Bob, Son of Battle Read online

  Chapter X. RED WULL WINS

  TAMMAS had but told the melancholy truth. Owd Bob was not to run for thecup. And this self-denying ordinance speaks more for James Moore's loveof his lost wife than many a lordly cenotaph.

  To the people of the Daleland, from the Black Water to the market-crossin Grammoch-town, the news came with the shock of a sudden blow. Theyhad set their hearts on the Gray Dog's success; and had felt serenelyconfident of his victory. But the sting of the matter lay in this: thatnow the Tailless Tyke might well win.

  M'Adam, on the other hand, was plunged into a fervor of delight at thenews. For to win the Shepherds' Trophy was the goal of his ambition.David was now less than nothing to the lonely little man, Red Wulleverything to him. And to have that name handed down to posterity,gallantly holding its place among those of the most famous sheep-dogs ofall time, was his heart's desire.

  As Cup Day drew near, the little man, his fine-drawn temperamentstrung to the highest pitch of nervousness, was tossed on a sea ofapprehension. His hopes and fears ebbed and flowed on the tide of themoment. His moods were as uncertain as the winds in March; and there wasno dependence on his humor for a unit of time. At one minute he paced upand down the kitchen, his face already flushed with the glow of victory,chanting:

  "Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled!"

  At the next he was down at the table, his head buried in his hands, hiswhole figure shaking, as he cried in choking voice: "Eh, Wullie, Wullie,they're all agin us."

  David found that life with his father now was life with an unamiablehornet. Careless as he affected to be of his father's vagaries, he wastried almost to madness, and fled away at every moment to Kenmuir; for,as he told Maggie, "I'd sooner put up wi' your h'airs and h'imperences,miss, than wi' him, the wemon that he be!"

  * * * * *

  At length the great day came. Fears, hopes, doubts, dismays, alldispersed in the presence of the reality.

  Cup Day is always a general holiday in the Daleland, and every soulcrowds over to Silverdale. Shops were shut; special trains ran into Grammoch-town; and the road from the little town was dazed withchar-a-bancs, brakes, wagonettes, carriages, carts, foot-passengers,wending toward the Dalesman's Daughter.

  And soon the paddock below that little inn was humming with the crowdof sportsmen and spectators come to see the battle for the Shepherd'sTrophy.

  There, very noticeable with its red body and yellow wheels, was thegreat Kenmuir wagon. Many an eye was directed on the handsome young pairwho stood in it, conspicuous and unconscious, above the crowd: Maggie,looking in her simple print frock as sweet and fresh as any mountainflower; while David's fair face was all gloomy and his brows knit.

  In front of the wagon was a black cluster of Dalesmen, discussingM'Adam's chances. In the centre was Tammas holding forth. Had you passedclose to the group you might have heard: "A man, d'yo say, Mr. Maddox? Ah'ape, I call him"; or: "A dog? more like an 'og, I tell yo'." Round theold orator were Jonas, 'Enry, and oor Job, Jem Burton, Rob Saunderson,Tupper, Jim Mason, Hoppin, and others; while on the outskirts stoodSam'l Todd prophesying rain and M'Adam's victory. Close at hand BessieBolstock, who was reputed to have designs on David, was gigglingspitefully at the pair in the Kenmuir wagon, and singing:

  "Let a lad aloan, lass, Let a lad a-be."

  While her father, Teddy, dodged in and out among the crowd with tray andglasses: for Cup Day was the great day of the year for him.

  Past the group of Dalesmen and on all sides was a mass of bobbingheads--Scots, Northerners, Yorkshiremen, Taffies. To right and lefta long array of carriages and carts, ranging from the squire's quietlandau and Viscount Birdsaye's gorgeous barouche to Liz Burton'sthree-legged moke-cart with little Mrs. Burton, the twins, young Jake(who should have walked), and Monkey (ditto) packed away inside. Beyondthe Silver Lea the gaunt Scaur raised its craggy peak, and the Pass,trending along its side, shone white in the sunshine.

  At the back of the carriages were booths, cocoanut-shies, Aunt Sallies,shows, bookmakers' stools, and all the panoply of such a meeting.Here Master Launcelot Bilks and Jacky Sylvester were fighting; CyrilGilbraith was offering to take on the boxing man; Long Kirby wassnapping up the odds against Red Wull; and Liz Burton and young NedHoppin were being photographed together, while Melia Ross in thebackground was pretending she didn't care.

  On the far bank of the stream was a little bevy of men and dogs,observed of all.

