing them, they fought a good fight. In front, Owd Bob, the +snow clogging his shaggy coat, his hair cutting like lashes of steel +across eyes, his head lowered as he followed the finger of God; and +close behind, James Moore, his back stern against the storm, stalwart +still, yet swaying like a tree before the wind. + +So they battled through to the brink of the Stony Bottom--only to arrive +too late. + +For, just as the Master peering about him, had caught sight of a +shapeless lump lying motionless in front, there loomed across the +snow-choked gulf through the white riot of the storm a gigantic figure +forging, doggedly forward, his great head down to meet the hurricane. +And close behind, buffeted and bruised, stiff and staggering, a little +dauntless figure holding stubbornly on, clutching with one hand at the +gale; and a shrill voice, whirled away on the trumpet tones of the wind, +crying: + + 'Noo, Wullie, wi' me! + Scots wha' hae wi' Wallace bled! + Scots wham Bruce has often led! + Welcome to ----!' + +"Here he is, Wullie!" + + '--or to victorie!" + +The brave little voice died away. The quest; was over; the lost sheep +found. And the last James Moore saw of them was the same small, gallant +form, half carrying, half dragging the rescued boy out of the Valley of +the Shadow and away. + +David was none the worse for his adventure, for on reaching home M'Adam +produced a familiar bottle. + +"Here's something to warm yer inside, and"--making a feint at the strap +on the walls--' "here's something to do the same by yer ----. But, +Wullie, oot again!" + +And out they went--unreckoned heroes. + + * * * * * + +It was but a week later, in the very heart of the bitter time, that +there came a day when, from gray dawn to grayer eve, neither James Moore +nor Owd Bob stirred out into the wintry white. And the Master's face was +hard and set as it always was in time of trouble. + +Outside, the wind screamed down the Dale; while the snow fell +relentlessly; softly fingering the windows, blocking the doors, and +piling deep against the walls. Inside the house there was a strange +quiet; no sound save for hushed voices, and upstairs the shuffling of +muffled feet. + +Below, all day long, Owd Bob patrolled the passage like some silent, +gray spectre. + +Once there came a low knocking at the door; and David, his face and hair +and cap smothered in the all-pervading white, came in with an eddy of +snow. He patted Owd Bob, and moved on tiptoe into the kitchen. To him +came Maggie softly, shoes in hand, with white, frightened face. The two +whispered anxiously awhile like brother and sister as they were; then +the boy crept quietly away; only a little pool of water on the floor and +wet, treacherous foot-dabs toward the door testifying to the visitor. + +Toward evening the wind died down, but the mourning flakes still fell. + +With the darkening of night Owd Bob retreated to the porch and lay down +on his blanket. The light from the lamp at the head of the stairs shone +through the crack of open door on his dark head and the eyes that never +slept. + +The hours passed, and the gray knight still kept his vigil. Alone in the +darkness--alone, it almost seemed, in the house--he watched. His head +lay motionless along his paws, but the steady gray eyes never flinched +or drooped. + +Time tramped on on leaden foot, and still he waited; and ever the pain +of hovering anxiety was stamped deeper in the gray eyes. + +At length it grew past bearing; the hollow stillness of the house +overcame him. He rose, pushed open the door, and softly pattered across +the passage. + +At the foot of the stairs he halted, his forepaws on the first step, his +grave face and pleading eyes uplifted, as though he were praying. The +dim light fell on the raised head; and the white escutcheon on his +breast shone out like the snow on Salmon. + +At length, with a sound like a sob, he dropped to the ground, and stood +listening, his tail dropping and head raised. Then he turned and began +softly pacing up and down, like some velvet-footed sentinel at the gate +of death. + +Up and down, up and down, softly as the falling snow, for a weary, weary +while. + +Again he stopped and stood, listening intently, at the foot of the +stairs; and his gray coat quivered as though there were a draught. + +Of a sudden, the deathly stillness of the house was broken. Upstairs, +feet were running hurriedly. There was a cry, and again silence. + +A life was coming in; a life was going out. + +The minutes passed; hours passed; and, at the sunless dawn, a life +passed. + +And all through that night of age-long agony the gray figure stood, +still as a statue, at the foot of the stairs. Only, when, with the first +chill breath of the morning, a dry, quick-quenched sob of a strong man +sorrowing for the helpmeet of a score of years, and a tiny cry of a +new-born child wailing because its mother was not, came down to his +ears, the Gray Watchman dropped his head upon his bosom, and, with a +little whimpering note, crept back to his blanket. + +A little later the door above opened, and James Moore tramped down the +stairs. He looked taller and gaunter than his wont, but there was no +trace of emotion on his face. + +At the foot of the stairs Owd Bob stole out to meet him. He came +crouching up, head and tail down, in a manner no man ever saw before or +since. At his master's feet he stopped. + +Then, for one short moment, James Moore's whole face quivered. + +"Well, lad," he said, quite low, and his voice broke; "she's awa'!" + +That was all; for they were an undemonstrative couple. + +Then they turned and went out together into the bleak morning. + + + + +Chapter VIII. M'ADAM AND HIS COAT + + +To David M'Adam the loss of gentle Elizabeth Moore was as real a grief +as to her children. Yet he manfully smothered his own aching heart and +devoted himself to comforting the mourners at Kenmuir. + +In the days succeeding Mrs. Moore's death the boy recklessly neglected +his duties at the Grange. But little M'Adam forbore to rebuke him. At +times, indeed, he essayed to be passively kind. David, however, was too +deeply sunk in his great sorrow to note the change. + +The day of the funeral came. The earth was throwing off its ice-fetters; +and the Dale was lost in a mourning mist. + +In the afternoon M'Adam was standing at the window of the kitchen, +contemplating the infinite weariness of the scene, when the door of the +house opened and shut noiselessly. Red Wull raised himself on to the +sill and growled, and David hurried past the window making for Kenmuir. +M'Adam watched the passing figure indifferently; then with an angry oath +sprang to the window. + +"Bring me back that coat, ye thief!" he cried, tapping fiercely on the +pane. "Tak' it aff at onst, ye muckle gowk, or I'll come and tear it aff +ye. D'ye see him, Wullie? the great coof has ma coat--me black coat, new +last Michaelmas, and it rainin' 'nough to melt it." + +He threw the window up with a bang and leaned out. + +"Bring it back, I tell ye, ondootiful, or I'll summons ye. Though ye've +no respect for me, ye might have for ma claithes. Ye're too big for yer +ain boots, let alane ma coat. D'ye think I had it cut for a elephant? +It's burst-in', I tell ye. Tak' it aff! Fetch it here, or I'll e'en send +Wullie to bring it!" + +David paid no heed except to begin running heavily down the hill. The +coat was stretched in wrinkled agony across his back; his big, red +wrists protruded like shank-bones from the sleeves; and the little tails +flapped wearily in vain attempts to reach the wearer's legs. + +M'Adam, bubbling over with indignation, scrambled half through the open +window. Then, tickled at the amazing impudence of the thing, he paused, +smiled, dropped to the ground again, and watched the uncouth, retreating +figure with chuckling amusement. + +"Did ye ever see the like o' that, Wullie?" he muttered. "Ma puir +coat--puir wee coatie! it gars me greet to see her in her pain. A man's +coat, Wullie, is aften unco sma' for his son's back; and David there +is strainin' and stretchin' her nigh to brakin', for a' the world as he +does ma forbearance. And what's he care aboot the one or t'ither?--not a +finger-flip." + +As he stood watching the disappearing figure there began the slow +tolling of the minute-bell in the little Dale church. Now near, now far, +now loud, now low, its dull chant rang out through the mist like the +slow-dropping tears of a mourning world. + +M'Adam listened, almost reverently, as the bell tolled on, the only +sound in the quiet Dale. Outside, a drizzling rain was falling; the +snow dribbled down the hill in muddy tricklets; and trees and roofs and +windows dripped. + +And still the bell tolled on, calling up relentlessly sad memories of +the long ago. + +It was on just such another dreary day, in just such another December, +and not so many years gone by, that the light had gone forever out of +his life. + +The whole picture rose as instant to his eyes as if it had been but +yesterday. That insistent bell brought the scene surging back to him: +the dismal day; the drizzle; the few mourners; little David decked out +in black, his fair hair contrasting with his gloomy clothes, his face +swollen with weeping; the Dale hushed, it seemed in death, save for the +tolling of the bell; and his love had left him and gone to the happy +land the hymn-books talk of. + +Red Wull, who had been watching him uneasily, now came up and shoved +his muzzle into his master's hand. The cold touch brought the little man +back to earth. He shook himself, turned wearily away from the window, +and went to the door of the house. + +He stood there looking out; and all round him was the eternal drip, drip +of the thaw. The wind lulled, and again the minute-bell tolled out clear +and inexorable, resolute to recall what was and what had been. + +With a choking gasp the little man turned into the house, and ran up the +stairs and into his room. He dropped on his knees beside the great chest +in the corner, and unlocked the bottom drawer, the key turning noisily +in its socket. + +In the drawer he searched with feverish fingers, and produced at length +a little paper packet wrapped about with a stained yellow ribbon. It was +the ribbon she had used to weave on Sundays into her soft hair. + +Inside the packet was a cheap, heart-shaped frame, and in it a +photograph. + +Up there it was too dark to see. The little man ran down the stairs, Red +Wull jostling him as he went, and hurried to the window in the kitchen. + +It was a sweet, laughing face that looked up at him from the frame, +demure yet arch, shy yet roguish--a face to look at and a face to love. + +As he looked a wintry smile, wholly tender, half tearful, stole over the +little man's face. + +"Lassie," he whispered, and his voice was infinitely soft, "it's lang +sin' I've daured look at ye. But it's no that ye're forgotten, dearie." + +Then he covered his eyes with his hand as though he were blinded. + +"Dinna look at me sae, lass!" he cried, and fell on his knees, kissing +the picture, hugging it to him and sobbing passionately. + +Red Wull came up and pushed his face compassionately into his master's; +but the little man shoved him roughly away, and the dog retreated into a +corner, abashed and reproachful. + +Memories swarmed back on the little man. + +It was more than a decade ago now, and yet he dared barely think of that +last evening when she had lain so white and still in the little room +above. + +"Pit the bairn on the bed, Adam man," she had said in low tones. "I'll +be gaein' in a wee while noo. It's the lang good-by to you--and him." + +He had done her bidding and lifted David up. The tiny boy lay still a +moment, looking at this white-faced mother whom he hardly recognized. + +"Minnie!" he called piteously. Then, thrusting a small, dirty hand into +his pocket, he pulled out a grubby sweet. + +"Minnie, ha' a sweetie--ain o' Davie's sweeties!" and he held it out +anxiously in his warm plump palm, thinking it a certain cure for any +ill. + +"Eat it for mither," she said, smiling tenderly; and then: "Davie, ma +heart, I'm leavin' ye." + +The boy ceased sucking the sweet, and looked at her, the corners of his +mouth drooping pitifully. + +"Ye're no gaein' awa', mither?" he asked, his face all working. "Ye'll +no leave yen wee laddie?" + +"Ay, laddie, awa'--reet awa'. HE's callin' me." She tried to smile; but +her mother's heart was near to bursting. + +"Ye'll tak' yen wee Davie wi' ye mither!" the child pleaded, crawling up +toward her face. + +The great tears rolled, unrestrained, down her wan cheeks, and M'Adam, +at the head of the bed, was sobbing openly. + +"Eh, ma bairn, ma bairn, I'm sair to leave ye!" she cried brokenly. +"Lift him for me, Adam." + +He placed the child in her arms; but she was too weak to hold him. So he +laid him upon his mother's pillows; and the boy wreathed his soft arms +about her neck and sobbed tempestuously. + +And the two lay thus together. + +Just before she died, Flora turned her head and whispered: + +"Adam, ma man, ye'll ha' to be mither and father baith to the lad noo"; +and she looked at him with tender confidence in her dying eyes. + +"I wull! afore God as I stan' here I wull!" he declared passionately. +Then she died, and there was a look of ineffable peace upon her face. + + * * * * * + +"Mither and father baith!" + +The little man rose to his feet and flung the photograph from him. Red +Wull pounced upon it; but M'Adam leapt at him as he mouthed it. + +"Git awa', ye devil!" he screamed; and, picking it up, stroked it +lovingly with trembling fingers. + +"Maither and father baith!" + +How had he fulfilled his love's last wish? How! + +"Oh God! "--and he fell upon his knees at the table-side, hugging the +picture, sobbing and praying. + +Red Wull cowered in the far corner of the room, and then crept whining +up to where his master knelt. But M'Adam heeded him not, and the great +dog slunk away again. + +There the little man knelt in the gloom of the winter's afternoon, a +miserable penitent. His gray-flecked head was bowed upon his arms; his +hands clutched the picture; and he prayed aloud in gasping, halting +tones. + +"Gie me grace, O God! 'Father and mither baith,' ye said, Flora--and I +ha'na done it. But 'tis no too late--say it's no, lass. Tell me there's +time yet, and say ye forgie me. I've tried to bear wi' him mony and mony +a time. But he's vexed me, and set himself agin me, and stiffened my +back, and ye ken hoo I was aye quick to tak' offence. But I'll mak' it +up to him--mak' it up to him, and mair. I'll humble masel' afore him, +and that'll be bitter enough. And I'll be father and mither baith to +him. But there's bin none to help me; and it's bin sair wi'oot ye. +And--. but, eh, lassie, I'm wearyin' for ye!" + + * * * * * + +It was a dreary little procession that wound in the drizzle from Kenmuir +to the little Dale Church. At the head stalked James Moore, and close +behind David in his meagre coat. While last of all, as if to guide the +stragglers in the weary road, come Owd Bob. + +There was a full congregation in the tiny church now. In the squire's +pew were Cyril Gilbraith, Muriel Sylvester, and, most conspicuous, Lady +Eleanour. Her slender figure was simply draped in gray, with gray fur +about the neck and gray fur edging sleeves and jacket; her veil was +lifted, and you could see the soft hair about her temples, like waves +breaking on white cliffs, and her eyes big with tender sympathy as she +glanced toward the pew upon her right. + +For there were the mourners from Kenmuir: the Master, tall, grim, and +gaunt; and beside him Maggie, striving to be calm, and little Andrew, +the miniature of his father. + +Alone, in the pew behind, David M'Adam in his father's coat. + +The back of the church was packed with farmers from the whole March Mere +Estate; friends from Silverdale and Grammoch-town; and nearly every +soul in Wastrel-dale, come to show their sympathy for the living and +reverence for the dead. + +At last the end came in the wet dreariness of the little churchyard, and +slowly the mourners departed, until at length were left only the parson, +the Master, and Owd Bob. + +The parson was speaking in rough, short accents, digging nervously +at the wet ground. The other, tall and gaunt, his face drawn and +half-averted, stood listening. By his side was Owd Bob, scanning his +master's countenance, a wistful compassion deep in the sad gray eyes; +while close by, one of the parson's terriers was nosing inquisitively in +the wet grass. + +Of a sudden, James Moore, his face still turned away, stretched out a +hand. The parson, broke off abruptly and grasped it. Then the two men +strode away in opposite directions, the terrier hopping on three legs +and shaking the rain off his hard coat. + + * * * * * + +David's steps sounded outside. M'Adam rose from his knees. The door of +the house opened, and the boy's feet shuffled in the passage. + +"David!" the little man called in a tremulous voice. + +He stood in the half-light, one hand on the table, the other clasping +the picture. His eyes were bleared, his thin hair all tossed, and he was +shaking. + +"David," he called again; "I've somethin' I wush to say to ye!" + +The boy burst into the room. His face was stained with tears and rain; +and the new black coat was wet and slimy all down the front, and on the +elbows were green-brown, muddy blots. For, on his way home, he had flung +himself down in the Stony Bottom just as he was, heedless of the wet +earth and his father's coat, and, lying on his face thinking of +that second mother lost to him, had wept his heart out in a storm of +passionate grief. + +Now he stood defiantly, his hand upon the door. + +"What d'yo' want?" + +The little man looked from him to the picture in his hand. + +"Help me, Flora--he'll no," he prayed. Then raising his eyes, he began: +"I'd like to say--I've bin thinkin'--I think I should tell ye--it's no +an easy thing for a man to say--" + +He broke off short. The self-imposed task was almost more than he could +accomplish. + +He looked appealingly at David. But there was no glimmer of +understanding in that white, set countenance. + +"O God, it's maist mair than I can do!" the little man muttered; and the +perspiration stood upon his forehead. Again he began: "David, after I +saw ye this afternoon steppin' doon the hill--" Again he paused. His +glance rested unconsciously upon the coat. David mistook the look; +mistook the dimness in his father's eyes; mistook the tremor in his +voice. + +"Here 'tis! tak' yo' coat!" he cried passionately; and, tearing it off, +flung it down at his father's feet. "Tak' it--and---and--curse yo'." + +He banged out of the room and ran upstairs; and, locking himself in, +threw himself on to his bed and sobbed. + +Red Wull made a movement to fly at the retreating figure; then turned +to his master, his stump-tail vibrating with pleasure. But little M'Adam +was looking at the wet coat now lying in a wet bundle at his feet. + +"Curse ye," he repeated softly. "Curse ye--ye heard him. Wullie?" + +A bitter smile crept across his face. He looked again at the picture now +lying crushed in his hand. + +"Ye canna say I didna try; ye canna ask me to agin," he muttered, and +slipped it into his pocket. "Niver agin, Wullie; not if the Queen were +to ask it." + +Then he went out into the gloom and drizzle, still smiling the same +bitter smile. + + * * * * * + +That night, when it came to closing-time at the Sylvester Arms, Jem +Burton found a little gray-haired figure lying on the floor in the +tap-room. At the little man's head lay a great dog. + +"Yo' beast!" said the righteous publican, regarding the figure of his +best customer with fine scorn. Then catching sight of a photograph in +the little man's hand: + +"Oh, yo're that sort, are yo', foxy?" he leered. "Gie us a look at 'er," +and he tried to disengage the picture from the other's grasp. But at +the attempt the great dog rose, bared his teeth, and assumed such a +diabolical expression that the big landlord retreated hurriedly behind +the bar. + +"Two on ye!" he shouted viciously, rattling his heels; "beasts baith!" + + + + +PART III THE SHEPHERDS' TROPHY + + + + +Chapter IX. RIVALS + + +M'ADAM never forgave his son. After the scene on the evening of the +funeral there could be no alternative but war for all time. The +little man had attempted to humble himself, and been rejected; and +the bitterness of defeat, when he had deserved victory, rankled like a +poisoned barb in his bosom. + +Yet the heat of his indignation was directed not against David, but +against the Master of Kenmuir. To the influence and agency of James +Moore he attributed his discomfiture, and bore himself accordingly. In +public or in private, in tap-room or market, he never wearied of abusing +his enemy. + +"Feel the loss o' his wife, d'ye say?" he would cry. "Ay, as muckle as +I feel the loss o' my hair. James Moore can feel naethin', I tell ye, +except, aiblins, a mischance to his meeserable dog." + +When the two met, as they often must, it was always M'Adam's endeavor +to betray his enemy into an unworthy expression of feeling. But James +Moore, sorely tried as he often was, never gave way. He met the little +man's sneers with a quelling silence, looking down on his asp-tongued +antagonist with such a contempt flashing from his blue-gray eyes as hurt +his adversary more than words. + +Only once was he spurred into reply. It was in the tap-room of +the Dalesman's Daughter on the occasion of the big spring fair in +Grammoch-town, when there was a goodly gathering of farmers and their +dogs in the room. + +M'Adam was standing at the fireplace with Red Wull at his side. + +"It's a noble pairt ye play, James Moore," he cried loudly across the +room, "settin' son against father, and dividin' hoose against hoose. +It's worthy o' ye we' yer churchgoin', and yer psalm-singin', and yer +godliness." + +The Master looked up from the far end of the room. + +"Happen yo're not aware, M'Adam," he said sternly, "that, an' it had not +bin for me, David'd ha' left you years agone--and 'twould nob'but ha' +served yo' right, I'm thinkin'." + +The little man was beaten on his own ground, so he changed front. + +"Dinna shout so, man--I have ears to hear, Forbye ye irritate Wullie." + +The Tailless Tyke, indeed, had advanced from the fireplace, and now +stood, huge and hideous, in the very centre of the room. There was +distant thunder in his throat, a threat upon his face, a challenge in +every wrinkle. And the Gray Dog stole gladly out from behind his master +to take up the gage of battle. + +Straightway there was silence; tongues ceased to wag, tankards to clink. +Every man and every dog was quietly gathering about those two central +figures. Not one of them all but had his score to wipe off against the +Tailless Tyke; not one of them but was burning to join in, the battle +once begun. And the two gladiators stood looking past one another, +muzzle to muzzle, each with a tiny flash of teeth glinting between his +lips. + +But the fight was not to be; for the twentieth time the Master +intervened. + +"Bob, lad, coom in!" he called, and, bending, grasped his favorite by +the neck. + +M'Adam laughed softly. + +"Wullie, Wullie, to me!" he cried. "The look o' you's enough for that +gentleman." + +"If they get fightin' it'll no be Bob here I'll hit, I warn yo', +M'Adam," said the Master grimly. + +"Gin ye sae muckle as touched Wullie d'ye ken what I'd do, James Moore?" +asked the little man very smoothly. + +"Yes--sweer," the other replied, and strode out of the room amid a roar +of derisive laughter at M'Adam's expense. + +Owd Bob had now attained wellnigh the perfection of his art. Parson +Leggy declared roundly that his like had not been seen since the days +of Rex son of Rally. Among the Dalesmen he was a heroic favorite, his +prowess and gentle ways winning him friends on every hand. But the point +that told most heavily for him was that in all things he was the very +antithesis of Red Wull. + +Barely a man in the country-side but owed that ferocious savage a +grudge; not a man of them all who dared pay it. Once Long Kirby, full +of beer and valor, tried to settle his account. Coming on M'Adam and Red +Wull as he was driving into Grammoch-town, he leant over and with his +thong dealt the dog a terrible sword-like slash that raised an angry +ridge of red from hip to shoulder; and was twenty yards down the road +before the little man's shrill curse reached his ear, drowned in a +hideous bellow. + +He stood up and lashed the colt, who, quick on his legs for a young un, +soon settled to his gallop. But, glancing over his shoulder, he saw a +hounding form behind, catching him as though he were walking. His face +turned sickly white; he screamed; he flogged; he looked back. Right +beneath the tail-board was the red devil in the dust; while racing a +furlong behind on the turnpike road was the mad figure of M'Adam. + +The smith struck back and flogged forward. It was of no avail. With a +tiger-like bound the murderous brute leapt on the flying trap. At the +shock of the great body the colt was thrown violently on his side; Kirby +was tossed over the hedge; and Red Wull pinned beneath the debris. + +M'Adam had time to rush up and save a tragedy. + +"I've a mind to knife ye, Kirby," he panted, as he bandaged the smith's +broken head. + +After that you may be sure the Dalesmen preferred to swallow insults +rather than to risk their lives; and their impotence only served to fan +their hatred to white heat. + +The working methods of the antagonists were as contrasted as their +appearances. In a word, the one compelled where the other coaxed. + +His enemies said the Tailless Tyke was rough; not even Tammas denied he +was ready. His brain was as big as his body, and he used them both +to some purpose. "As quick as a cat, with the heart of a lion and the +temper of Nick's self," was Parson Leggy's description. + +What determination could effect, that could Red Wall; but achievement +by inaction--supremest of all strategies--was not for him. In matters of +the subtlest handling, where to act anything except indifference was +to lose, with sheep restless, fearful forebodings hymned to them by the +wind, panic hovering unseen above them, when an ill-considered movement +spelt catastrophe--then was Owd Bob o' Kenmuir incomparable. + +Men still tell how, when the squire's new thrashing-machine ran amuck +in Grammoch-town, and for some minutes the market square was a turbulent +sea of blaspheming men, yelping dogs, and stampeding sheep, only one +flock stood calm as a mill-pond by the bull-ring, watching the riot with +almost indifference. And in front, sitting between them and the storm, +was a quiet gray dog, his mouth stretched in a capacious yawn: to yawn +was to win, and he won. + +When the worst of the uproar was over, many a glance of triumph was shot +first at that one still pack, and then at M'Adam, as he waded through +the disorder of huddling sheep. + +"And wheer's your Wullie noo?" asked Tapper scornfully. + +"Weel," the little man answered with a quiet smile, "at this minute he's +killin' your Rasper doon by the pump." Which was indeed the case; for +big blue Rasper had interfered with the great dog in the performance of +his duty, and suffered accordingly. + + * * * * * + +Spring passed into summer; and the excitement as to the event of the +approaching Trials, when at length the rivals would be pitted +against one another, reached such a height as old Jonas Maddox, the +octogenarian, could hardly recall. + +Down in the Sylvester Arms there was almost nightly a conflict +between M'Adam and Tammas Thornton, spokesman of the Dales men. Many a +long-drawn bout of words had the two anent the respective merits and Cup +chances of red and gray. In these duels Tammas was usually worsted. His +temper would get the better of his discretion; and the cynical debater +would be lost in the hot-tongued partisan. + +During these encounters the others would, as a rule, maintain a rigid +silence. Only when their champion was being beaten, and it was time for +strength of voice to vanquish strength of argument, they joined in +right lustily and roared the little man down, for all the world like the +gentlemen who rule the Empire at Westminster. + +Tammas was an easy subject for M'Adam to draw, but David was an easier. +Insults directed at himself the boy bore with a stolidity born of long +use. But a poisonous dart shot against his friends at Kenmuir never +failed to achieve its object. And the little man evinced an amazing +talent for the concoction of deft lies respecting James Moore. + +"I'm hearin'," said he, one evening, sitting in the kitchen, sucking his +twig; "I'm hearin' James Moore is gaein' to git married agin." + +"Yo're hearin' lies--or mair-like tellin' 'em," David answered shortly. +For he treated his father now with contemptuous indifference. + +"Seven months sin' his wife died," the little man continued +meditatively. "Weel, I'm on'y 'stonished he's waited sae lang. Ain +buried, anither come on--that's James Moore." + +David burst angrily out of the room. + +"Gaein' to ask him if it's true?" called his father after him. "Gude +luck to ye--and him." + +David had now a new interest at Kenmuir. In Maggie he found an endless +source of study. On the death of her mother the girl had taken up the +reins of government at Kenmuir; and gallantly she played her part, +whether in tenderly mothering the baby, wee Anne, or in the sterner +matters of household work. She did her duty, young though she was, +with a surprising, old-fashioned womanliness that won many a smile +of approval from her father, and caused David's eyes to open with +astonishment. + +And he soon discovered that Maggie, mistress of Kenmuir, was another +person from his erstwhile playfellow and servant. + +The happy days when might ruled right were gone, never to be recalled. +David often regretted them, especially when in a conflict of tongues, +Maggie, with her quick answers and teasing eyes, was driving him sulky +and vanquished from the field. The two were perpetually squabbling now. +In the good old days, he remembered bitterly, squabbles between them +were unknown. He had never permitted them; any attempt at independent +thought or action was as sternly quelled as in the Middle Ages. She must +follow where he led on--"Ma word!" + +Now she was mistress where he had been master; hers was to command, his +to obey. In consequence they were perpetually at war. And yet he would +sit for hours in the kitchen and watch her, as she went about her +business, with solemn, interested eyes, half of admiration, half of +amusement. In the end Maggie always turned on him with a little laugh +touched with irritation. + +"Han't yo' got nothin' better'n that to do, nor lookin' at me?" she +asked one Saturday about a month before Cup Day. + +"No, I han't," the pert fellow rejoined. + +"Then I wish yo' had. It mak's me fair jumpety yo' watchin' me so like +ony cat a mouse." + +"Niver yo' fash yo'sel' account o' me, ma wench," he answered calmly. + +"Yo' wench, indeed!" she cried, tossing her head. + +"Ay, or will be," he muttered. + +"What's that?" she cried, springing round, a flush of color on her face. + +"Nowt, my dear. Yo'll know so soon as I want yo' to, yo' may be sure, +and no sooner." + +The girl resumed her baking, half angry, half suspicious. + +"I dunno' what yo' mean, Mr. M'Adam," she said. + +"Don't yo', Mrs. M'A----" + +The rest was lost in the crash of a falling plate; whereat David laughed +quietly, and asked if he should help pick up the bits. + + * * * * * + +On the same evening at the Sylvester Arms an announcement was made that +knocked the breath out of its hearers. + +In the debate that night on the fast-approaching Dale Trials and the +relative abilities of red and gray, M'Adam on the one side, and Tammas, +backed by Long Kirby and the rest, on the other, had cudgelled each +other with more than usual vigor. The controversy rose to fever-heat; +abuse succeeded argument; and the little man again and again was hooted +into silence. + +"It's easy laffin'," he cried at last, "but ye'll laff t'ither side o' +yer ugly faces on Cup Day." + +"Will us, indeed? Us'll see," came the derisive chorus. + +"We'll whip ye till ye're deaf, dumb, and blind, Wullie and I." + +''Yo'll not!'' + +"We will!" + +The voices were rising like the east wind in March. + +"Yo'll not, and for a very good reason too," asseverated Tammas loudly. + +"Gie us yer reason, ye muckle liar," cried the little man, turning on +him. + +"Becos----" began Jim Mason and stopped to rub his nose. + +"Yo' 'old yo' noise, Jim," recommended Rob Saunderson. + +"Becos----" it was Tammas this time who paused. + +"Git on wi' it, ye stammerin' stirk!" cried M'Adam. "Why?" + +"Becos--Owd Bob'll not rin." + +Tammas sat back in his chair. + +"What!" screamed the little man, thrusting forward. + +"What's that!" yelled Long Kirby, leaping to his feet. + +"Mon, say it agin!" shouted Rob. + +"What's owd addled eggs tellin'?" cried Liz Burton. + +"Dang his 'ead for him!" shouts Tupper. + +"Fill his eye!" says Ned Hoppin. + +They jostled round the old man's chair: M'Adam in front; Jem Burton and +Long Kirby leaning over his shoulder; Liz behind her father; Saunderson +and Tupper tackling him on either side; while the rest peered and +elbowed in the rear. + +The announcement had fallen like a thunderbolt among them. + +Tammas looked slowly up at the little mob of eager faces above him. +Pride at the sensation caused by his news struggled in his countenance +with genuine sorrow for the matter of it. + +"Ay, yo' may well 'earken all on yo'. Tis enough to mak' the deadies +listen. I says agin: We's'll no rin oor Bob fot' Cup. And yo' may guess +why. Bain't every mon, Mr. M'Adam, as'd pit aside his chanst o' the Cup, +and that 'maist a gift for him"--M'Adam's tongue was in his cheek--"and +it a certainty," the old man continued warmly, "oot o' respect for his +wife's memory." + +The news was received in utter silence. The shock of the surprise, +coupled with the bitterness of the disappointment, froze the slow +tongues of his listeners. + +Only one small voice broke the stillness. + +"Oh, the feelin' man! He should git a reduction o' rent for sic a +display o' proper speerit. I'll mind Mr. Hornbut to let auld Sylvester +ken o't." + +Which he did, and would have got a thrashing for his pains had not Cyril +Gilbraith thrown him out of the parsonage before the angry cleric could +lay hands upon him. + + + + +Chapter X. RED WULL WINS + + +TAMMAS had but told the melancholy truth. Owd Bob was not to run for the +cup. And this self-denying ordinance speaks more for James Moore's love +of his lost wife than many a lordly cenotaph. + +To the people of the Daleland, from the Black Water to the market-cross +in Grammoch-town, the news came with the shock of a sudden blow. They +had set their hearts on the Gray Dog's success; and had felt serenely +confident of his victory. But the sting of the matter lay in this: that +now the Tailless Tyke might well win. + +M'Adam, on the other hand, was plunged into a fervor of delight at the +news. For to win the Shepherds' Trophy was the goal of his ambition. +David was now less than nothing to the lonely little man, Red Wull +everything to him. And to have that name handed down to posterity, +gallantly holding its place among those of the most famous sheep-dogs of +all time, was his heart's desire. + +As Cup Day drew near, the little man, his fine-drawn temperament +strung to the highest pitch of nervousness, was tossed on a sea of +apprehension. His hopes and fears ebbed and flowed on the tide of the +moment. His moods were as uncertain as the winds in March; and there was +no dependence on his humor for a unit of time. At one minute he paced up +and down the kitchen, his face already flushed with the glow of victory, +chanting: + +"Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled!" + +At the next he was down at the table, his head buried in his hands, his +whole figure shaking, as he cried in choking voice: "Eh, Wullie, Wullie, +they're all agin us." + +David found that life with his father now was life with an unamiable +hornet. Careless as he affected to be of his father's vagaries, he was +tried almost to madness, and fled away at every moment to Kenmuir; for, +as he told Maggie, "I'd sooner put up wi' your h'airs and h'imperences, +miss, than wi' him, the wemon that he be!" + + * * * * * + +At length the great day came. Fears, hopes, doubts, dismays, all +dispersed in the presence of the reality. + +Cup Day is always a general holiday in the Daleland, and every soul +crowds over to Silverdale. Shops were shut; special trains ran in +to Grammoch-town; and the road from the little town was dazed with +char-a-bancs, brakes, wagonettes, carriages, carts, foot-passengers, +wending toward the Dalesman's Daughter. + +And soon the paddock below that little inn was humming with the crowd +of sportsmen and spectators come to see the battle for the Shepherd's +Trophy. + +There, very noticeable with its red body and yellow wheels, was the +great Kenmuir wagon. Many an eye was directed on the handsome young pair +who stood in it, conspicuous and unconscious, above the crowd: Maggie, +looking in her simple print frock as sweet and fresh as any mountain +flower; while David's fair face was all gloomy and his brows knit. + +In front of the wagon was a black cluster of Dalesmen, discussing +M'Adam's chances. In the centre was Tammas holding forth. Had you passed +close to the group you might have heard: "A man, d'yo say, Mr. Maddox? A +h'ape, I call him"; or: "A dog? more like an 'og, I tell yo'." Round the +old orator were Jonas, 'Enry, and oor Job, Jem Burton, Rob Saunderson, +Tupper, Jim Mason, Hoppin, and others; while on the outskirts stood +Sam'l Todd prophesying rain and M'Adam's victory. Close at hand Bessie +Bolstock, who was reputed to have designs on David, was giggling +spitefully at the pair in the Kenmuir wagon, and singing: + +"Let a lad aloan, lass, Let a lad a-be." + +While her father, Teddy, dodged in and out among the crowd with tray and +glasses: for Cup Day was the great day of the year for him. + +Past the group of Dalesmen and on all sides was a mass of bobbing +heads--Scots, Northerners, Yorkshiremen, Taffies. To right and left +a long array of carriages and carts, ranging from the squire's quiet +landau and Viscount Birdsaye's gorgeous barouche to Liz Burton's +three-legged moke-cart with little Mrs. Burton, the twins, young Jake +(who should have walked), and Monkey (ditto) packed away inside. Beyond +the Silver Lea the gaunt Scaur raised its craggy peak, and the Pass, +trending along its side, shone white in the sunshine. + +At the back of the carriages were booths, cocoanut-shies, Aunt Sallies, +shows, bookmakers' stools, and all the panoply of such a meeting. +Here Master Launcelot Bilks and Jacky Sylvester were fighting; Cyril +Gilbraith was offering to take on the boxing man; Long Kirby was +snapping up the odds against Red Wull; and Liz Burton and young Ned +Hoppin were being photographed together, while Melia Ross in the +background was pretending she didn't care. + +On the far bank of the stream was a little bevy of men and dogs, +observed of all. + +The Juvenile Stakes had been run and won; Londesley's Lassie had carried +off the Locals; and the fight for the Shepherds' Trophy was about to +begin. + +"Yo're not lookin' at me noo," whispered Maggie to the silent boy by her +side. + +"Nay; nor niver don't wush to agin." David answered roughly. His gaze +was directed over the array of heads in front to where, beyond the +Silver Lea, a group of shepherds and their dogs was clustered. While +standing apart from the rest, in characteristic isolation, was the bent +figure of his father, and beside him the Tailless Tyke. + +"Doest'o not want yo' feyther to win?" asked Maggie softly, following +his gaze. + +"I'm prayin' he'll be beat," the boy answered moodily. + +"Eh, Davie, hoo can ye?" cried the girl, shocked. + +"It's easy to say, 'Eh, David,'" he snapped. "But if yo' lived along +o' them two "--he nodded toward the stream--"'appen yo'd understand a +bit.... 