Bob Son of Battle [40]
this side the Lea till I've reached the foot o' the Pass. Gin they gentlemen "--nodding toward the crowd
--"should set hands on me, why--" and he shrugged his shoulders significantly. "Forbye, Wullie's keepin' the bridge."
With that the little man strolled off leis-. urely; now dallying to pick a flower, now to wave a mocking hand at the furious mob, and so slowly on to the foot of the Muirk Muir Pass.
There he turned and whistled that shrill peculiar note.
"Wullie, Wullie, to me!" he called.
At that, with one last threat thrown at the' thousand souls he had held at bay for thirty minutes, the Tailless Tyke swung about and galloped after his lord.
Chapter XIII. THE FACE IN THE FRAME
ALL Friday M'Adarn never left the kitchen. He sat opposite the Cup, in a coma, as it were; and Red Wull lay motionless at his feet.
Saturday came, and still the two never budged. Toward the evening the little man rose, all in a tremble, and took the Cup down from the mantelpiece; then he sat down again with it in his arms.
"Eh, Wullie, Wullie, is it a dream? Ha' they took her fra us? Eh, but it's you and I alane, lad."
He hugged it to him, crying silently, and rocking to and I ro like a mother with a dying child. And Red Wull sat up on his haunches, and weaved from side to side in sympathy.
As the dark was falling, David looked in.
At the sound of the opening door the little man swung round noiselessly, the Cup nursed in his arms, and glared, sullen and suspicious, at the boy; yet seemed not to recognize him. In the half-light David could see the tears coursing down the little wizened face.
'Pon ma life, he's gaein' daft!" was his comment as he turned away to Kenmuir. And again the mourners were left alone.
"A few hours noo, Wullie," the little man wailed, "and she'll be gane. We won her, Wullie, you and I, won her fair: she's lit the hoose for us; she's softened a' for us--and God kens we needed it; she was the ae thing we had to look to and love. And noo they're takin' her awa', and 'twill be night agin. We've cherished her, we've garnished her, we've loved her like oor am; and noo she maun gang to strangers who know her not."
He rose to his feet, and the great dog rose with him. His voice heightened to a scream, and he swayed with the Cup in his arms till it seemed he must fall.
"Did they win her fair, Wullie? Na; they plotted, they conspired, they worked ilka am o' them agin us, and they beat us. Ay, and noo they're robbin' us--robbin' us! But they shallna ha' her. Oor's or naebody's, Wullie! We'll finish her sooner nor that."
He banged the Cup down on the table and rushed madly out of the room, Red Wull at his heels. In a moment he came running back, brandishing a great axe about his head.
"Come on, Wullie!" he cried. "'Scots wha hae'! Noo's the day and noo's the hour! Come on!"
On. the table before him, serene and beautiful, stood the target of his madness. The little man ran at it, swinging his murderous weapon like a flail.
"Oor's or naebody's Wulliel Come on.
'Lay the proud usurpers low'!" He aimed a mighty buffet; and the Shepherds' Trophy-- the Shepherds' Trophy which had won through the hardships of a hundred years--was almost gone. It seemed to quiver as the blow fell. But the cruel steel missed, and the axe-head sank into the wood, clean and deep, like a spade in snow.
Red Wull had leapt on to the table, and in his cavernous voice was grumbling a chorus to his master's yells. The little man danced up and down, tugging and straining at the axe-handle,
"You and I, Wullie!
'Tyrants fall in every foe! Liberty's in every blow!'
The axe-head was as immoveable as the Muir Pike.
'Let us do or die!'
The shaft snapped, and the little man tottered back. Red Wull jumped down from the table, and, in doing so, brushed against the Cup. It toppled* over on to the floor, and rolled tinkling away in the dust. And the little man fled madly out of the house, still screaming his war-song.
When, late that night, M'Adam returned home, the Cup was gone. Down on his hands
--"should set hands on me, why--" and he shrugged his shoulders significantly. "Forbye, Wullie's keepin' the bridge."
With that the little man strolled off leis-. urely; now dallying to pick a flower, now to wave a mocking hand at the furious mob, and so slowly on to the foot of the Muirk Muir Pass.
There he turned and whistled that shrill peculiar note.
"Wullie, Wullie, to me!" he called.
At that, with one last threat thrown at the' thousand souls he had held at bay for thirty minutes, the Tailless Tyke swung about and galloped after his lord.
Chapter XIII. THE FACE IN THE FRAME
ALL Friday M'Adarn never left the kitchen. He sat opposite the Cup, in a coma, as it were; and Red Wull lay motionless at his feet.
Saturday came, and still the two never budged. Toward the evening the little man rose, all in a tremble, and took the Cup down from the mantelpiece; then he sat down again with it in his arms.
"Eh, Wullie, Wullie, is it a dream? Ha' they took her fra us? Eh, but it's you and I alane, lad."
He hugged it to him, crying silently, and rocking to and I ro like a mother with a dying child. And Red Wull sat up on his haunches, and weaved from side to side in sympathy.
As the dark was falling, David looked in.
At the sound of the opening door the little man swung round noiselessly, the Cup nursed in his arms, and glared, sullen and suspicious, at the boy; yet seemed not to recognize him. In the half-light David could see the tears coursing down the little wizened face.
'Pon ma life, he's gaein' daft!" was his comment as he turned away to Kenmuir. And again the mourners were left alone.
"A few hours noo, Wullie," the little man wailed, "and she'll be gane. We won her, Wullie, you and I, won her fair: she's lit the hoose for us; she's softened a' for us--and God kens we needed it; she was the ae thing we had to look to and love. And noo they're takin' her awa', and 'twill be night agin. We've cherished her, we've garnished her, we've loved her like oor am; and noo she maun gang to strangers who know her not."
He rose to his feet, and the great dog rose with him. His voice heightened to a scream, and he swayed with the Cup in his arms till it seemed he must fall.
"Did they win her fair, Wullie? Na; they plotted, they conspired, they worked ilka am o' them agin us, and they beat us. Ay, and noo they're robbin' us--robbin' us! But they shallna ha' her. Oor's or naebody's, Wullie! We'll finish her sooner nor that."
He banged the Cup down on the table and rushed madly out of the room, Red Wull at his heels. In a moment he came running back, brandishing a great axe about his head.
"Come on, Wullie!" he cried. "'Scots wha hae'! Noo's the day and noo's the hour! Come on!"
On. the table before him, serene and beautiful, stood the target of his madness. The little man ran at it, swinging his murderous weapon like a flail.
"Oor's or naebody's Wulliel Come on.
'Lay the proud usurpers low'!" He aimed a mighty buffet; and the Shepherds' Trophy-- the Shepherds' Trophy which had won through the hardships of a hundred years--was almost gone. It seemed to quiver as the blow fell. But the cruel steel missed, and the axe-head sank into the wood, clean and deep, like a spade in snow.
Red Wull had leapt on to the table, and in his cavernous voice was grumbling a chorus to his master's yells. The little man danced up and down, tugging and straining at the axe-handle,
"You and I, Wullie!
'Tyrants fall in every foe! Liberty's in every blow!'
The axe-head was as immoveable as the Muir Pike.
'Let us do or die!'
The shaft snapped, and the little man tottered back. Red Wull jumped down from the table, and, in doing so, brushed against the Cup. It toppled* over on to the floor, and rolled tinkling away in the dust. And the little man fled madly out of the house, still screaming his war-song.
When, late that night, M'Adam returned home, the Cup was gone. Down on his hands