  The Juvenile Stakes had been run and won; Londesley's Lassie had carriedoff the Locals; and the fight for the Shepherds' Trophy was about tobegin.

  "Yo're not lookin' at me noo," whispered Maggie to the silent boy by herside.

  "Nay; nor niver don't wush to agin." David answered roughly. His gazewas directed over the array of heads in front to where, beyond theSilver Lea, a group of shepherds and their dogs was clustered. Whilestanding apart from the rest, in characteristic isolation, was the bentfigure of his father, and beside him the Tailless Tyke.

  "Doest'o not want yo' feyther to win?" asked Maggie softly, followinghis gaze.

  "I'm prayin' he'll be beat," the boy answered moodily.

  "Eh, Davie, hoo can ye?" cried the girl, shocked.

  "It's easy to say, 'Eh, David,'" he snapped. "But if yo' lived alongo' them two "--he nodded toward the stream--"'appen yo'd understand abit.... 'Eh, David,' indeed! I never did!"

  "I know it, lad," she said tenderly; and he was appeased.

  "He'd give his right hand for his bless'd Wullie to win; I'd give meright arm to see him beat.... And oor Bob there all the while,"--henodded to the far left of the line, where stood James Moore and Owd Bob,with Parson Leggy and the Squire.

  When at length Red Wull came out to run his course, he worked with thesavage dash that always characterized him. His method was his own; butthe work was admirably done.

  "Keeps right on the back of his sheep," said the parson, watchingintently. "Strange thing they don't break!" But they didn't. There wasno waiting, no coaxing; it was drive and devilry all through. Hebrought his sheep along at a terrific rate, never missing a turn, neverfaltering, never running out. And the crowd applauded, for the crowdloves a dashing display. While little M'Adam, hopping agilely about,his face ablaze with excitement, handled dog and sheep with a masterlyprecision that compelled the admiration even of his enemies.

  "M'Adam wins!" roared a bookmaker. "Twelve to one agin the field!"

  "He wins, dang him!" said David, low.

  "Wull wins!" said the parson, shutting his lips.

  "And deserves too!" said James Moore.

  "Wull wins!" softly cried the crowd.

  "We don't!" said Sam'l gloomily.

  And in the end Red Wull did Win; and there were none save Tammas, thebigot, and Long Kirby, who had lost a good deal of his wife's money anda little of his own, to challenge the justice of the verdict.

  The win had but a chilling reception. At first there was faint cheering;but it sounded like the echo of an echo, and soon died of inanition.To get up an ovation, there must be money at the back, or a few roaringfanatics to lead the dance. Here there was neither; ugly stories,disparaging remarks, on every hand. And the hundreds who did not knowtook their tone, as always, from those who said they did.

  M'Adam could but remark the absence of enthusiasm as he pushed upthrough the throng toward the committee tent. No single voice hailedhim victor; no friendly hand smote its congratulations. Broad backs wereturned; contemptuous glances levelled; spiteful remarks shot. Only theforeign element looked curiously at the little bent figure with theglowing face, and shrank back at the size and savage aspect of the greatdog at his heels.

  But what cared he? His Wullie was acknowledged champion, the bestsheep-dog of the year; and the little man was happy. They could turntheir backs on him; but they could not alter that; and he could affordto be indifferent. "They dinna like it, lad--he! he! But they'll e'enha' to thole it. Ye've won it, Wullie--won it fair."

  He elbowed through the press, making for t
he rope-guarded inclosure infront of the committee tent, round which the people were now packing. Inthe door of the tent stood the secretary, various stewards, and membersof the committee. In front, alone in the roped-off space, was LadyEleanour, fragile, dainty, graceful, waiting with a smile upon her faceto receive the winner. And on a table beside her, naked and dignified,the Shepherd's Trophy.

  There it stood, kingly and impressive; its fair white sides inscribedwith many names; cradled in three shepherds' crooks; and on the top, asif to guard the Cup's contents, an exquisitely carved collie's head. TheShepherds' Trophy, the goal of his life's race, and many another man's.

  He climbed over the rope, followed by Red Wull, and took off his hatwith almost courtly deference to the fair lady before him.

  As he walked up to the table on which the Cup stood, a shrill voice,easily recognizable, broke the silence.

  "You'd like it better if 'twas full and yo' could swim in it, you andyer Wullie," it called. Whereat the crowd giggled, and Lady Eleanourlooked indignant.

  The little man turned.