'Eh, David,' indeed! I never did!" + +"I know it, lad," she said tenderly; and he was appeased. + +"He'd give his right hand for his bless'd Wullie to win; I'd give me +right arm to see him beat.... And oor Bob there all the while,"--he +nodded to the far left of the line, where stood James Moore and Owd Bob, +with Parson Leggy and the Squire. + +When at length Red Wull came out to run his course, he worked with the +savage dash that always characterized him. His method was his own; but +the work was admirably done. + +"Keeps right on the back of his sheep," said the parson, watching +intently. "Strange thing they don't break!" But they didn't. There was +no waiting, no coaxing; it was drive and devilry all through. He +brought his sheep along at a terrific rate, never missing a turn, never +faltering, never running out. And the crowd applauded, for the crowd +loves a dashing display. While little M'Adam, hopping agilely about, +his face ablaze with excitement, handled dog and sheep with a masterly +precision that compelled the admiration even of his enemies. + +"M'Adam wins!" roared a bookmaker. "Twelve to one agin the field!" + +"He wins, dang him!" said David, low. + +"Wull wins!" said the parson, shutting his lips. + +"And deserves too!" said James Moore. + +"Wull wins!" softly cried the crowd. + +"We don't!" said Sam'l gloomily. + +And in the end Red Wull did Win; and there were none save Tammas, the +bigot, and Long Kirby, who had lost a good deal of his wife's money and +a little of his own, to challenge the justice of the verdict. + +The win had but a chilling reception. At first there was faint cheering; +but it sounded like the echo of an echo, and soon died of inanition. +To get up an ovation, there must be money at the back, or a few roaring +fanatics to lead the dance. Here there was neither; ugly stories, +disparaging remarks, on every hand. And the hundreds who did not know +took their tone, as always, from those who said they did. + +M'Adam could but remark the absence of enthusiasm as he pushed up +through the throng toward the committee tent. No single voice hailed +him victor; no friendly hand smote its congratulations. Broad backs were +turned; contemptuous glances levelled; spiteful remarks shot. Only the +foreign element looked curiously at the little bent figure with the +glowing face, and shrank back at the size and savage aspect of the great +dog at his heels. + +But what cared he? His Wullie was acknowledged champion, the best +sheep-dog of the year; and the little man was happy. They could turn +their backs on him; but they could not alter that; and he could afford +to be indifferent. "They dinna like it, lad--he! he! But they'll e'en +ha' to thole it. Ye've won it, Wullie--won it fair." + +He elbowed through the press, making for the rope-guarded inclosure in +front of the committee tent, round which the people were now packing. In +the door of the tent stood the secretary, various stewards, and members +of the committee. In front, alone in the roped-off space, was Lady +Eleanour, fragile, dainty, graceful, waiting with a smile upon her face +to receive the winner. And on a table beside her, naked and dignified, +the Shepherd's Trophy. + +There it stood, kingly and impressive; its fair white sides inscribed +with many names; cradled in three shepherds' crooks; and on the top, as +if to guard the Cup's contents, an exquisitely carved collie's head. The +Shepherds' Trophy, the goal of his life's race, and many another man's. + +He climbed over the rope, followed by Red Wull, and took off his hat +with almost courtly deference to the fair lady before him. + +As he walked up to the table on which the Cup stood, a shrill voice, +easily recognizable, broke the silence. + +"You'd like it better if 'twas full and yo' could swim in it, you and +yer Wullie," it called. Whereat the crowd giggled, and Lady Eleanour +looked indignant. + +The little man turned. + +"I'll mind drink yer health, Mr. Thornton, never fear, though I ken ye'd +prefaire to drink yer ain," he said. At which the crowd giggled afresh; +and a gray head at the back, which had hoped itself unrecognized, +disappeared suddenly. + +The little man stood there in the stillness, sourly smiling, his face +still wet from his exertions; while the Tailless Tyke at his side +fronted defiantly the serried ring of onlookers, a white fence of teeth +faintly visible between his lips. + +Lady Eleanour looked uneasy. Usually the lucky winner was unable to +hear her little speech, as she gave the Cup away, so deafening was the +applause. Now there was utter silence. She glanced up at the crowd, but +there was no response to her unspoken appeal in that forest of hostile +faces. And her gentle heart bled for the forlorn little man before her. +To make it up she smiled on him so sweetly as to more than compensate +him. + +"I'm sure you deserve your success, Mr. M'Adam," she said. "You and Red +Wull there worked splendidly--everybody says so." + +"I've heard naethin' o't," the little man answered dryly. At which some +one in the crowd sniggered. + +"And we all know what a grand dog he is; though"--with a reproving smile +as she glanced at Red Wull's square, truncated stern--"he's not very +polite." + +"His heart is good, your Leddyship, if his manners are not," M'Adam +answered, smiling. + +"Liar!" came a loud voice in the silence. Lady Eleanour looked up, hot +with indignation, and half rose from her seat. But M'Adam merely smiled. + +"Wullie, turn and mak' yer bow to the leddy," he said. "They'll no hurt +us noo we're up; it's when we're doon they'll flock like corbies to the +carrion." + +At that Red Wull walked up to Lady Eleanour, faintly wagging his tail; +and she put her hand on his huge bull head and said, "Dear old Ugly!" at +which the crowd cheered in earnest. + +After that, for some moments, the only sound was the gentle ripple of +the good lady's voice and the little man's caustic replies. + +"Why, last winter the country was full of Red Wull's doings and yours. +It was always M'Adam and his Red Wull have done this and that and the +other. I declare I got quite tired of you both, I heard such a lot about +you." + +The little man, cap in hand, smiled, blushed and looked genuinely +pleased. + +"And when it wasn't you it was Mr. Moore and Owd Bob." + +"Owd Bob, bless him!" called a stentorian voice. "There cheers for oor +Bob!" + +"'Ip! 'ip! 'ooray!" It was taken up gallantly, and cast from mouth +to mouth; and strangers, though they did not understand, caught the +contagion and cheered too; and the uproar continued for some minutes. + +When it was ended Lady Eleanour was standing up, a faint flush on her +cheeks and her eyes flashing dangerously, like a queen at bay. + +"Yes," she cried, and her clear voice thrilled through the air like a +trumpet. "Yes; and now three cheers for Mr. M'Adam and his Red Wull! +Hip! hip--" + +"Hooray!" A little knowt of stalwarts at the back--James Moore, +Parson Leggy, Jim Mason, and you may be sure in heart, at least, Owd +Bob--responded to the call right lustily. The crowd joined in; and, once +off, cheered and cheered again. + +"Three cheers more for Mr. M'Adam!" + +But the little man waved to them. + +"Dinna be bigger heepocrites than ye can help," he said. "Ye've done +enough for one day, and thank ye for it." + +Then Lady Eleanour handed him the Cup. + +"Mr. M'Adam, I present you with the Champion Challenge Dale Cup, open to +all comers. Keep it, guard it, love it as your own, and win it again if +you can. Twice more and it's yours, you know, and it will stop forever +beneath the shadow of the Pike. And the right place for it, say I--the +Dale Cup for Dalesmen." + +The little man took the Cup tenderly. + +"It shall no leave the Estate or ma hoose, yer Leddyship, gin Wullie and +I can help it," he said emphatically. + +Lady Eleanour retreated into the tent, and the crowd swarmed over the +ropes and round the little man, who held the Cup beneath his arm. + +Long Kirby laid irreverent hands upon it. + +"Dinna finger it!" ordered M'Adam. + +"Shall!'' + +"Shan't! Wullie, keep him aff." Which the great dog proceeded to do amid +the laughter of the onlookers. + +Among the last, James Moore was borne past the little man. At sight of +him, M'Adam's face assumed an expression of intense concern. + +"Man, Moore!" he cried, peering forward as though in alarm; "man, Moore, +ye're green--positeevely verdant. Are ye in pain?" Then, catching sight +of Owd Bob, he started back in affected horror. + +"And, ma certes! so's yer dog! Yer dog as was gray is green. Oh, guid +life! "--and he made as though about to fall fainting to the ground. + +Then, in bantering tones: "Ah, but ye shouldna covet ----" + +"He'll ha' no need to covet it long, I can tell yo'," interposed +Tammas's shrill accents. + +"And why for no?" + +"Becos next year he'll win it fra yo'. Oor Bob'll win it, little mon. +Why? thot's why." + +The retort was greeted with a yell of applause from the sprinkling of +Dalesmen in the crowd. + +But M'Adam swaggered away into the tent, his head up, the Cup beneath +his arm, and Red Wull guarding his rear. + +"First of a' ye'll ha' to beat Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull!" he cried +back proudly. + + + + +Chapter XI. OOR BOB + + +M'ADAM'S pride in the great Cup that now graced his kitchen was supreme. +It stood alone in the very centre of the mantelpiece, just below the old +bell-mouthed blunderbuss that hung upon the wall. The only ornament in +the bare room, it shone out in its silvery chastity like the moon in a +gloomy sky. + +For once the little man was content. Since his mother's death David had +never known such peace. It was not that his father became actively kind; +rather that he forgot to be actively unkind. + +"Not as I care a brazen button one way or t'ither," the boy informed +Maggie. + +"Then yo' should," that proper little person replied. + +M'Adam was, indeed, a changed being. He forgot to curse James Moore; he +forgot to sneer at Owd Bob; he rarely visited the Sylvester Arms, to the +detriment of Jem Burton's pocket and temper; and he was never drunk. + +"Soaks 'isseif at home, instead," suggested Tammas, the prejudiced. But +the accusation was untrue. + +"Too drunk to git so far," said Long Kirby, kindly man. + +"I reck'n the Cup is kind o' company to him," said Jim Mason. "Happen +it's lonesomeness as drives him here so much." And happen you were +right, charitable Jim. + +"Best mak' maist on it while he has it, 'cos he'll not have it for +long," Tammas remarked amid applause. + +Even Parson Leggy allowed--rather reluctantly, indeed, for he was but +human--that the little man was changed wonderfully for the better. + +"But I am afraid it may not last," he said. "We shall see what happens +when Owd Bob beats him for the Cup, as he certainly will. That'll be the +critical moment." + +As things were, the little man spent all his spare moments with the Cup +between his knees, burnishing it and crooning to Wullie: + + "I never saw a fairer, + I never lo'ed a dearer, + And neist my heart I'll wear her, + For fear my jewel tine." + +"There, Wullie! look at her! is she no bonnie? She shines like a +twinkle--twinkle in the sky." And he would hold it out at arm's length, +his head cocked sideways the better to scan its bright beauties. + +The little man was very jealous for his treasure. David might not touch +it; might not smoke in the kitchen lest the fumes should tarnish its +glory; while if he approached too closely he was ordered abruptly away. + +"As if I wanted to touch his nasty Cup!" he complained to Maggie. "I'd +sooner ony day--" + +"Hands aff, Mr. David, immediate!" she cried indignantly. "'Pertinence, +indeed!" as she tossed her head clear of the big fingers that were +fondling her pretty hair. + +So it was that M'Adam, on coming quietly into the kitchen one day, +was consumed with angry resentment to find David actually handling +the object of his reverence; and the manner of his doing it added a +thousandfold to the offence. + +The boy was lolling indolently against the mantelpiece, his fair head +shoved right into the Cup, his breath dimming its lustre, and his two +hands, big and dirty, slowly revolving it before his eyes. + +Bursting with indignation, the little man crept up behind the boy. David +was reading through the long list of winners. + +"Theer's the first on 'em," he muttered, shooting out his tongue to +indicate the locality: "'Andrew Moore's Rough, 178--.' And theer agin--' +James Moore's Pinch, 179--.' And agin--'Beck, 182--.' Ah, and theer's +'im Tammas tells on! 'Rex, 183--,' and Rex, 183--.' Ay, but he was a +rare un by all tell-in's! If he'd nob'but won but onst agin! Ah, and +theer's none like the Gray Dogs--they all says that, and I say so +masel'; none like the Gray Dogs o' Kenmuir, bless 'em! And we'll win +agin too--" he broke off short; his eye had travelled down to the last +name on the list. + +"'M'Adam's Wull'!" he read with unspeakable contempt, and put his great +thumb across the name as though to wipe it out. "'M'Adam's Wull'! Goo' +gracious sakes! P-hg-h-r-r! "--and he made a motion as though to spit +upon the ground. + +But a little shoulder was into his side, two small fists were beating +at his chest, and a shrill voice was yelling: "Devil! devil! stan' +awa'!"--and he was tumbled precipitately away from the mantelpiece, and +brought up abruptly against the side-wall. + +The precious Cup swayed on its ebony stand, the boy's hands, rudely +withdrawn, almost overthrowing it. But the little man's first impulse, +cursing and screaming though he was, was to steady it. + +"'M'Adam's Wull'! I wish he was here to teach ye, ye snod-faced, +ox-limbed profleegit!" he cried, standing in front of the Cup, his eyes +blazing. + +"Ay, 'M'Adam's Wull'! And why not 'M'Adam's Wull'? Ha' ye ony objections +to the name?" + +"I didn't know yo' was theer," said David, a thought sheepishly. + +"Na; or ye'd not ha' said it." + +"I'd ha' thought it, though," muttered the boy. + +Luckily, however, his father did not hear. He stretched his hands up +tenderly for the Cup, lifted it down, and began reverently to polish the +dimmed sides with his handkerchief. + +"Ye're thinkin', nae doot," he cried, casting up a vicious glance at +David, "that Wullie's no gude enough to ha' his name alangside o' +they cursed Gray Dogs. Are ye no? Let's ha' the truth for aince--for a +diversion." + +"Reck'n he's good enough if there's none better," David replied +dispassionately. + +"And wha should there be better? Tell me that, ye muckle gowk." + +David smiled. + +"Eh, but that'd be long tellin', he said. + +"And what wad ye mean by that?" his father cried. + +"Nay; I was but thinkin' that Mr. Moore's Bob'll look gradely writ under +yon." He pointed to the vacant space below Red Wull's name. + +The little man put the Cup back on its pedestal with hurried hands. The +handkerchief dropped unconsidered to the floor; he turned and sprang +furiously at the boy, who stood against the wall, still smiling; and, +seizing him by the collar of his coat, shook him to and fro with fiery +energy. + +"So ye're hopin', prayin', nae doot, that James Moore--curse him!--will +win ma Cup awa' from me, yer ain dad. I wonder ye're no 'shamed to crass +ma door! Ye live on me; ye suck ma blood, ye foul-mouthed leech. Wullie +and me brak' oorsel's to keep ye in hoose and hame--and what's yer +gratitude? Ye plot to rob us of oor rights." + +He dropped the boy's coat and stood back. + +"No rights about it," said David, still keeping his temper. + +"If I win is it no ma right as muckle as ony Englishman's?" + +Red Wull, who had heard the rising voices, came trotting in, scowled at +David, and took his stand beside his master. + +"Ah, _if_ yo' win it," said David, with significant emphasis on the +conjunction. + +"And wha's to beat us?" + +David looked at his father in well-affected surprise. + +"I tell yo' Owd Bob's rinin'," he answered. + +"And what if he is?" the other cried. + +"Why, even yo' should know so much," the boy sneered. + +The little man could not fail to understand. + +"So that's it!" he said. Then, in a scream, with one finger pointing to +the great dog: "And what o' him? What'll ma Wullie be doin' the while? +Tell me that, and ha' a care! Mind ye, he stan's here hearkenin'!" And, +indeed, the Tailless Tyke was bristling for battle. + +David did not like the look of things; and edged away toward the door. + +"What'll Wullie be doin', ye chicken-hearted brock?" his father cried. + +"Im?" said the boy, now close on the door. "Im!" he said, with a slow +contempt that made the red bristles quiver on the dog's neck. "Lookin' +on, I should think--lookin' on. What else is he fit for? I tell yo' oor +Bob--" + +"--'Oor Bob'!" screamed the little man darting forward. "'Oor Bob'! Hark +to him. I'll 'oor--' At him, Wullie! at him!" + +But the Tailless Tyke needed no encouragement. With a harsh roar he +sprang through the air, only to crash against the closing door! + +The outer door banged, and in another second a mocking finger tapped on +the windowpane. + +"Better luck to the two on yo' next time!" laughed a scornful voice; and +David ran down the hill toward Kenmuir. + + + + +Chapter XII. HOW RED WULL HELD THE BRIDGE + + +FROM that hour the fire of M'Adam's jealousy blazed into a mighty flame. +The winning of the Dale Cup had become a mania with him. He had won it +once, and would again despite all the Moores, all the Gray Dogs, all the +undutiful sons in existence; on that point he was resolved. The fact of +his having tasted the joys of victory served to whet his desire. And now +he felt he could never be happy till the Cup was his own--won outright. + +At home David might barely enter the room There the trophy stood. + +"I'll not ha' ye touch ma Cup, ye dirty-fingered, ill-begotten wastrel. +Wullie and me won it--you'd naught to do wi' it. Go you to James Moore +and James Moore's dog." + +"Ay, and shall I tak' Cup wi' me? or will ye bide till it's took from +ye?" + +So the two went on; and every day the tension approached nearer +breaking-point. + +In the Dale the little man met with no sympathy. The hearts of the +Dalesmen were to a man with Owd Bob and his master. + +Whereas once at the Sylvester Arms his shrill, ill tongue had been +rarely still, now he maintained a sullen silence; Jem Burton, at least, +had no cause of complaint. Crouched away in a corner, with Red Wull +beside him, the little man would sit watching and listening as the +Dalesmen talked of Owd Bob's doings, his staunchness, sagacity, and +coming victory. + +Sometimes he could restrain himself no longer. Then he would spring +to his feet, and stand, a little swaying figure, and denounce them +passionately in almost pathetic eloquence. These orations always +concluded in set fashion. + +"Ye're all agin us!" the little man would cry in quivering voice. + +"We are that," Tammas would answer complacently. + +"Fair means or foul, ye're content sae lang as Wullie and me are beat. +I wonder ye dinna poison him--a little arsenic, and the way's clear for +your Bob." + +"'The way is clear enough wi'oot that," from Tammas caustically. + +Then a lengthy silence, only broken by that exceeding bitter cry: "Eh, +Wullie, Wullie, they're all agin us!" + + * * * * * + +And always the rivals--red and gray--went about seeking their +opportunity. But the Master, with his commanding presence and stern +eyes, was ever ready for them. Toward the end, M'Adam, silent and +sneering, would secretly urge on Red Wull to the attack; until, one day +in Grammoch-town, James Moore turned on him, his blue eyes glittering. +"D'yo' think, yo' little fule," he cried in that hard voice of his, +"that onst they got set we should iver git either of them off alive?" It +seemed to strike the little man as a novel idea; for, from that moment, +he was ever the first in his feverish endeavors to oppose his small +form, buffer-like, between the would-be combatants. + + * * * * * + +Curse as M'Adam might, threaten as he might, when the time came Owd Bob +won. + +The styles of the rivals were well contrasted: the patience, the +insinuating eloquence, combined with the splendid dash, of the one; and +the fierce, driving fury of the other. + +The issue was never in doubt. It may have been that the temper of the +Tailless Tyke gave in the time of trial; it may have been that his sheep +were wild, as M'Adam declared; certainly not, as the little man alleged +in choking voice, that they had been chosen and purposely set aside to +ruin his chance. Certain it is that his tactics scared them hopelessly: +and he never had them in hand. + +Act for Owd Bob, his dropping, his driving, his penning, aroused the +loud-tongued admiration of crowd and competitors alike. He was patient +yet persistent, quiet yet firm, and seemed to coax his charges in the +right way in that inimitable manner of his own. + +When, at length, the verdict was given, and it was known that, after +an interval of half a century, the Shepherds' Trophy was won again by a +Gray Dog of Kenmuir, there was such a scene as has been rarely witnessed +on the behind the Dalesman's Daughter. + +Great fists were slapped on mighty backs; great feet were stamped on the +sun-dried banks of the Silver Lea; stalwart lungs were strained to their +uttermost capacity; and roars of "Moore!" "Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!" "The +Gray Dogs!" thundered up the hillside, and were flung, thundering, back. + +Even James Moore was visibly moved as he worked his way through the +cheering mob; and Owd Bob, trotting alongside him in quiet dignity, +seemed to wave his silvery brush in acknowledgment. + +Master Jacky Sylvester alternately turned cart-wheels and felled the +Hon. Launcelot Bilks to the ground. Lady Eleanour, her cheeks flushed +with pleasure, waved her parasol, and attempted to restrain her son's +exuberance. Parson Leggy danced an unclerical jig, and shook hands with +the squire till both those fine old gentlemen were purple in the face. +Long Kirby selected a small man in the crowd, and bashed his hat down +over his eyes. While Tammas, Rob Saunderson, Tupper, Hoppin, Londesley, +and the rest joined hands and went raving round like so many giddy +girls. + +Of them all, however, none was so uproarious in the mad heat of his +enthusiasm as David M'Adam. He stood in the Kenmuir wagon beside Maggie, +a conspicuous figure above the crowd, as he roared in hoarse ecstasy: + +"Weel done, oor Bob! Weel done, Mr. Moore! Yo've knocked him! Knock him +agin! Owd Bob o' Kenmuir! Moore! Moore o' Kenmuir! Hip! Hip!" until the +noisy young giant attracted such attention in his boisterous delight +that Maggie had to lay a hand upon his arm to restrain his violence. + +Alone, on the far bank of the stream, stood the vanquished pair. + +The little man was trembling slightly; his face was still hot from his +exertions; and as he listened to the ovation accorded to his conqueror, +there was a piteous set grin upon his face. In front stood the defeated +dog, his lips wrinkling and hackles rising, as he, too, saw and heard +and understood. + +"It's a gran' thing to ha' a dutiful son. Wullie," the little man +whispered, watching David's waving figure. "He's happy--and so are they +a'--not sae much that James Moore has won, as that you and I are beat." + +Then, breaking down for a moment: + +"Eh, Wullie, Wullie! They're all agin us. It's you and I alane, lad." + +Again, seeing the squire followed by Parson Leggy, Viscount Birdsaye, +and others of the gentry, forcing their way through the press to shake +hands with the victor, he continued: + +"It's good to be in wi' the quality, Wullie. Niver mak' a friend of a +man beneath ye in rank, nor an enemy of a man aboon ye: that's a soond +principle, Wullie, if ye'd get on in honest England." + +He stood there, alone with his dog, watching the crowd on the far +as it surged upward in the direction of the committee tent. Only when +the black mass had packed itself in solid phalanges about that +ring, inside which, just a year ago, he had stood in very different +circumstances, and was at length still, a wintry smile played for a +moment about his lips. He laughed a mirthless laugh. + + "Bide a wee, Wullie--he! he! Bide a wee. + 'The best-laid schemes o' mice and men + Gang aft agley.'" + +As he spoke, there came down to him, above the tumult, a faint cry of +mingled surprise and anger. The cheering ceased abruptly. There was +silence; then there burst on the stillness a hurricane of indignation. + +The crowd surged forward, then turned. Every eye was directed across the +stream. A hundred damning fingers pointed at the solitary figure there. +There were hoarse yells of: "There he be Yon's him! What's he done wi' +it? Thief! Throttle him!" + +The mob came lumbering down the 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 + as they watched the crowd blundering blindly down the hill. There +were more men than Parson Leggy, the squire, James Moore, and the local +constables in the thick of it all, striving frantically with voice and +gesture, ay, and stick too, to stem the advance. + +It was useless; on the dark wave rolled, irresistible. + +On the far bank stood the little man, motionless, awaiting them with a +grin upon his face. And a little farther in front was the Tailless Tyke, +his back and neck like a new-shorn wheat-field, as he rumbled a vast +challenge. + +"Come on, gentlemen!" the little man cried. "Come on! I'll bide for ye, +never fear. Ye're a thousand to one and a dog. It's the odds ye like, +Englishmen a'." + +And the mob, with murder in its throat, accepted the invitation and came +on. + +At the moment, however, from the above, clear above the tramp of +the multitude, a great voice bellowed: "Way! Way! Way for Mr. Trotter!" +The advancing host checked and opened out; and the secretary of the +meeting bundled through. + +He was a small, fat man, fussy at any time, and perpetually perspiring. +Now his face was crimson with rage and running; he gesticulated wildly; +vague words bubbled forth, as his short legs twinkled down the . + +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 , unheeding of any insult but +the one. He bounced over the plank-bridge: and as he came closer, M'Adam +saw that in each hand brandished a brick. + +"Hoots, man! dinna throw!" he cried, making a feint as though to turn in +sudden terror. + +"What's this? What's this?" gasped the secretary, waving his arms. + +"Bricks, 'twad seem," the other answered, staying his flight. + +The secretary puffed up like a pudding in a hurry. + +"Where's the Cup? Champion, Challenge, etc.," he jerked out. "Mind, sir, +you're responsible! wholly responsible! Dents, damages, delays! What's +it all mean, sir? These--these monstrous creations "--he brandished the +bricks, and M'Adam started back--"wrapped, as I live, in straw, sir, in +the Cup case, sir! the Cup case! No Cup! Infamous! Disgraceful! Insult +me--meeting--committee--every one! What's it mean, sir?" He paused to +pant, his body filling and emptying like a bladder. + +M'Adam approached him with one eye on the crowd, which was heaving +forward again, threatening still, but sullen and silent. + +"I pit 'em there," he whispered; and drew back to watch the effect of +his disclosure. + +The secretary gasped. + +"You--you not only do this--amazing thing--these monstrosities"--he +hurled the bricks furiously on the unoffending ground--"but you dare to +tell me so!" + +The little man smiled. + +"'Do wrang and conceal it, do right and confess it,' that's Englishmen's +motto, and mine, as a rule; but this time I had ma reasons." + +"Reasons, sir! No reasons can justify such an extraordinary breach of +all the--the decencies. Reasons? the reasons of a maniac. Not to say +more, sir. Fraudulent detention--fraudulent, I say, sir! What were your +precious reasons?" + +The mob with Tammas and Long Kirby at their head had now well nigh +reached the plank-bridge. They still looked dangerous, and there were +isolated cries of: + +"Duck him!" + +"Chuck him in!" + +"An' the dog!" + +"Wi' one o' they bricks about their necks!" + +"There are my reasons!" said M'Adam, pointing to the forest of menacing +faces. "Ye see I'm no beloved amang yonder gentlemen, and"--in a stage +whisper in the other's ear--"I thocht maybe I'd be 'tacked on the road." + +Tammas foremost of the crowd, had now his foot upon the first plank. + +"Ye robber! ye thief! Wait till we set hands on ye, you and yer +gorilla!" he called. + +M'Adam half turned. + +"Wullie," he said quietly, "keep the bridge." + +At the order the Tailless Tyke shot gladly forward, and the leaders on +the bridge as hastily back. The dog galloped on to the rattling plank, +took his post fair and square in the centre of the narrow way, and stood +facing the hostile crew like Cerberus guarding the gates of hell: his +bull-head was thrust forward, hackles up, teeth glinting, and a distant +rumbling in his throat, as though daring them to come on. + +"Yo' first, ole lad!" said Tammas, hopping agilely behind Long Kirby. + +"Nay; the old uns lead!" cried the big smith, his face gray-white. He +wrenched round, pinned the old man by the arms, and held him forcibly +before him as a covering shield. There ensued an unseemly struggle +betwixt the two valiants, Tammas bellowing and kicking in the throes of +mortal fear. + +"Jim Mason'll show us," he suggested at last. + +"Nay," said honest Jim; "I'm fear'd." He could say it with impunity; for +the pluck of Postie Jim was a matter long past dispute. + +Then Jem Burton'd go first? + +Nay; Jem had a lovin' wife and dear little kids at 'ome. + +Then Big Bell? + +Big Bell'd see 'isseif further first. + +A tall figure came forcing through the crowd, his face a little paler +than its wont, and a formidable knob-kerry in his hand. + +"I'm goin'!" said David. + +"But yo're not," answered burly Sam'l, gripping the boy from behind with +arms like the roots of an oak. "Your time'll coom soon enough by the +look on yo' wi' niver no hurry." + +And the sense of the Dalesmen was with the big man; for, as old Rob +Saunderson said: + +"I reck'n he'd liefer claw on to your throat, lad, nor ony o' oors." + +As there was no one forthcoming to claim the honor of the lead, Tammas +came forward with cunning counsel. + +"Tell yo' what, lads, we'd best let 'em as don't know nowt at all aboot +him go first. And onst they're on, mind, we winna let 'em off; but keep +a-shovin' and a-bovin 'on 'em forra'd. _Then_ us'll foller." + +By this time there was a little naked space of green round the +bridge-head, like a fairy circle, into which the uninitiated might not +penetrate. Round this the mob hedged: the Dalesmen in front, striving +knavishly back and bawling to those behind to leggo that shovin'; and +these latter urging valorously forward, yelling jeers and contumely at +the front rank. "Come on! 'O's afraid? Lerrus through to 'em, then, +ye Royal Stan'-backs!"--for well they knew the impossibility of their +demand. + +And as they wedged and jostled thus, there stole out from their midst as +gallant a champion as ever trod the grass. He trotted out into the +ring, the observed of all, and paused to gaze at the gaunt figure on the +bridge. The sun lit the sprinkling of snow on the dome of his head; one +forepaw was off the ground; and he stood there, royally alert, scanning +his antagonist. + +"Th' Owd Un!" went up in a roar fit to split the air as the hero of the +day was recognized. And the Dalesmen gave a pace forward spontaneously +as the gray knight-errant stole across the green. + +"Oor Bob'll fetch him!" they roared, their blood leaping to fever heat, +and gripped their sticks, determined in stern reality to follow now. + +The gray champion trotted up on to the bridge, and paused again, the +long hair about his neck rising like a ruff, and a strange glint in his +eyes; and the holder of the bridge never moved. Red and Gray stood thus, +face to face: the one gay yet resolute, the other motionless, his great +head slowly sinking between his forelegs, seemingly petrified. + +There was no shouting now: it was time for deeds, not words. Only, above +the stillness, came a sound from the bridge like the snore of a giant in +his sleep, and blending, with it, a low, deep, purring thunder like some +monster cat well pleased. + +"Wullie," came a solitary voice from the far side, "keep the bridge!" + +One ear went back, one ear was still forward; the great head was low and +lower between his forelegs and the glowing eyes rolled upward so that +the watchers could see the murderous white. + +Forward the gray dog stepped. + +Then, for the second time that afternoon, a voice, stern and hard, came +ringing down from the above over the heads of the many. + +"Bob, lad, coom back!" + +"He! he! I thocht that was comin'," sneered the small voice over the +stream. + +The gray dog heard, and checked. + +"Bob, lad, coom in, I say!" + +At that he swung round and marched slowly back, gallant as he had come, +dignified still in his mortification. + +And Red Wull threw back his head and bellowed a paean of +victory--challenge, triumph, scorn, all blended in that bull-like, +blood-chilling blare. + + * * * * * + +In the mean time, M'Adam and the secretary had concluded their business. +It had been settled that the Cup was to be delivered over to James Moore +not later than the following Saturday. + +"Saturday, see! at the latest!" the secretary cried as he turned and +trotted off. + +"Mr. Trotter," M'Adam called after him. "I'm sorry, but ye maun bide +this side the Lea till I've reached the foot o' the Pass. Gin they +gentlemen"--nodding toward the crowd--"should set hands on me, why--" +and he shrugged his shoulders significantly. "Forbye, Wullie's keepin' +the bridge." + +With that the little man strolled off leisurely; now dallying to pick a +flower, now to wave a mocking hand at the furious mob, and so slowly on +to the foot of the Muirk Muir Pass. + +There he turned and whistled that shrill peculiar note. + +"Wullie, Wullie, to me!" he called. + +At that, with one last threat thrown at the' thousand souls he had held +at bay for thirty minutes, the Tailless Tyke swung about and galloped +after his lord. + + + + +Chapter XIII. THE FACE IN THE FRAME + + +ALL Friday M'Adam never left the kitchen. He sat opposite the Cup, in a +coma, as it were; and Red Wull lay motionless at his feet. + +Saturday came, and still the two never budged. Toward the evening +the little man rose, all in a tremble, and took the Cup down from the +mantelpiece; then he sat down again with it in his arms. + +"Eh, Wullie, Wullie, is it a dream? Ha' they took her fra us? Eh, but +it's you and I alane, lad." + +He hugged it to him, crying silently, and rocking to and fro like a +mother with a dying child. And Red Wull sat up on his haunches, and +weaved from side to side in sympathy. + +As the dark was falling, David looked in. + +At the sound of the opening door the little man swung round noiselessly, +the Cup nursed in his arms, and glared, sullen and suspicious, at the +boy; yet seemed not to recognize him. In the half-light David could see +the tears coursing down the little wizened face. + +"'Pon ma life, he's gaein' daft!" was his comment as he turned away to +Kenmuir. And again the mourners were left alone. + +"A few hours noo, Wullie," the little man wailed, "and she'll be gane. +We won her, Wullie, you and I, won her fair: she's lit the hoose for +us; she's softened a' for us--and God kens we needed it; she was the ae +thing we had to look to and love. And noo they're takin' her awa', and +'twill be night agin. We've cherished her, we've garnished her, we've +loved her like oor ain; and noo she maun gang to strangers who know her +not." + +He rose to his feet, and the great dog rose with him. His voice +heightened to a scream, and he swayed with the Cup in his arms till it +seemed he must fall. + +"Did they win her fair, Wullie? Na; they plotted, they conspired, they +worked ilka ain o' them agin us, and they beat us. Ay, and noo they're +robbin' us--robbin' us! But they shallna ha' her. Oor's or naebody's, +Wullie! We'll finish her sooner nor that." + +He banged the Cup down on the table and rushed madly out of the room, +Red Wull at his heels. In a moment he came running back, brandishing a +great axe about his head. + +"Come on, Wullie!" he cried. "'Scots wha hae'! Noo's the day and noo's +the hour! Come on!" + +On the table before him, serene and beautiful, stood the target of his +madness. The little man ran at it, swinging his murderous weapon like a +flail. + +"Oor's or naebody's Wullie! Come on! 'Lay the proud usurpers low'!" He +aimed a mighty buffet; and the Shepherds' Trophy--the Shepherds' Trophy +which had won through the hardships of a hundred years--was almost gone. +It seemed to quiver as the blow fell. But the cruel steel missed, and +the axe-head sank into the wood, clean and deep, like a spade in snow. + +Red Wull had leapt on to the table, and in his cavernous voice was +grumbling a chorus to his master's yells. The little man danced up and +down, tugging and straining at the axe-handle. + + "You and I, Wullie! + 'Tyrants fall in every foe! + Liberty's in every blow!'" + +The axe-head was as immoveable as the Muir Pike. + + "'Let us do or die!'" + +The shaft snapped, and the little man tottered back. Red Wull jumped +down from the table, and, in doing so, brushed against the Cup. It +toppled* over on to the floor, and rolled tinkling away in the dust. +And the little man fled madly out of the house, still screaming his +war-song. + + *N.B.--You may see the dent in the Cup's white sides to this + day. + + * * * * * + +When, late that night, M'Adam returned home, the Cup was gone. Down on +his hands and knees he traced out its path, plain to see, where it had +rolled along the dusty floor. Beyond that there was no sign. + +At first he was too much overcome to speak. Then he raved round the room +like a derelict ship, Red Wull following uneasily behind. He cursed; +he blasphemed; he screamed and beat the walls with feverish hands. A +stranger, passing, might well have thought this was a private Bedlam. At +last, exhausted, he sat down and cried. + +"It's David, Wullie, ye may depend; David that's robbed his father's +hoose. Oh, it's a grand thing to ha' a dutiful son!"--and he bowed his +gray head in his hands. + +David, indeed, it was. He had come back to the Grange during his +father's absence, and, taking the Cup from its grimy bed, had marched it +away to its rightful home. For that evening at Kenmuir, James Moore had +said to him: + +"David, your father's not sent the Cup. I shall come and fetch it +to-morrow." And David knew he meant it. Therefore, in order to save a +collision between his father and his friend--a collision the issue of +which he dared hardly contemplate, knowing, as he did, the unalterable +determination of the one and the lunatic passion of the other--the boy +had resolved to fetch the Cup himself, then and there, in the teeth, if +needs be, of his father and the Tailless Tyke. And he had done it. + +When he reached home that night he marched, contrary to his wont, +straight into the kitchen. + +There sat his father facing the door, awaiting him, his hands upon his +knees. For once the little man was alone; and David, brave though he +was, thanked heaven devoutly that Red Wull was elsewhere. + +For a while father and son kept silence, watching one another like two +fencers. + +"'Twas you as took ma Cup?" asked the little man at last, leaning +forward in his chair. + +"'Twas me as took Mr. Moore's Cup," the boy replied. "I thowt yo' mun +ha' done wi' it--I found it all bashed upon the floor." + +"You took it--pit up to it, nae doot, by James Moore." + +David made a gesture of dissent. + +"Ay, by James Moore," his father continued. "He dursena come hissel' +for his ill-gotten spoils, so he sent the son to rob the father. The +coward!"--his whole frame shook with passion. "I'd ha' thocht James +Moore'd ha' bin man enough to come himself for what he wanted. I see noo +I did him a wrang--I misjudged him. I kent him a heepocrite; ain o' yer +unco gudes; a man as looks one thing, says anither, and does a third; +and noo I ken he's a coward. He's fear'd o' me, sic as I am, five foot +twa in ma stockin's." He rose from his chair and drew himself up to his +full height. + +"Mr. Moore had nowt to do wi' it," David persisted. + +"Ye're lyin'. James Moore pit ye to it." + +"I tell yo' he did not." + +"Ye'd ha' bin willin' enough wi'oot him, if ye'd thocht o't, I grant ye. +But ye've no the wits. All there is o' ye has gane to mak' yer muckle +body. Hooiver, that's no matter. I'll settle wi' James Moore anither +time. I'll settle wi' you noo, David M'Adam." + +He paused, and looked the boy over from bead to foot. + +"So, ye're not only an idler! a wastrel! a liar!"