Bob, Son of Battle

by Alfred Ollivant

  Chapter XXVI RED-HANDED

  THE SUN was hiding behind the Pike. Over the lowlands the featherybreath of night hovered still. And the hillside was shivering in thechillness of dawn.

  Down on the silvery sward beside the Stony Bottom there lay the ruffledbody of a dead sheep. All about the victim the dewy ground was dark andpatchy like dishevelled velvet; bracken trampled down; stonesdisplaced as though by straggling feet; and the whole spotted with theall-pervading red.

  A score yards up the hill, in a writhing confusion of red and gray, twodogs at death-grips. While yet higher, a pack of wild-eyed hill-sheepwatched, fascinated, the bloody drama.

  The fight raged. Red and gray, blood-spattered, murderous-eyed; thecrimson froth dripping from their jaws; now rearing high with archingcrests 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 nearerto watch the issue. Just so must the women of Rome have craned round thearenas to see two men striving in death-struggle.

  The first cold flicker of dawn stole across the green. The red eye ofthe morning peered aghast over the shoulder of the Pike. And from thesleeping 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 fornothing 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, presenteda 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 aragged tear on the dog's cheek; a deep gash in his throat from which theblood still welled, staining the white escutcheon on his chest; whilehead and neck were clotted with the red.

  Hastily the Master summoned Maggie. After her, Andrew came hurryingdown. And a little later a tiny, night-clad, naked-footed figureappeared in the door, wide-eyed, and then fled, screaming.

  They doctored the old warrior on the table in the kitchen. Maggietenderly washed his wounds, and dressed them with gentle, pityingfingers; and he stood all the while grateful yet fidgeting, looking upinto 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, asshe 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 tawnyred hair, hiding in the corners of the lips.

  The secret was out. Those few hairs told their own accusing tale. To butone 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 Masteranswered. "But Th' Owd Un shall show us."

  The old dog's hurts proved less severe than had at first seemedpossible. His good gray coat, forest-thick about his throat, had neverserved him in such good stead. And at length, the wounds washed and sewnup, 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 LangholmHow. 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 byits comrades, the glazed eyes staring helplessly upward, the throathorribly worried, it slept its last sleep.

  The matter was plain to see. At last the Black Killer had visitedKenmuir.

  "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, maword! it munn ha' bin a fight too." For all around were traces of thatterrible struggle: the earth torn up and tossed, bracken uprooted, andthroughout little dabs of wool and tufts of tawny hair, mingling withdark-stained iron-gray wisps.

  James Moore walked slowly over the battlefield, stooping down as thoughhe 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 hiscourse." Then, turning to Andrew: "Run yo' home, lad, and fetch the mento carry yon away," pointing to the carcass, "And Bob, lad, yo 'ye doneyour work for to-day, and right well too; go yo' home wi' him. I'm offto 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-countryshould be rid of its scourge.

  As he stalked up the hill, a dark head appeared at his knee. Two biggrey eyes; half doubting, half penitent, wholly wistful, looked up athim, 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, suckinghis eternal twig. James Moore eyed him closely as he came, but the sourface framed in the door betrayed nothing. Sarcasm, surprise, challenge,were all writ there, plain to read; but no guilty consciousness of theother's errand, no storm of passion to hide a failing heart. If it wasacting it was splendidly done.

  As man and dog passed through the gap in the hedge, the expression onthe little man's face changed again. He started forward.

  "James Moore, as I live!" he cried, and advanced with both handsextended, as though welcoming a long-lost brother. "'Deed and it's aweary while sin' ye've honored ma puir hoose." And, in fact, it was nightwenty 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 ayeis in ma bit biggin'."

  The Master ignored the greeting.

  "One o' ma sheep been killed back o' t' Dyke," 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 wasabsorbed in a wondering interest; and that again gave place to sorrowfulsympathy.

  "Dear, dear! it's come to that, has it--at last?" he said gently, andhis 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'slived his life, gin ony dog iver did; and noo he maun gang wherehe's sent a many before him. Puir mon! puir tyke!" He heaved a sigh,profoundly melancholy, tenderly sympathetic. Then, brightening up alittle: "Ye'll ha' come for the gun?"

  James Moore listened to this harangue at first puzzled. Then he caughtthe other's meaning, and his eyes flashed.

  "Ye fool, M'Adam! did ye hear iver tell o' a sheep-dog worryin' hismaster's sheep?"

