Bob Son of Battle [71]
was bound to grant another. But M'Adam rushed on regardless, dancing and gesticulating. Save for the lightning vigilance of Owd Bob, the flock must have broken.
"I think yo' might ha' waited!" remonstrated the Master, as the little man burst his way through.
"Noo, I've forgot somethin'!" the other cried, and back he started as he had gone.
It was more than human nature could tolerate.
"Bob, keep him off!"
A flash of teeth; a blaze of gray eyes; and~ the old dog had leapt forward to oppose the little man's advance.
"Shift oot o' ma light!" cried he, striving to dash past.
"Hold him, lad!"
And hold him the old dog did, while his master opened the gate and put the flock through, the opponents dodging in front of one another like opposing three-quarter-backs at the Rugby game.
"Oot o' ma path, or I'll strike!" shouted the little man in a fury, as the last sheep passed through the gate.
"I'd not," warned the Master.
"But I will!" yelled M'Adam; and, darting forward as the gate swung to, struck furiously at his opponent.
He missed, and the gray dog charged at him like a mail-train.
"Hi! James Moore--" but over he went like a toppled wheelbarrow, while the old dog turned again, raced at the gate, took it magnificently in his stride, and galloped up the lane after his master.
At M'Adam's yell, James Moore had turned.
"Served yo' properly!" he called back. "He'll lam ye yet it's not wise to tamper wi' a gray dog or his sheep. Not the first time he's downed ye, I'm thinkin'!"
The little man raised himself painfully to his elbow and crawled toward the gate. The Master, up the lane, could hear him cursing as he dragged himself. Another moment, and a head was poked through the bars of the gate, and a devilish little face looked after him.
"Downed me, by--, he did!" the little man cried passionately. "I owed ye baith somethin' before this, and noo, by--, I owe ye somethin' more. An' mind ye, Adam M'Adam pays his debts!"
"I've heard the contrary," the Master replied drily, and turned away up the lane toward the Marches.
Chapter XXIV A SHOT IN THE NIGHT
IT was only three short weeks before Cup Day that one afternoon Jim Mason brought a letter to Kenmuir. James Moore opened it as the postman still stood in the door.
It was from Long Kirby--still in retirement--begging him for mercy's sake to keep Owd Bob safe within doors at nights; at all events till after the great event was over. For Kirby knew, as did every Dalesman, that the old dog slept in the porch, between the two doors of the house, of which the outer was only loosely closed by a chain, so that the ever-watchful guardian might slip in and out and go his rounds at any moment of the night.
This was how the smith concluded his ill-spelt note: "Look out for M'Adam i tell you i know hel tn at thowd un afore cup day--f aiim im you. if the ole dog's bete i'm a ruined man i say so for the luv o God keep yer eyes wide."
The Master read the letter, and handed it to the postman, who perused it carefully.
"I tell yo' what," said Jim at length, speaking with an earnestness that made the other stare, "I wish yo'd do what he asks yo': keep Th' Owd Un in o' nights, I mean, just for the. present.
The Master shook his head and laughed, tearing the letter to pieces.
"Nay," said he; "M'Adam or no M'Adam,, Cup or no Cup, Th' Owd Un has the run o' ma land same as he's had since a puppy. Why, Jim, the first night I shut him up that. night the Killer comes, I'll lay."
The postman turned wearily away, and the Master stood looking after him, wondering what had come of late to his former cheery friend.
Those two were not the only warnings James Moore received. During the weeks immediately preceding the Trials, the danger signal was. perpetually flaunted beneath his nose.
Twice did Watch, the black cross-bred chained in the straw-yard, hurl a brazen challenge on the night air. Twice did the Master,~ with lantern, Sam'! and Owd Bob, sally forth and search every hole and corner on the premises--to find nothing. One of the
"I think yo' might ha' waited!" remonstrated the Master, as the little man burst his way through.
"Noo, I've forgot somethin'!" the other cried, and back he started as he had gone.
It was more than human nature could tolerate.
"Bob, keep him off!"
A flash of teeth; a blaze of gray eyes; and~ the old dog had leapt forward to oppose the little man's advance.
"Shift oot o' ma light!" cried he, striving to dash past.
"Hold him, lad!"
And hold him the old dog did, while his master opened the gate and put the flock through, the opponents dodging in front of one another like opposing three-quarter-backs at the Rugby game.
"Oot o' ma path, or I'll strike!" shouted the little man in a fury, as the last sheep passed through the gate.
"I'd not," warned the Master.
"But I will!" yelled M'Adam; and, darting forward as the gate swung to, struck furiously at his opponent.
He missed, and the gray dog charged at him like a mail-train.
"Hi! James Moore--" but over he went like a toppled wheelbarrow, while the old dog turned again, raced at the gate, took it magnificently in his stride, and galloped up the lane after his master.
At M'Adam's yell, James Moore had turned.
"Served yo' properly!" he called back. "He'll lam ye yet it's not wise to tamper wi' a gray dog or his sheep. Not the first time he's downed ye, I'm thinkin'!"
The little man raised himself painfully to his elbow and crawled toward the gate. The Master, up the lane, could hear him cursing as he dragged himself. Another moment, and a head was poked through the bars of the gate, and a devilish little face looked after him.
"Downed me, by--, he did!" the little man cried passionately. "I owed ye baith somethin' before this, and noo, by--, I owe ye somethin' more. An' mind ye, Adam M'Adam pays his debts!"
"I've heard the contrary," the Master replied drily, and turned away up the lane toward the Marches.
Chapter XXIV A SHOT IN THE NIGHT
IT was only three short weeks before Cup Day that one afternoon Jim Mason brought a letter to Kenmuir. James Moore opened it as the postman still stood in the door.
It was from Long Kirby--still in retirement--begging him for mercy's sake to keep Owd Bob safe within doors at nights; at all events till after the great event was over. For Kirby knew, as did every Dalesman, that the old dog slept in the porch, between the two doors of the house, of which the outer was only loosely closed by a chain, so that the ever-watchful guardian might slip in and out and go his rounds at any moment of the night.
This was how the smith concluded his ill-spelt note: "Look out for M'Adam i tell you i know hel tn at thowd un afore cup day--f aiim im you. if the ole dog's bete i'm a ruined man i say so for the luv o God keep yer eyes wide."
The Master read the letter, and handed it to the postman, who perused it carefully.
"I tell yo' what," said Jim at length, speaking with an earnestness that made the other stare, "I wish yo'd do what he asks yo': keep Th' Owd Un in o' nights, I mean, just for the. present.
The Master shook his head and laughed, tearing the letter to pieces.
"Nay," said he; "M'Adam or no M'Adam,, Cup or no Cup, Th' Owd Un has the run o' ma land same as he's had since a puppy. Why, Jim, the first night I shut him up that. night the Killer comes, I'll lay."
The postman turned wearily away, and the Master stood looking after him, wondering what had come of late to his former cheery friend.
Those two were not the only warnings James Moore received. During the weeks immediately preceding the Trials, the danger signal was. perpetually flaunted beneath his nose.
Twice did Watch, the black cross-bred chained in the straw-yard, hurl a brazen challenge on the night air. Twice did the Master,~ with lantern, Sam'! and Owd Bob, sally forth and search every hole and corner on the premises--to find nothing. One of the