--he spat the words +out. "Ye're--God help ye--a thief!" + +"I'm no thief!" the boy returned hotly. "I did but give to a mon what ma +feyther--shame on him!--wrongfully kept from him." + +"Wrangfully?" cried the little man, advancing with burning face. + +"'Twas honorably done, keepin' what wasna your'n to keep! Holdin' back +his rights from a man! Ay, if ony one's the thief, it's not me: it's +you, I say, you!"--and he looked his father in the face with flashing +eyes. + +"I'm the thief, am I?" cried the other, incoherent with passion. "Though +ye're three times ma size, I'll teach ma son to speak so to me." + +The old strap, now long disused, hung in the chimney corner. As he spoke +the little man sprang back, ripped it from the wall, and, almost before +David realized what he was at, had brought it down with a savage slash +across his son's shoulders; and as he smote he whistled a shrill, +imperative note: + +"Wullie, Wullie, to me!" + +David felt the blow through his coat like a bar of hot iron laid across +his back. His passion seethed within him; every vein throbbed; every +nerve quivered. In a minute he would wipe out, once and for all, the +score of years; for the moment, however, there was urgent business on +hand. For outside he could hear the quick patter of feet hard-galloping, +and the scurry of a huge creature racing madly to a call. + +With a bound he sprang at the open door; and again the strap came +lashing down, and a wild voice: + +"Quick, Wullie! For God's sake, quick!" + +David slammed the door to. It shut with a rasping snap; and at the same +moment a great body from without thundered against it with terrific +violence, and a deep voice roared like the sea when thwarted of its +prey. + +"Too late, agin!" said David, breathing hard; and shot the bolt home +with a clang. Then he turned on his father. + +"Noo," said he, "man to man!" + +"Ay," cried the other, "father to son!" + +The little man half turned and leapt at the old musketoon hanging on the +wall. He missed it, turned again, and struck with the strap full at +the other's face. David caught the falling arm at the wrist, hitting it +aside with such tremendous force that the bone all but snapped. Then +he smote his father a terrible blow on the chest, and the little man +staggered back, gasping, into the corner; while the strap dropped from +his numbed fingers. + +Outside Red Wull whined and scratched; but the two men paid no heed. + +David strode forward; there was murder in his face. The little man +saw it: his time was come; but his bitterest foe never impugned Adam +M'Adam's courage. + +He stood huddled in the corner, all dishevelled, nursing one arm with +the other, entirely unafraid. + +"Mind, David," he said, quite calm, "murder 'twill be, not +manslaughter." + +"Murder 'twill be," the boy answered, in thick, low voice, and was +across the room. + +Outside Red Wull banged and clawed high up on the door with impotent +pats. + +The little man suddenly slipped his hand in his pocket, pulled out +something, and flung it. The missile pattered on his son's face like a +rain-drop on a charging bull, and David smiled as he came on. It dropped +softly on the table at his side; he looked down and--it was the face of +his mother which gazed up at him! + +"Mither!" he sobbed, stopping short. "Mither! Ma God, ye saved him--and +me!" + +He stood there, utterly unhinged, shaking and whimpering. + +It was some minutes before he pulled himself together; then he walked to +the wall, took down a pair of shears, and seated himself at the table, +still trembling. Near him lay the miniature, all torn and crumpled, and +beside it the deep-buried axe-head. + +He picked up the strap and began cutting it into little pieces. + +"There! and there! and there!" he said with each snip. "An' ye hit me +agin there may be no mither to save ye." + +M'Adam stood huddling in the corner. He shook like an aspen leaf; his +eyes blazed in his white face; and he still nursed one arm with the +other. + +"Honor yer father," he quoted in small, low voice. + + + + +PART IV THE BLACK KILLER + + + + +Chapter XIV. A MAD MAN + + +TAMMAS is on his feet in the tap-room of the Arms, brandishing a pewter +mug. + +"Gen'lemen!" he cries, his old face flushed; "I gie you a toast. Stan' +oop!" + +The knot of Dalesmen round the fire rises like one. The old man waves +his mug before him, reckless of the good ale that drips on to the floor. + +"The best sheep-dog i' th' North--Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!" he cries. In an +instant there is uproar: the merry applause of clinking pewters; the +stamping of feet; the rattle of sticks. Rob Saunderson and old Jonas +are cheering with the best; Tupper and Ned Hoppin are bellowing in one +another's ears; Long Kirby and Jem Burton are thumping each other on +the back; even Sam'l Todd and Sexton Ross are roused from their habitual +melancholy. + +"Here's to Th' Owd Un! Here's to oor Bob!" yell stentorian voices; while +Rob Saunderson has jumped on to a chair. + +"Wi' the best sheep-dog i' th' North I gie yo' the Shepherd's +Trophy!--won outreet as will be!" he cries. Instantly the clamor +redoubles. + +"The Dale Cup and Th' Owd Un! The Trophy and oor Bob! 'Ip, 'ip, for +the gray dogs! 'Ip, 'ip, for the best sheep-dog as ever was or will be! +'Ooray, 'ooray!" + +It is some minutes before the noise subsides; and slowly the enthusiasts +resume their seats with hoarse throats and red faces. + +"Gentlemen a'!" + +A little unconsidered man is standing up at the back of the room. His +face is aflame, and his hands twitch spasmodically; and, in front, with +hackles up and eyes gleaming, is a huge, bull-like dog. + +"Noo," cries the little man, "I daur ye to repeat that lie!" + +"Lie!" screams Tammas; "lie! I'll gie 'im lie! Lemme at im', I say!" + +The old man in his fury is half over the surrounding ring of chairs +before Jim Mason on the one hand and Jonas Maddox on the other can pull +him back. + +"Coom, Mr. Thornton," soothes the octogenarian, "let un be. Yo' surely +bain't angered by the likes o' 'im!"--and he jerks contemptuously toward +the solitary figure at his back. + +Tammas resumes his seat unwillingly. + +The little man in the far corner of the room remains silent, waiting +for his challenge to be taken up. It is in vain. And as he looks at the +range of broad, impassive backs turned on him, he smiles bitterly. + +"They dursen't Wullie, not a man of them a'!" he cries. +"They're one--two--three--four--eleven to one, Wullie, and yet +they dursen't. Eleven of them, and every man a coward! Long +Kirby--Thornton--Tupper--Todd--Hoppin--Ross--Burton--and the rest, and +not one but's a bigger man nor me, and yet--Weel, we might ha' kent it. +We should ha' kent Englishmen by noo. They're aye the same and aye have +bin. They tell lies, black lies--" + +Tammas is again half out his chair and, only forcibly restrained by the +men on either hand. + +"--and then they ha' na the courage to stan' by 'em. Ye're English, +ivery man o' ye, to yer marrow." + +The little man's voice rises as he speaks. He seizes the tankard from +the table at his side. + +"Englishmen!" he cries, waving it before him. "Here's a health! The best +sheep-dog as iver penned a flock--Adam M'Adam's Red Wull!" + +He pauses, the pewter at his lips, and looks at his audience with +flashing eyes. There is no response from them. + +"Wullie, here's to you!" he cries. "Luck and life to ye, ma trusty fier! +Death and defeat to yer enemies!" + + "'The warld's warld's wrack we share o't, + The warstle and the care o't;" + +He raises the tankard and drains it to its uttermost dreg. + +Then drawing himself up, he addresses his audience once more: + +"An' noo I'll warn ye aince and for a', and ye may tell James Moore I +said it: He may plot agin us, Wullie and me; he may threaten us; he may +win the Cup outright for his muckle favorite; but there was niver a man +or dog yet as did Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull a hurt but in the end he +wush't his mither hadna borne him." + +A little later, and he walks out of the inn, the Tailless Tyke at his +heels. + +After he is gone it is Rob Saunderson who says: "The little mon's mad; +he'll stop at nothin"; and Tammas who answers: + +"Nay; not even murder." + + * * * * * + +The little man had aged much of late. His hair was quite white, his eyes +unnaturally bright, and his hands were never still, as though he were in +everlasting pain. He looked the picture of disease. + +After Owd Bob's second victory he had become morose and untalkative. At +home he often sat silent for hours together, drinking and glaring at the +place where the Cup had been. Sometimes he talked in low, eerie voice to +Red Wull; and on two occasions, David, turning, suddenly, had caught his +father glowering stealthily at him with such an expression on his face +as chilled the boy's blood. The two never spoke now; and David held this +silent, deadly enmity far worse than the old-time perpetual warfare. + +It was the same at the Sylvester Arms. The little man sat alone with Red +Wull, exchanging words with no man, drinking steadily, brooding over his +wrongs, only now and again galvanized into sudden action. + +Other people than Tammas Thornton came to the conclusion that M'Adam +would stop at nothing in the undoing of James Moore or the gray dog. +They said drink and disappointment had turned his head; that he was mad +and dangerous. And on New Year's day matters seemed coming to a crisis; +for it was reported that in the gloom of a snowy evening he had drawn +a knife on the Master in the High Street, but slipped before he could +accomplish his fell purpose. + +Most of them all, David was haunted with an ever-present anxiety as to +the little man's intentions. The boy even went so far as to warn his +friend against his father. But the Master only smiled grimly. + +"Thank ye, lad," he said. "But I reck'n we can 'fend for oorsel's, Bob +and I. Eh, Owd Un?" + +Anxious as David might be, he was not so anxious as to be above taking +a mean advantage of this state of strained apprehension to work on +Maggie's fears. + +One evening he was escorting her home from church, when, just before +they reached the larch copse: "Goo' sakes! What's that?" he ejaculated +in horror-laden accents, starting back. + +"What, Davie?" cried the girl, shrinking up to him all in a tremble. + +"Couldna say for sure. It mought be owt, or agin it mought be nowt. But +yo' grip my arm, I'll grip yo' waist." + +Maggie demurred. + +"Canst see onythin'?" she asked, still in a flutter. + +"Be'ind the 'edge." + +"Wheer?" + +"Theer! "--pointing vaguely. + +"I canna see nowt." + +"Why, theer, lass. Can yo' not see? Then yo' pit your head along o' +mine--so--closer--closer." Then, in aggrieved tones: "Whativer is the +matter wi' yo', wench? I might be a leprosy." + +But the girl was walking away with her head high as the snow-capped +Pike. + +"So long as I live, David M'Adam," she cried, "I'll niver go to church +wi' you agin!" + +"Iss, but you will though--onst," he answered low. + +Maggie whisked round in a flash, superbly indignant. + +"What d'yo' mean, sir-r-r?" + +"Yo' know what I mean, lass," he replied sheepish and shuffling before +her queenly anger. + +She looked him up and down, and down and up again. + +"I'll niver speak to you agin, Mr. M'Adam," she cried; "not if it was +ever so--Nay, I'll walk home by myself, thank you. I'll ha' nowt to do +wi' you." + +So the two must return to Kenmuir, one behind the other, like a lady and +her footman. + +David's audacity had more than once already all but caused a rupture +between the pair. And the occurrence behind the hedge set the cap on his +impertinences. That was past enduring and Maggie by her bearing let him +know it. + +David tolerated the girl's new attitude for exactly twelve minutes by +the kitchen clock. Then: "Sulk wi' me, indeed! I'll teach her!" and he +marched out of the door, "Niver to cross it agin, ma word!" + +Afterward, however, he relented so far as to continue his visits as +before; but he made it clear that he only came to see the Master and +hear of Owd Bob's doings. On these occasions he loved best to sit on the +window-sill outside the kitchen, and talk and chaff with Tammas and the +men in the yard, feigning an uneasy bashfulness when reference made to +Bessie Bolstock. And after sitting thus for some time, he would half +turn, look over his shoulder, and remark in indifferent tones to the +girl within: "Oh, good-evenin'! I forgot yo', "--and then resume his +conversation. While the girl within, her face a little pinker, her +lips a little tighter, and her chin a little higher, would go about her +business, pretending neither to hear nor care. + +The suspicions that M'Adam nourished dark designs against James Moore +were somewhat confirmed in that, on several occasions in the bitter +dusks of January afternoons, a little insidious figure was reported to +have been seen lurking among the farm-buildings of Kenmuir. + +Once Sam'l Todd caught the little man fairly, skulking away in the +woodshed. Sam'l took him up bodily and carried him down the to the +Wastrel, shaking him gently as he went. + +Across the stream he put him on his feet. + +"If I catches yo' cadgerin' aroun' the farm agin, little mon," he +admonished, holding up a warning finger; "I'll tak' yo' and drap yo' +in t' Sheep-wash, I warn yo' fair. I'd ha' done it noo an' yo'd bin a +bigger and a younger mon. But theer! yo'm sic a scrappety bit. Noo, rin +whoam." And the little man slunk silently away. + +For a time he appeared there no more. Then, one evening when it was +almost dark, James Moore, going the round of the outbuildings, felt Owd +Bob stiffen against his side. + +"What's oop, lad" he whispered, halting; and, dropping his hand on the +old dog's neck felt a ruff of rising hair beneath it. + +"Steady, lad, steady," he whispered; "what is 't?" He peered forward +into the gloom; and at length discerned a little familiar figure huddled +away in the crevice between two stacks. + +"It's yo, is it, M'Adam?" he said, and, bending, seized a wisp of Owd +Bob's coat in a grip like a vice. + +Then, in a great voice, moved to rare anger: + +"Oot o' this afore I do ye a hurt, ye meeserable spyin' creetur" he +roared. "Yo' mun wait till dark cooms to hide yo', yo' coward, afore yo +daur coom crawlin' aboot ma hoose, frightenin' the women-folk and up to +yer devilments. If yo've owt to say to me, coom like a mon in the open +day. Noo git aff wi' yo', afore I lay hands to yo'!" + +He stood there in the dusk, tall and mighty, a terrible figure, one hand +pointing to the gate, the other still grasping the gray dog. + +The little man scuttled away in the half-light, and out of the yard. + +On the plank-bridge he turned and shook his fist at the darkening house. + +"Curse ye, James Moore!" he sobbed, "I'll be even wi' ye yet." + + + + +Chapter XV. DEATH ON THE MARCHES + + +ON the top of this there followed an attempt to poison Th' Owd Un. At +least there was no other accounting for the affair. + +In the dead of a long-remembered night James Moore was waked by a low +moaning beneath his room. He leapt out of bed and ran to the window to +see his favorite dragging about the moonlit yard, the dark head +down, the proud tail for once lowered, the lithe limbs wooden, heavy, +unnatural--altogether pitiful. + +In a moment he was downstairs and out to his friend's assistance. +"Whativer is't, Owd Un?" he cried in anguish. + +At the sound of that dear voice the old dog tried to struggle to him, +could not, and fell, whimpering. + +In a second the Master was with him, examining him tenderly, and crying +for Sam'l, who slept above the stables. + +There was every symptom of foul play: the tongue was swollen and almost +black; the breathing labored; the body twitched horribly; and the soft +gray eyes all bloodshot and straining in agony. + +With the aid of Sam'l and Maggie, drenching first and stimulants after, +the Master pulled him around for the moment. And soon Jim Mason and +Parson Leggy, hurriedly summoned, came running hot-foot to the rescue. + +Prompt and stringent measures saved the victim--but only just. For a +time the best sheep-dog in the North was pawing at the Gate of Death. In +the end, as the gray dawn broke, the danger passed. + +The attempt to get at him, if attempt it was, aroused passionate +indignation in the countryside. It seemed the culminating-point of the +excitement long bubbling. + +There were no traces of the culprit; not a vestige to lead to +incrimination, so cunningly had the criminal accomplished his foul task. +But as to the perpetrator, if there where no proofs there were yet fewer +doubts. + +At the Sylvester Arms, Long Kirby asked M'Adam point-blank for his +explanation of the matter. + +"Hoo do I 'count for it?" the little man cried. "I dinna 'count for it +ava." + +"Then hoo did it happen?" asked Tammas with asperity. + +"I dinna believe it did happen," the little man replied. "It's a lee +o' James Moore's--a characteristic lee." Whereon they chucked him out +incontinently; for the Terror for once was elsewhere. + +Now that afternoon is to be remembered for threefold causes. Firstly, +because, as has been said, M'Adam was alone. Secondly, because, a few +minutes after his ejectment, the window of the tap-room was thrown open +from without, and the little man looked in. He spoke no word, but those +dim, smouldering eyes of his wandered from face to face, resting for +a second on each, as if to burn them on his memory. "I'll remember ye, +gentlemen," he said at length quietly, shut the window, and was gone. + +Thirdly, for a reason now to be told. + +Though ten days had elapsed since the attempt on him, the gray dog had +never been his old self since. He had attacks of shivering; his vitality +seemed sapped; he tired easily, and, great heart, would never own it. +At length on this day, James Moore, leaving the old dog behind him, had +gone over to Grammoch-town to consult Dingley, the vet. On his way home +he met Jim Mason with Gyp, the faithful Betsy's unworthy successor, at +the Dalesman's Daughter. Together they started for the long tramp home +over the Marches. And that journey is marked with a red stone in this +story. + +All day long the hills had been bathed in impenetrable fog. Throughout +there had been an accompanying drizzle; and in the distance the wind +had moaned a storm-menace. To the darkness of the day was added the +sombreness of falling night as the three began the ascent of the +Murk Muir Pass. By the time they emerged into the Devil's Bowl it was +altogether black and blind. But the threat of wind had passed, leaving +utter stillness; and they could hear the splash of an otter on the far +side of the Lone Tarn as they skirted that gloomy water's edge. When at +length the last steep rise on to the Marches had been topped, a breath +of soft air smote them lightly, and the curtain of fog began drifting +away. + +The two men swung steadily through the heather with that reaching stride +the birthright of moor-men and highlanders. They talked but little, +for such was their nature: a word or two on sheep and the approaching +lambing-time; thence on to the coming Trials; the Shepherds' Trophy; +Owd Bob and the attempt on him; and from that to M'Adam and the Tailless +Tyke. + +"D'yo' reck'n M'Adam had a hand in't?" the postman was asking. + +"Nay; there's no proof." + +"Ceptin' he's mad to get shut o' Th' Owd Un afore Cup Day." + +"Im or me--it mak's no differ. For a dog is disqualified from competing +for the Trophy who has changed hands during the six months prior to the +meeting. And this holds good though the change be only from father to +son on the decease of the former." + +Jim looked up inquiringly at his companion. + +"D'yo' think it'll coom to that?" he asked. + +"What?" + +"Why--murder." + +"Not if I can help it," the other answered grimly. + +The fog had cleared away by now, and the moon was up. To their right, +on the crest of a rise some two hundred yards away, a low wood stood out +black against the sky. As they passed it, a blackbird rose up screaming, +and a brace of wood-pigeons winged noisily away. + +"Hullo! hark to the yammerin'!" muttered Jim, stopping; "and at this +time o' night too!" + +Some rabbits, playing in the moonlight on the outskirts of the wood, sat +up, listened, and hopped back into security. At the same moment a big +hill-fox slunk out of the covert. He stole a pace forward and halted, +listening with one ear back and one pad raised; then cantered silently +away in the gloom, passing close to the two men and yet not observing +them. + +"What's up, I wonder?" mused the postman. + +"The fox set 'em clackerin', I reck'n," said the Master. + +"Not he; he was scared 'maist oot o' his skin," the other answered. Then +in tones of suppressed excitement, with his hands on James Moore's arm: +"And, look'ee, theer's ma Gyp a-beckonin' on us!" + +There, indeed, on the crest of the rise beside the wood, was the +little lurcher, now looking back at his master, now creeping stealthily +forward. + +"Ma word! theer's summat wrong yonder!" cried Jim, and jerked the +post-bags off his shoulder. "Coom on, Master! "--and he set off running +toward the dog; while James Moore, himself excited now, followed with an +agility that belied his years. + +Some score yards from the lower edge of the spinney, upon the farther +side of the ridge, a tiny beck babbled through its bed of peat. The +two men, as they topped the rise, noticed a flock of black-faced +mountain-sheep clustered in the dip 'twixt wood and stream. They stood +martialled in close array, facing half toward the wood, half toward +the newcomers, heads up, eyes glaring, handsome as sheep only look when +scared. + +On the crest of the ridge the two men halted beside Gyp. The postman +stood with his head a little forward, listening intently. Then he +dropped in the heather like a dead man, pulling the other with him. + +"Doon, mon!" he whispered, clutching at Gyp with his spare hand. + +"What is't, Jim?" asked the Master, now thoroughly roused. + +"Summat movin' i' th' wood," the other whispered, listening +weasel-eared. + +So they lay motionless for a while; but there came no sound from the +copse. + +"'Appen 'twas nowt," the postman at length allowed, peering cautiously +about. "And yet I thowt--I dunno reetly what I thowt." + +Then, starting to his knees with a hoarse cry of terror: "Save us! +what's yon theer?" + +Then for the first time the Master raised his head and noticed, lying in +the gloom between them and the array of sheep, a still, white heap. + +James Moore was a man of deeds, not words. + +"It's past waitin'!" he said, and sprang forward, his heart in his +mouth. + +The sheep stamped and shuffled as he came, and yet did not break. + +"Ah, thanks be!" he cried, dropping beside the motionless body; "it's +nob'but a sheep." As he spoke his hands wandered deftly over the +carcase. "But what's this?" he called. "Stout* she was as me. Look at +her fleece--crisp, close, strong; feel the flesh--firm as a rock. And +ne'er a bone broke, ne're a scrat on her body a pin could mak'. As +healthy as a mon--and yet dead as mutton!" + + *N.B. Stout--Hearty. + +Jim, still trembling from the horror of his fear, came up, and knelt +beside his friend. "Ah, but there's bin devilry in this!" he said; "I +reck'ned they sheep had bin badly skeared, and not so long agone." + +"Sheep-murder, sure enough!" the other answered. "No fox's doin'--a +girt-grown two-shear as could 'maist knock a h'ox." + +Jim's hands travelled from the body to the dead creature's throat. He +screamed. + +"By gob, Master! look 'ee theer!" He held his hand up in the moonlight, +and it dripped red. "And warm yet! warm!" + +"Tear some bracken, Jim!" ordered the other, "and set alight. We mun see +to this." + +The postman did as bid. For a moment the fern smouldered and smoked, +then the flame ran crackling along and shot up in the darkness, +weirdly lighting the scene: to the right the low wood, a block of solid +blackness against the sky; in front the wall of sheep, staring out of +the gloom with bright eyes; and as centre-piece that still, white body, +with the kneeling men and lurcher sniffing tentatively round. + +The victim was subjected to a critical examination. The throat, and that +only, had been hideously mauled; from the raw wounds the flesh hung in +horrid shreds; on the ground all about were little pitiful dabs of +wool, wrenched off apparently in a struggle; and, crawling among the +fern-roots, a snake-like track of red led down to the stream. + +"A dog's doin', and no mistakin' thot," said Jim at length, after a +minute inspection. + +"Ay," declared the Master with slow emphasis, "and a sheep-dog's too, +and an old un's, or I'm no shepherd." + +The postman looked up. + +"Why thot?" he asked, puzzled. + +"Becos," the Master answered, "'im as did this killed for blood--and for +blood only. If had bin ony other dog--greyhound, bull, tarrier, or even +a young sheep-dog--d'yo' think he'd ha' stopped wi' the one? Not he; +he'd ha' gone through 'em, and be runnin' 'em as like as not yet, +nippin' 'em, pullin' 'em down, till he'd maybe killed the half. But 'im +as did this killed for blood, I say. He got it--killed just the one, and +nary touched the others, d'yo 'see, Jim?" + +The postman whistled, long and low. + +"It's just what owd Wrottesley'd tell on," he said. "I never nob'but +half believed him then--I do now though. D'yo' mind what th' owd lad'd +tell, Master?" + +James Moore nodded. + +"Thot's it. I've never seen the like afore myself, but I've heard ma +grandad speak o't mony's the time. An owd dog'll git the cravin' for +sheep's blood on him, just the same as a mon does for the drink; he +creeps oot o' nights, gallops afar, hunts his sheep, downs 'er, and +satisfies the cravin'. And he nary kills but the one, they say, for he +knows the value o' sheep same as you and me. He has his gallop, quenches +the thirst, and then he's for home, maybe a score mile away, and no one +the wiser i' th' mornin'. And so on, till he cooms to a bloody death, +the murderin' traitor." + +"If he does!" said Jim. + +"And he does, they say, nigh always. For he gets bolder and bolder wi' +not bein' caught, until one fine night a bullet lets light into him. And +some mon gets knocked nigh endways when they bring his best tyke home i' +th' mornin', dead, wi' the sheep's wool yet stickin' in his mouth." + +The postman whistled again. + +"It's what owd Wrottesley'd tell on to a tick. And he'd say, if ye +mind, Master, as hoo the dog'd niver kill his master's sheep--kind o' +conscience-like." + +"Ay, I've heard that," said the Master. "Queer too, and 'im bein' such a +bad un!" + +Jim Mason rose slowly from his knees. + +"Ma word," he said, "I wish Th' Owd Un was here. He'd 'appen show us +summat!" + +"I nob'but wish he was, pore owd lad!" said the Master. + +As he spoke there was a crash in the wood above them; a sound as of some +big body bursting furiously through brushwood. + +The two men rushed to the top of the rise. In the darkness they could +see nothing; only, standing still and holding their breaths, they could +hear the faint sound, ever growing fainter, of some creature splashing +in a hasty gallop over the wet moors. + +"Yon's him! Yon's no fox, I'll tak' oath. And a main big un, too, hark +to him!" cried Jim. Then to Gyp, who had rushed off in hot pursuit: +"Coom back, chunk-'ead. What's use o' you agin a gallopin' potamus?" + +Gradually the sounds died away and away, and were no more. + +"Thot's 'im, the devil!" said the Master at length. + +"Nay; the devil has a tail, they do say," replied Jim thoughtfully. For +already the light of suspicion was focusing its red glare. + +"Noo I reck'n we're in for bloody times amang the sheep for a while," +said the Master, as Jim picked up his bags. + +"Better a sheep nor a mon," answered the postman, still harping on the +old theme. + + + + +Chapter XVI. THE BLACK KILLER + + +THAT, as James Moore had predicted, was the first only of a long +succession of such solitary crimes. + +Those who have not lived in a desolate country like that about the +Muir Pike, where sheep are paramount and every other man engaged in the +profession pastoral, can barely imagine the sensation aroused. In market +place, tavern, or cottage, the subject of conversation was always the +latest sheep-murder and the yet-undetected criminal. + +Sometimes there would be a lull, and the shepherds would begin to +breathe more freely. Then there would come a stormy night, when the +heavens were veiled in the cloak of crime, and the wind moaned fitfully +over meres and marches, and another victim would be added to the +lengthening list. + +It was always such black nights, nights of wind and weather, when no man +would be abroad, that the murderer chose for his bloody work; and that +was how he became known from the Red Screes to the Muir Pike as the +Black Killer. In the Daleland they still call a wild, wet night "A Black +Killer's night:" for they say: "His ghaist'll be oot the night." + +There was hardly a farm in the countryside but was marked with the seal +of blood. Kenmuir escaped, and the Grange; Rob Saunderson at the Holt, +and Tupper at Swinsthwaite; and they were about the only lucky ones. + +As for Kenmuir, Tammas declared with a certain grim pride: "He knows +better'n to coom wheer Th' Owd Un be." Whereat M'Adam was taken with a +fit of internal spasms, rubbing his knees and cackling insanely for a +half-hour afterward. And as for the luck of the Grange--well, there was +a reason for that too, so the Dalesmen said. + +Though the area of crime stretched from the Black Water to +Grammoch-town, twenty-odd miles, there was never a sign of the +perpetrator. The Killer did his bloody work with a thoroughness and a +devilish cunning that defied detection. + +It was plain that each murder might be set down to the same agency. Each +was stamped with the same unmistakable sign-manual: one sheep killed, +its throat torn into red ribands, and the others untouched. + +It was at the instigation of Parson Leggy that the squire imported a +bloodhound to track the Killer to his doom. Set on at a fresh killed +carcase at the One Tree Knowe, he carried the line a distance in the +direction of the Muir Pike; then was thrown out by a little bustling +beck, and never acknowledged the scent again. Afterward he became +unmanageable, and could be no further utilized. Then there was talk of +inducing Tommy Dobson and his pack to come over from Eskdale, but +that came to nothing. The Master of the Border Hunt lent a couple of +foxhounds, who effected nothing; and there were a hundred other attempts +and as many failures. Jim Mason set a cunning trap or two and caught his +own bob-tailed tortoise-shell and a terrible wigging from his missus; +Ned Hoppin sat up with a gun two nights over a new slain victim and +Londesley of the Home Farm poisoned a carcase. But the Killer never +returned to the kill, and went about in the midst of the all, carrying +on his infamous traffic and laughing up his sleeve. + +In the meanwhile the Dalesmen raged and swore vengeance; their +impotence, their unsuccess, and their losses heating their wrath to +madness. And the bitterest sting of it all lay in this; that though they +could not detect him, they were nigh to positive as to the culprit. + +Many a time was the Black Killer named in low-voiced conclave; many a +time did Long Kirby, as he stood in the Border Ram and watched M'Adam +and the Terror walking down the High, nudge Jim Mason and whisper: + +"Theer's the Killer--oneasy be his grave!" To which practical Jim always +made the same retort: + +"Ay, theer's the Killer; but wheer's the proof?" + +And therein lay the crux. There was scarcely a man in the countryside +who doubted the guilt of the Tailless Tyke; but, as Jim said, where +was the proof? They could but point to his well-won nickname; his evil +notoriety; say that, magnificent sheep-dog as he was, he was known even +in his work as a rough handler of stock; and lastly remark significantly +that the grange was one of the few farms that had so far escaped +unscathed. For with the belief that the Black Killer was a sheep-dog +they held it as an article of faith that he would in honour spare his +master's flock. + +There may, indeed, have been prejudice in their judgement. For each has +his private grudge against the Terror; and nigh every man bore on his +own person, or his clothes, or on the body of his dog, the mark of that +huge savage. + +Proof? + +"Why, he near killed ma Lassie!" cries Londesley. + +"And he did kill the Wexer!" + +"And Wan Tromp!" + +"And see pore old Wenus!" says John Swan, and pulls out that fair +Amazon, battered almost past recognition, but a warrioress still. + +"That's Red Wull--bloody be his end!" + +"And he laid ma Rasper by for nigh three weeks!" continues Tupper, +pointing to the yet-unhealed scars on the neck of the big bobtail. "See +thisey--his work." + +"And look here!" cries Saunderson, exposing a ragged wound in Shep's +throat; "thot's the Terror--black be his fa'!" + +"Ay," says Long Kirby with an oath; "the tykes love him nigh as much as +we do." + +"Yes," says Tammas. "Yo' jest watch!" + +The old man slips out of the tap-room; and in another moment from the +road without comes a heavy, regular pat-pat-pat, as of some big creature +approaching, and, blending with the sound, little shuffling footsteps. + +In an instant every dog in the room has risen to his feet and stands +staring at the door with sullen, glowing eyes; lips wrinkling, bristles +rising, throats rumbling. + +An unsteady hand fumbles at the door; a reedy voice calls, "Wullie, come +here!" and the dogs move away, surly to either side of the fireplace, +tails down, ears back, grumbling still; the picture of cowed passion. +Then the door opens; Tammas enters, grinning; and each, after a moment's +scrutiny, resumes his former position before the fire. + + * * * * * + +Meanwhile over M'Adam, seemingly all unsuspicious of these suspicions, +a change had come. Whether it was that for the time he heard less of the +best sheep-dog in the North, or for some more occult reason, certain it +is that he became his old self. His tongue wagged as gayly and bitterly +as ever, and hardly a night passed but he infuriated Tammas almost to +blows with his innuendoes and insidious sarcasms. + +Old Jonas Maddox, one evening at the Sylvester Arms, inquired of him +what his notion was as to the identity of the Killer. + +"I hae ma suspicions, Mr. Maddox; I hae ma suspicions," the little man +replied, cunningly wagging his head and giggling. But more than that +they could not elicit from him. A week later, however, to the question: + +"And what are yo' thinkin' o' this black Killer, Mr. M'adam?" + +"Why _black?_" the little man asked earnestly; "why _black_ mair than +white--or _gray_ we'll say?" Luckily for him, however, the Dalesmen are +slow of wit as of speech. + +David, too, marked the difference in his father, who nagged at him now +and then with all the old spirit. At first he rejoiced in then change, +preferring his outward and open warfare to that aforetime stealthy +enmity. But soon he almost wished the other back; for the older he grew +the more difficult did he find it to endure calmly these everlasting +bickerings. + +For one reason he was truly glad of the altered condition of affairs; he +believed that, for the nonce, at least his father had abandoned any +ill designs he might have cherished against James Moore; those sneaking +visits to Kenmuir were, he hoped, discontinued. + +Yet Maggie Moore, had she been on speaking terms with him, could have +undeceived him. For, one night, when alone in the kitchen, on suddenly +looking up, she had seen to her horror a dim, moonlike face glued +against the windowpane. In the first mad panic of the moment she almost +screamed, and dropped her work; then--a true Moore--controlled herself +and sat feigning to work, yet watching all the while. + +It was M'Adam, she recognized that: the face pale in its framework +of black; the hair lying dank and dark on his forehead; and the white +eyelids blinking, slow, regular, horrible. She thought of the stories +she had heard of his sworn vengeance on her father, and her heart stood +still, though she never moved. At length with a gasp of relief she +discerned that the eyes were not directed on her. Stealthily following +their gaze, she saw they rested on the Shepherds' Trophy; and on the Cup +they remained fixed, immovable, while she sat motionless and watched. + +An hour, it seemed to her, elapsed before they shifted their direction, +and wandered round the room. For a second they dwelt upon her; then the +face withdrew into the night. + +Maggie told no one what she had seen. Knowing well how terrible her +father was in his anger, she deemed it wiser to keep silence. While as +for David M'Adam, she would never speak to him again! + +And not for a moment did that young man surmise whence his father came +when, on the night in question, M'Adam returned to the Grange, chuckling +to himself. David was growing of late accustomed to these fits of +silent, unprovoked merriment; and when his father began giggling and +muttering to Red Wull, at first he paid no heed. + +"He! he! Wullie. Aiblins we'll beat him yet. There's many a slip +twixt Cup and lip--eh, Wullie, he! he!" And he made allusion to the +flourishing of the wicked and their fall; ending always with the same +refrain: "He! he! Wullie. Aiblins we'll beat him yet." + +In this strain he continued until David, his patience exhausted, asked +roughly: + +"What is't yo' mumblin' aboot? Wha is it yo'll beat, you and yer +Wullie?" + +The lad's tone was as contemptuous as his words. Long ago he had cast +aside any semblance of respect for his father. + +M'Adam only rubbed his knees and giggled. + +"Hark to the dear lad, Wullie! Listen hoo pleasantly he addresses his +auld dad!" Then turning on his son, and leering at him: "What is it, +ye ask? Wha should it be but the Black Killer? Wha else is there I'd be +wushin' to hurt?" + +"The Black Killer!" echoed the boy, and looked at his father in +amazement. + +Now David was almost the only man in Wastrel-dale who denied Red Wull's +identity with the Killer. "Nay," he said once; "he'd kill me, given half +a chance, but a sheep--no." Yet, though himself of this opinion, he knew +well what the talk was, and was astonished accordingly at his father's +remark. + +"The Black Killer, is it? What d'you know o' the Killer?" he inquired. + +"Why _black_, I wad ken? Why _black?_" the little man asked, leaning +forward in his chair. + +Now David, though repudiating in the village Red Wull's complicity +with the crimes, at home was never so happy as when casting cunning +innuendoes to that effect. + +"What would you have him then?" he asked. "Red, yaller, muck-dirt +colour?"