  The little man was smiling and suave again now, rubbing his hands softlytogether.

  "Ye're right, I never did. But your dog is not as ither dogs--'There'snone like him--none,' I've heard ye say so yersel, mony a time. An' I'mwi' ye. There's none like him--for devilment." His voice began to quiverand his face to blaze. "It's his cursed cunning that's deceived iveryone but me--whelp o' Satan that he is!" He shouldered up to his talladversary. "If not him, wha else had done it?" he asked, looking, upinto the other's face as if daring him to speak.

  The Master's shaggy eyebrows lowered. He towered above the other likethe 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 yourWull's bin the plague o' the land these mo
nths past! It's your Wull'skilled 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 hisantagonist. "I knoo hoo 'twad be. I said so. I see what ye're at. Ye'vefound at last--blind that ye've been!--that it's yer ain hell's tykethat's the Killer; and noo ye think by yer leein' impitations to throwthe blame on ma Wullie. Ye rob me o' ma Cup, ye rob me o' ma son, yewrang me in ilka thing; there's but ae thing left me--Wullie. And nooye'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-waterbottle, and almost sobbing.

  "Ha' ye no wranged me enough wi' oo that? Ye lang-leggit liar, wi' yerskulkin murderin' tyke!" he cried. "Ye say it's Wullie. Where's yerproof?"--and he snapped his fingers in the other's face.

  The Master was now as calm as his foe was passionate. "Where?" hereplied sternly; "why, there!" holding out his right hand. "Yon's proofenough to hang a hunner'd." For lying in his broad palm was a littlebundle 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 theother's naked palm. Then he stood back, facing his enemy in a manner tohave done credit to a nobler deed.

  James Moore strode forward. It looked as if he was about to make an endof his miserable adversary, so strongly was he moved. His chest heaved,and the blue eyes blazed. But just as one had thought to see himtake his foe in the hollow of his hand and crush him, who should comestalking round the corner of the house but the Tailless Tyke?

  A droll spectacle he made, laughable even at that moment. He limpedsorely, his head and neck were swathed in bandages, and beneath theirragged fringe the little eyes gleamed out fiery and bloodshot.

  Round the corner he came, unaware of strangers; then straightwayrecognizing his visitors, halted abruptly. His hackles ran up, eachindividual hair stood on end till his whole body resembled a new-shornwheat-field; and a snarl, like a rusty brake shoved hard down escapedfrom between his teeth. Then he trotted heavily forward, his headsinking low and lower as he came.

  And Owd Bob, eager to take up the gage of battle, advanced, glad andgallant, to meet him. Daintily he picked his way across the yard, headand tail erect, perfectly self-contained. Only the long gray hairabout his neck stood up like the ruff of a lady of the court of QueenElizabeth.

  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 atthe man beside him, contempt flaunting in every feature.

  "Well?" he said shortly.

  M'Adam's hands were opening and shutting; his face was quite whitebeneath the tan; but he spoke calmly.

  "I'll tell ye the whole story, and it's the truth," he said slowly. "Iwas up there the morn"--pointing to the window above--"and I see Wulliecrouchin' 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 dogsquatterin' alang on your side the Bottom. He creeps up to the sheep onth' hillside, chases 'em, and doons one. The sun was risen by then, andI see the dog clear as I see you noo. It was that dog there--I swearit!" His voice rose as he spoke, and he pointed an accusing finger atOwd Bob.

  "Noo, Wullie! thinks I. And afore ye could clap yer hands, Wullie wasover 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. Iwatched till I could watch nae langer, and, all in a sweat, I rin doonthe 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'struth, I'm tellin' ye. Tak' him hame, James Moore, and let his dinner bean ounce o' lead. 'Twill be the best day's work iver ye done."

  The little man must be lying--lying palpably. Yet he spoke withan earnestness, a seeming belief in his own story, that might haveconvinced one who knew him less well. But the Master only looked down onhim with a great scorn.

  "It's Monday to-day," he said coldly. "I gie yo' till Saturday. If yo'venot done your duty by then--and well you know what 'tis--I shall comedo 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 Ishall breathe no word to ony soul o' this business, so that if you seegood to put him oot o' the way wi'oot bother, no one need iver know ashoo 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 yourback, I've niver a one; you tell your story, and they'll believe ye--foryou 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--!"--heswore a great oath--"I'll no spare ye. You ken best if I'm in earnest orno." And his face was dreadful to see in its hideous determinedness.