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, cl.u.s.tering 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 s.h.a.ggy 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 G.o.d! My G.o.d! And me not there!
Wullie, Wullie! "--in a scream--"I"m wi" ye!"
At the same moment Bessie Boistock rushed in, white-faced.
"Hi! Feyther! Mr. Saunderson! all o" you! T"tykes fightin" mad! Hark!"
There was no time for that. Each man seized his stick and rushed for the door; and M"Adam led them all.
A rare thing it was for M"Adam and Red Wull to be apart. So rare, that others besides the men in that little tap-room noticed it.
Saunderson"s old Shep walked quietly to the back door of the house and looked out.
There on the slope below him he saw what he sought, stalking up and down, gaunt and grim, like a lion at feeding-time. And as the old dog watched, his tail was gently swaying as though he were well pleased.
He walked back into the tap-room just as Teddy began his tale. Twice he made the round of the room, silent-footed. From dog to dog he went, stopping at each as though 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 La.s.sie, Ned Hoppin"s young dog; Grip and Grapple, the publican"s bull-terriers; Jim Mason"s Gyp, foolish and flirting even now; others there were; and last of all, waddling heavily in the rear, that scarred Amazon, the Venus.
Out of the house they pattered, silent and unseen, with murder in their hearts. At last they had found their enemy alone. And slowly, in a black cloud, like the shadow of death, they dropped down the slope upon him.
And he saw them coming, knew their errand--as who should better than the Terror of the Border?--and was glad. Death it might be, and such an one as he would wish to die--at least distraction from that long-drawn, haunting pain. And he smiled grimly as he looked at the approaching crowd, and saw there was not one there but he had humbled in his time.
He ceased his restless pacing, and awaited them. His great head was high as he scanned them contemptuously, daring them to come on.
And on they came, marching slow and silent like soldiers at a funeral: young and old; 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 c.o.c.ked, 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.