--and he stared significantly at the Tailless Tyke, who was +lying at his master's feet. The little man ceased rubbing his knees and +eyed the boy. David shifted uneasily beneath that dim, persistent stare. + +"Well?" he said at length gruffly. + +The little man giggled, and his two thin hands took up their task again. + +"Aiblins his puir auld doited fool of a dad kens mair than the dear lad +thinks for, ay, or wushes--eh, Wullie, he! he!" + +"Then what is it you do know, or think yo' know?" David asked irritably. + +The little man nodded and chuckled. + +"Naethin' ava, laddie, naethin' worth the mention. Only aiblins the +Killer'll be caught afore sae lang." + +David smiled incredulously, wagging his head in offensive scepticism. + +"Yo'll catch him yo'self, I s'pose, you and yer Wullie? Tak' a chair on +to the Marches, whistle a while, and when the Killer comes, why! pit a +pinch o' salt upon his tail--if he had one." + +At the last words, heavily punctuated by the speaker, the little man +stopped his rubbing as though shot. + +"What wad ye mean by that?" he asked softly. + +"What wad I?" the boy replied. + +"I dinna ken for sure," the little man answered; "and it's aiblins just +as well for you, dear lad"--in fawning accents--"that I dinna." He +began rubbing and giggling afresh. "It's a gran' thing, Wullie, to ha' +a dutiful son; a shairp lad wha has no silly sens o' shame aboot +sharpenin' his wits at his auld dad's expense. And yet, despite +oor facetious lad there, aiblins we will ha' a hand in the Killer's +catchin', you and I, Wullie--he! he!" And the great dog at his feet +wagged his stump tail in reply. + +David rose from his chair and walked across the room to where his father +sat. + +"If yo' know sic a mighty heap," he shouted, "happen you'll just tell me +what yo' do know!" + +M'Adam stopped stroking Red Wull's massive head, and looked up. + +"Tell ye? Ay, wha should I tell if not ma dear David? Tell? Ay, I'll +tell ye this"--with a sudden snarl of bitterness--"That you'd be the +vairy last person I wad tell." + + + + +Chapter XVII. A MAD DOG + + +DAVID and Maggie, meanwhile, were drifting further and further apart. He +now thought the girl took too much upon herself; that this assumption of +the woman and the mother was overdone. Once, on a Sunday, he caught her +hearing Andrew his catechism. He watched the performance through a crack +in the door, and listened, giggling, to her simple teaching. At length +his merriment grew so boisterous that she looked up, saw him, and, +straightway rising to her feet, crossed the room and shut the door; +tendering her unspoken rebuke with such a sweet dignity that he slunk +away for once decently ashamed. And the incident served to add point to +his hostility. + +Consequently he was seldom at Kenmuir, and more often at home, +quarrelling with his father. + +Since that day, two years before, when the boy had been an instrument in +the taking of the Cup from him, father and son had been like two vessels +charged with electricity, contact between which might result at any +moment in a shock and a flash. This was the outcome not of a moment, but +of years. + +Of late the contest had raged markedly fierce; for M'Adam noticed his +son's more frequent presence at home, and commented on the fact in his +usual spirit of playful raillery. + +"What's come to ye, David?" he asked one day. "Yer auld dad's head is +nigh turned wi' yer condescension. Is James Moore feared ye'll steal the +Cup fra him, as ye stole it from me, that he'll not ha' ye at Kenmuir? +or what is it?" + +"I thought I could maybe keep an eye on the Killer gin I stayed here," +David answered, leering at Red Wull. + +"Ye'd do better at Kenmuir--eh, Wullie!" the little man replied. + +"Nay," the other answered, "he'll not go to Kenmuir. There's Th' Owd Un +to see to him there o' nights." + +The little man whipped round. + +"Are ye so sure he is there o' nights, ma lad?" he asked with slow +significance. + +"He was there when some one--I dinna say who, though I have ma +thoughts--tried to poison him," sneered the boy, mimicking his father's +manner. + +M'Adam shook his head. + +"If he was poisoned, and noo I think aiblins he was, he didna pick it up +at Kenmuir, I tell ye that," he said, and marched out of the room. + +In the mean time the Black Killer pursued his bloody trade unchecked. +The public, always greedy of a new sensation, took up the matter. +In several of the great dailies, articles on the "Agrarian Outrages" +appeared, followed by lengthy correspondence. Controversy raged high; +each correspondent had his own theory and his own solution of the +problem; and each waxed indignant as his were discarded for another's. + +The Terror had reigned already two months when, with the advent of the +lambing-time, matters took a yet more serious aspect. + +It was bad enough to lose one sheep, often the finest in the pack; but +the hunting of a flock at a critical moment, which was incidental to the +slaughter of the one, the scaring of these woolly mothers-about-to-be +almost out of their fleeces, spelt for the small farmers something akin +to ruin, for the bigger ones a loss hardly bearable. + +Such a woful season had never been known; loud were the curses, deep +the vows of revenge. Many a shepherd at that time patrolled all night +through with his dogs, only to find in the morning that the Killer had +slipped him and havocked in some secluded portion of his beat. + +It was heartrending work; and all the more so in that, though his +incrimination seemed as far off as ever, there was still the same +positiveness as to the culprit's identity. + +Long Kirby, indeed, greatly daring, went so far on one occasion as to +say to the little man: "And d'yo' reck'n the Killer is a sheep-dog, +M'Adam?" + +"I do," the little man replied with conviction. + +"And that he'll spare his own sheep?" + +"Niver a doubt of it." + +"Then," said the smith with a nervous cackle, "it must lie between you +and Tupper and Saunderson." + +The little man leant forward and tapped the other on the arm. + +"Or Kenmuir, ma friend," he said. "Ye've forgot Kenmuir." + +"So I have," laughed the smith, "so I have." + +"Then I'd not anither time," the other continued, still tapping. "I'd +mind Kenmuir, d'ye see, Kirby?" + + * * * * * + +It was about the middle of the lambing-time, when the Killer was working +his worst, that the Dalesmen had a lurid glimpse of Adam M'Adam as he +might be were he wounded through his Wullie. + +Thus it came about: It was market-day in Grammoch-town, and in the +Border Ram old Rob Saunderson was the centre of interest. For on the +previous night Rob, who till then had escaped unscathed, had lost a +sheep to the Killer: and--far worse--his flock of Herdwicks, heavy in +lamb, had been galloped with disastrous consequences. + +The old man, with tears in his eyes, was telling how on four nights that +week he had been up with Shep to guard against mishap; and on the fifth, +worn out with his double labor, had fallen asleep at his post. But +a very little while he slumbered; yet when, in the dawn, he woke and +hurried on his rounds, he quickly came upon a mangled sheep and the +pitiful relic of his flock. A relic, indeed! For all about were cold +wee lambkins and their mothers, dead and dying of exhaustion and their +unripe travail--a slaughter of the innocents. + +The Dalesmen were clustered round the old shepherd, listening with +lowering countenances, when a dark gray head peered in at the door and +two wistful eyes dwelt for a moment on the speaker. + +"Talk o' the devil!" muttered M'Adam, but no man heard him. For Red +Wull, too, had seen that sad face, and, rising from his master's feet, +had leapt with a roar at his enemy, toppling Jim Mason like a ninepin in +the fury of his charge. + +In a second every dog in the room, from the battered Venus to Tupper's +big Rasper, was on his feet, bristling to have at the tyrant and wipe +out past injuries, if the gray dog would but lead the dance. + +It was not to be, however. For Long Kirby was standing at the door with +a cup of hot coffee in his hand. Barely had he greeted the gray dog +with-- + +"Ullo, Owd Un!" when hoarse yells of "'Ware, lad! The Terror!" mingled +with Red Wull's roar. + +Half turning, he saw the great dog bounding to the attack. Straightway +he flung the boiling contents of his cup full in that rage-wracked +countenance. The burning liquid swished against the huge bull-head. +Blinding, bubbling, scalding, it did its fell work well; nothing escaped +that merciless torrent. With a cry of agony, half bellow, half howl, +Red Wull checked in his charge. From without the door was banged to; and +again the duel was postponed. While within the tap-room a huddle of men +and dogs were left alone with a mad man and a madder brute. + +Blind, demented, agonized, the Tailless Tyke thundered about the little +room gnashing, snapping, oversetting; men, tables, chairs swirled off +their legs as though they had been dolls. He spun round like a monstrous +teetotum; he banged his tortured head against the wall; he burrowed +into the unyielding floor. And all the while M'Adam pattered after him, +laying hands upon him only to be flung aside as a terrier flings a rat. +Now up, now down again, now tossed into a corner, now dragged upon +the floor, yet always following on and crying in supplicating tones, +"Wullie, Wullie, let me to ye! let yer man ease ye!" and then, with +a scream and a murderous glance, "By ----, Kirby, I'll deal wi' you +later!" + +The uproar was like hell let loose. You could hear the noise of oaths +and blows, as the men fought for the door, a half-mile away. And above +it the horrid bellowing and the screaming of that shrill voice. + +Long Kirby was the first man out of that murder-hole; and after him +the others toppled one by one--men and dogs jostling one another in +the frenzy of their fear. Big Bell, Londesley, Tupper, Hoppin, Teddy +Bolstock, white-faced and trembling; and old Saunderson they pulled out +by his heels. Then the door was shut with a clang, and the little man +and mad dog were left alone. + +In the street was already a big-eyed crowd, attracted by the uproar; +while at the door was James Moore, seeking entrance. "Happen I could +lend the little mon a hand," said he; but they withheld him forcibly. + +Inside was pandemonium: bangings like the doors of hell; the bellowing +of that great voice; the patter of little feet; the slithering of a +body on the floor; and always that shrill, beseeching prayer, "Wullie, +Wullie, let me to ye!" and, in a scream, "By ----, Kirby, I'll be wi' ye +soon!" + +Jim Mason it was who turned, at length, to the smith and whispered, +"Kirby, lad, yo'd best skip it." + +The big man obeyed and ran. The stamp-stamp of his feet on the hard road +rang above the turmoil. As the long legs vanished round the corner and +the sound of the fugitive died away, a panic seized the listening crowd. + +A woman shrieked; a girl fainted; and in two minutes the street was as +naked of men as the steppes of Russia in winter: here a white face at a +window; there a door ajar; and peering round a far corner a frightened +boy. One man only scorned to run. Alone, James Moore stalked down the +centre of the road, slow and calm, Owd Bob trotting at his heels. + +It was a long half-hour before the door of the inn burst open, and +M'Adam came out with a run, flinging the door behind him. + +He rushed into the middle of the road; his sleeves were rolled at +the wrist like a surgeon's; and in his right hand was a black-handled +jack-knife. + +"Noo, by ----!" he cried in a terrible voice, "where is he?" + +He looked up and down the road, darting his fiery glances everywhere; +and his face was whiter than his hair. + +Then he turned and hunted madly down the whole length of the High, +nosing like a weasel in every cranny, stabbing at the air as he went, +and screaming, "By ----, Kirby, wait till I get ye!" + + + + +Chapter XVIII. HOW THE KILLER WAS SINGED + + +No further harm came of the incident; but it served as a healthy +object-lesson for the Dalesmen. + +A coincidence it may have been, but, as a fact, for the fortnight +succeeding Kirby's exploit there was a lull in the crimes. There +followed, as though to make amends, the seven days still remembered in +the Daleland as the Bloody Week. + +On the Sunday the Squire lost a Cheviot ewe, killed not a hundred yards +from the Manor wall. On the Monday a farm on the Black Water was marked +with the red cross. On Tuesday--a black night--Tupper at Swinsthwaite +came upon the murderer at his work; he fired into the darkness without +effect; and the Killer escaped with a scaring. On the following night +Viscount Birdsaye lost a shearling ram, for which he was reported to +have paid a fabulous sum. Thursday was the one blank night of the week. +On Friday Tupper was again visited and punished heavily, as though in +revenge for that shot. + +On the Saturday afternoon a big meeting was held at the Manor to discuss +measures. The Squire presided; gentlemen and magistrates were there in +numbers, and every farmer in the country-side. + +To start the proceedings the Special Commissioner read a futile letter +from the Board of Agriculture. After him Viscount Birdsaye rose and +proposed that a reward more suitable to the seriousness of the case +than the paltry 5 pounds of the Police should be offered, and backed his +proposal with a 25 pound cheque. Several others spoke, and, last of all, +Parson Leggy rose. + +He briefly summarized the history of the crimes; reiterated his belief +that a sheep-dog was the criminal; declared that nothing had occurred +to shake his conviction; and concluded by offering a remedy for their +consideration. Simple it was, so he said, to laughableness; yet, if +their surmise was correct, it would serve as an effectual preventive if +not cure, and would at least give them time to turn round. He paused. + +"My suggestion is: That every man-jack of you who owns a sheep-dog ties +him up at night." + +The farmers were given half an hour to consider the proposal, and +clustered in knots talking it over. Many an eye was directed on M'Adam; +but that little man appeared all unconscious. + +"Weel, Mr. Saunderson," he was saying in, shrill accents, "and shall ye +tie Shep?" + +"What d'yo' think?" asked Rob, eying the man at whom the measure was +aimed. + +"Why, it's this way, I'm thinkin'," the little man replied. "Gin ye haud +Shep's the guilty one I _wad_, by all manner o' means--or shootin'd be +aiblins better. If not, why"--he shrugged his shoulders significantly; +and having shown his hand and driven the nail well home, the little man +left the meeting. + +James Moore stayed to see the Parson's resolution negatived, by a large +majority, and then he too quitted the hall. He had foreseen the result, +and, previous to the meeting, had warned the Parson how it would be. + +"Tie up!" he cried almost indignantly, as Owd Bob came galloping up +to his whistle; "I think I see myself chainin' yo', owd lad, like any +murderer. Why, it's yo' has kept the Killer off Kenmuir so far, I'll +lay." + +At the lodge-gate was M'Adam, for once without his familiar spirit, +playing with the lodge-keeper's child; for the little man loved all +children but his own, and was beloved of them. As the Master approached +he looked up. + +"Weel, Moore," he called, "and are you gaein' to tie yer dog?" + +"I will if you will yours," the Master answered grimly. + +"Na," the little man replied, "it's Wullie as frichts the Killer aff the +Grange. That's why I've left him there noo." + +"It's the same wi' me," the Master said. "He's not come to Kenmuir yet, +nor he'll not so long as Th' Owd Un's loose, I reck'n." + +"Loose or tied, for the matter o' that," the little man rejoined, +"Kenmuir'll escape." He made the statement dogmatically, snapping his +lips. + +The Master frowned. + +"Why that?" he asked. + +"Ha' ye no heard what they're sayin'?" the little man inquired with +raised eyebrows. + +"Nay; what?" + +"Why, that the mere repitation o' th' best sheep-dog in the North' +should keep him aff. An' I guess they're reet," and he laughed shrilly +as he spoke. + +The Master passed on, puzzled. + +"Which road are ye gaein' hame?" M'Adam called after him. "Because," +with a polite smile, "I'll tak' t'ither." + +"I'm off by the Windy Brae," the Master answered, striding on. "Squire +asked me to leave a note wi' his shepherd t'other side o' the Chair." +So he headed away to the left, making for home by the route along the +Silver Mere. + +It is a long sweep of almost unbroken moorland, the well-called Windy +Brae; sloping gently down in mile on mile of heather from the Mere +Marches on the top to the fringe of the Silver Mere below. In all that +waste of moor the only break is the quaint-shaped Giant's Chair, +puzzle of geologists, looking as though plumped down by accident in the +heathery wild. The ground rises suddenly from the uniform grade of the +Brae; up it goes, ever growing steeper, until at length it runs abruptly +into a sheer curtain of rock--the Fall--which rises perpendicular some +forty feet, on the top of which rests that tiny grassy bowl--not twenty +yards across--they call the Scoop. + +The Scoop forms the seat of the Chair and reposes on its collar of rock, +cool and green and out of the world, like wine in a metal cup; in front +is the forty-foot Fall; behind, rising sheer again, the wall of rock +which makes the back of the Chair. Inaccessible from above, the only +means of entrance to that little dell are two narrow sheep-tracks, which +crawl dangerously up between the sheer wall on the one hand and the +sheer Fall on the other, entering it at opposite sides. + +It stands out clear-cut from the gradual incline, that peculiar +eminence; yet as the Master and Owd Bob debouched on to the Brae it was +already invisible in the darkening night. + +Through the heather the two swung, the Master thinking now with a smile +of David and Maggie; wondering what M'Adam had meant; musing with a +frown on the Killer; pondering on his identity--for he was half of +David's opinion as to Red Wull's innocence; and thanking his stars that +so far Kenmuir had escaped, a piece of luck he attributed entirely to +the vigilance of Th' Owd Un, who, sleeping in the porch, slipped out at +all hours and went his rounds, warding off danger. And at the thought +he looked down for the dark head which should be travelling at his knee; +yet could not see it, so thick hung the pall of night. + +So he brushed his way along, and ever the night grew blacker; until, +from the swell of the ground beneath his feet, he knew himself skirting +the Giant's Chair. + +Now as he sped along the foot of the rise, of a sudden there burst +on his ear the myriad patter of galloping feet. He turned, and at the +second a swirl of sheep almost bore him down. It was velvet-black, +and they fled furiously by, yet he dimly discovered, driving at their +trails, a vague hound-like form. + +"The Killer, by thunder!" he ejaculated, and, startled though he was, +struck down at that last pursuing shape, to miss and almost fall. + +"Bob, lad!" he cried, "follow on!" and swung round; but in the darkness +could not see if the gray dog had obeyed. + +The chase swept on into the night, and, far above him on the hill-side, +he could now hear the rattle of the flying feet. He started hotly in +pursuit, and then, recognizing the futility of following where he +could not see his hand, desisted. So he stood motionless, listening +and peering into the blackness, hoping Th' Owd Un was on the villain's +heels. + +He prayed for the moon; and, as though in answer, the lantern of the +night shone out and lit the dour face of the Chair above him. He shot a +glance at his feet; and thanked heaven on finding the gray dog was not +beside him. + +Then he looked up. The sheep had broken, and were scattered over the +steep hill-side, still galloping madly. In the rout one pair of darting +figures caught and held his gaze: the foremost dodging, twisting, +speeding upward, the hinder hard on the leader's heels, swift, +remorseless, never changing. He looked for a third pursuing form; but +none could he discern. + +"He mun ha' missed him in the dark," the Master muttered, the sweat +standing on his brow, as he strained his eyes upward. + +Higher and higher sped those two dark specks, far out-topping the +scattered remnant of the flock. Up and up, until of a sudden the sheer +Fall dropped its relentless barrier in the path of the fugitive. Away, +scudding along the foot of the rock-wall struck the familiar track +leading to the Scoop, and up it, bleating pitifully, nigh spent, the +Killer hard on her now. + +"He'll doon her in the Scoop!" cried the Master hoarsely, following +with fascinated eyes. "Owd Un! Owd Un! wheer iver are yo' gotten to?" he +called in agony; but no Owd Un made reply. + +As they reached the summit, just as he had prophesied, the two black +dots were one; and down they rolled together into the hollow of the +Scoop, out of the Master's ken. At the same instant the moon, as though +loth to watch the last act of the bloody play, veiled her face. + +It was his chance. "Noo!"--and up the hillside he sped like a young man, +girding his loins for the struggle. The grew steep and steeper; +but on and on he held in the darkness, gasping painfully, yet running +still, until the face of the Fall blocked his way too. + +There he paused a moment, and whistled a low call. Could he but dispatch +the old dog up the one path to the Scoop, while he took the other, the +murderer's one road to safety would be blocked. + +He waited, all expectant; but no cold muzzle was shoved into his hand. +Again he whistled. A pebble from above almost dropped on him, as if the +criminal up there had moved to the brink of the Fall to listen; and he +dared no more. + +He waited till all was still again, then crept, cat-like, along the +rock-foot, and hit, at length, the track up which a while before had +fled Killer and victim. Up that ragged way he crawled on hands and +knees. The perspiration rolled off his face; one elbow brushed the rock +perpetually; one hand plunged ever and anon into that naked emptiness on +the other side. + +He prayed that the moon might keep in but a little longer; that his feet +might be saved from falling, where a slip might well mean death, certain +destruction to any chance of success. He cursed his luck that Th' Owd Un +had somehow missed him in the dark; for now he must trust to chance, his +own great strength, and his good oak stick. And as he climbed, he laid +his plan: to rush in on the Killer as he still gorged and grapple +with him. If in the darkness he missed--and in that narrow arena the +contingency was improbable--the murderer might still, in the panic of +the moment, forget the one path to safety and leap over the Fall to his +destruction. + +At length he reached the summit and paused to draw breath. The +black void before him was the Scoop, and in its bosom--not ten yards +away--must be lying the Killer and the killed. + +He crouched against the wet rock-face and listened. In that dark +silence, poised 'twixt heaven and earth, he seemed a million miles apart +from living soul. + +No sound, and yet the murderer must be there. Ay, there was the tinkle +of a dislodged stone; and again, the tread of stealthy feet. + +The Killer was moving; alarmed; was off. + +Quick! + +He rose to his full height; gathered himself, and leapt. + +Something collided with him as he sprang; something wrestled madly with +him; something wrenched from beneath him; and in a clap he heard +the thud of a body striking ground far below, and the slithering and +splattering of some creature speeding furiously down the hill-side and +away. + +"Who the blazes?" roared he. + +"What the devil?" screamed a little voice. + +The moon shone out. + +"Moore!" + +"M'Adam!" + +And there they were still struggling over the body of a dead sheep. + +In a second they had disengaged and rushed to the edge of the Fall. In +the quiet they could still hear the scrambling hurry of the fugitive far +below them. Nothing was to be seen, however, save an array of startled +sheep on the hill-side, mute witnesses of the murderer's escape. + +The two men turned and eyed each other; the one grim, the other +sardonic: both dishevelled and suspicious. + +"Well?'' + +"Weel?" + +A pause and, careful scrutiny. + +"There's blood on your coat." + +"And on yours." + +Together they walked hack into the little moonlit hollow. There lay the +murdered sheep in a pool of blood. Plain it was to see whence the marks +on their coats came. M'Adam touched the victim's head with his foot. The +movement exposed its throat. With a shudder he replaced it as it was. + +The two men stood back and eyed one another. + +"What are yo' doin' here?" + +"After the Killer. What are you?" + +"After the Killer?" + +"Hoo did you come?" + +"Up this path," pointing to the one behind him. "Hoo did you?" + +"Up this." + +Silence; then again: + +"I'd ha' had him but for yo'." + +"I did have him, but ye tore me aff," + +A pause again. + +"Where's yer gray dog?" This time the challenge was unmistakable. + +"I sent him after the Killer. Wheer's your Red Wull?" + +"At hame, as I tell't ye before." + +"Yo' mean yo' left him there?" M'Adam's fingers twitched. + +"He's where I left him." + +James Moore shrugged his shoulders. And the other began: + +"When did yer dog leave ye?" + +"When the Killer came past." + +"Ye wad say ye missed him then?" + +"I say what I mean." + +"Ye say he went after the Killer. Noo the Killer was here," pointing to +the dead sheep. "Was your dog here, too?" + +"If he had been he'd been here still." + +"Onless he went over the Fall!" + +"That was the Killer, yo' fule." + +"Or your dog." + +"There was only _one_ beneath me. I felt him." + +"Just so," said M'Adam, and laughed. The other's brow contracted. + +"An' that was a big un," he said slowly. The little man stopped his +cackling. + +"There ye lie," he said, smoothly. "He was small." + +They looked one another full in the eyes. + +"That's a matter of opinion," said the Master. + +"It's a matter of fact," said the other. + +The two stared at one another, silent and stern, each trying to fathom +the other's soul; then they turned again to the brink of the Fall. +Beneath them, plain to see, was the splash and furrow in the shingle +marking the Killer's line of retreat. They looked at one another again, +and then each departed the way he had come to give his version of the +story. + +"'If Th' Owd Un had kept wi' me, I should ha' had him." + +And-- + +"I tell ye I did have him, but James Moore pulled me aff. Strange, too, +his dog not bein' wi' him!" + + + + +Chapter XIX. LAD AND LASS + + +AN immense sensation this affair of the Scoop created in the Daleland. +It spurred the Dalesmen into fresh endeavors. James Moore and M'Adam +were examined and re-examined as to the minutest details of the matter. +The whole country-side was placarded with huge bills, offering 100 +pounds reward for the capture of the criminal dead or alive. While the +vigilance of the watchers was such that in a single week they bagged a +donkey, an old woman, and two amateur detectives. + +In Wastrel-dale the near escape of the Killer, the collision between +James Moore and Adam, and Owd Bob's unsuccess, who was not wont to fail, +aroused intense excitement, with which was mingled a certain anxiety as +to their favorite. + +For when the Master had reached home that night, he had found the old +dog already there; and he must have wrenched his foot in the pursuit or +run a thorn into it, for he was very lame. Whereat, when it was reported +at the Sylvester Arms, M'Adam winked at Red Wull and muttered, "Ah, +forty foot is an ugly tumble." + +A week later the little man called at Kenmuir. As he entered the yard, +David was standing outside the kitchen window, looking very glum and +miserable. On seeing his father, however, the boy started forward, all +alert. + +"What d'yo' want here?" he cried roughly. + +"Same as you, dear lad," the little man giggled, advancing. "I come on a +visit." + +"Your visits to Kenmuir are usually paid by night, so I've heard," David +sneered. + +The little man affected not to hear. + +"So they dinna allow ye indoors wi' the Cup," he laughed. "They know yer +little ways then, David." + +"Nay, I'm not wanted in there," David answered bitterly, but not so loud +that his father could hear. Maggie within the kitchen heard, however, +but paid no heed; for her heart was hard against the boy, who of late, +though he never addressed her, had made himself as unpleasant in a +thousand little ways as only David M'Adam could. + +At that moment the Master came stalking into the yard, Owd Bob +preceding him; and as the old dog recognized his visitor he bristled +involuntarily. + +At the sight of the Master M'Adam hurried forward. + +"I did but come to ask after the tyke," he said, "Is he gettin' over his +lameness?" + +James Moore looked surprised; then his stern face relaxed into a cordial +smile. Such generous anxiety as to the welfare of Red Wull's rival was a +wholly new characteristic in the little man. + +"I tak' it kind in yo', M'Adam," he said, "to come and inquire." + +"Is the thorn oot?" asked the little man with eager interest, shooting +his head forward to stare closely at the other. + +"It came oot last night wi' the poulticin'," the Master answered, +returning the other's gaze, calm and steady. + +"I'm glad o' that," said the little man, still staring. But his yellow, +grinning face said as plain words, "What a liar ye are, James Moore." + + * * * * * + +The days passed on. His father's taunts and gibes, always becoming more +bitter, drove David almost to distraction. + +He longed to make it up with Maggie; he longed for that tender sympathy +which the girl had always extended to him when his troubles with his +father were heavy on him. The quarrel had lasted for months now, and +he was well weary of it, and utterly ashamed. For, at least, he had the +good grace to acknowledge that no one was to blame but himself; and that +it had been fostered solely by his ugly pride. + +At length he could endure it no longer, and determined to go to the +girl and ask forgiveness. It would be a bitter ordeal to him; always +unwilling to acknowledge a fault, even to himself, how much harder would +it be to confess it to this strip of a girl. For a time he thought it +was almost more than he could do. Yet, like his father, once set upon +a course, nothing could divert him. So, after a week of doubts and +determinations, of cowardice and courage, he pulled himself together and +off he set. + +An hour it took him from the Grange to the bridge over the Wastrel--an +hour which had wont to be a quarter. Now, as he walked on up the +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 as fast as his long legs would +carry him. As he took the gate in his stride, he saw the white-clad +figure of Wee Anne fleeing with unsteady, toddling steps, her fair hair +streaming out behind, and one bare arm striking wildly back at a great +pursuing sow. + +David shouted as he cleared the gate, but the brute paid no heed, and +was almost touching the fugitive when Owd Bob came galloping round the +corner, and in a second had flashed between pursuer and pursued. So +close were the two that as he swung round on the startled sow, his tail +brushed the baby to the ground; and there she lay kicking fat legs to +heaven and calling on all her gods. + +David, leaving the old dog to secure the warrior pig, ran round to her; +but he was anticipated. The whole matter had barely occupied a minute's +time; and Maggie, rushing from the kitchen, now had the child in her +arms and was hurrying back with her to the house. + +"Eh, ma pet, are yo' hurted, dearie?" David could hear her asking +tearfully, as he crossed the yard and established himself in the door. + +"Well," said he, in bantering tones, "yo'm a nice wench to ha' charge o' +oor Annie!" + +It was a sore subject with the girl, and well he knew it. Wee Anne, that +golden-haired imp of mischief, was forever evading her sister-mother's +eye and attempting to immolate herself. More than once she had only been +saved from serious hurt by the watchful devotion of Owd Bob, who always +found time, despite his many labors, to keep a guardian eye on his +well-loved lassie. In the previous winter she had been lost on a bitter +night on the Muir Pike; once she had climbed into a field with the +Highland bull, and barely escaped with her life, while the gray dog held +the brute in check; but a little while before she had been rescued from +drowning by the Tailless Tyke; there had been numerous other mischances; +and now the present mishap. But the girl paid no heed to her tormentor +in her joy at finding the child all unhurt. + +"Theer! yo' bain't so much as scratted, ma precious, is yo'?" she cried. +"Rin oot agin, then," and the baby toddled joyfully away. + +Maggie rose to her feet and stood with face averted. David's eyes dwelt +lovingly upon her, admiring the pose of the neat head with its thatch of +pretty brown hair; the slim figure, and slender ankles, peeping modestly +from beneath her print frock. + +"Ma word! if yo' dad should hear tell o' hoo his Anne--" he broke off +into a long-drawn whistle. + +Maggie kept silence; but her lips quivered, and the flush deepened on +her cheek. + +"I'm fear'd I'll ha' to tell him," the boy continued, "'Tis but ma +duty." + +"Yo' may tell wham yo' like what yo' like," the girl replied coldly; yet +there was a tremor in her voice. + +"First yo' throws her in the stream," David went on remorselessly; "then +yo' chucks her to the pig, and if it had not bin for me--" + +"Yo', indeed!" she broke in contemptuously. "Yo'! 'twas Owd Bob reskied +her. Yo'd nowt' to do wi' it, 'cept lookin' on--'bout what yo're fit +for." + +"I tell yo'," David pursued stubbornly, "an it had not bin for me yo' +wouldn't have no sister by noo. She'd be lyin', she would, pore little +lass, cold as ice, pore mite, wi' no breath in her. An' when yo' dad +coom home there'd be no Wee Anne to rin to him, and climb on his knee, +and yammer to him, and beat his face. An he'd say, 'What's gotten to oor +Annie, as I left wi' yo'?' And then yo'd have to tell him, 'I never took +no manner o' fash after her, dad; d'reckly yo' back was turned, I--'" + +The girl sat down, buried her face in her apron, and indulged in the +rare luxury of tears. + +"Yo're the cruellest mon as iver was, David M'Adam," she sobbed, rocking +to and fro. + +He was at her side in a moment, tenderly bending over her. + +"Eh, Maggie, but I am sorry, lass--" + +She wrenched away from beneath his hands. + +"I hate yo'," she cried passionately. + +He gently removed her hands from before her tear-stained face. + +"I was nob'but laffin', Maggie," he pleaded; "say yo' forgie me." + +"I don't," she cried, struggling. "I think yo're the hatefullest lad as +iver lived." + +The moment was critical; it was a time for heroic measures. + +"No, yo' don't, lass," he remonstrated; and, releasing her wrists, +lifted the little drooping face, wet as it was, like the earth after +a spring shower, and, holding it between his two big hands, kissed it +twice. + +"Yo' coward!" she cried, a flood of warm red crimsoning her cheeks; and +she struggled vainly to be free. + +"Yo' used to let me," he reminded her in aggrieved tones. + +"I niver did!" she cried, more indignant than truthful. + +"Yes, yo' did, when we was little uns; that is, yo' was allus for +kissin' and I was allus agin it. And noo," with whole-souled bitterness, +"I mayn't so much as keek at yo' over a stone wall." + +However that might be, he was keeking at her from closer range now; and +in that position--for he held her firmly still--she could not help +but keek back. He looked so handsome--humble for once; penitent yet +reproachful; his own eyes a little moist; and, withal, his old audacious +self--that, despite herself, her anger grew less hot. + +"Say yo' forgie me and I'll let yo' go." + +"I don't, nor niver shall," she answered firmly; but there was less +conviction in her heart than voice. + +"Iss yo' do, lass," he coaxed, and kissed her again. + +She struggled faintly. + +"Hoo daur yo'?" she cried through her tears. But he was not to be moved. + +"Will yo' noo?" he asked. + +She remained dumb, and he kissed her again. + +"Impidence!" she cried. + +"Ay," said he, closing her mouth. + +"I wonder at ye, Davie!" she said, surrendering. + + * * * * * + +After that Maggie must needs give in; and it was well understood, though +nothing definite had been said, that the boy and girl were courting. And +in the Dale the unanimous opinion was that the young couple would make +"a gradely pair, surely." + +M'Adam was the last person to hear the news, long after it had been +common knowledge in the village. It was in the Sylvester Arms he first +heard it, and straightway fell into one of those foaming frenzies +characteristic of him. + +"The dochter o' Moore o' Kenmuir, d'ye say? sic a dochter o' sic a man! +The dochter o' th' one man in the warld that's harmed me aboon the rest! +I'd no ha' believed it gin ye'd no tell't me. Oh, David, David! I'd no +ha' thocht it even o' you, ill son as ye've aye bin to me. I think he +might ha' waited till his auld dad was gone, and he'd no had to wait +lang the noo." Then the little man sat down and burst into tears. +Gradually, however, he resigned himself, and the more readily when he +realized that David by his act had exposed a fresh wound into which he +might plunge his barbed shafts. And he availed himself to the full +of his new opportunities. Often and often David was sore pressed to +restrain himself. + +"Is't true what they're sayin' that Maggie Moore's nae better than she +should be?" the little man asked one evening with anxious interest. + +"They're not sayin' so, and if they were 'twad be a lie," the boy +answered angrily. + +M'Adam leant back in his chair and nodded his head. + +"Ay, they tell't me that gin ony man knew 'twad be David M'Adam." + +David strode across the room. + +"No, no mair o' that," he shouted. "Y'ought to be 'shamed, an owd mon +like you, to speak so o' a lass." The little man edged close up to his +son, and looked up into the fair flushed face towering above him. + +"David," he said in smooth soft tones, "I'm 'stonished ye dinna strike +yen auld dad." He stood with his hands clasped behind his back as if +daring the young giant to raise a finger against him. "Ye maist might +noo," he continued suavely. "Ye maun be sax inches taller, and a good +four stane heavier. Hooiver, aiblins ye're wise to wait. Anither year +twa I'll be an auld man, as ye say, and feebler, and Wullie here'll be +gettin' on, while you'll be in the prime o' yer strength. Then I think +ye might hit me wi' safety to your person, and honor to yourself." + +He took a pace back, smiling. + +"Feyther," said David, huskily, "one day yo'll drive me too far." + + + + +Chapter XX. THE SNAPPING OF THE STRING + + +THE spring was passing, marked throughout with the bloody trail of +the Killer. The adventure in the Scoop scared him for a while into +innocuousness; then he resumed his game again with redoubled zest. +It seemed likely he would harry the district till some lucky accident +carried him off, for all chance there was of arresting him. + +You could still hear nightly in the Sylvester Arms and elsewhere the +assertion, delivered with the same dogmatic certainty as of old, "It's +the Terror, I tell yo'!" and that irritating, inevitable reply: "Ay; but +wheer's the proof?" While often, at the same moment, in a house not far +away, a little lonely man was sitting before a low-burnt fire, rocking +to and fro, biting his nails, and muttering to the great dog whose head +lay between his knees: "If we had but the proof, Wullie! if we had +but the proof! I'd give ma right hand aff my arm gin we had the proof +to-morrow." + +Long Kirby, who was always for war when some one else was to do the +fighting, suggested that David should be requested, in the name of the +Dalesmen, to tell M'Adam that he must make an end to Red Wull. But Jim +Mason quashed the proposal, remarking truly enough that there was too +much bad blood as it was between father and son; while Tammas proposed +with a sneer that the smith should be his own agent in the matter. + +Whether it was this remark of Tammas's which stung the big man into +action, or whether it was that the intensity of his hate gave him +unusual courage, anyhow, a few days later, M'Adam caught him lurking in +the granary of the Grange. + +The little man may not have guessed his murderous intent; yet the +blacksmith's white-faced terror, as he crouched away in the darkest +corner, could hardly have escaped remark; though--and Kirby may thank +his stars for it--the treacherous gleam of a gun-barrel, ill-concealed +behind him, did. + +"Hullo, Kirby!" said M'Adam cordially, "ye'll stay the night wi' me?" +And the next thing the big man heard was a giggle on the far side the +door, lost in the clank of padlock and rattle of chain. Then--through +a crack--"Good-night to ye. Hope ye'll be comfie." And there he stayed +that night, the following day and next night--thirty-six hours in all, +with swedes for his hunger and the dew off the thatch for his thirst. + +Meanwhile the struggle between David and his father seemed coming to a +head. The little man's tongue wagged more bitterly than ever; now it was +never at rest--searching out sores, stinging, piercing. + +Worst of all, he was continually dropping innuendoes, seemingly innocent +enough, yet with a world of subtile meaning at their back, respecting +Maggie. The leer and wink with which, when David came home from +Kenmuir at nights, he would ask the simple question, "And was she kind, +David--eh, eh?" made the boy's blood boil within him. + +And the more effective the little man saw his shots to be, the more +persistently he plied them. And David retaliated in kind. It was a war +of reprisals. There was no peace; there were no truces in which to +bury the dead before the opponents set to slaying others. And every day +brought the combatants nearer to that final struggle, the issue of which +neither cared to contemplate. + + * * * * * + +There came a Saturday, toward the end of the spring, long to be +remembered by more than David in the Dale. + +For that young man the day started sensationally. Rising before +cock-crow, and going to the window, the first thing he saw in the misty +dawn was the gaunt, gigantic figure of Red Wull, hounding up the hill +from the Stony Bottom; and in an instant his faith was shaken to its +foundation. + +The dog was travelling up at a long, slouching trot; and as he rapidly +approached the house, David saw that his flanks were all splashed with +red mud, his tongue out, and the foam dripping from his jaws, as though +he had come far and fast. + +He slunk up to the house, leapt on to the sill of the unused +back-kitchen, some five feet from the ground, pushed with his paw at the +cranky old hatchment, which was its only covering; and, in a second, the +boy, straining out of the window the better to see, heard the rattle of +the boards as the dog dropped within the house. + +For the moment, excited as he was, David held his peace. Even the Black +Killer took only second place in his thoughts that morning. For this was +to be a momentous day for him. + +That afternoon James Moore and Andrew would, he knew, be over at +Grammoch-town, and, his work finished for the day, he was resolved to +tackle Maggie and decide his fate. If she would have him--well, he would +go next morning and thank God for it, kneeling beside her in the +tiny village church; if not, he would leave the Grange and all its +unhappiness behind, and straightway plunge out into the world. + +All through a week of stern work he had looked forward to this hard-won +half-holiday. Therefore, when, as he was breaking off at noon, his +father turned to him and said abruptly: + +"David, ye're to tak' the Cheviot lot o'er to Grammoch-town at once," he +answered shortly: + +"Yo' mun tak' 'em yo'sel', if yo' wish 'em to go to-day." + +"Na," the little man answered; "Wullie and me, we're busy. Ye're to tak' +'em, I tell ye." + +"I'll not," David replied. "If they wait for me, they wait till Monday," +and with that he left the room. + +"I see what 'tis," his father called after him; "she's give ye a tryst +at Kenmuir. Oh, ye randy David!" + +"Yo' tend yo' business; I'll tend mine," the boy answered hotly. + +Now it happened that on the previous day Maggie had given him a +photograph of herself, or, rather, David had taken it and Maggie had +demurred. As he left the room it dropped from his pocket. He failed to +notice his loss, but directly he was gone M'Adam pounced on it. + +"He! he! Wullie, what's this?" he giggled, holding the photograph into +his face. "He! he! it's the jade hersel', I war'nt; it's Jezebel!" + +He peered into the picture. + +"She kens what's what, I'll tak' oath, Wullie. See her eyes--sae saft +and languishin'; and her lips--such lips, Wullie!" He held the picture +down for the great dog to see: then walked out of the room, still +sniggering, and chucking the face insanely beneath its cardboard chin. + +Outside the house he collided against David. The boy had missed his +treasure and was hurrying back for it. + +"What yo' got theer?" he asked suspiciously. + +"Only the pictur' o' some randy quean," his father answered, chucking +away at the inanimate chin. + +"Gie it me!" David ordered fiercely. "It's mine." + +"Na, na," the little man replied. "It's no for sic douce lads as dear +David to ha' ony touch wi' leddies sic as this." + +"Gie it me, I tell ye, or I'll tak' it!" the boy shouted. + +"Na, na; it's ma duty as yer dad to keep ye from sic limmers." He +turned, still smiling, to Red Wull. + +"There ye are, Wullie!" He threw the photograph to the dog. "Tear her, +Wullie, the Jezebel!" + +The Tailless Tyke sprang on the picture, placed one big paw in the very +centre of the face, forcing it into the muck, and tore a corner off; +then he chewed the scrap with unctious, slobbering gluttony, dropped it, +and tore a fresh piece. + +David dashed forward. + +"Touch it, if ye daur, ye brute!" he yelled; but his father seized him +and held him back. + +"'And the dogs o' the street,'" he quoted. David turned furiously on +him. + +"I've half a mind to brak' ivery bone in yer body!" he shouted, "robbin' +me o' what's mine and throwin' it to yon black brute!" + +"Whist, David, whist!" soothed the little man. "Twas but for yer ain +good yer auld dad did it. 