Bob Son of Battle [83]
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
"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