'Twas that he had at heart as he aye has. +Rin aff wi' ye noo to Kenmuir. She'll mak' it up to ye, I war'nt. She's +leeberal wi' her favors, I hear. Ye've but to whistle and she'll come." + +David seized his father by the shoulder. + +"An' yo' gie me much more o' your sauce," he roared. + +"Sauce, Wullie," the little man echoed in a gentle voice. + +"I'll twist yer neck for yo'!" + +"He'll twist my neck for me." + +"I'll gang reet awa', I warn yo', and leave you and yer Wullie to yer +lone." + +The little man began to whimper. + +"It'll brak' yer auld dad's heart, lad," he said. + +"Nay; yo've got none. But 'twill ruin yo', please God. For yo' and +yer Wullie'll get ne'er a soul to work for yo'--yo' cheeseparin', +dirty-tongued Jew." + +The little man burst into an agony of affected tears, rocking to and +fro, his face in his hands. + +"Waesucks, Wullue! d'ye hear him? He is gaein' to leave us--the son o' +my bosom! my Benjamin! my little Davie! he's gaein' awa'!" + +David turned away down the hill; and M'Adam lifted his stricken face and +waved a hand at him. + +"'Adieu, dear amiable youth!'" he cried in broken voice; and straightway +set to sobbing again. + +Half-way down to the Stony Bottom David turned. + +"I'll gie yo' a word o' warnin'," he shouted back. "I'd advise yo' to +keep a closer eye to yer Wullie's goings on, 'specially o' nights, or +happen yo'll wake to a surprise one mornin'." + +In an instant the little man ceased his fooling. + +"And why that?" he asked, following down the hill. + +"I'll tell yo'. When I wak' this mornin' I walked to the window, and +what d'yo' think I see? Why, your Wullie gollopin' like a good un up +from the Bottom, all foamin', too, and red-splashed, as if he'd coom +from the Screes. What had he bin up to, I'd like to know?" + +"What should he be doin'," the little man replied, "but havin' an eye to +the stock? and that when the Killer might be oot." + +David laughed harshly. + +"Ay, the Killer was oot, I'll go bail, and yo' may hear o't afore the +evenin', ma man," and with that he turned away again. + +As he had foreseen, David found Maggie alone. But in the heat of his +indignation against his father he seemed to have forgotten his +original intent, and instead poured his latest troubles into the girl's +sympathetic ear. + +"There's but one mon in the world he wishes worse nor me," he was +saying. It was late in the afternoon, and he was still inveighing +against his father and his fate. Maggie sat in her father's chair by the +fire, knitting; while he lounged on the kitchen table, swinging his long +legs. + +"And who may that be?" the girl asked. + +"Why, Mr. Moore, to be sure, and Th' Owd Un, too. He'd do either o' them +a mischief if he could." + +"But why, David?" she asked anxiously. "I'm sure dad niver hurt him, or +ony ither mon for the matter o' that." + +David nodded toward the Dale Cup which rested on the mantelpiece in +silvery majesty. + +"It's yon done it," he said. "And if Th' Owd Un wins agin, as win he +will, bless him! why, look out for 'me and ma Wullie'; that's all." + +Maggie shuddered, and thought of the face at the window. + +"'Me and ma Wullie,'" David continued; "I've had about as much of them +as I can swaller. It's aye the same--'Me and ma Wullie,' and 'Wullie and +me,' as if I never put ma hand to a stroke! Ugh!"--he made a gesture of +passionate disgust--"the two on 'em fair madden me. I could strike the +one and throttle t'other," and he rattled his heels angrily together. + +"Hush, David," interposed the girl; "yo' munna speak so o' your dad; +it's agin the commandments." + +"'Tain't agin human nature," he snapped in answer. "Why, 'twas nob'but +yester' morn' he says in his nasty way, 'David, ma gran' fellow, hoo ye +work! ye 'stonish me!' And on ma word, Maggie"--there were tears in the +great boy's eyes--"ma back was nigh broke wi' toilin'. And the Terror, +he stands by and shows his teeth, and looks at me as much as to say, +'Some day, by the grace o' goodness, I'll ha' my teeth in your throat, +young mon.'" + +Maggie's knitting dropped into her lap and she looked up, her soft eyes +for once flashing. + +"It's cruel, David; so 'tis!" she cried. "I wonder yo' bide wi' him. If +he treated me so, I'd no stay anither minute. If it meant the House for +me I'd go," and she looked as if she meant it. + +David jumped off the table. + +"Han' yo' niver guessed why I stop, lass, and me so happy at home?" he +asked eagerly. + +Maggie's eyes dropped again. + +"Hoo should I know?" she asked innocently. + +"Nor care, neither, I s'pose," he said in reproachful accents. "Yo' want +me me to go and leave yo', and go reet awa'; I see hoo 'tis. Yo' wouldna +mind, not yo', if yo' was niver to see pore David agin. I niver thowt +yo' welly like me, Maggie; and noo I know it." + +"Yo' silly lad," the girl murmured, knitting steadfastly. + +"Then yo' do," he cried, triumphant, "I knew yo' did." He approached +close to her chair, his face clouded with eager anxiety. + +"But d'yo' like me more'n just _likin'_, Maggie? d'yo'," he bent and +whispered in the little ear. + +The girl cuddled over her work so that he could not see her face. + +"If yo' won't tell me yo' can show me," he coaxed. "There's other things +besides words." + +He stood before her, one hand on the chair-back on either side. She sat +thus, caged between his arms, with drooping eyes and heightened color. + +"Not so close, David, please," she begged, fidgeting uneasily; but the +request was unheeded. + +"Do'ee move away a wee," she implored. + +"Not till yo've showed me," he said, relentless. + +"I canna, Davie," she cried with laughing, petulance. + +"Yes, yo' can, lass." + +"Tak' your hands away, then." + +"Nay; not till yo've showed me." + +A pause. + +"Do'ee, Davie," she supplicated. + +And-- + +"Do'ee," he pleaded. + +She tilted her face provokingly, but her eyes were still down. + +"It's no manner o' use, Davie." + +"Iss, 'tis," he coaxed. + +"Niver." + +"Please." + +A lengthy pause. + +"Well, then--" She looked up, at last, shy, trustful, happy; and the +sweet lips were tilted further to meet his. + +And thus they were situated, lover-like, when a low, rapt voice broke in +on them,-- + + 'A dear-lov'd lad, convenience snug, +A treacherous inclination.' + +"Oh, Wullie, I wush you were here!" + +It was little M'Adam. He was leaning in at the open window, leering at +the young couple, his eyes puckered, an evil expression on his face. + +"The creetical moment! and I interfere! David, ye'll never forgie me." + +The boy jumped round with an oath; and Maggie, her face flaming, started +to her feet. The tone, the words, the look of the little man at the +window were alike insufferable. + +"By thunder! I'll teach yo' to come spyin' on me!" roared David. Above +him on the mantelpiece blazed the Shepherds' Trophy. Searching any +missile in his fury, he reached up a hand for it. + +"Ay, gie it me back, Ye robbed me o't," the little man cried, holding +out his arms as if to receive it. + +"Dinna, David," pleaded Maggie, with restraining hand on her lover's +arm. + +"By the Lord! I'll give him something!" yelled the boy. Close by there +stood a pail of soapy water. He seized it, swung it, and slashed its +contents at the leering face in the window. + +The little man started back, but the dirty torrent caught him and soused +him through. The bucket followed, struck him full on the chest, and +rolled him over in the mud. After it with a rush came David. + +"I'll let yo' know, spyin' on me!" he yelled. "I'll--" + +Maggie, whose face was as white now as it had been crimson, clung to +him, hampering him. + +"Dinna, David, dinna!" she implored. "He's yer ain dad." + +"I'll dad him! I'll learn him!" roared David half through the window. + +At the moment Sam'l Todd came floundering furiously round the corner, +closely followed by 'Enry and oor Job. + +"Is he dead?" shouted Sam'l seeing the prostrate form. + +"Ho! ho!" went the other two. + +They picked up the draggled little man and hustled him out of the yard +like a thief, a man on either side and a man behind. + +As they forced him through the gate, he struggled round. + +"By Him that made ye! ye shall pay for this, David M'Adam, you and +yer--" + +But Sam'l's big hand descended on his mouth, and he was borne away +before that last ill word had flitted into being. + + + + +Chapter XXI. HORROR OF DARKNESS + + +IT was long past dark that night when M'Adam staggered home. + +All that evening at the Sylvester Arms his imprecations against David +had made even the hardest shudder. James Moore, Owd Bob, and the Dale +Cup were for once forgotten as, in his passion, he cursed his son. + +The Dalesmen gathered fearfully away from the little dripping madman. +For once these men, whom, as a rule, no such geyser outbursts could +quell, were dumb before him; only now and then shooting furtive glances +in his direction, as though on the brink of some daring enterprise +of which he was the objective. But M'Adam noticed nothing, suspected +nothing. + +When, at length, he lurched into the kitchen of the Grange, there was no +light and the fire burnt low. So dark was the room that a white riband +of paper pinned on to the table escaped his remark. + +The little man sat down heavily, his clothes still sodden, and resumed +his tireless anathema. + +"I've tholed mair fra him, Wullie, than Adam M'Adam ever thocht to thole +from ony man. And noo it's gane past bearin'. He struck me, Wullie! +struck his ain father. Ye see it yersel', Wullie. Na, ye werena there. +Oh, gin ye had but bin, Wullie! Him and his madam! But I'll gar him ken +Adam M'Adam. I'll stan' nae mair!" + +He sprang to his feet and, reaching up with trembling hands, pulled down +the old bell-mouthed blunderbuss that hung above the mantelpiece. + +"We'll mak' an end to't, Wullie, so we will, aince and for a'!" And he +banged the weapon down upon the table. It lay right athwart that slip of +still condemning paper, yet the little man saw it not. + +Resuming his seat, he prepared to wait. His hand sought the pocket of +his coat, and fingered tenderly a small stone bottle, the fond companion +of his widowhood. He pulled it out, uncorked it, and took a long pull; +then placed it on the table by his side. + +Gradually the gray head lolled; the shrivelled hand dropped and hung +limply down, the finger-tips brushing the floor; and he dozed off into a +heavy sleep, while Red Wull watched at his feet. + +It was not till an hour later that David returned home. + +As he approached the lightless house, standing in the darkness like a +body with the spirit fled, he could but contrast this dreary home of his +with the bright kitchen and cheery faces he had left. + +Entering the house, he groped to the kitchen door and opened it; then +struck a match and stood in the doorway peering in. + +"Not home, bain't he?" he muttered, the tiny light above his head. "Wet +inside as well as oot by noo, I'll lay. By gum! but 'twas a lucky thing +for him I didna get ma hand on him this evenin'. I could ha' killed +him." He held the match above his head. + +Two yellow eyes, glowing in the darkness like cairngorms, and a small +dim figure bunched up in a chair, told him his surmise was wrong. Many +a time had he seen his father in such case before, and now he muttered +contemptuously: + +"Drunk; the leetle swab! Sleepin' it off, I reck'n." + +Then he saw his mistake. The hand that hung above the floor twitched and +was still again. + +There was a clammy silence. A mouse, emboldened by the quiet, scuttled +across the hearth. One mighty paw lightly moved; a lightning tap, and +the tiny beast lay dead. + +Again that hollow stillness: no sound, no movement; only those two +unwinking eyes fixed on him immovable. + +At length a small voice from the fireside broke the quiet. + +"Drunk--the--leetle--swab!" + +Again a clammy silence, and a life-long pause. + +"I thowt yo' was sleepin'," said David, at length, lamely. + +"Ay, so ye said. 'Sleepin' it aff'; I heard ye." Then, still in the same +small voice, now quivering imperceptibly, "Wad ye obleege me, sir, by +leetin' the lamp? Or, d'ye think, Wullie, 'twad be soilin' his dainty +fingers? They're mair used, I'm told, to danderin' with the bonnie brown +hair o' his--" + +"I'll not ha' ye talk o' ma Maggie so," interposed the boy passionately. + +"_His_ Maggie, mark ye, Wullie--_his_! I thocht 'twad soon get that +far." + +"Tak' care, dad! I'll stan' but little more," the boy warned him in +choking voice; and began to trim the lamp with trembling fingers. + +M'Adam forthwith addressed himself to Red Wull. + +"I suppose no man iver had sic a son as him, Wullie. Ye ken what I've +done for him, an' ye ken hoo he's repaid it. He's set himsel' agin +me; he's misca'd me; he's robbed me o' ma Cup; last of all, he struck +me--struck me afore them a'. We've toiled for him, you and I, Wullie; +we've slaved to keep him in hoose an' hame, an' he's passed his time, +the while, in riotous leevin', carousin' at Kenmuir, amusin' himself' +wi' his--" He broke off short. The lamp was lit, and the strip of paper, +pinned on to the table, naked and glaring, caught his eye. + +"What's this?" he muttered; and unloosed the nail that clamped it down. + +This is what he read: + +"Adam Mackadam yer warned to mak' an end to yer Red Wull will be best +for him and the Sheep. This is the first yo'll have two more the third +will be the last--" + +It was written in pencil, and the only signature was a dagger, rudely +lined in red. + +M'Adam read the paper once, twice, thrice. As he slowly assimilated +its meaning, the blood faded from his face. He stared at it and still +stared, with whitening face and pursed lips. Then he stole a glance at +David's broad back. + +"What d'ye ken o' this, David?" he asked, at length, in a dry thin +voice, reaching forward in his chair. + +"O' what?" + +"O' this," holding up the slip. "And ye'el obleege me by the truth for +once." + +David turned, took up the paper, read it, and laughed harshly. + +"It's coom to this, has it?" he said, still laughing, and yet with +blanching face. + +"Ye ken what it means. I daresay ye pit it there; aiblins writ it. Ye'll +explain it." The little man spoke in the same small, even voice, and his +eyes never moved off his son's face. + +"I've heard naethin'.... I'd like the truth, David, if ye can tell it." + +The boy smiled a forced, unnatural smile, looking from his father to the +paper in his hand. + +"Yo' shall have it, but yo'll not like it. It's this: Tupper lost a +sheep to the Killer last night." + +"And what if he did?" The little man rose smoothly to his feet. Each +noticed the others' face--dead-white. + +"Why, he--lost--it--on--Wheer d'yo' think?" He drawled the words out, +dwelling almost lovingly on each. + +"Where?" + +"On--the--Red--Screes." + +The crash was coming--inevitable now. David knew it, knew that nothing +could avert it, and braced himself to meet it. The smile had fled from +his face, and his breath fluttered in his throat like the wind before a +thunderstorm. + +"What of it?" The little man's voice was calm as a summer sea. + +"Why, your Wullie--as I told yo'--was on the Screes last night." + +"Go on, David." + +"And this," holding up the paper, "tells you that they ken as I ken +noo, as maist o' them ha' kent this mony a day, that your Wullie, Red +Wull--the Terror--" + +"Go on." + +"Is--" + +"Yes." + +"The Black Killer." + +It was spoken. + +The frayed string was snapped at last. The little man's hand flashed to +the bottle that stood before him. + +"Ye--liar!" he shrieked, and threw it with all his strength at the boy's +head. David dodged and ducked, and the bottle hurtled over his shoulder. + +Crash! it whizzed into the lamp behind, and broke on the wall beyond, +its contents trickling down the wall to the floor. + +For a moment, darkness. Then the spirits met the lamp's smouldering wick +and blazed into flame. + +By the sudden light David saw his father on the far side the table, +pointing with crooked forefinger. By his side Red Wull was standing +alert, hackles up, yellow fangs bared, eyes lurid; and, at his feet, the +wee brown mouse lay still and lifeless. + +"Oot o' ma hoose! Back to Kenmuir! Back to yer ----" The unpardonable +word, unmistakable, hovered for a second on his lips like some foul +bubble, and never burst. + +"No mither this time!" panted David, racing round the table. + +"Wullie!" + +The Terror leapt to the attack; but David overturned the table as +he ran, the blunderbuss crashing to the floor; it fell, opposing a +momentary barrier in the dog's path. + +"Stan' off, ye--!" screeched the little man, seizing a chair in both +hands; "stan' off, or I'll brain ye!" + +But David was on him. + +"Wullie, Wullie, to me!" + +Again the Terror came with a roar like the sea. But David, with a mighty +kick catching him full on the jaw, repelled the attack. + +Then he gripped his father round the waist and lifted him from the +ground. The little man, struggling in those iron arms, screamed, cursed, +and battered at the face above him, kicking and biting in his frenzy. + +"The Killer! wad ye ken wha's the Killer? Go and ask 'em at Kenmuir! Ask +yer ----" + +David swayed slightly, crushing the body in his arms till it seemed +every rib must break; then hurled it from him with all the might of +passion. The little man fell with a crash and a groan. + +The blaze in the corner flared, flickered, and died. There was +hell-black darkness, and silence of the dead. + +David stood against the wall, panting, every nerve tightstrung as the +hawser of a straining ship. + +In the corner lay the body of his father, limp and still; and in the +room one other living thing was moving. + +He clung close to the wall, pressing it with wet hands. The horror of +it all, the darkness, the man in the corner, that moving something, +petrified him. + +"Feyther!" he whispered. + +There was no reply. A chair creaked at an invisible touch. Something was +creeping, stealing, crawling closer. + +David was afraid. + +"Feyther!" he whispered in hoarse agony, "are yo' hurt?" + +The words were stifled in his throat. A chair overturned with a crash; a +great body struck him on the chest; a hot, pestilent breath volleyed in +his face, and wolfish teeth were reaching for his throat. + +"Come on, Killer!" he screamed. + +The horror of suspense was past. It had come, and with it he was himself +again. + +Back, back, back, along the wall he was borne. His hands entwined +themselves around a hairy throat; he forced the great head with its +horrid lightsome eyes from him; he braced himself for the effort, lifted +the huge body at his breast, and heaved it from him. It struck the wall +and fell with a soft thud. + +As he recoiled a hand clutched his ankle and sought to trip him. David +kicked back and down with all his strength. There was one awful groan, +and he staggered against the door and out. + +There he paused, leaning against the wall to' breathe. + +He struck a match and lifted his foot to see where the hand had clutched +him. + +God! there was blood on his heel. + +Then a great fear laid hold on him. A cry was suffocated in his breast +by the panting of his heart. + +He crept back to the kitchen door and listened. + +Not a sound. + +Fearfully he opened it a crack. + +Silence of the tomb. + +He banged it to. It opened behind him, and the fact lent wings to his +feet. + +He turned and plunged out into the night, and ran through the blackness +for his life. And a great owl swooped softly by and hooted mockingly: + +"For your life! for your life! for your life!" + + + + +PART V OWD BOB O' KENMUIR + + + + +Chapter XXII A MAN AND A MAID + + +IN the village even the Black Killer and the murder on the Screes were +forgotten in this new sensation. The mystery in which the affair was +wrapped, and the ignorance as to all its details, served to whet the +general interest. There had been a fight; M'Adam and the Terror had been +mauled; and David had disappeared--those were the facts. But what was +the origin of the affray no one could say. + +One or two of the Dalesmen had, indeed, a shrewd suspicion. Tupper +looked guilty; Jem Burton muttered, "I knoo hoo 'twould be"; while as +for Long Kirby, he vanished entirely, not to reappear till three months +had sped. + +Injured as he had been, M'Adam was yet sufficiently recovered to appear +in the Sylvester Arms on the Saturday following the battle. He entered +the tap-room silently with never a word to a soul; one arm was in a +sling and his head bandaged. He eyed every man present critically; and +all, except Tammas, who was brazen, and Jim Mason, who was innocent, +fidgeted beneath the stare. Maybe it was well for Long Kirby he was not +there. + +"Onythin' the matter?" asked Jem, at length, rather lamely, in view of +the plain evidences of battle. + +"Na, na; naethin' oot o' the ordinar'," the little man replied, +giggling. "Only David set on me, and me sleepin'. And," with a shrug, +"here I am noo." He sat down, wagging his bandaged head and grinning. +"Ye see he's sae playfu', is Davie. He wangs ye o'er the head wi' a +chair, kicks ye in the jaw, stamps on yer wame, and all as merry as +May." And nothing further could they get from him, except that if David +reappeared it was his firm resolve to hand him over to the police for +attempted parricide. + +"'Brutal assault on an auld man by his son!' 'Twill look well in the +Argus; he! he! They couldna let him aff under two years, I'm thinkin'." + +M'Adam's version of the affair was received with quiet incredulity. The +general verdict was that he had brought his punishment entirely on his +own head. Tammas, indeed, who was always rude when he was not witty, +and, in fact, the difference between the two things is only one of +degree, told him straight: "It served yo' well reet. An' I nob'but wish +he'd made an end to yo'." + +"He did his best, puir lad," M'Adam reminded him gently. + +"We've had enough o' yo'," continued the uncompromising old man. "I'm +fair grieved he didna slice yer throat while he was at it." + +At that M'Adam raised his eyebrows, stared, and then broke into a low +whistle. + +"That's it, is it?" he muttered, as though a new light was dawning on +him. "Ah, noo I see." + + * * * * * + +The days passed on. There was still no news of the missing one, and +Maggie's face became pitifully white and haggard. + +Of course she did not believe that David had attempted to murder his +father, desperately tried as she knew he had been. Still, it was a +terrible thought to her that he might at any moment be arrested; and her +girlish imagination was perpetually conjuring up horrid pictures of a +trial, conviction, and the things that followed. + +Then Sam'l started a wild theory that the little man had murdered his +son, and thrown the mangled body down the dry well at the Grange. The +story was, of course, preposterous, and, coming from such a source, +might well have been discarded with the ridicule it deserved. Yet it +served to set the cap on the girl's fears; and she resolved, at whatever +cost, to visit the Grange, beard M'Adam, and discover whether he could +not or would not allay her gnawing apprehension. + +Her intent she concealed from her father, knowing well that were she to +reveal it to him, he would gently but firmly forbid the attempt; and on +an afternoon some fortnight after David's disappearance, choosing her +opportunity, she picked up a shawl, threw it over her head, and fled +with palpitating heart out of the farm and down the 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 +s 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 s of the +Muir Pike; while behind--she glanced timidly over her shoulder--was the +hill, at the top of which squatted the Grange, lifeless, cold, scowling. + +Her heart failed her. In her whole life she had never spoken to M'Adam. +Yet she knew him well enough from all David's accounts--ay, and hated +him for David's sake. She hated him and feared him, too; feared him +mortally--this terrible little man. And, with a shudder, she recalled +the dim face at the window, and thought of his notorious hatred of her +father. But even M'Adam could hardly harm a girl coming, broken-hearted, +to seek her lover. Besides, was not Owd Bob with her? + +And, turning, she saw the old dog standing a little way up the hill, +looking back at her as though he wondered why she waited. "Am I not +enough?" the faithful gray eyes seemed to say. + +"Lad, I'm fear'd," was her answer to the unspoken question. + +Yet that look determined her. She clenched her little teeth, drew the +shawl about her, and set off running up the hill. + +Soon the run dwindled to a walk, the walk to a crawl, and the crawl to +a halt. Her breath was coming painfully, and her heart pattered against +her side like the beatings of an imprisoned bird. Again her gray +guardian looked up, encouraging her forward. + +"Keep close, lad," she whispered, starting forward afresh. And the old +dog ranged up beside her, shoving into her skirt, as though to let her +feel his presence. + +So they reached the top of the hill; and the house stood before them, +grim, unfriendly. + +The girl's face was now quite white, yet set; the resemblance to her +father was plain to see. With lips compressed and breath quick-coming, +she crossed the threshold, treading softly as though in a house of the +dead. There she paused and lifted a warning finger at her companion, +bidding him halt without; then she turned to the door on the left of the +entrance and tapped. + +She listened, her head buried in the shawl, close to the wood panelling. +There was no answer; she could only hear the drumming of her heart. + +She knocked again. From within came the scraping of a chair cautiously +shoved back, followed by a deep-mouthed cavernous growl. + +Her heart stood still, but she turned the handle and entered, leaving a +crack open behind. + +On the far side the room a little man was sitting. His head was swathed +in dirty bandages, and a bottle was on the table beside him. He was +leaning forward; his face was gray, and there was a stare of naked +horror in his eyes. One hand grasped the great dog who stood at his +side, with yellow teeth glinting, and muzzle hideously wrinkled; with +the other he pointed a palsied finger at her. + +"Ma God! wha are ye?" he cried hoarsely. + +The girl stood hard against the door, her fingers still on the handle; +trembling like an aspen at the sight of that uncannie pair. + +That look in the little man's eyes petrified her: the swollen pupils; +lashless lids, yawning wide; the broken range of teeth in that gaping +mouth, froze her very soul. Rumors of the man's insanity tided back on +her memory. + +"I'm--I--" the words came in trembling gasps. + +At the first utterance, however, the little man's hand dropped; he leant +back in his chair and gave a soul-bursting sigh of relief. + +No woman had crossed that threshold since his wife died; and, for a +moment, when first the girl had entered silent-footed, aroused from +dreaming of the long ago, he had thought this shawl-clad figure with the +pale face and peeping hair no earthly visitor; the spirit, rather, of +one he had loved long since and lost, come to reproach him with a broken +troth. + +"Speak up, I canna hear," he said, in tones mild compared with those +last wild words. + +"I--I'm Maggie Moore," the girl quavered. + +"Moore! Maggie Moore, d'ye say?" he cried, half rising from his chair, +a flush of color sweeping across his face, "the dochter o' James Moore?" +He paused for an answer, glowering at her; and she shrank, trembling, +against the door. + +The little man leant back in his chair. Gradually a grim smile crept +across his countenance. + +"Weel, Maggie Moore," he said, halfamused, "ony gate ye're a good +plucked un." And his wizened countenance looked at her almost kindly +from beneath its dirty crown of bandages. + +At that the girl's courage returned with a rush. After all this little +man was not so very terrible. Perhaps he would be kind. And in the +relief of the moment, the blood swept back into her face. + +There was not to be peace yet, however. The blush was still hot upon her +cheeks, when she caught the patter of soft steps in the passage without. +A dark muzzle flecked with gray pushed in at the crack of the door; two +anxious gray eyes followed. + +Before she could wave him back, Red Wull had marked the intruder. With +a roar he tore himself from his master's restraining hand, and dashed +across the room. + +"Back, Bob!" screamed Maggie, and the dark head withdrew. The door +slammed with a crash as the great dog flung himself against it, and +Maggie was hurled, breathless and white-faced, into a corner. + +M'Adam was on his feet, pointing with a shrivelled finger, his face +diabolical. + +"Did you bring him? did you bring _that_ to ma door?" + +Maggie huddled in the corner in a palsy of trepidation. Her eyes gleamed +big and black in the white face peering from the shawl. + +Red Wull was now beside her snarling horribly. With nose to the bottom +of the door and busy paws he was trying to get out; while, on the other +side, Owd Bob, snuffling also at the crack, scratched and pleaded to get +in. Only two miserable wooden inches separated the pair. + +"I brought him to protect me. I--I was afraid." + +M'Adam sat down and laughed abruptly. + +"Afraid! I wonder ye were na afraid to bring him here. It's the first +time iver he's set foot on ma land, and 't had best be the last" He +turned to the great dog. "Wullie, Wullie, wad ye?" he called. "Come +here. Lay ye doon--so--under ma chair--good lad. Noo's no the time to +settle wi' him"--nodding toward the door. "We can wait for that, Wullie; +we can wait." Then, turning to Maggie, "Gin ye want him to mak' a show +at the Trials two months hence, he'd best not come here agin. Gin he +does, he'll no leave ma land alive; Wullie'll see to that. Noo, what is +'t ye want o'me?" + +The girl in the corner, scared almost out of her senses by this last +occurrence, remained dumb. + +M'Adam marked her hesitation, and grinned sardonically. + +"I see hoo 'tis," said he; "yer dad's sent ye. Aince before he wanted +somethin' o' me, and did he come to fetch it himself like a man? Not he. +He sent the son to rob the father." Then, leaning forward in his chair +and glaring at the girl, "Ay, and mair than that! The night the lad +set on me he cam'"--with hissing emphasis--"straight from Kenmuir!" He +paused and stared at her intently, and she was still dumb before him. +"Gin I'd ben killed, Wullie'd ha' bin disqualified from competin' for +the Cup. With Adam M'Adam's Red Wull oot o' the way--noo d'ye see? Noo +d'ye onderstan'?" + +She did not, and he saw it and was satisfied. What he had been saying +she neither knew nor cared. She only remembered the object of her +mission; she only saw before her the father of the man she loved; and a +wave of emotion surged up in her breast. + +She advanced timidly toward him, holding out her hands. + +"Eh, Mr. M'Adam," she pleaded, "I come to ask ye after David." The shawl +had slipped from her head, and lay loose upon her shoulders; and she +stood before him with her sad face, her pretty hair all tossed, and her +eyes big with unshed tears--a touching suppliant. + +"Will ye no tell me wheer he is? I'd not ask it, I'd not trouble yo', +but I've bin waitin' a waefu' while, it seems, and I'm wearyin' for news +o' him." + +The little man looked at her curiously. "Ah, noo I mind me,"--this to +himself. "You' the lass as is thinkin' o' marryin' him?" + +"We're promised," the girl answered simply. + +"Weel," the other remarked, "as I said afore, ye're a good plucked un." +Then, in a tone in which, despite the cynicism, a certain indefinable +sadness was blended, "Gin he mak's you as good husband as he mad' son to +me, ye'll ha' made a maist remairkable match, my dear." + +Maggie fired in a moment. + +"A good feyther makes a good son," she answered almost pertly; and then, +with infinite tenderness, "and I'm prayin' a good wife'll make a good +husband." + +He smiled scoffingly. + +"I'm feared that'll no help ye much," he said. + +But the girl never heeded this last sneer, so set was she on her +purpose. She had heard of the one tender place in the heart of this +little man with the tired face and mocking tongue, and she resolved to +attain her end by appealing to it. + +"Yo' loved a lass yo'sel' aince, Mr. M'Adam," she said. "Hoo would yo' +ha' felt had she gone away and left yo'? Yo'd ha' bin mad; yo' know yo' +would. And, Mr. M'Adam, I love the lad yer wife loved." She was kneeling +at his feet now with both hands on his knees, looking up at him. Her sad +face and quivering lips pleaded for her more eloquently than any words. + +The little man was visibly touched. + +"Ay, ay, lass, that's enough," he said, trying to avoid those big +beseeching eyes which would not be avoided. + +"Will ye no tell me?" she pleaded. + +"I canna tell ye, lass, for why, I dinna ken," he answered querulously. +In truth, he was moved to the heart by her misery. + +The girl's last hopes were dashed. She had played her last card and +failed. She had clung with the fervor of despair to this last resource, +and now it was torn from her. She had hoped, and now there was no hope. +In the anguish of her disappointment she remembered that this was the +man who, by his persistent cruelty, had driven her love into exile. + +She rose to her feet and stood back. + +"Nor ken, nor care!" she cried bitterly. + +At the words all the softness fled from the little man's face. + +"Ye do me a wrang, lass; ye do indeed," he said, looking up at her with +an assumed ingenuousness which, had she known him better, would have +warned her to beware. "Gin I kent where the lad was I'd be the vairy +first to let you, and the p'lice, ken it too; eh, Wullie! he! he!" He +chuckled at his wit and rubbed his knees, regardless of the contempt +blazing in the girl's face. + +"I canna tell ye where he is now, but ye'd aiblins care to hear o' when +I saw him last." He turned his chair the better to address her. + +"Twas like so: I was sittin' in this vairy chair it was, asleep, when +he crep' up behind an' lep' on ma back. I knew naethin' o't till I found +masel' on the floor an' him kneelin' on me. I saw by the look on him he +was set on finishin' me, so I said--" + +The girl waved her hand at him, superbly disdainful. + +"Yo' ken yo're lyin', ivery word o't," she cried. + +The little man hitched his trousers, crossed his legs, and yawned. + +"An honest lee for an honest purpose is a matter ony man may be proud +of, as you'll ken by the time you're my years, ma lass." + +The girl slowly crossed the room. At the door she turned. + +"Then ye'll no tell me wheer he is?" she asked with a heart-breaking +trill in her voice. + +"On ma word, lass, I dinna ken," he cried, half passionately. + +"On your word, Mr. M'Adam" she said with a quiet scorn in her voice that +might have stung Iscariot. + +The little man spun round in his chair, an angry red dyeing his cheeks. +In another moment he was suave and smiling again. + +"I canna tell ye where he is noo," he said, unctuously; "but aiblins, I +could let ye know where he's gaein' to." + +"Can yo'? will yo'?" cried the simple girl all unsuspecting. In a moment +she was across the room and at his knees. + +"Closer, and I'll whisper." The little ear, peeping from its nest of +brown, was tremblingly approached to his lips. The little man lent +forward and whispered one short, sharp word, then sat back, grinning, to +watch the effect of his disclosure. + +He had his revenge, an unworthy revenge on such a victim. And, watching +the girl's face, the cruel disappointment merging in the heat of her +indignation, he had yet enough nobility to regret his triumph. + +She sprang from him as though he were unclean. + +"An' yo' his father!" she cried, in burning tones. + +She crossed the room, and at the door paused. Her face was white again +and she was quite composed. + +"If David did strike you, you drove him to it," she said, speaking in +calm, gentle accents. "Yo' know, none so well, whether yo've bin a good +feyther to him, and him no mither, poor laddie! Whether yo've bin to him +what she'd ha' had yo' be. Ask yer conscience, Mr. M'Adam. An' if he +was a wee aggravatin' at times, had he no reason? He'd a heavy cross to +bear, had David, and yo' know best if yo' helped to ease it for him." + +The little man pointed to the door; but the girl paid no heed. + +"D'yo' think when yo' were cruel to him, jeerin' and fleerin', he never +felt it, because he was too proud to show ye? He'd a big saft heart, had +David, beneath the varnish. Mony's the time when mither was alive, I've +seen him throw himsel' into her arms, sobbin', and cry, 'Eh, if I had +but mither! 'Twas different when mither was alive; he was kinder to me +then. An' noo I've no one; I'm alone.' An' he'd sob and sob in mither's +arms, and she, weepin' hersel', would comfort him, while he, wee laddie, +would no be comforted, cryin' broken-like, 'There's none to care for me +noo; I'm alone. Mither's left me and eh! I'm prayin' to be wi' her!'" + +The clear, girlish voice shook. M'Adam, sitting with face averted, +waved to her, mutely ordering her to be gone. But she held on, gentle, +sorrowful, relentless. + +"An' what'll yo' say to his mither when yo meet her, as yo' must soon +noo, and she asks yo', 'An what o' David? What o' th' lad I left wi' +yo', Adam, to guard and keep for me, faithful and true, till this Day?' +And then yo'll ha' to speak the truth, God's truth; and yo'll ha' to +answer, 'Sin' the day yo' left me I niver said a kind word to the lad. +I niver bore wi' him, and niver tried to. And in the end I drove him by +persecution to try and murder me.' Then maybe she'll look at yo'--yo' +best ken hoo--and she'll say, 'Adam, Adam! is this what I deserved fra +yo'?'" + +The gentle, implacable voice ceased. The girl turned and slipped softly +out of the room; and M'Adam was left alone to his thoughts and his dead +wife's memory. + +"Mither and father, baith! Mither and father, baith!" rang remorselessly +in his ears. + + + + +Chapter XXIII TH' OWD UN + + +THE Black Killer still cursed the land. Sometimes there would be a +cessation in the crimes; then a shepherd, going his rounds, would notice +his sheep herding together, packing in unaccustomed squares; a raven, +gorged to the crop, would rise before him and flap wearily away, and he +would come upon the murderer's latest victim. + +The Dalesmen were in despair, so utterly futile had their efforts been. +There was no proof; no hope, no apparent probability that the end was +near. As for the Tailless Tyke, the only piece of evidence against him +had flown with David, who, as it chanced, had divulged what he had seen +to no man. + +The 100 pound reward offered had brought no issue. The police had done +nothing. The Special Commissioner had been equally successful. After +the affair in the Scoop the Killer never ran a risk, yet never missed a +chance. + +Then, as a last resource, Jim Mason made his attempt. He took a holiday +from his duties and disappeared into the wilderness. Three days and +three nights no man saw him. + +On the morning of the fourth he reappeared, haggard, unkempt, a furtive +look haunting his eyes, sullen for once, irritable, who had never been +irritable before--to confess his failure. Cross-examined further, he +answered with unaccustomed fierceness: "I seed nowt, I tell ye. Who's +the liar as said I did?" + +But that night his missus heard him in his sleep conning over something +to himself in slow, fearful whisper, "Two on 'em; one ahint t'other. The +first big--bull-like; t'ither--" At which point Mrs. Mason smote him a +smashing blow in the ribs, and he woke in a sweat, crying terribly, "Who +said I seed--" + + * * * * * + +The days were slipping away; the summer was hot upon the land, and with +it the Black Killer was forgotten; David was forgotten; everything +sank into oblivion before the all-absorbing interest of the coming Dale +trials. + +The long-anticipated battle for the Shepherds' Trophy was looming close; +soon everything that hung upon the issue of that struggle would be +decided finally. For ever the justice of Th' Owd Un' claim to his +proud title would be settled. If he won, he won outright--a thing +unprecedented in the annals of the Cup; if he won, the place of Owd Bob +o' Kenmuir as first in his profession was assured for all time. Above +all, it was the last event in the six years' struggle 'twixt Red and +Gray It was the last time those two great rivals would meet in battle. +The supremacy of one would be decided once and for all. For win or lose, +it was the last public appearance of the Gray Dog of Kenmuir. + +And as every hour brought the great day nearer, nothing else was talked +of in the country-side. The heat of the Dalesmen's enthusiasm was only +intensified by the fever of their apprehension. Many a man would lose +more than he cared to contemplate were Th' Owd Un beat. But he'd not be! +Nay; owd, indeed, he was--two years older than his great rival; there +were a hundred risks, a hundred chances; still: "What's the odds agin +Owd Bob o' Kenmuir? I'm takin' 'em. Who'll lay agin Th' Owd Un?" + +And with the air saturated with this perpetual talk of the old dog, +these everlasting references to his certain victory; his ears drumming +with the often boast that the gray dog was the best in the North, +M'Adam became the silent, ill-designing man of six months since--morose, +brooding, suspicious, muttering of conspiracy, plotting revenge. + +The scenes at the Sylvester Arms were replicas of those of previous +years. Usually the little man sat isolated in a far corner, silent +and glowering, with Red Wull at his feet. Now and then he burst into +a paroxysm of insane giggling, slapping his thigh, and muttering, +"Ay, it's likely they'll beat us, Wullie. Yet aiblins there's a wee +somethin'--a somethin' we ken and they dinna, Wullie,--eh! Wullie, he! +he!" And sometimes he would leap to his feet and address his pot-house +audience, appealing to them passionately, satirically, tearfully, as the +mood might be on him; and his theme was always the same: James Moore, +Owd Bob, the Cup, and the plots agin him and his Wullie; and always he +concluded with that hint of the surprise to come. + +Meantime, there was no news of David; he had gone as utterly as a ship +foundered in mid-Atlantic. Some said he'd 'listed; some, that he'd gone +to sea. And "So he 'as," corroborated Sam'l, "floatin', 'eels uppards." + +With no gleam of consolation, Maggie's misery was such as to rouse +compassion in all hearts. She went no longer blithely singing about +her work; and all the springiness had fled from her gait. The people of +Kenmuir vied with one another in their attempts to console their young +mistress. + + * * * * * + +Maggie was not the only one in whose life David's absence had created +a void. Last as he would have been to own it, M'Adam felt acutely the +boy's loss. It may have been he missed the ever-present butt; it may +have been a nobler feeling. Alone with Red Wull, too late he felt his +loneliness. Sometimes, sitting in the kitchen by himself, thinking of +the past, he experienced sharp pangs of remorse; and this was all the +more the case after Maggie's visit. Subsequent to that day the little +man, to do him justice, was never known to hint by word or look an ill +thing of his enemy's daughter. Once, indeed, when Melia Ross was drawing +on a dirty imagination with Maggie for subject, M'Adam shut her up with: +"Ye're a maist amazin' big liar, Melia Ross." + +Yet, though for the daughter he had now no evil thought, his hatred for +the father had never been so uncompromising. + +He grew reckless in his assertions. His life was one long threat against +James Moore's. Now he openly stated his conviction that, on the eventful +night of the fight, James Moore, with object easily discernible, had +egged David on to murder him. + +"Then why don't yo' go and tell him so, yo' muckle liar?" roared Tammas +at last, enraged to madness. + +"I will!" said M'Adam. And he did. + + * * * * * + +It was on the day preceding the great summer sheep fair at Grammoch-town +that he fulfilled his vow. + +That is always a big field-day at Kenmuir; and on this occasion James +Moore and Owd Bob had been up and working on the Pike from the rising of +the sun. Throughout the straggling lands of Kenmuir the Master went +with his untiring adjutant, rounding up, cutting out, drafting. It was +already noon when the flock started from the yard. + +On the gate by the stile, as the party came up, sat M'Adam. + +"I've a word to say to you, James Moore," he announced, as the Master +approached. + +"Say it then, and quick. I've no time to stand gossipin' here, if yo' +have," said the Master. + +M'Adam strained forward till he nearly toppled off the gate. + +"Queer thing, James Moore, you should be the only one to escape this +Killer." + +"Yo' forget yoursel', M'Adam." + +"Ay, there's me," acquiesced the little man. "But you--hoo d'yo' 'count +for _your_ luck?" + +James Moore swung round and pointed proudly at the gray dog, now +patrolling round the flock. + +"There's my luck!" he said. + +M'Adam laughed unpleasantly. + +"So I thought," he said, "so I thought! And I s'pose ye're thinkin' that +yer luck," nodding at the gray dog, "will win you the Cup for certain a +month hence." + +"I hope so!" said the Master. + +"Strange if he should not after all," mused the little man. + +James Moore eyed him suspiciously. "What d'yo' mean?" he asked sternly. +M'Adam shrugged his shoulders. "There's mony a slip 'twixt Cup and lip, +that's a'. I was thinkin' some mischance might come to him." + +The Master's eyes flashed dangerously. He recalled the many rumors he +had heard, and the attempt on the old dog early in the year. + +"I canna think ony one would be coward enough to murder him," he said, +drawing himself up. + +M'Adam leant forward. There was a nasty glitter in his eye, and his face +was all a-tremble. + +"Ye'd no think ony one 'd be cooard enough to set the son to murder the +father. Yet some one did--set the lad on to 'sassinate me. He failed at +me, and next, I suppose, he'll try at Wullie!" There was a flush on +the sallow face, and a vindictive ring in the thin voice. "One way or +t'ither, fair or foul, Wullie or me, ain or baith, has got to go afore +Cup Day, eh, James Moore! eh?" + +The Master put his hand on the latch of the gate, "That'll do, M'Adam," +he said. "I'll stop to hear no more, else I might get angry wi' yo'. Noo +git off this gate, yo're trespassin' as 'tis." + +He shook the gate. M'Adam tumbled off, and went sprawling into the sheep +clustered below. Picking himself up, he dashed on through the flock, +waving his arms, kicking fantastically, and scattering confusion +everywhere. + +"Just wait till I'm thro' wi' 'em, will yo'?" shouted the Master, seeing +the danger. + +It was a request which, according to the etiquette of shepherding, one +man was bound to grant another. But M'Adam rushed on regardless, dancing +and gesticulating. Save for the lightning vigilance of Owd Bob, the +flock must have broken. + +"I think yo' might ha' waited!" remonstrated the Master, as the little +man burst his way through. + +"Noo, I've forgot somethin'!" the other cried, and back he started as he +had gone. + +It was more than human nature could tolerate. + +"Bob, keep him off!" + +A flash of teeth; a blaze of gray eyes; and the old dog had leapt +forward to oppose the little man's advance. + +"Shift oot o' ma light!" cried he, striving to dash past. + +"Hold him, lad!" + +And hold him the old dog did, while his master opened the gate and put +the flock through, the opponents dodging in front of one another like +opposing three-quarter-backs at the Rugby game. + +"Oot o' ma path, or I'll strike!" shouted the little man in a fury, as +the last sheep passed through the gate. + +"I'd not," warned the Master. + +"But I will!" yelled M'Adam; and, darting forward as the gate swung to, +struck furiously at his opponent. + +He missed, and the gray dog charged at him like a mail-train. + +"Hi! James Moore--" but over he went like a toppled wheelbarrow, while +the old dog turned again, raced at the gate, took it magnificently in +his stride, and galloped up the lane after his master. + +At M'Adam's yell, James Moore had turned. + +"Served yo' properly!" he called back. "He'll larn ye yet it's not wise +to tamper wi' a gray dog or his sheep. Not the first time he's downed +ye, I'm thinkin'!" + +The little man raised himself painfully to his elbow and crawled toward +the gate. The Master, up the lane, could hear him cursing as he dragged +himself. Another moment, and a head was poked through the bars of the +gate, and a devilish little face looked after him. + +"Downed me, by--, he did!" the little man cried passionately. "I owed ye +baith somethin' before this, and noo, by ----, I owe ye somethin' more. +An' mind ye, Adam M'Adam pays his debts!" + +"I've heard the contrary," the Master replied drily, and turned away up +the lane toward the Marches. + + + + +Chapter XXIV A SHOT IN THE NIGHT + + +IT was only three short weeks before Cup Day that one afternoon Jim +Mason brought a letter to Kenmuir. James Moore opened it as the postman +still stood in the door. + +It was from Long Kirby--still in retirement--begging him for mercy's +sake to keep Owd Bob safe within doors at nights; at all events till +after the great event was over. For Kirby knew, as did every Dalesman, +that the old dog slept in the porch, between the two doors of the house, +of which the outer was only loosely closed by a chain, so that the +ever-watchful guardian might slip in and out and go his rounds at any +moment of the night. + +This was how the smith concluded his ill-spelt note: "Look out for +M'Adam i tell you i _know_ hel tri at thowd un afore cup day--failin im +you if the ole dog's bete i'm a ruined man i say so for the luv o' God +keep yer eyes wide." + +The Master read the letter, and handed it to the postman, who perused it +carefully. + +"I tell yo' what," said Jim at length, speaking with an earnestness that +made the other stare, "I wish yo'd do what he asks yo': keep Th' Owd Un +in o' nights, I mean, just for the present." + +The Master shook his head and laughed, tearing the letter to pieces. + +"Nay," said he; "M'Adam or no M'Adam, Cup or no Cup, Th' Owd Un has the +run o' ma land same as he's had since a puppy. Why, Jim, the first night +I shut him up that night the Killer comes, I'll lay." + +The postman turned wearily away, and the Master stood looking after him, +wondering what had come of late to his former cheery friend. + +Those two were not the only warnings James Moore received. During +the weeks immediately preceding the Trials, the danger signal was +perpetually flaunted beneath his nose. + +Twice did Watch, the black cross-bred chained in the straw-yard, hurl a +brazen challenge on the night air. Twice did the Master, with lantern, +Sam'l and Owd Bob, sally forth and search every hole and corner on the +premises--to find nothing. One of the dairy-maids gave notice, avowing +that the farm was haunted; that, on several occasions in the early +morning, she had seen a bogie flitting down the to the Wastrel--a +sure portent, Sam'l declared, of an approaching death in the house. +While once a shearer, coming up from the village, reported having seen, +in the twilight of dawn, a little ghostly figure, haggard and startled, +stealing silently from tree to tree in the larch-copse by the lane. The +Master, however, irritated by these constant alarms, dismissed the story +summarily. + +"One thing I'm sartin o'," said he. "There's not a critter moves on +Kenmuir at nights but Th' Owd Un knows it." + +Yet, even as he said it, a little man, draggled, weary-eyed, smeared +with dew and dust, was limping in at the door of a house barely a mile +away. "Nae luck, Wullie, curse it!" he cried, throwing himself into a +chair, and addressing some one who was not there--"nae luck. An' yet I'm +sure o't as I am that there's a God in heaven." + + * * * * * + +M'Adam had become an old man of late. But little more than fifty, yet he +looked to have reached man's allotted years. His sparse hair was quite +white; his body shrunk and bowed; and his thin hand shook like an aspen +as it groped to the familiar bottle. + +In another matter, too, he was altogether changed. Formerly, whatever +his faults, there had been no harder-working man in the country-side. +At all hours, in all weathers, you might have seen him with his gigantic +attendant going his rounds. Now all that was different: he never put his +hand to the plough, and with none to help him the land was left wholly +untended; so that men said that, of a surety, there would be a farm to +let on the March Mere Estate come Michaelmas. + +Instead of working, the little man sat all day in the kitchen at home, +brooding over his wrongs, and brewing vengeance. Even the Sylvester +Arms knew him no more; for he stayed where he was with his dog and his +bottle. Only, when the shroud of night had come down to cover him, +he slipped out and away on some errand on which not even Red Wull +accompanied him. + + * * * * * + +So the time glided on, till the Sunday before the Trials came round. + +All that day M'Adam sat in his kitchen, drinking, muttering, hatching +revenge. + +"Curse it, Wullie! curse it! The time's slippin'--slippin'--slippin'! +Thursday next--but three days mair! and I haena the proof--I haena the +proof!"--and he rocked to and fro, biting his nails in the agony of his +impotence. + +All day long he never moved. Long after sunset he sat on; long after +dark had eliminated the features of the room. + +"They're all agin us, Wullie. It's you and I alane, lad. M'Adam's to be +beat somehow, onyhow; and Moore's to win. So they've settled it, and +so 'twill be--onless, Wullie, onless--but curse it! I've no the +proof!"--and he hammered the table before him and stamped on the floor. + +At midnight he arose, a mad, desperate plan looming through his fuddled +brain. + +"I swore I'd pay him, Wullie, and I will. If I hang for it I'll be even +wi' him. I haena the proof, but I _know_--I _know_!" He groped his way +to the mantel piece with blind eyes and swirling brain. Reaching up +with fumbling hands, he took down the old blunderbuss from above the +fireplace. + +"Wullie," he whispered, chuckling hideously, "Wullie, come on! You and +I--he! he!" But the Tailless Tyke was not there. At nightfall he had +slouched silently out of the house on business he best wot of. So his +master crept out of the room alone--on tiptoe, still chuckling. + +The cool night air refreshed him, and he stepped stealthily along, +his quaint weapon over his shoulder: down the hill; across the Bottom; +skirting the Pike; till he reached the plank-bridge over the Wastrel. + +He crossed it safely, that Providence whose care is drunkards placing +his footsteps. Then he stole up the like a hunter stalking his +prey. + +Arrived at the gate, he raised himself cautiously, and peered over into +the moonlit yard. There was no sign or sound of living creature. The +little gray house slept peacefully in the shadow of the Pike, all +unaware of the man with murder in his heart laboriously climbing the +yard-gate. + +The door of the porch was wide, the chain hanging limply down, unused; +and the little man could see within, the moon shining on the iron studs +of the inner door, and the blanket of him who should have slept there, +and did not. + +"He's no there, Wullie! He's no there!" He jumped down from the gate. +Throwing all caution to the winds, he reeled recklessly across the yard. +The drunken delirium of battle was on him. The fever of anticipated +victory flushed his veins. At length he would take toll for the injuries +of years. + +Another moment, and he was in front of the good oak door, battering at +it madly with clubbed weapon, yelling, dancing, screaming vengeance. + +"Where is he? What's he at? Come and tell me that, James Moore! Come +doon, I say, ye coward! Come and meet me like a man! + + Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled, + Scots wham Bruce has aften led-- + Welcome to your gory bed + Or to victorie!'" + +The soft moonlight streamed down on the white-haired madman thundering +at the door, screaming his war-song. + +The quiet farmyard, startled from its sleep, awoke in an uproar. Cattle +shifted in their stalls; horses whinnied; fowls chattered, aroused by +the din and dull thudding of the blows: and above the rest, loud and +piercing, the shrill cry of a terrified child. + +Maggie, wakened from a vivid dream of David chasing the police, hurried +a shawl around her, and in a minute had the baby in her arms and was +comforting her--vaguely fearing the while that the police were after +David. + +James Moore flung open a window, and, leaning out, looked down on the +dishevelled figure below him. + +M'Adam heard the noise, glanced up, and saw his enemy. Straightway he +ceased his attack on the door, and, running beneath the window, shook +his weapon up at his foe. + +"There ye are, are ye? Curse ye for a coward! curse ye for a liar! Come +doon, I say, James Moore! come doon--I daur ye to it! Aince and for a' +let's settle oor account." + +The Master, looking down from above, thought that at length the little +man's brain had gone. + +"What is't yo' want?" he asked, as calmly as he could, hoping to gain +time. + +"What is't I want?" screamed the madman. "Hark to him! He crosses me in +ilka thing; he plots agin me; he robs me o' ma Cup; he sets ma son agin +me and pits him on to murder me! And in the end he--" + +"Coom, then, coom! I'll--" + +"Gie me back the Cup ye stole, James Moore! Gie me back ma son ye've +took from me! And there's anither thing. What's yer gray dog doin'? +Where's yer--" + +The Master interposed again: + +"I'll coom doon and talk things over wi' yo'." he said soothingly. But +before he could withdraw, M'Adam had jerked his weapon to his shoulder +and aimed it full at his enemy's head. + +The threatened man looked down the gun's great quivering mouth, wholly +unmoved. + +"Yo' mon hold it steadier, little mon, if yo'd hit!" he said grimly. +"There, I'll coom help yo'!" He withdrew slowly; and all the time was +wondering where the gray dog was. + +In another moment he was downstairs, undoing the bolts and bars of the +door. On the other side stood M'Adam, his blunderbuss at his shoulder, +his finger trembling on the trigger, waiting. + +"Hi, Master! Stop, or yo're dead!" roared a voice from the loft on the +other side the yard. + +"Feyther! feyther! git yo' back!" screamed Maggie, who saw it all from +the window above the door. + +Their cries were too late! The blunderbuss went off with a roar, +belching out a storm of sparks and smoke. The shot peppered the door +like hail, and the whole yard seemed for a moment wrapped in flame. + +"Aw! oh! ma gummy! A'm waounded A'm a goner! A'm shot! 'Elp! Murder! Eh! +Oh!" bellowed a lusty voice--and it was not James Moore's. + +The little man, the cause of the uproar, lay quite still upon the +ground, with another figure standing over him. As he had stood, finger +on trigger, waiting for that last bolt to be drawn, a gray form, +shooting whence no one knew, had suddenly and silently attacked him from +behind, and jerked him backward to the ground. With the shock of the +fall the blunderbuss had gone off. + +The last bolt was thrown back with a clatter, and the Master emerged. In +a glance he took in the whole scene: the fallen man; the gray dog; the +still-smoking weapon. + +"Yo', was't Bob lad?" he said. "I was wonderin' wheer yo' were. Yo' +came just at the reet moment, as yo' aye do!" Then, in a loud voice, +addressing the darkness: "Yo're not hurt, Sam'l Todd--I can tell that +by yer noise; it was nob'but the shot off the door warmed yo'. Coom away +doon and gie me a hand." + +He walked up to M'Adam, who still lay gasping on the ground. The shock +of the fall and recoil of the weapon had knocked the breath out of the +little man's body; beyond that he was barely hurt. + +The Master stood over his fallen enemy and looked sternly down at him. + +"I've put up wi' more from you, M'Adam, than I would from ony other +man," he said. "But this is too much--comin' here at night wi' loaded +arms, scarin' the wimmen and childer oot o' their lives, and I can +but think meanin' worse. If yo' were half a man I'd gie yo' the finest +thrashin' iver yo' had in yer life. But, as yo' know well, I could no +more hit yo' than I could a woman. Why yo've got this down on me yo' ken +best. I niver did yo' or ony ither mon a harm. As to the Cup, I've got +it and I'm goin' to do ma best to keep it--it's for yo' to win it from +me if yo' can o' Thursday. As for what yo' say o' David, yo' know it's a +lie. And as for what yo're drivin' at wi' yer hints and mysteries, I've +no more idee than a babe unborn. Noo I'm goin' to lock yo' up, yo're not +safe abroad. I'm thinkin' I'll ha' to hand ye o'er to the p'lice." + +With the help of Sam'l he half dragged, half supported the +stunned little man across the yard; and shoved him into a tiny +semi-subterraneous room, used for the storage of coal, at the end of the +farm-buildings. + +"Yo' think it over that side, ma lad," called the Master grimly, as he +turned the key, "and I will this." And with that he retired to bed. + + * * * * * + +Early in the morning he went to release his prisoner. But he was a +minute too late. For scuttling down the 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 after the fugitive. + +On the bridge M'Adam turned, and, seeing his pursuer hot upon him, +screamed, missed his footing, and fell with a loud splash into the +stream--almost in that identical spot into which, years before, he had +plunged voluntarily to save Red Wull. + +On the bridge Owd Bob halted and looked down at the man struggling in +the water below. He made a half move as though to leap in to the rescue +of his enemy; then, seeing it was unnecessary, turned and trotted back +to his master. + +"Yo' nob'but served him right, I'm thinkin'," said the Master. "Like +as not he came here wi' the intent to mak' an end to yo.' Well, after +Thursday, I pray God we'll ha' peace. It's gettin' above a joke." The +two turned back into the yard. + +But down below them, along the edge of the stream, for the second time +in this story, a little dripping figure was tottering homeward. The +little man was crying--the hot tears mingling on his cheeks with +the undried waters of the Wastrel--crying with rage, mortification, +weariness. + + + + +Chapter XXV THE SHEPHERDS' TROPHY + +Cup Day. + + +It broke calm and beautiful, no cloud on the horizon, no threat of storm +in the air; a fitting day on which the Shepherds' Trophy must be won +outright. + +And well it was so. For never since the founding of the Dale Trials had +such a concourse been gathered together on the North bank of the Silver +Lea. From the Highlands they came; from the far Campbell country; from +the Peak; from the county of many acres; from all along the silver +fringes of the Solway; assembling in that quiet corner of the earth to +see the famous Gray Dog of Kenmuir fight his last great battle for the +Shepherds' Trophy. + +By noon the gaunt Scaur looked down on such a gathering as it had never +seen. The paddock at the back of the Dalesman's Daughter was packed with +a clammering, chattering multitude: animated groups of farmers; bevies +of solid rustics; sharp-faced townsmen; loud-voiced bookmakers; giggling +girls; amorous boys,--thrown together like toys in a sawdust bath; +whilst here and there, on the outskirts of the crowd, a lonely man and +wise-faced dog, come from afar to wrest his proud title from the best +sheep-dog in the North. + +At the back of the enclosure was drawn up a formidable array of carts +and carriages, varying as much in quality and character as did their +owners. There was the squire's landau rubbing axle-boxes with Jem +Burton's modest moke-cart; and there Viscount Birdsaye's flaring +barouche side by side with the red-wheeled wagon of Kenmuir. + +In the latter, Maggie, sad and sweet in her simple summer garb, leant +over to talk to Lady Eleanour; while golden-haired wee Anne, delighted +with the surging crowd around, trotted about the wagon, waving to her +friends, and shouting from very joyousness. + +Thick as flies clustered that motley assembly on the north bank of the +Silver Lea. While on the other side the stream was a little group of +judges, inspecting the course. + +The line laid out ran thus: the sheep must first be found in the big +enclosure to the right of the starting flag; then up the 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 to the pen, which was set up close to the +bridge over the stream. + +The proceedings began with the Local Stakes, won by Rob Saunderson's +veteran, Shep. There followed the Open Juveniles, carried off by Ned +Hoppin's young dog. It was late in the afternoon when, at length, the +great event of the meeting was reached. + +In the enclosure behind the Dalesman's Daughter the clamor of the crowd +increased tenfold, and the yells of the bookmakers were redoubled. + +"Walk up, gen'lemen, walk up! the ole firm! Rasper? Yessir--twenty to +one bar two! Twenty to one bar two! Bob? What price, Bob? Even money, +sir--no, not a penny longer, couldn't do it! Red Wull? 'oo says Red +Wull?" + +On the far side the stream is clustered about the starting flag the +finest array of sheep-dogs ever seen together. + +"I've never seen such a field, and I've seen fifty," is Parson Leggy's +verdict. + +There, beside the tall form of his master, stands Owd Bob o' Kenmuir, +the observed of all. His silvery brush fans the air, and he holds his +dark head high as he scans his challengers, proudly conscious that +to-day will make or mar his fame. Below him, the mean-looking, +smooth-coated black dog is the unbeaten Pip, winner of the renowned +Cambrian Stakes at Llangollen--as many think the best of all the good +dogs that have come from sheep-dotted Wales. Beside him that handsome +sable collie, with the tremendous coat and slash of white on throat +and face, is the famous MacCallum More, fresh from his victory at the +Highland meeting. The cobby, brown dog, seeming of many breeds, is from +the land o' the Tykes--Merry, on whom the Yorkshiremen are laying as +though they loved him. And Jess, the wiry black-and-tan, is the favorite +of the men of of the Derwent and Dove. Tupper's big blue Rasper is +there; Londesley's Lassie; and many more--too many to mention: big and +small, grand and mean, smooth and rough--and not a bad dog there. + +And alone, his back to the others, stands a little bowed, conspicuous +figure--Adam M'Adam; while the great dog beside him, a hideous +incarnation of scowling defiance, is Red Wull, the Terror o' the Border. + +The Tailless Tyke had already run up his fighting colors. For MacCallum +More, going up to examine this forlorn great adversary, had conceived +for him a violent antipathy, and, straightway, had spun at him with +all the fury of the Highland cateran, who attacks first and explains +afterward. Red Wull, forthwith, had turned on him with savage, silent +gluttony; bob-tailed Rasper was racing up to join in the attack; and in +another second the three would have been locked inseparably--but just in +time M'Adam intervened. One of the judges came hurrying up. + +"Mr. M'Adam," he cried angrily, "if that brute of yours gets fighting +again, hang me if I don't disqualify him! Only last year at the Trials +he killed the young Cossack dog." + +A dull flash of passion swept across M'Adam's face. "Come here, +Wullie!" he called. "Gin yon Hielant tyke attacks ye agin, ye're to be +disqualified." + +He was unheeded. The battle for the Cup had begun--little Pip leading +the dance. + +On the opposite the babel had subsided now. Hucksters left their +wares, and bookmakers their stools, to watch the struggle. Every eye +was intent on the moving figures of man and dog and three sheep over the +stream. + +One after one the competitors ran their course and penned their +sheep--there was no single failure. And all received their just meed of +applause, save only Adam M'Adam's Red Wull. + +Last of all, when Owd Bob trotted out to uphold his title, there went up +such a shout as made Maggie's wan cheeks to blush with pleasure, and wee +Anne to scream right lustily. + +His was an incomparable exhibition. Sheep should be humored rather than +hurried; coaxed, rather than coerced. And that sheep-dog has attained +the summit of his art who subdues his own personality and leads his +sheep in pretending to be led. Well might the bosoms of the Dalesmen +swell with pride as they watched their favorite at his work; well might +Tammas pull out that hackneyed phrase, "The brains of a mon and the way +of a woman"; well might the crowd bawl their enthusiasm, and Long Kirby +puff his cheeks and rattle the money in his trouser pockets. + +But of this part it is enough to say that Pip, Owd Bob, and Red Wull +were selected to fight out the struggle afresh. + +The course was altered and stiffened. On the far side the stream it +remained as before; up the ; 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 , and the +hurdles put together at the very foot of the spectators. + +The sheep had to be driven over the plank bridge, and the penning done +beneath the very nose of the crowd. A stiff course, if ever there was +one; and the time allowed, ten short minutes. + + * * * * * + +The spectators hustled and elbowed in their endeavors to obtain a +good position. And well they might; for about to begin was the finest +exhibition of sheep-handling any man there was ever to behold. + + * * * * * + +Evan Jones and Little Pip led off. + +Those two, who had won on many a hard-fought field, worked together +as they had never worked before. Smooth and swift, like a yacht in +Southampton Water; round the flag, through the gap, they brought their +sheep. Down between the two flags--accomplishing right well that awkward +turn; and back to the bridge. + +There they stopped: the sheep would not face that narrow way. Once, +twice, and again, they broke; and each time the gallant little Pip, his +tongue out and tail quivering, brought them back to the bridge-head. + +At length one faced it; then another, and--it was too late. Time was up. +The judges signalled; and the Welshman called off his dog and withdrew. + +Out of sight of mortal eye, in a dip of the ground, Evan Jones sat down +and took the small dark head between his knees--and you may be sure the +dog's heart was heavy as the man's. "We did our pest, Pip," he cried +brokenly, "but we're peat--the first time ever we've been!" + + * * * * * + +No time to dally. + +James Moore and Owd Bob were off on their last run. + +No applause this time; not a voice was raised; anxious faces; twitching +fingers; the whole crowd tense as a stretched wire. A false turn, a +wilful sheep, a cantankerous judge, and the gray dog would be beat. And +not a man there but knew it. + +Yet over the stream master and dog went about their business never +so quiet, never so collected; for all the world as though they were +rounding up a flock on the Muir Pike. + +The old dog found his sheep in a twinkling and a wild, scared trio they +proved. Rounding the first flag, one bright-eyed wether made a dash +for the open. He was quick; but the gray dog was quicker: a splendid +recover, and a sound like a sob from the watchers on the hill. + +Down the they came for the gap in the wall. A little below the +opening, James Moore took his stand to stop and turn them; while a +distance behind his sheep loitered Owd Bob, seeming to follow rather +than drive, yet watchful of every movement and anticipating it. On he +came, one eye on his master, the other on his sheep; never hurrying +them, never flurrying them, yet bringing them rapidly along. + +No word was spoken; barely a gesture made; yet they worked, master and +dog, like one divided. + +Through the gap, along the hill parallel to the spectators, playing into +one another's hands like men at polo. + +A wide sweep for the turn at the flags, and the sheep wheeled as though +at the word of command, dropped through them, and travelled rapidly for +the bridge. + +"Steady!" whispered the crowd. + +"Steady, man!" muttered Parson Leggy. + +"Hold 'em, for God's sake!" croaked Kirby huskily. "D--n! I knew it! I +saw it coming!" + +The pace down the hill had grown quicker--too quick. Close on the bridge +the three sheep made an effort to break. A dash--and two were checked; +but the third went away like the wind, and after him Owd Bob, a gray +streak against the green. + +Tammas was cursing silently; Kirby was white to the lips; and in the +stillness you could plainly hear the Dalesmen's sobbing breath, as it +fluttered in their throats. + +"Gallop! they say he's old and slow!" muttered the Parson. "Dash! Look +at that!" For the gray dog, racing like the Nor'easter over the sea, had +already retrieved the fugitive. + +Man and dog were coaxing the three a step at a time toward the bridge. + +One ventured--the others followed. + +In the middle the leader stopped and tried to turn--and time was flying, +flying, and the penning alone must take minutes. Many a man's hand was +at his watch, but no one could take his eyes off the group below him to +look. + +"We're beat! I've won bet, Tammas!" groaned Sam'l. (The two had a +long-standing wager on the matter.) "I allus knoo hoo 'twould be. I +allus told yo' th' owd tyke--" + +Then breaking into a bellow, his honest face crimson with enthusiasm: +"Coom on, Master! Good for yo', Owd Un! Yon's the style!" + +For the gray dog had leapt on the back of the hindmost sheep; it had +surged forward against the next, and they were over, and making up the + amidst a thunder of applause. + +At the pen it was a sight to see shepherd and dog working together. +The Master, his face stern and a little whiter than its wont, casting +forward with both hands, herding the sheep in; the gray dog, his eyes +big and bright, dropping to hand; crawling and creeping, closer and +closer. + +"They're in!--Nay--Ay--dang me! Stop 'er! Good, Owd Un! Ah-h-h, they're +in!" And the last sheep reluctantly passed through--on the stroke of +time. + +A roar went up from the crowd; Maggie's white face turned pink; and +the Dalesmen mopped their wet brows. The mob surged forward, but the +stewards held them back. + +"Back, please! Don't encroach! M'Adam's to come!" + +From the far bank the little man watched the scene. His coat and cap +were off, and his hair gleamed white in the sun; his sleeves were rolled +up; and his face was twitching but set as he stood--ready. + +The hubbub over the stream at length subsided. One of the judges nodded +to him. + +"Noo, Wullie--noo or niver!--'Scots wha hae'! "--and they were off. + +"Back, gentlemen! back! He's off--he's coming! M'Adam's coming!" + +They might well shout and push; for the great dog was on to his sheep +before they knew it; and they went away with a rush, with him right on +their backs. Up the they swept and round the first flag, already +galloping. Down the hill for the gap, and M'Adam was flying ahead to +turn them. But they passed him like a hurricane, and Red Wull was in +front with a rush and turned them alone. + +"M'Adam wins! Five to four M'Adam! I lay agin Owd Bob!" rang out a clear +voice in the silence. + +Through the gap they rattled, ears back, feet twinkling like the wings +of driven grouse. + +"He's lost 'em! They'll break! They're away!" was the cry. + +Sam'l was half up the wheel of the Kenmuir wagon; every man was on his +toes; ladies were standing in their carriages; even Jim Mason's face +flushed with momentary excitement. + +The sheep were tearing along the hillside, all together, like a white +scud. After them, galloping like a Waterloo winner, raced Red Wull. And +last of all, leaping over the ground like a demoniac, making not for the +two flags, but the plank-bridge, the white-haired figure of M'Adam. + +"He's beat! The Killer's beat!" roared a strident voice. + +"M'Adam wins! Five to four M'Adam! I lay agin Owd Bob!" rang out the +clear reply. + +Red Wull was now racing parallel to the fugitives and above them. All +four were travelling at a terrific rate; while the two flags were barely +twenty yards in front, below the line of flight and almost parallel to +it. To effect the turn a change of direction must be made almost through +a right angle. + +"He's beat! he's beat! M'Adam's beat! Can't make it nohow!" was the +roar. + +From over the stream a yell--"Turn 'em, Wullie!" + +At the word the great dog swerved down on the flying three. They turned, +still at the gallop, like a troop of cavalry, and dropped, clean and +neat, between the flags; and down to the stream they rattled, passing +M'Adam on the way as though he was standing. + +"Weel done, Wullie!" came the scream from the far bank; and from the +crowd went up an involuntary burst of applause. + +"Ma word! + +"Did yo' see that?" + +"By gob!" + +It was a turn, indeed, of which the smartest team in the galloping +horse-gunners might well have been proud. A shade later, and they must +have overshot the mark; a shade sooner, and a miss. + +"He's not been two minutes so far. We're beaten--don't you think so, +Uncle Leggy?" asked Muriel Sylvester, looking up piteously into the +parson's face. + +"It's not what I think, my dear; it's what the judges think," the parson +replied; and what he thought their verdict would be was plainly writ on +his face for all to read. + +Right on to the centre of the bridge the leading sheep galloped +and--stopped abruptly. + +Up above in the crowd there was utter silence; staring eyes; rigid +fingers. The sweat was dripping off Long Kirby's face; and, at the +back, a green-coated bookmaker slipped his note-book in his pocket, and +glanced behind him. James Moore, standing in front of them all, was the +calmest there. + +Red Wull was not to be denied. Like his forerunner he leapt on the back +of the hindmost sheep. But the red dog was heavy where the gray was +light. The sheep staggered, slipped, and fell. + +Almost before it had touched the water, M'Adam, his face afire and eyes +flaming, was in the stream. In a second he had hold of the struggling +creature, and, with an almost superhuman effort, had half thrown, half +shoved it on to the bank. + +Again a tribute of admiration, led by James Moore. + +The little man scrambled, panting, on to the bank and raced after sheep +and dog. His face was white beneath the perspiration; his breath came in +quavering gasps; his trousers were wet and clinging to his legs; he was +trembling in every limb, and yet indomitable. + +They were up to the pen, and the last wrestle began. The crowd, silent +and motionless, craned forward to watch the uncanny, white-haired little +man and the huge dog, working so close below them. M'Adam's face was +white; his eyes staring, unnaturally bright; his bent body projected +forward; and he tapped with his stick on the ground like a blind man, +coaxing the sheep in. And the Tailless Tyke, his tongue out and flanks +heaving, crept and crawled and worked up to the opening, patient as he +had never been before. + +They were in at last. + +There was a lukewarm, half-hearted cheer; then silence. + +Exhausted and trembling, the little man leant against the pen, one +hand on it; while Red Wull, his flanks still heaving, gently licked the +other. Quite close stood James Moore and the gray dog; above was the +black wall of people, utterly still; below, the judges comparing notes. +In the silence you could almost hear the panting of the crowd. + +Then one of the judges went up to James Moore and shook him by the hand. + +The gray dog had won. Owd Bob o' Kenmuir had won the Shepherds' Trophy +outright. + +A second's palpitating silence; a woman's hysterical laugh--and +a deep-mouthed bellow rent the expectant air: shouts, screams, +hat-tossings, back-clappings blending in a din that made the +many-winding waters of the Silver Lea quiver and quiver again. + +Owd Bob o' Kenmuir had won the Shepherds' Trophy outright. + +Maggie's face flushed a scarlet hue. Wee Anne flung fat arms toward +her triumphant Bob, and screamed with the best. Squire and parson, each +red-cheeked, were boisterously shaking hands. Long Kirby, who had not +prayed for thirty years, ejaculated with heartfelt earnestness, "Thank +God!" Sam'l Todd bellowed in Tammas's ear, and almost slew him with his +mighty buffets. Among the Dalesmen some laughed like drunken men; some +cried like children; all joined in that roaring song of victory. + +To little M 'Adam, standing with his back to the crowd, that storm of +cheering came as the first announcement of defeat. + +A wintry smile, like the sun over a March sea, crept across his face. + +"We might a kent it, Wullie," he muttered, soft and low. The tension +loosed, the battle lost, the little man almost broke down. There were +red dabs of color in his face; his eyes were big; his lips pitifully +quivering; he was near to sobbing. + +An old man--utterly alone he had staked his all on a throw--and lost. + +Lady Eleanour marked the forlorn little figure, standing solitary on the +fringe of the uproarious mob. She noticed the expression on his face; +and her tender heart went out to the lone man in his defeat. + +She went up to him and laid a hand upon his arm. + +"Mr. M'Adam," she said timidly, "won't you come and sit down in the +tent? You look _so_ tired! I can find you a corner where no one shall +disturb you." + +The little man wrenched roughly away. The unexpected kindness, coming +at that moment, was almost too much for him. A few paces off he turned +again. + +"It's reel kind o' yer ladyship," he said huskily; and tottered away to +be alone with Red Wull. + + * * * * * + +Meanwhile the victors stood like rocks in the tideway. About them surged +a continually changing throng, shaking the man's hand, patting the dog. + +Maggie had carried wee Anne to tender her congratulations; Long Kirby +had come; Tammas, Saunderson, Hoppin, Tupper, Londesley--all but Jim +Mason; and now, elbowing through the press, came squire and parson. + +"Well done, James! well done, indeed! Knew you'd win! told you so eh, +eh!" Then facetiously to Owd Bob: "Knew you would, Robert, old man! +Ought to Robert the Dev--musn't be a naughty boy--eh, eh!" + +"The first time ever the Dale Cup's been won outright!" said the Parson, +"and I daresay it never will again. And I think Kenmuir's the very +fittest place for its final home, and a Gray Dog of Kenmuir for its +winner." + +"Oh, by the by!" burst in the squire. "I've fixed the Manor dinner for +to-day fortnight, James. Tell Saunderson and Tupper, will you? Want all +the tenants there." He disappeared into the crowd, but in a minute had +fought his way back. "I'd forgotten something!" he shouted. "Tell your +Maggie perhaps you'll have news for her after it eh! eh!" and he was +gone again. + +Last of all, James Moore was aware of a white, blotchy, grinning face at +his elbow. + +"I maun congratulate ye, Mr. Moore. Ye've beat us--you and the +gentlemen--judges." + +"'Twas a close thing, M'Adam," the other answered. "An' yo' made a gran' +fight. In ma life I niver saw a finer turn than yours by the two flags +yonder. I hope yo' bear no malice." + +"Malice! Me? Is it likely? Na, na. 'Do onto ivery man as he does onto +you--and somethin' over,' that's my motter. I owe ye mony a good turn, +which I'll pay ye yet. Na, na; there's nae good fechtin' agin fate--and +the judges. Weel, I wush you well o' yer victory. Aiblins' twill be oor +turn next." + +Then a rush, headed by Sam'l, roughly hustled the one away and bore the +other off on its shoulders in boisterous triumph. + + * * * * * + +In giving the Cup away, Lady Eleanour made a prettier speech than ever. +Yet all the while she was haunted by a white, miserable face; and all +the while she was conscious of two black moving dots in the Murk Muir +Pass opposite her--solitary, desolate, a contrast to the huzzaing crowd +around. + + * * * * * + +That is how the champion challenge Dale Cup, the world-known Shepherds' +Trophy, came to wander no more; won outright by the last of the Gray +Dogs of Kenmuir--Owd Bob. + +Why he was the last of the Gray Dogs is now to be told. + + + + +PART VI THE BLACK KILLER + + + + +Chapter XXVI RED-HANDED + + +THE SUN was hiding behind the Pike. Over the lowlands the feathery +breath of night hovered still. And the hillside was shivering in the +chillness of dawn. + +Down on the silvery sward beside the Stony Bottom there lay the ruffled +body of a dead sheep. All about the victim the dewy ground was dark and +patchy like dishevelled velvet; bracken trampled down; stones +displaced as though by straggling feet; and the whole spotted with the +all-pervading red. + +A score yards up the hill, in a writhing confusion of red and gray, two +dogs at death-grips. While yet higher, a pack of wild-eyed hill-sheep +watched, fascinated, the bloody drama. + +The fight raged. Red and gray, blood-spattered, murderous-eyed; the +crimson froth dripping from their jaws; now rearing high with arching +crests and wrestling paws; now rolling over in tumbling, tossing, +worrying disorder--the two fought out their blood-feud. + +Above, the close-packed flock huddled and stamped, ever edging nearer +to watch the issue. Just so must the women of Rome have craned round the +arenas to see two men striving in death-struggle. + +The first cold flicker of dawn stole across the green. The red eye of +the morning peered aghast over the shoulder of the Pike. And from the +sleeping dale there arose the yodling of a man driving his cattle home. + +Day was upon them. + + * * * * * + +James Moore was waked by a little whimpering cry beneath his window. +He leapt out of bed and rushed to look; for well he knew 'twas not for +nothing that the old dog was calling. + +"Lord o' mercy! whativer's come to yo', Owd Un?" he cried in anguish. +And, indeed, his favorite, war-daubed almost past recognition, presented +a pitiful spectacle. + +In a moment the Master was downstairs and out, examining him. + +"Poor old lad, yo' have caught it this time!" he cried. There was a +ragged tear on the dog's cheek; a deep gash in his throat from which the +blood still welled, staining the white escutcheon on his chest; while +head and neck were clotted with the red. + +Hastily the Master summoned Maggie. After her, Andrew came hurrying +down. And a little later a tiny, night-clad, naked-footed figure +appeared in the door, wide-eyed, and then fled, screaming. + +They doctored the old warrior on the table in the kitchen. Maggie +tenderly washed his wounds, and dressed them with gentle, pitying +fingers; and he stood all the while grateful yet fidgeting, looking up +into his master's face as if imploring to be gone. + +"He mun a had a rare tussle wi' some one--eh, dad?" said the girl, as +she worked. + +"Ay; and wi' whom? 'Twasn't for nowt he got fightin', I war'nt. Nay; +he's a tale to tell, has The Owd Un, and--A h-h-h! I thowt as much. Look +'ee!" For bathing the bloody jaws, he had come upon a cluster of tawny +red hair, hiding in the corners of the lips. + +The secret was out. Those few hairs told their own accusing tale. To but +one creature in the Daleland could they belong--"Th' Tailless Tyke." + +"He mun a bin trespassin'!" cried Andrew. + +"Ay, and up to some o' his bloody work, I'll lay my life," the Master +answered. "But Th' Owd Un shall show us." + +The old dog's hurts proved less severe than had at first seemed +possible. His good gray coat, forest-thick about his throat, had never +served him in such good stead. And at length, the wounds washed and sewn +up, he jumped down all in a hurry from the table and made for the door. + +"Noo, owd lad, yo' may show us," said the Master, and, with Andrew, +hurried after him down the hill, along the stream, and over Langholm +How. And as they neared the Stony Bottom, the sheep, herding in groups, +raised frightened heads to stare. + +Of a sudden a cloud of poisonous flies rose, buzzing, up before them; +and there in a dimple of the ground lay a murdered sheep. Deserted by +its comrades, the glazed eyes staring helplessly upward, the throat +horribly worried, it slept its last sleep. + +The matter was plain to see. At last the Black Killer had visited +Kenmuir. + +"I guessed as much," said the Master, standing over the mangled body. +"Well, it's the worst night's work ever the Killer done. I reck'n Th' +Owd Un come on him while he was at it; and then they fought. And, ma +word! it munn ha' bin a fight too." For all around were traces of that +terrible struggle: the earth torn up and tossed, bracken uprooted, and +throughout little dabs of wool and tufts of tawny hair, mingling with +dark-stained iron-gray wisps. + +James Moore walked slowly over the battlefield, stooping down as though +he were gleaning. And gleaning he was. + +A long time he bent so, and at length raised himself. + +"The Killer has killed his last," he muttered; "Red Wull has run his +course." Then, turning to Andrew: "Run yo' home, lad, and fetch the men +to carry yon away," pointing to the carcass, "And Bob, lad, yo 'ye done +your work for to-day, and right well too; go yo' home wi' him. I'm off +to see to this!" + +He turned and crossed the Stony Bottom. His face was set like a rock. +At length the proof was in his hand. Once and for all the hill-country +should be rid of its scourge. + +As he stalked up the hill, a dark head appeared at his knee. Two big +grey eyes; half doubting, half penitent, wholly wistful, looked up at +him, and a silvery brush signalled a mute request. + +"Eh, Owd Un, but yo' should ha' gone wi' Andrew," the Master said. +"Hooiver, as yo' are here, come along." And he strode away up the hill, +gaunt and menacing, with the gray dog at his heels. + +As they approached the house, M'Adam was standing in the door, sucking +his eternal twig. James Moore eyed him closely as he came, but the sour +face framed in the door betrayed nothing. Sarcasm, surprise, challenge, +were all writ there, plain to read; but no guilty consciousness of the +other's errand, no storm of passion to hide a failing heart. If it was +acting it was splendidly done. + +As man and dog passed through the gap in the hedge, the expression on +the little man's face changed again. He started forward. + +"James Moore, as I live!" he cried, and advanced with both hands +extended, as though welcoming a long-lost brother. "'Deed and it's a +weary while sin' ye've honored ma puir hoose." And, in fact, it was nigh +twenty years. "I tak' it gey kind in ye to look in on a lonely auld man. +Come ben and let's ha' a crack. James Moore kens weel hoo welcome he aye +is in ma bit biggin'." + +The Master ignored the greeting. + +"One o' ma sheep been killed back o' t' ," he announced shortly, +jerking his thumb over his shoulder. + +"The Killer?" + +"The Killer." + +The cordiality beaming in every wrinkle of the little man's face was +absorbed in a wondering interest; and that again gave place to sorrowful +sympathy. + +"Dear, dear! it's come to that, has it--at last?" he said gently, and +his eyes wandered to the gray dog and dwelt mournfully upon him. "Man, +I'm sorry--I canna tell ye I'm surprised. Masel', I kent it all alang. +But gin Adam M'Adam had tell't ye, no ha' believed him. Weel, weel, he's +lived his life, gin ony dog iver did; and noo he maun gang where +he's sent a many before him. Puir mon! puir tyke!" He heaved a sigh, +profoundly melancholy, tenderly sympathetic. Then, brightening up a +little: "Ye'll ha' come for the gun?" + +James Moore listened to this harangue at first puzzled. Then he caught +the other's meaning, and his eyes flashed. + +"Ye fool, M'Adam! did ye hear iver tell o' a sheep-dog worryin' his +master's sheep?" + +The little man was smiling and suave again now, rubbing his hands softly +together. + +"Ye're right, I never did. But your dog is not as ither dogs--'There's +none like him--none,' I've heard ye say so yersel, mony a time. An' I'm +wi' ye. There's none like him--for devilment." His voice began to quiver +and his face to blaze. "It's his cursed cunning that's deceived ivery +one but me--whelp o' Satan that he is!" He shouldered up to his tall +adversary. "If not him, wha else had done it?" he asked, looking, up +into the other's face as if daring him to speak. + +The Master's shaggy eyebrows lowered. He towered above the other like +the Muir Pike above its surrounding hills. + +"Wha, ye ask?" he replied coldly, "and I answer you. Your Red Wull, +M'Adam, your Red Wull. It's your Wull's the Black Killer! It's your +Wull's bin the plague o' the land these months past! It's your Wull's +killed ma sheep back o'yon!" + +At that all the little man's affected good-humor fled. + +"Ye lee, mon! ye lee!" he cried in a dreadful scream, dancing up to his +antagonist. "I knoo hoo 'twad be. I said so. I see what ye're at. Ye've +found at last--blind that ye've been!--that it's yer ain hell's tyke +that's the Killer; and noo ye think by yer leein' impitations to throw +the blame on ma Wullie. Ye rob me o' ma Cup, ye rob me o' ma son, ye +wrang me in ilka thing; there's but ae thing left me--Wullie. And noo +ye're set on takin' him awa'. But ye shall not--I'll kill ye first!" + +He was all a-shake, bobbing up and down like a stopper in a soda-water +bottle, and almost sobbing. + +"Ha' ye no wranged me enough wi' oo that? Ye lang-leggit liar, wi' yer +skulkin murderin' tyke!" he cried. "Ye say it's Wullie. Where's yer +proof?"--and he snapped his fingers in the other's face. + +The Master was now as calm as his foe was passionate. "Where?" he +replied sternly; "why, there!" holding out his right hand. "Yon's proof +enough to hang a hunner'd." For lying in his broad palm was a little +bundle of that damning red hair. + +"Where?" + +"There!" + +"Let's see it!" The little man bent to look closer. + +"There's for yer proof!" he cried, and spat deliberately down into the +other's naked palm. Then he stood back, facing his enemy in a manner to +have done credit to a nobler deed. + +James Moore strode forward. It looked as if he was about to make an end +of his miserable adversary, so strongly was he moved. His chest heaved, +and the blue eyes blazed. But just as one had thought to see him +take his foe in the hollow of his hand and crush him, who should come +stalking round the corner of the house but the Tailless Tyke? + +A droll spectacle he made, laughable even at that moment. He limped +sorely, his head and neck were swathed in bandages, and beneath their +ragged fringe the little eyes gleamed out fiery and bloodshot. + +Round the corner he came, unaware of strangers; then straightway +recognizing his visitors, halted abruptly. His hackles ran up, each +individual hair stood on end till his whole body resembled a new-shorn +wheat-field; and a snarl, like a rusty brake shoved hard down escaped +from between his teeth. Then he trotted heavily forward, his head +sinking low and lower as he came. + +And Owd Bob, eager to take up the gage of battle, advanced, glad and +gallant, to meet him. Daintily he picked his way across the yard, head +and tail erect, perfectly self-contained. Only the long gray hair +about his neck stood up like the ruff of a lady of the court of Queen +Elizabeth. + +But the war-worn warriors were not to be allowed their will. + +"Wullie, Wullie, wad ye!" cried the little man. + +"Bob, lad, coom in!" called the other. Then he turned and looked down at +the man beside him, contempt flaunting in every feature. + +"Well?" he said shortly. + +M'Adam's hands were opening and shutting; his face was quite white +beneath the tan; but he spoke calmly. + +"I'll tell ye the whole story, and it's the truth," he said slowly. "I +was up there the morn"--pointing to the window above--"and I see Wullie +crouchin' down alangside the Stony Bottom. (Ye ken he has the run o' +ma land o' neets, the same as your dog.) In a minnit I see anither dog +squatterin' alang on your side the Bottom. He creeps up to the sheep on +th' hillside, chases 'em, and doons one. The sun was risen by then, and +I see the dog clear as I see you noo. It was that dog there--I swear +it!" His voice rose as he spoke, and he pointed an accusing finger at +Owd Bob. + +"Noo, Wullie! thinks I. And afore ye could clap yer hands, Wullie was +over the Bottom and on to him as he gorged--the bloody-minded murderer! +They fought and fought--I could hear the roarin' a't where I stood. I +watched till I could watch nae langer, and, all in a sweat, I rin doon +the stairs and oot. When I got there, there was yer tyke makin' fu' +split for Kenmuir, and Wullie comin' up the hill to me. It's God's +truth, I'm tellin' ye. Tak' him hame, James Moore, and let his dinner be +an ounce o' lead. 'Twill be the best day's work iver ye done." + +The little man must be lying--lying palpably. Yet he spoke with +an earnestness, a seeming belief in his own story, that might have +convinced one who knew him less well. But the Master only looked down on +him with a great scorn. + +"It's Monday to-day," he said coldly. "I gie yo' till Saturday. If yo've +not done your duty by then--and well you know what 'tis--I shall come +do it for ye. Ony gate, I shall come and see. I'll remind ye agin o' +Thursday--yo'll be at the Manor dinner, I suppose. Noo I've warned yo', +and you know best whether I'm in earnest or no. Bob, lad!" + +He turned away, but turned again. + +"I'm sorry for ye, but I've ma duty to do--so've you. Till Saturday I +shall breathe no word to ony soul o' this business, so that if you see +good to put him oot o' the way wi'oot bother, no one need iver know as +hoo Adam M'Adam's Red Wull was the Black Killer." + +He turned away for the second time. But the little man sprang after him, +and clutched him by the arm. + +"Look ye here, James Moore!" he cried in thick, shaky, horrible voice. +"Ye're big, I'm sma'; ye're strang, I'm weak; ye've ivery one to your +back, I've niver a one; you tell your story, and they'll believe ye--for +you gae to church; I'll tell mine, and they'll think I lie--for I dinna. +But a word in your ear! If iver agin I catch ye on ma land, by--!"--he +swore a great oath--"I'll no spare ye. You ken best if I'm in earnest or +no." And his face was dreadful to see in its hideous determinedness. + + + + +Chapter XXVII FOR THE DEFENCE + + +THAT night a vague story was whispered In the Sylvester Arms. But +Tammas, on being interrogated, pursed his lips and said: "Nay, I'm sworn +to say nowt." Which was the old man's way of putting that he knew nowt. + + * * * * * + +On Thursday morning, James Moore and Andrew came down arrayed in all +their best. It was the day of the squire's annual dinner to his tenants. + +The two, however, were not allowed to start upon their way until they +had undergone a critical inspection by Maggie; for the girl liked her +mankind to do honor to Kenmuir on these occasions. So she brushed +up Andrew, tied his scarf, saw his boots and hands were clean, and +titivated him generally till she had converted the ungainly hobbledehoy +into a thoroughly "likely young mon." + +And all the while she was thinking of that other boy for whom on such +gala days she had been wont to perform like offices. And her father, +marking the tears in her eyes, and mindful of the squire's mysterious +hint, said gently: + +"Cheer up, lass. Happen I'll ha' news for you the night!" + +The girl nodded, and smiled wanly. + +"Happen so, dad," she said. But in her heart she doubted. + +Nevertheless it was with a cheerful countenance that, a little later, +she stood in the door with wee Anne and Owd Bob and waved the travellers +Godspeed; while the golden-haired lassie, fiercely gripping the old +dog's tail with one hand and her sister with the other, screamed them a +wordless farewell. + + * * * * * + +The sun had reached its highest when the two wayfarers passed through +the gray portals of the Manor. + +In the stately entrance hall, imposing with all the evidences of a long +and honorable line, were gathered now the many tenants throughout the +wide March Mere Estate. Weather-beaten, rent-paying sons of the soil; +most of them native-born, many of them like James Moore, whose fathers +had for generations owned and farmed the land they now leased at the +hands of the Sylvesters--there in the old hall they were assembled, +a mighty host. And apart from the others, standing as though in irony +beneath the frown of one of those steel-clad warriors who held the door, +was little M'Adam, puny always, paltry now, mocking his manhood. + +The door at the far end of the hall opened, and the squire entered, +beaming on every one. + +"Here you are--eh, eh! How are you all? Glad to see ye! Good-day, James! +Good-day, Saunderson! Good-day to you all! Bringin' a friend with me eh, +eh!" and he stood aside to let by his agent, Parson Leggy, and last of +all, shy and blushing, a fair-haired young giant. + +"If it bain't David!" was the cry. "Eh, lad, we's fain to see yo'! And +yo'm lookin' stout, surely!" And they thronged about the boy, shaking +him by the hand, and asking him his story. + +'Twas but a simple tale. After his flight on the eventful night he had +gone south, drovering. He had written to Maggie, and been surprised and +hurt to receive no reply. In vain he had waited, and too proud to write +again, had remained ignorant of his father's recovery, neither caring +nor daring to return. Then by mere chance, he had met the squire at the +York cattle-show; and that kind man, who knew his story, had eased his +fears and obtained from him a promise to return as soon as the term of +his engagement had expired. And there he was. + +The Dalesmen gathered round the boy, listening to his tale, and in +return telling him the home news, and chaffing him about Maggie. + +Of all the people present, only one seemed unmoved, and that was M'Adam. +When first David had entered he had started forward, a flush of color +warming his thin cheeks; but no one had noticed his emotion; and now, +back again beneath his armor, he watched the scene, a sour smile playing +about his lips. + +"I think the lad might ha' the grace to come and say he's sorry for +'temptin' to murder me. Hooiver"--with a characteristic shrug--"I +suppose I'm onraisonable." + +Then the gong rang out its summons, and the squire led the way into the +great dining-hall. At the one end of the long table, heavy with all the +solid delicacies of such a feast, he took his seat with the Master of +Kenmuir upon his right. At the other end was Parson Leggy. While down +the sides the stalwart Dalesmen were arrayed, with M'Adam a little lost +figure in the centre. + +At first they talked but little, awed like children: knives plied, +glasses tinkled, the carvers had all their work, only the tongues were +at rest. But the squire's ringing laugh and the parson's cheery tones +soon put them at their ease; and a babel of voices rose and waxed. + +Of them all, only M'Adam sat silent. He talked to no man, and you may +be sure no one talked to him. His hand crept oftener to his glass than +plate, till the sallow face began to flush, and the dim eyes to grow +unnaturally bright. + +Toward the end of the meal there was loud tapping on the table, calls +for silence, and men pushed back their chairs. The squire was on his +feet to make his annual speech. + +He started by telling them how glad he was to see them there. He made +an allusion to Owd Bob and the Shepherds' Trophy which was heartily +applauded. He touched on the Black Killer, and said he had a remedy +to propose: that Th' Owd Un should be set upon the criminal's track--a +suggestion which was received with enthusiasm, while M'Adam's cackling +laugh could be heard high above the rest. + +From that he dwelt upon the existing condition of agriculture, the +depression in which he attributed to the late Radical Government. He +said that now with the Conservatives in office, and a ministry composed +of "honorable men and gentlemen," he felt convinced that things would +brighten. The Radicals' one ambition was to set class against class, +landlord against tenant. Well, during the last five hundred years, the +Sylvesters had rarely been--he was sorry to have to confess it--good men +(laughter and dissent); but he never yet heard of the Sylvester--though +he shouldn't say it--who was a bad landlord (loud applause). + +This was a free country, and any tenant of his who was not content (a +voice, "'Oo says we bain't?")--"thank you, thank you!"--well, there was +room for him outside. (Cheers.) He thanked God from the bottom of his +heart that, during the forty years he had been responsible for the +March Mere Estate, there had never been any friction between him and his +people (cheers), and he didn't think there ever would be. (Loud cheers.) + +"Thank you, thank you!" And his motto was, "Shun a Radical as you do the +devil!"--and he was very glad to see them all there--very glad; and he +wished to give them a toast, "The Queen! God bless her!" and--wait a +minute!--with her Majesty's name to couple--he was sure that gracious +lady would wish it--that of "Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!" Then he sat down +abruptly amid thundering applause. + +The toasts duly honoured, James Moore, by prescriptive right as Master +of Kenmuir, rose to answer. + +He began by saying that he spoke "as representing all the tenants,"--but +he was interrupted. + +"Na," came a shrill voice from half-way down the table. "Yell except me, +James Moore. I'd as lief be represented by Judas!" + +There were cries of "Hold ye gab, little mon!" and the squire's voice, +"That'll do, Mr. M'Adam!" + +The little man restrained his tongue, but his eyes gleamed like a +ferret's; and the Master continued his speech. + +He spoke briefly and to the point, in short phrases. And all the while +M'Adam kept up a low-voiced, running commentary. At length he could +control himself no longer. Half rising from his chair, he leant forward +with hot face and burning eyes, and cried: "Sit doon, James Moore! Hoo +daur ye stan' there like an honest man, ye whitewashed sepulchre? Sit +doon, I say, or"--threateningly--"wad ye hae me come to ye?" + +At that the Dalesmen laughed uproariously, and even the Master's grim +face relaxed. But the squire's voice rang out sharp and stern. + +"Keep silence and sit down, Mr. M'Adam! D'you hear me, sir? If I have to +speak to you again it will be to order you to leave the room." + +The little man obeyed, sullen and vengeful, like a beaten cat. + +The Master concluded his speech by calling on all present to give three +cheers for the squire, her ladyship, and the young ladies. + +The call was responded to enthusiastically, every man standing. Just as +the noise was at its zenith, Lady Eleanour herself, with her two fair +daughters, glided into the gallery at the end of the hall; whereat the +cheering became deafening. + +Slowly the clamor subsided. One by one the tenants sat down. At length +there was left standing only one solitary figure--M 'Adam. + +His face was set, and he gripped the chair in front of him with thin, +nervous hands. + +"Mr. Sylvester," he began in low yet clear voice, "ye said this is a +free country and we're a' free men. And that bein' so, I'll tak' the +liberty, wi' yer permission, to say a word. It's maybe the last time +I'll be wi' ye, so I hope ye'll listen to me." + +The Dalesmen looked surprised, and the squire uneasy. Nevertheless he +nodded assent. + +The little man straightened himself. His face was tense as though +strung up to a high resolve. All the passion had fled from it, all +the bitterness was gone; and left behind was a strange, enobling +earnestness. Standing there in the silence of that great hall, with +every eye upon him, he looked like some prisoner at the bar about to +plead for his life. + +"Gentlemen," he began, "I've bin amang ye noo a score years, and I can +truly say there's not a man in this room I can ca' 'Friend.'" He looked +along the ranks of upturned faces. "Ay, David, I see ye, and you, Mr. +Hornbut, and you, Mr. Sylvester--ilka one o' you, and not one as'd back +me like a comrade gin a trouble came upon me." There was no rebuke in +the grave little voice--it merely stated a hard fact. + +"There's I doot no one amang ye but has some one--friend or blood--wham +he can turn to when things are sair wi' him. I've no one. + +"'I bear alane my lade o' care'--alane wi' Wullie, who stands to me, +blaw or snaw, rain or shine. And whiles I'm feared he'll be took from +me." He spoke this last half to himself, a grieved, puzzled expression +on his face, as though lately he had dreamed some ill dream. + +"Forbye Wuilie, I've no friend on God's earth. And, mind ye, a bad man +aften mak's a good friend--but ye've never given me the chance. It's a +sair thing that, gentlemen, to ha' to fight the battle o' life alane: no +one to pat ye on th' back, no one to say 'Weel done.' It hardly gies +a man a chance. For gin he does try and yet fails, men never mind the +tryin', they only mark the failin'." + +"I dinna blame ye. There's somethin' bred in me, it seems, as sets ivery +one agin me. It's the same wi' Wullie and the tykes--they're doon on him +same as men are on me. I suppose we was made so. Sin' I was a lad it's +aye bin the same. From school days I've had ivery one agin me." + +"In ma life I've had three fiends. Ma mither--and she went; then ma +wife"--he gave a great swallow--"and she's awa'; and I may say they're +the only two human bein's as ha' lived on God's earth in ma time that +iver tried to bear wi' me;--and Wullie. A man's mither--a man's wife--a +man's dog! it's aften a' he has in this warld; and the more he prizes +them the more like they are to be took from him." The little earnest +voice shook, and the dim eyes puckered and filled. + +"Sin' I've bin amang ye--twenty-odd years--can any man here mind +speakin' any word that wasna ill to me?" He paused; there was no reply. + +"I'll tell ye. All the time I've lived here I've had one kindly word +spoke to me, and that a fortnight gone, and not by a man then--by her +ladyship, God bless her!" He glanced up into the gallery. There was +no one visible there; but a curtain at one end shook as though it were +sobbing. + +"Weel, I'm thinkin' we'll be gaein' in a wee while noo, Wullie and me, +alane and thegither, as we've aye done. And it's time we went. Ye've had +enough o' us, and it's no for me to blame ye. And when I'm gone what'll +ye say o' me? 'He was a drunkard.' I am. 'He was a sinner.' I am. 'He +was ilka thing he shouldna be.' I am. 'We're glad he's gone.' That's +what ye'll say o' me. And it's but ma deserts." + +The gentle, condemning voice ceased, and began again. + +"That's what I am. Gin things had been differ', aiblins I'd ha' bin +differ'. D'ye ken Robbie Burns? That's a man I've read, and read, and +read. D'ye ken why I love him as some o' you do yer Bibles? Because +there's a humanity about him. A weak man hissel', aye slippin', +slippin', slippin', and tryin' to haud up; sorrowin' ae minute, sinnin' +the next; doin' ill deeds and wishin' 'em undone--just a plain human +man, a sinner. And that's why I'm thinkin he's tender for us as is like +him. _He understood._ It's what he wrote--after ain o' his tumbles, I'm +thinkin'--that I was goin' to tell ye: + + 'Then gently scan yer brother man, + Still gentler sister woman, + Though they may gang a kennin' wrang, + To step aside is human'-- + +the doctrine o' Charity. Gie him his chance, says Robbie, though he be +a sinner. Mony a mon'd be differ', mony bad'd be gude, gin they had but +their chance. Gie 'em their chance, says he; and I'm wi' him. As 'tis, +ye see me here--a bad man wi' still a streak o' good in him. Gin I'd had +ma chance, aiblins 'twad be--a good man wi' just a spice o' the devil in +him. A' the differ' betune what is and what might ha' bin." + + + + +Chapter XXVIII THE DEVIL'S BOWL + + +HE sat down. In the great hall there was silence, save for a tiny sound +from the gallery like a sob suppressed. + +The squire rose hurriedly and left the room. After him, one by one, +trailed the tenants. At length, two only remained--M'Adam, sitting +solitary with a long array of empty chairs on either hand; and, at the +far end of the table, Parson Leggy, stern, upright, motionless. + +When the last man had left the room the parson rose, and with lips +tight-set strode across the silent hall. + +"M'Adam," he said rapidly and almost roughly, "I've listened to +what you've said, as I think we all have, with a sore heart. You hit +hard--but I think you were right. And if I've not done my duty by you as +I ought--and I fear I've not--it's now my duty as God's minister to be +the first to say I'm sorry." And it was evident from his face what an +effort the words cost him. + +The little man tilted back his chair, and raised his head. + +It was the old M'Adam who looked up. The thin lips were curled; a grin +was crawling across the mocking face; and he wagged his head gently, as +he looked at the speaker through the slits of his half-closed eyes. + +"Mr. Hornbut, I believe ye thocht me in earnest, 'deed and I do!" He +leaned back in his chair and laughed softly. "Ye swallered it all +down like best butter. Dear, dear! to think o' that!" Then, stretching +forward: + +"Mr. Hornbut, I was playin' wi' ye." + +The parson's face, as he listened, was ugly to watch. He shot out a hand +and grabbed the scoffer by his coat; then dropped it again and turned +abruptly away. + +As he passed through the door a little sneering voice called after him: + +"Mr. Hornbut, I ask ye hoo you, a minister o' the Church of England, +can reconcile it to yer conscience to think--though it be but for a +minute--that there can be ony good in a man and him no churchgoer? Sir, +ye're a heretic--not to say a heathen!" He sniggered to himself, and his +hand crept to a half-emptied wine decanter. + + * * * * * + +An hour later, James Moore, his business with the squire completed, +passed through the hall on his way out. Its only occupant was now +M'Adam, and the Master walked straight up to his enemy. + +"M'Adam," he said gruffly, holding out a sinewy hand, "I'd like to +say--" + +The little man knocked aside the token of friendship. + +"Na, na. No cant, if ye please, James Moore. That'll aiblins go doon +wi' the parsons, but not wi' me. I ken you and you ken me, and all the +whitewash i' th' warld'll no deceive us." + +The Master turned away, and his face was hard as the nether millstone. +But the little man pursued him. + +"I was nigh forgettin'," he said. "I've a surprise for ye, James Moore. +But I hear it's yer birthday on Sunday, and I'll keep it till then--he! +he!" + +"Ye'll see me before Sunday, M'Adam," the other answered. "On Saturday, +as I told yo', I'm comin' to see if yo've done yer duty." + +"Whether ye come, James Moore, is your business. Whether ye'll iver go, +once there, I'll mak' mine. I've warned ye twice noo--" and the little +man laughed that harsh, cackling laugh of his. + +At the door of the hall the Master met David. "Noo, lad, yo're comin' +along wi' Andrew and me," he said; "Maggie'll niver forgie us if we +dinna bring yo' home wi' us." + +"Thank you kindly, Mr. Moore," the boy replied. "I've to see squire +first; and then yo' may be sure I'll be after you." + +The Master faltered a moment. + +"David, ha'n yo' spoke to yer father yet?" he asked in low voice. "Yo' +should, lad." + +The boy made a gesture of dissent. + +"I canna," he said petulantly. + +"I would, lad," the other advised. "An' yo' don't yo' may be sorry +after." + +As he turned away he heard the boy's steps, dull and sodden, as he +crossed the hall; and then a thin, would-be cordial voice in the +emptiness: + +"I declar' if 'tisna David! The return o' the Prodeegal--he! he! So +ye've seen yer auld dad at last, and the last; the proper place, say +ye, for yen father--he! he! Eh, lad, but I'm blithe to see ye. D'ye mind +when we was last thegither? Ye was kneelin' on ma chest: 'Your time's +come, dad,' says you, and wangs me o'er the face--he! he! I mind it as +if 'twas yesterday. Weel, weel, we'll say nae mair about it. Boys will +be boys. Sons will be sons. Accidents will happen. And if at first ye +don't succeed, why, try, try again--he! he!" + + * * * * * + +Dusk was merging into darkness when the Master and Andrew reached the +Dalesman's Daughter. It had been long dark when they emerged from the +cosy parlor of the inn and plunged out into the night. + +As they crossed the Silver Lea and trudged over that familiar ground, +where a fortnight since had been fought out the battle of the Cup, the +wind fluttered past them in spasmodic gasps. + +"There 's trouble in the wind," said the Master. + +"Ay," answered his laconic son. + +All day there had been no breath of air, and the sky dangerously blue. +But now a world of black was surging up from the horizon, smothering the +star-lit night; and small dark clouds, like puffs of smoke, detaching +themselves from the main body, were driving tempestuously forward--the +vanguard of the storm. + +In the distance was a low rumbling like heavy tumbrils on the floor of +heaven. All about, the wind sounded hollow like a mighty scythe on corn. +The air was oppressed with a leaden blackness--no glimmer of light on +any hand; and as they began the ascent of the Pass they reached out +blind hands to feel along the rock-face. + +A sea-fret, cool and wetting, fell. A few big rain-drops splashed +heavily down. The wind rose with a leap and roared past them up the +rocky track. And the water-gates of heaven were flung wide. + +Wet and weary, they battled on; thinking sometimes of the cosy parlor +behind; sometimes of the home in front; wondering whether Maggie, in +flat contradiction of her father's orders, would be up to welcome them; +or whether only Owd Bob would come out to meet them. + +The wind volleyed past them like salvoes of artillery. The rain stormed +at them from above; spat at them from the rock-face; and leapt up at +them from their feet. + +Once they halted for a moment, finding a miserable shelter in a crevice +of the rock. + +"It's a Black Killer's night," panted the Master. "I reck'n he's oot." + +"Ay," the boy gasped, "reck'n he is." Up and up they climbed through the +blackness, blind and buffeted. The eternal thunder of the rain was all +about them; the clamor of the gale above; and far beneath, the roar of +angry waters. + +Once, in a lull in the storm, the Master turned and looked back into the +blackness along the path they had come. + +"Did ye hear onythin'?" he roared above the muffled soughing of the +wind. + +"Nay!" Andrew shouted back. + +"I thowt I heard a step!" the Master cried, peering down. But nothing +could he see. + +Then the wind leaped to life again like a giant from his sleep, drowning +all sound with its hurricane voice; and they turned and bent to their +task again. + +Nearing the summit, the Master turned once more. + +"There it was again!" he called; but his words were swept away on the +storm; and they buckled to the struggle afresh. + +Ever and anon the moon gleamed down through the riot of tossing sky. +Then they could see the wet wall above them, with the water tumbling +down its sheer face; and far below, in the roaring gutter of the Pass a +brown-stained torrent. Hardly, however, had they time to glance around +when a mass of cloud would hurry jealously up, and all again was +blackness and noise. + +At length, nigh spent, they topped the last and steepest pitch of the +Pass, and emerged into the Devil's Bowl. There, overcome with their +exertions, they flung themselves on to the soaking ground to draw +breath. + +Behind them, the wind rushed with a sullen roar up the funnel of the +Pass. It screamed above them as though ten million devils were a-horse; +and blurted out on to the wild Marches beyond. + +As they lay there, still panting, the moon gleamed down in momentary +graciousness. In front, through the lashing rain, they could discern the +hillocks that squat, hag-like, round the Devil's Bowl; and lying in its +bosom, its white waters, usually so still, ploughed now into a thousand +furrows, the Lone Tarn. + +The Master raised his head and craned forward at the ghostly scene. Of +a sudden he reared himself on to his arms, and stayed motionless awhile. +Then he dropped as though dead, forcing down Andrew with an iron hand. + +"Lad, did'st see?" he whispered. + +"Nay; what was't?" the boy replied, roused by his father's tone. + +"There!" + +But as the Master pointed forward, a blur of cloud intervened and all +was dark. Quickly it passed; and again the lantern of the night shone +down. And Andrew, looking with all his eyes, saw indeed. + +There, in front, by the fretting waters of the Tarn, packed in a solid +phalanx, with every head turned in the same direction, was a flock of +sheep. They were motionless, all-intent, staring with horror-bulging +eyes. A column of steam rose from their bodies into the rain-pierced +air. Panting and palpitating, yet they stood with their backs to the +water, as though determined to sell their lives dearly. Beyond them, +not fifty yards away, crouched a humpbacked boulder, casting a long, +misshapen shadow in the moonlight. And beneath it were two black +objects, one still struggling feebly. + +"The Killer!" gasped the boy, and, all ablaze with excitement, began +forging forward. + +"Steady, lad, steady!" urged his father, dropping a restraining hand on +the boy's shoulder. + +Above them a huddle of clouds flung in furious rout across the night, +and the moon was veiled. + +"Follow, lad!" ordered the Master, and began to crawl silently forward. +As stealthily Andrew pursued. And over the sodden ground they crept, one +behind the other, like two' night-hawks on some foul errand. + +On they crawled, lying prone during the blinks of moon, stealing forward +in the dark; till, at length, the swish of the rain on the waters of the +Tarn, and the sobbing of the flock in front, warned them they were near. + +They skirted the trembling pack, passing so close as to brush against +the flanking sheep; and yet unnoticed, for the sheep were soul-absorbed +in the tragedy in front. Only, when the moon was in, Andrew could hear +them huddling and stamping in the darkness. And again, as it shone out, +fearfully they edged closer to watch the bloody play. + +Along the Tarn edge the two crept. And still the gracious moon hid their +approach, and the drunken wind drowned with its revelry the sound of +their coming. + +So they stole on, on hands and knees, with hearts aghast and fluttering +breath; until, of a sudden, in a lull of wind, they could hear, right +before them, the smack and slobber of bloody lips, chewing their bloody +meal. + +"Say thy prayers, Red Wull. Thy last minute's come!" muttered the +Master, rising to his knees. Then, in Andrew's ear: "When I rush, lad, +follow!" For he thought, when the moon rose, to jump in on the great +dog, and, surprising him as he lay gorged and unsuspicious, to deal him +one terrible swashing blow, and end forever the lawless doings of the +Tailless Tyke. + +The moon flung off its veil of cloud. White and cold, it stared down +into the Devil's Bowl; on murderer and murdered. + +Within a hand's cast of the avengers of blood humped the black boulder. +On the border of its shadow lay a dead sheep; and standing beside the +body, his coat all ruffled by the hand of the storm--Owd Bob--Owd Bob o' +Kenmuir. + +Then the light went in, and darkness covered the land. + + + + +Chapter XXIX THE DEVIL'S BOWL + + +IT was Owd Bob. There could be no mistaking. In the wide world there +was but one Owd Bob o' Kenmuir. The silver moon gleamed down on the dark +head and rough gray coat, and lit the white escutcheon on his chest. + +And in the darkness James Moore was lying with his face pressed downward +that he might not see. + +Once he raised himself on his arms; his eyes were shut and face +uplifted, like a blind man praying. He passed a weary hand across his +brow; his head dropped again; and he moaned and moaned like a man in +everlasting pain. + +Then the darkness lifted a moment, and he stole a furtive glance, like a +murderer's at the gallows-tree, at the scene in front. + +It was no dream; clear and cruel in the moonlight the humpbacked +boulder; the dead sheep; and that gray figure, beautiful, motionless, +damned for all eternity. + +The Master turned his face and looked at Andrew, a dumb, pitiful +entreaty in his eyes; but in the boy's white, horror-stricken +countenance was no comfort. Then his head lolled down again, and the +strong man was whimpering. + +"He! he! he! 'Scuse ma laffin', Mr. Moore--he! he! he!" + +A little man, all wet and shrunk, sat hunching on a mound above them, +rocking his shrivelled form to and fro in the agony of his merriment. + +"Ye raskil--he! he! Ye rogue--he! he!" and he shook his fist waggishly +at the unconscious gray dog. "I owe ye anither grudge for this--ye've +anteecipated me"--and he leant back and shook this way and that in +convulsive mirth. + +The man below him rose heavily to his feet, and tumbled toward the +mocker, his great figure swaying from side to side as though in blind +delirium, moaning still as he went. And there was that on his face which +no man can mistake. Boy that he was, Andrew knew it. + +"Feyther! feyther! do'ee not!" he pleaded, running after his father and +laying impotent hands on him. + +But the strong man shook him off like a fly, and rolled on, swaying and +groaning, with that awful expression plain to see in the moonlight. + +In front the little man squatted in the rain, bowed double still; and +took no thought to flee. + +"Come on, James Moore! Come on!" he laughed, malignant joy in his voice; +and something gleamed bright in his right hand, and was hid again. "I've +bin waitin' this a weary while noo. Come on!" + +Then had there been done something worse than sheep-murder in the +dreadful lonesomeness of the Devil's Bowl upon that night; but of +a sudden, there sounded the splash of a man's foot, falling heavily +behind; a hand like a falling tree smote the Master on the shoulder; and +a voice roared above the noise of the storm: + +"Mr. Moore! Look, man! look!" + +The Master tried to shake off that detaining grasp; but it pinned him +where he was, immovable. + +"Look, I tell yo'!" cried that great voice again. + +A hand pushed past him and pointed; and sullenly he turned, ignoring the +figure at his side, and looked. + +The wind had dropped suddenly as it had risen; the little man on the +mound had ceased to chuckle; Andrew's sobs were hushed; and in the +background the huddled flock edged closer. The world hung balanced on +the pinpoint of the moment. Every eye was in the one direction. + +With dull, uncomprehending gaze James Moore stared as bidden. There was +the gray dog naked in the moonlight, heedless still of any witnesses; +there the murdered sheep, lying within and without that distorted shade; +and there the humpbacked boulder. + +He stared into the shadow, and still stared. + +Then he started as though struck. The shadow of the boulder had moved! + +Motionless, with head shot forward and bulging eyes, he gazed. + +Ay, ay, ay; he was sure of it--a huge dim outline as of a lion +_couchant_, in the very thickest of the blackness. + +At that he was seized with such a palsy of trembling that he must have +fallen but for the strong arm about his waist. + +Clearer every moment grew that crouching figure; till at length they +plainly could discern the line of arching loins, the crest, thick as a +stallion's, the massive, wagging head. No mistake this time. There he +lay in the deepest black, gigantic, revelling in his horrid debauch--the +Black Killer! + +And they watched him at his feast. Now he burrowed into the spongy +flesh; now turned to lap the dark pool which glittered in the moonlight +at his side like claret in a silver cup. Now lifting his head, he +snapped irritably at the rain-drops, and the moon caught his wicked, +rolling eye and the red shreds of flesh dripping from his jaw. And +again, raising his great muzzle as if about to howl, he let the +delicious nectar trickle down his throat and ravish his palate. + +So he went on, all unsuspicious, wisely nodding in slow-mouthed +gluttony. And in the stillness, between the claps of wind, they could +hear the smacking of his lips. + +While all the time the gray dog stood before him, motionless, as though +carved in stone. + +At last, as the murderer rolled his great head from side to side, he saw +that still figure. At the sight he leaped back, dismayed. Then with a +deep-mouthed roar that shook the waters of the Tarn he was up and across +his victim with fangs bared, his coat standing erect in wet, rigid +furrows from topknot to tail. + +So the two stood, face to face, with perhaps a yard of rain-pierced air +between them. + +The wind hushed its sighing to listen. The moon stared down, white +and dumb. Away at the back the sheep edged closer. While save for the +everlasting thunder of the rain, there was utter stillness. + +An age, it seemed, they waited so. Then a voice, clear yet low and far +away, like a bugle in a distant city, broke the silence. + +"Eh, Wullie!" it said. + +There was no anger in the tones, only an incomparable reproach; the +sound of the cracking of a man's heart. + +At the call the great dog leapt round, snarling in hideous passion. He +saw the small, familiar figure, clear-cut against the tumbling sky; and +for the only time in his life Red Wull was afraid. + +His blood-foe was forgotten; the dead sheep was forgotten; everything +was sunk in the agony of that moment. He cowered upon the ground, and +a cry like that of a lost soul was wrung from him; it rose on the still +night air and floated, wailing, away; and the white waters of the Tarn +thrilled in cold pity; out of the lonely hollow; over the desolate +Marches; into the night. + +On the mound above stood his master. The little man's white hair was +bared to the night wind; the rain trickled down his face; and his hands +were folded behind his back. He stood there, looking down into the dell +below him, as a man may stand at the tomb of his lately buried wife. And +there was such an expression on his face as I cannot describe. + +"Wullie, Wullie, to me!" he cried at length; and his voice sounded weak +and far, like a distant memory. + +At that, the huge brute came crawling toward him on his belly, +whimpering as he came, very pitiful in his distress. He knew his fate as +every sheep-dog knows it. That troubled him not. His pain, insufferable, +was that this, his friend and father, who had trusted him, should have +found him in his sin. + +So he crept up to his master's feet; and the little man never moved. + +"Wullie--ma Wullie!" he said very gently. "They've aye bin agin me--and +noo you! A man's mither--a man's wife--a man's dog! they're all I've +iver had; and noo ain o' they three has turned agin me! Indeed I am +alone!" + +At that the great dog raised himself, and placing his forepaws on his +master's chest tenderly, lest he should hurt him who was already hurt +past healing, stood towering above him; while the little man laid his +two colds hands on the dog's shoulders. + +So they stood, looking at one another, like a man and his love. + + * * * * * + +At M'Adam's word, Owd Bob looked up, and for the first time saw his +master. + +He seemed in nowise startled, but trotted over to him. There was nothing +fearful in his carriage, no haunting blood-guiltiness in the true gray +eyes which never told a lie, which never, dog-like, failed to look you +in the face. Yet his tail was low, and, as he stopped at his master's +feet, he was quivering. For he, too, knew, and was not unmoved. + +For weeks he had tracked the Killer; for weeks he had followed him as he +crossed Kenmuir, bound on his bloody errands; yet always had lost him on +the Marches. Now, at last, he had run him to ground. Yet his heart went +out to his enemy in his distress. + +"I thowt t'had been yo', lad," the Master whispered, his hand on the +dark head at his knee--"I thowt t'had bin yo'!" + + * * * * * + +Rooted to the ground, the three watched the scene between M'Adam and his +Wull. + +In the end the Master was whimpering; Andrew crying; and David turned +his back. + +At length, silent, they moved away. + +"Had I--should I go to him" asked David hoarsely, nodding toward his +father. + +"Nay, nay, lad," the Master replied. "Yon's not a matter for a mon's +friends." + +So they marched out of the Devil's Bowl, and left those two alone +together. + + * * * * * + +A little later, as they trampled along, James Moore heard little +pattering, staggering footsteps behind. + +He stopped, and the other two went on. + +"Man," a voice whispered, and a face, white and pitiful, like a mother's +pleading for her child, looked into his--"Man, ye'll no tell them a' I'd +no like 'em to ken 'twas ma Wullie. Think an 't had bin yer ain dog." + +"You may trust me!" the other answered thickly. + +The little man stretched out a palsied hand. + +"Gie us yer hand on't. And G-God bless ye, James Moore!" + +So these two shook hands in the moonlight, with none to witness it but +the God who made them. + +And that is why the mystery of the Black Killer is yet unsolved in +the Daleland. Many have surmised; besides those three only one other +knows--knows now which of those two he saw upon a summer night was the +guilty, which the innocent. And Postie Jim tells no man. + + + + + +Chapter XXX. THE TAILLESS TYKE AT BAY + + +ON the following morning there was a sheep-auction at the Dalesman's +Daughter. + +Early as many of the farmers arrived, there was one earlier. Tupper, the +first man to enter the sand-floored parlor, found M'Adam before him. + +He was sitting a little forward in his chair; his thin hands rested on +his knees; and on his face was a gentle, dreamy expression such as no +man had ever seen there before. All the harsh wrinkles seemed to have +fled in the night; and the sour face, stamped deep with the bitterness +of life, was softened now, as if at length at peace. + +"When I coom doon this mornin'," said Teddy Bolstock in a whisper, "I +found 'im sittin' just so. And he's nor moved nor spoke since." + +"Where's th' Terror, then?" asked Tupper, awed somehow into like hushed +tones. + +"In t' paddock at back," Teddy answered, "marchin' hoop and doon, hoop +and doon, for a' the world like a sentry-soger. And so he was when I +looked oot o' window when I wake." + +Then Londesley entered, and after him, Ned Hoppin, Rob Saunderson, Jim +Mason, and others, each with his dog. And each man, as he came in and +saw the little lone figure for once without its huge attendant genius, +put the same question; while the dogs sniffed about the little man, as +though suspecting treachery. And all the time M'Adam sat as though +he neither heard nor saw, lost in some sweet, sad dream; so quite, so +silent, that more than one thought he slept. + +After the first glance, however, the farmers paid him little heed, +clustering round the publican at the farther end of the room to hear the +latest story of Owd Bob. + +It appeared that a week previously, James Moore with a pack of sheep had +met the new Grammoch-town butcher at the Dalesmen's Daughter. A bargain +concluded, the butcher started with the flock for home. As he had no +dog, the Master offered him Th' Owd Un. "And he'll pick me i' th' town +to-morrow," said he. + +Now the butcher was a stranger in the land. Of course he had heard of +Owd Bob o' Kenmuir, yet it never struck him that this handsome gentleman +with the quiet, resolute manner, who handled sheep as he had never seen +them handled, was that hero--"the best sheep-dog in the North." + +Certain it is that by the time the flock was penned in the enclosure +behind the shop, he coveted the dog--ay, would even offer ten pounds for +him! + +Forthwith the butcher locked him up in an outhouse--summit of indignity; +resolving to make his offer on the morrow. + +When the morrow came he found no dog in the outhouse, and, worse, no +sheep in the enclosure. A sprung board showed the way of escape of the +one, and a displaced hurdle that of the other. And as he was making the +discovery, a gray dog and a flock of sheep, travelling along the road +toward the Dalesman's Daughter, met the Master. + +From the first, Owd Bob had mistrusted the man. The attempt to confine +him set the seal on his suspicions. His master's sheep were not for such +a rogue; and he worked his own way out and took the sheep along with +him. + +The story was told to a running chorus of--"Ma word! Good, Owd Un!--Ho! +ho! did he thot?" + +Of them all, only M'Adam sat strangely silent. + +Rob Saunderson, always glad to draw the little man, remarked it. + +"And what d'yo' think o' that, Mr. M'Adam, for a wunnerfu' story of a +wunnerfu' tyke?" he asked. + +"It's a gude tale, a vera gude tale," the little man answered dreamily. +"And James Moore didna invent it; he had it from the Christmas number +o' the _Flock-keeper_ in saxty." (On the following Sunday, old Rob, from +sheer curiosity, reached down from his shelf the specified number of the +paper. To his amazement he found the little man was right. There was the +story almost identically. None the less is it also true of Owd Bob o' +Kenmuir.) + +"Ay, ay," the little man continued, "and in a day or two James Moore'll +ha' anither tale to tell ye--a better tale, ye'll think it--mair +laffable. And yet--ay---no---I'll no believe it! I niver loved James +Moore, but I think, as Mr. Hornbut aince said, he'd rather die than lie. +Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!" he continued in a whisper. "Up till the end I canna +shake him aff. Hafflins I think that where I'm gaein' to there'll be +gray dogs sneakin' around me in the twilight. And they're aye behind and +behind, and I canna, canna--" + +Teddy Bolstock interrupted, lifting his hand for silence. + +"D'yo' hear thot?--Thunder!" + +They listened; and from without came a gurgling, jarring roar, horrible +to hear. + +"It's comin' nearer!" + +"Nay, it's goin' away!" + +"No thunder thot!" + +"More like the Lea in flood. And yet--Eh, Mr. M'Adam, what is it?" + +The little man had moved at last. He was on his feet, staring about him, +wild-eyed. + +"Where's yer dogs?" he almost screamed. + +"Here's ma--Nay, by thunder! but he's not!" was the astonished cry. + +In the interest of the story no man had noticed that his dog had risen +from his side; no one had noticed a file of shaggy figures creeping out +of the room. + +"I tell ye it's the tykes! I tell ye it's the tykes! They're on ma +Wullie--fifty to one they're on him! My God! My God! And me not there! +Wullie, Wullie! "--in a scream--"I'm wi' ye!" + +At the same moment Bessie Boistock rushed in, white-faced. + +"Hi! Feyther! Mr. Saunderson! all o' you! T'tykes fightin' mad! Hark!" + +There was no time for that. Each man seized his stick and rushed for the +door; and M'Adam led them all. + +A rare thing it was for M'Adam and Red Wull to be apart. So rare, that +others besides the men in that little tap-room noticed it. + +Saunderson's old Shep walked quietly to the back door of the house and +looked out. + +There on the below him he saw what he sought, stalking up and +down, gaunt and grim, like a lion at feeding-time. And as the old dog +watched, his tail was gently swaying as though he were well pleased. + +He walked back into the tap-room just as Teddy began his tale. Twice +he made the round of the room, silent-footed. From dog to dog he went, +stopping at each as though urging him on to some great enterprise. Then +he made for the door again, looking back to see if any followed. + +One by one the others rose and trailed out after him: big blue Rasper, +Londesley's Lassie, Ned Hoppin's young dog; Grip and Grapple, the +publican's bull-terriers; Jim Mason's Gyp, foolish and flirting even +now; others there were; and last of all, waddling heavily in the rear, +that scarred Amazon, the Venus. + +Out of the house they pattered, silent and unseen, with murder in their +hearts. At last they had found their enemy alone. And slowly, in a black +cloud, like the shadow of death, they dropped down the upon him. + +And he saw them coming, knew their errand--as who should better than the +Terror of the Border?--and was glad. Death it might be, and such an +one as he would wish to die--at least distraction from that long-drawn, +haunting pain. And he smiled grimly as he looked at the approaching +crowd, and saw there was not one there but he had humbled in his time. + +He ceased his restless pacing, and awaited them. His great head was high +as he scanned them contemptuously, daring them to come on. + +And on they came, marching slow and silent like soldiers at a funeral: +young and old; bob-tailed and bull; terrier and collie; flocking like +vultures to the dead. And the Venus, heavy with years, rolled after them +on her bandy legs panting in her hurry lest she should be late. For had +she not the blood of her blood to avenge? + +So they came about him, slow, certain, murderous, opening out to cut +him off on every side. There was no need. He never thought to move. Long +odds 'twould be--crushingly heavy; yet he loved them for it, and was +trembling already with the glory of the coming fight. + +They were up to him now; the sheep-dogs walking round him on their toes, +stiff and short like cats on coals; their hacks a little humped; heads +averted; yet eying him askance. + +And he remained stock-still nor looked at them. His great chin was +cocked, and his muzzle wrinkled in a dreadful grin. As he stood there, +shivering a little, his eyes rolling back, his breath grating in his +throat to set every bristle on end, he looked a devil indeed. + +The Venus ranged alongside him. No preliminary stage for her; she never +walked where she could stand, or stood where she could lie. But stand +she must now, breathing hard through her nose, never taking her eyes off +that pad she had marked for her own. Close beside her were crop-eared +Grip and Grapple, looking up at the line above them where hairy neck and +shoulder joined. Behind was big Rasper, and close to him Lassie. Of the +others, each had marked his place, each taken up his post. + +Last of all, old Shep took his stand full in front of his enemy, their +shoulders almost rubbing, head past head. + +So the two stood a moment, as though they were whispering; each +diabolical, each rolling back his eyes to watch the other. While from +the little mob there rose a snarling, bubbling snore, like some giant +wheezing in his sleep. + +Then like lightning each struck. Rearing high, they wrestled with +striving paws and the expression of fiends incarnate. Down they went, +Shep underneath, and the great dog with a dozen of these wolves of hell +upon him. Rasper, devilish, was riding on his back; the Venus--well for +him!--had struck and missed; but Grip and Grapple had their hold; and +the others, like leaping demoniacs, were plunging into the whirlpool +vortex of the fight. + +And there, where a fortnight before he had fought and lost the battle of +the Cup, Red Wull now battled for his life. + +Long odds! But what cared he? The long-drawn agony of the night was +drowned in that glorious delirium. The hate of years came bubbling +forth. In that supreme moment he would avenge his wrongs. And he went in +to fight, revelling like a giant in the red lust of killing. + +Long odds! Never before had he faced such a galaxy of foes. His one +chance lay in quickness: to prevent the swarming crew getting their hold +till at least he had diminished their numbers. + +Then it was a sight to see the great brute, huge as a bull-calf, strong +as a bull, rolling over and over and up again, quick as a kitten; +leaping here, striking there; shaking himself free; swinging his +quarters; fighting with feet and body and teeth--every inch of him at +war. More than once he broke right through the mob; only to turn again +and face it. No flight for him; nor thought of it. + +Up and down the the dark mass tossed, like some hulk the sport +of the waves. Black and white, sable and gray, worrying at that great +centre-piece. Up and down, roaming wide, leaving everywhere a trail of +red. + +Gyp he had pinned and hurled over his shoulder. Grip followed; he shook +her till she rattled, then flung her afar; and she fell with a horrid +thud, not to rise. While Grapple, the death to avenge, hung tighter. In +a scarlet, soaking patch of the ground lay Big Bell's lurcher, doubled +up in a dreadful ball. And Hoppin's young dog, who three hours before +had been the children's tender playmate, now fiendish to look on, +dragged after the huddle up the hill. Back the mob rolled on her. When +it was passed, she lay quite still, grinning; a handful of tawny hair +and flesh in her dead mouth. + +So they fought on. And ever and anon a great figure rose up from the +heaving inferno all around; rearing to his full height, his head ragged +and bleeding, the red foam dripping from his jaws. Thus he would appear +momentarily, like some dark rock amid a raging sea; and down he would go +again. + +Silent now they fought, dumb and determined. Only you might have heard +the rend and rip of tearing flesh; a hoarse gurgle as some dog went +down; the panting of dry throats; and now and then a sob from that +central figure. For he was fighting for his life. The Terror of the +Border was at bay. + +All who meant it were on him now. The Venus, blinded with blood, had her +hold at last; and never but once in a long life of battles had she let +go; Rasper, his breath coming in rattles, had him horribly by the loins; +while a dozen other devils with red eyes and wrinkled nostrils clung +still. + +Long odds! And down he went, smothered beneath the weight of numbers, +yet struggled up again. His great head was torn and dripping; his eyes a +gleam of rolling red and white; the little tail stern and stiff like +the gallant stump of a flagstaff shot away. He was desperate, but +indomitable; and he sobbed as he fought doggedly on. + +Long odds! It could not last. And down he went at length, silent +still--never a cry should they wring from him in his agony; the Venus +glued to that mangled pad; Rasper beneath him now; three at his throat; +two at his ears; a crowd on flanks and body. + +The Terror of the Border was down at last! + + * * * * * + +"Wullie, ma Wullie!" screamed M'Adam, bounding down the a crook's +length in front of the rest. "Wullie! Wullie! to me!" + +At the shrill cry the huddle below was convulsed. It heaved and swelled +and dragged to and fro, like the sea lashed into life by some dying +leviathan. + +A gigantic figure, tawny and red, fought its way to the surface. A great +tossing head, bloody past recognition, flung out from the ruck. One +quick glance he shot from his ragged eyes at the little flying form in +front; then with a roar like a waterfall plunged toward it, shaking off +the bloody leeches as he went. + +"Wullie! Wullie! I'm wi' ye!" cried that little voice, now so near. + +Through--through--through!--an incomparable effort and his last. They +hung to his throat, they clung to his muzzle, they were round and about +him. And down he went again with a sob and a little suffocating cry, +shooting up at his master one quick, beseeching glance as the sea of +blood closed over him--worrying, smothering, tearing, like foxhounds at +the kill. + +They left the dead and pulled away the living. And it was no light task, +for the pack were mad for blood. + +At the bottom of the wet mess of hair and red and flesh was old Shep, +stone-dead. And as Saunderson pulled the body out, his face was working; +for no man can lose in a crack the friend of a dozen years, and remain +unmoved. + +The Venus lay there, her teeth clenched still in death; smiling that her +vengeance was achieved. Big Rasper, blue no longer, was gasping out his +life. Two more came crawling out to find a quiet spot where they might +lay them down to die. Before the night had fallen another had gone to +his account. While not a dog who fought upon that day but carried the +scars of it with him to his grave. + +The Terror o' th' Border, terrible in his life, like Samson, was yet +more terrible in his dying. + + * * * * * + +Down at the bottom lay that which once had been Adam M'Adam's Red Wull. + +At the sight the little man neither raved nor swore: it was past that +for him. He sat down, heedless of the soaking ground, and took the +mangled head in his lap very tenderly. + +"They've done ye at last, Wullie--they've done ye at last," he said +quietly; unalterably convinced that the attack had been organized while +he was detained in the tap-room. + +On hearing the loved little voice, the dog gave one weary wag of his +stump-tail. And with that the Tailless Tyke, Adam M'Adam's Red Wull, the +Black Killer, went to his long home. + + * * * * * + +One by one the Dalesmen took away their dead, and the little man was +left alone with the body of his last friend. + +Dry-eyed he sat there, nursing the dead dog's head; hour after +hour--alone--crooning to himself: + + "'Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought, + An' wi' the weary warl' fought! + An' mony an anxious day I thought + We wad be beat.' + +An' noo we are, Wullie--noo we are!" + +So he went on, repeating the lines over and over again, always with the +same sad termination. + +"A man's mither--a man's wife--a man's dog! They three are a' little +M'Adam iver had to back him! D'ye mind the auld mither, Wullie? And her, +'Niver be down-hearted, Adam; ye've aye got yer mither,' And ae day I +had not. And Flora, Wullie (ye remember Flora, Wullie? Na, na; ye'd +not) wi' her laffin' daffin' manner, cryin' to one: 'Adam, ye say ye're +alane. But ye've me--is that no enough for ony man?' And God kens +it was--while it lasted!" He broke down and sobbed a while. "And you +Wullie--and you! the only man friend iver I had!" He sought the dog's +bloody paw with his right hand. + + "'An' here's a hand, my trusty fier, + An gie's a hand o' thine; + An' we'll tak' a right guid willie-waught, + For auld lang syne.'" + + * * * * * + +He sat there, muttering, and stroking the poor head upon his lap, +bending over it, like a mother over a sick child. + +"They've done ye at last, lad--done ye sair. And noo I'm thinkin' +they'll no rest content till I'm gone. And oh, Wullie!"--he bent down +and whispered--"I dreamed sic an awfu' thing--that ma Wullie--but there! +'twas but a dream." + +So he sat on, crooning to the dead dog; and no man approached him. Only +Bessie of the inn watched the little lone figure from afar. + +It was long past noon when at length he rose, laying the dog's head +reverently down, and tottered away toward that bridge which once the +dead thing on the had held against a thousand. + +He crossed it and turned; there was a look upon his face, half hopeful, +half fearful, very piteous to see. + +"Wullie, Wullie, to me!" he cried; only the accents, formerly so fiery, +were now weak as a dying man's. + +A while he waited in vain. + +"Are ye no comin', Wullie?" he asked at length in quavering tones. +"Ye've not used to leave me." + +He walked away a pace, then turned again and whistled that shrill, sharp +call, only now it sounded like a broken echo of itself. + +"Come to me, Wullie!" he implored, very pitifully. "'Tis the first time +iver I kent ye not come and me whistlin'. What ails ye, lad?" + +He recrossed the bridge, walking blindly like a sobbing child; and yet +dry-eyed. + +Over the dead body he stooped. + +"What ails ye, Wullie?" he asked again. "Will you, too, leave me?" + +Then Bessie, watching fearfully, saw him bend, sling the great body on +his back, and stagger away. + +Limp and hideous, the carcase hung down from the little man's shoulders. +The huge head, with grim, wide eyes and lolling tongue, jolted and +swagged with the motion, seeming to grin a ghastly defiance at the world +it had left. And the last Bessie saw of them was that bloody, rolling +head, with the puny legs staggering beneath their load, as the two +passed out of the world's ken. + + * * * * * + +In the Devil's Bowl, next day, they found the pair: Adam M'Adam and his +Red Wull, face to face; dead, not divided; each, save for the other, +alone. The dog, his saturnine expression glazed and ghastly in the +fixedness of death, propped up against that humpbacked boulder beneath +which, a while before, the Black Killer had dreed his weird; and, close +by, his master lying on his back, his dim dead eyes staring up at the +heaven, one hand still clasping a crumpled photograph; the weary body +at rest at last, the mocking face--mocking no longer--alight with a +whole-souled, transfiguring happiness. + + + + +POSTSCRIPT + + +Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull lie buried together: one just within, the +other just without, the consecrated pale. + +The only mourners at the funeral were David, James Moore, Maggie, and a +gray dog peering through the lych-gate. + +During the service a carriage stopped at the churchyard, and a lady with +a stately figure and a gentle face stepped out and came across the grass +to pay a last tribute to the dead. And Lady Eleanour, as she joined +the little group about the grave, seemed to notice a more than usual +solemnity in the parson's voice as he intoned: "Earth to earth--ashes +to ashes--dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to +eternal life." + + * * * * * + +When you wander in the gray hill-country of the North, in the loneliest +corner of that lonely land you may chance upon a low farmhouse, lying in +the shadow of the Muir Pike. + +Entering, a tall old man comes out to greet you--the Master of Kenmuir. +His shoulders are bent now; the hair that was so dark is frosted; but +the blue-gray eyes look you as proudly in the face as of yore. + +And while the girl with the glory of yellow hair is preparing food for +you--they are hospitable to a fault, these Northerners--you will notice +on the mantelpiece, standing solitary, a massive silver cup, dented. + +That is the world-known Shepherds' Trophy, won outright, as the old man +will tell you, by Owd Bob, last and best of the Gray Dogs of Kenmuir. +The last because he is the best; because once, for a long-drawn unit of +time, James Moore had thought him to be the worst. + +When at length you take your leave, the old man accompanies you to the +top of the to point you your way. + +"Yo' cross the stream; over Langholm How, yonder; past the Bottom; and +oop th' hill on far side. Yo'll come on th' house o' top. And happen +yo'll meet Th' Owd Un on the road. Good-day to you, sir, good-day." + +So you go as he has bidden you; across the stream, skirting the How, +over the gulf and up the hill again. + +On the way, as the Master has foretold, you come upon an old gray dog, +trotting soberly along. Th' Owd Un, indeed, seems to spend the evening +of his life going thus between Kenmuir and the Grange. The black muzzle +is almost white now; the gait, formerly so smooth and strong, is stiff +and slow; venerable, indeed, is he of whom men still talk as the best +sheep-dog in the North. + +As he passes, he pauses to scan you. The noble head is high, and one +foot raised; and you look into two big gray eyes such as you have never +seen before--soft, a little dim, and infinitely sad. + +That is Owd Bob o' Kenmuir, of whom the tales are many as the flowers on +the May. With him dies the last of the immortal line of the Gray Dogs of +Kenmuir. + + * * * * * + +You travel on up the bill, something pensive, and knock at the door of +the house on the top. + +A woman, comely with the inevitable comeliness of motherhood, opens to +you. And nestling in her arms is a little boy with golden hair and happy +face, like one of Correggio's cherubs. + +You ask the child his name. He kicks and crows, and looks up at his +mother; and in the end lisps roguishly, as if it was the merriest joke +in all this merry world, "Adum Mataddum." + + * * * * * + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Bob, Son of Battle, by Alfred Ollivant + +*** \ No newline at end of file