  "I'll mind drink yer health, Mr. Thornton, never fear, though I ken ye'dprefaire to drink yer ain," he said. At which the crowd giggled afresh;and a gray head at the back, which had hoped itself unrecognized,disappeared suddenly.

  The little man stood there in the stillness, sourly smiling, his facestill wet from his exertions; while the Tailless Tyke at his sidefronted defiantly the serried ring of onlookers, a white fence of teethfaintly visible between his lips.

  Lady Eleanour looked uneasy. Usually the lucky winner was unable tohear her little speech, as she gave the Cup away, so deafening was theapplause. Now there was utter silence. She glanced up at the crowd, butthere was no response to her unspoken appeal in that forest of hostilefaces. And her gentle heart bled for the forlorn little man before her.To make it up she smiled on him so sweetly as to more than compensatehim.

  "I'm sure you deserve your success, Mr. M'Adam," she said. "You and RedWull there worked splendidly--everybody says so."

  "I've heard naethin' o't," the little man answered dryly. At which someone in the crowd sniggered.

  "And we all know what a grand dog he is; though"--with a reproving smileas she glanced at Red Wull's square, truncated stern--"he's not verypolite."

  "His heart is good, your Leddyship, if his manners are not," M'Adamanswered, smiling.

  "Liar!" came a loud voice in the silence. Lady Eleanour looked up, hotwith indignation, and half rose from her seat. But M'Adam merely smiled.

  "Wullie, turn and mak' yer bow to the leddy," he said. "They'll no hurtus noo we're up; it's when we're doon they'll flock like corbies to thecarrion."

  At that Red Wull walked up to Lady Eleanour, faintly wagging his tail;and she put her hand on his huge bull head and said, "Dear old Ugly!" atwhich the crowd cheered in earnest.

  After that, for some moments, the only sound was the gentle ripple ofthe good lady's voice and the little man's caustic replies.

  "Why, last winter the country was full of Red Wull's doings and yours.It was always M'Adam and his Red Wull have done this and that and theother. I declare I got quite tired of you both, I heard such a lot aboutyou."

  The little man, cap in hand, smiled, blushed and looked genuinelypleased.

  "And when it wasn't you it was Mr. Moore and Owd Bob."

  "Owd Bob, bless him!" called a stentorian voice. "There cheers for oorBob!"

  "'Ip! 'ip! 'ooray!" It was taken up gallantly, and cast from mouthto mouth; and strangers, though they did not understand, caught thecontagion and cheered too; and the uproar continued for some minutes.

  When it was ended Lady Eleanour was standing up, a faint flush on hercheeks and her eyes flashing dangerously, like a queen at bay.

  "Yes," she cried, and her clear voice thrilled through the air like atrumpet. "Yes; and now three cheers for Mr. M'Adam and his Red Wull!Hip! hip--"

  "Hooray!" A little knowt of stalwarts at the back--James Moore,Parson Leggy, Jim Mason, and you may be sure in heart, at least, OwdBob--responded to the call right lustily. The crowd joined in; and, onceoff, cheered and cheered again.

  "Three cheers more for Mr. M'Adam!"

  But the little man waved to them.

  "Dinna be bigger heepocrites than ye can help," he said. "Ye've doneenough for one day, and thank ye for it."

  Then Lady Eleanour handed him the Cup.

  "Mr. M'Adam, I present you with the Champion Challenge Dale Cup, open toall comers. Keep it, guard it, love it as your own, and win it again ifyou can. Twice more and it's yours, you know, and it will stop foreverbeneath the shadow of the Pike. And the right place for it, say I--theDale Cup for Dalesmen."

  The little man took the Cup tenderly.

  "It shall no leave the Estate or ma hoose, yer Leddyship, gin Wullie andI can help it," he said emphatically.

  Lady Eleanour retreated into the tent, and the crowd swarmed over theropes and round the little man, who held the Cup beneath his arm.

  Long Kirby laid irreverent hands upon it.

  "Dinna finger it!" ordered M'Adam.

  "Shall!''

  "Shan't! Wullie, keep him aff." Which the great dog proceeded to do amidthe laughter of the onlookers.

  Among the last, James Moore was borne past the little man. At sight ofhim, M'Adam's face assumed an expression of intense concern.

  "Man, Moore!" he cried, peering forward as though in alarm; "man, Moore,ye're green--positeevely verdant. Are ye in pain?" Then, catching sightof Owd Bob, he started back in affected horror.

  "And, ma certes! so's yer dog! Yer dog as was gray is green. Oh, guidlife! "--and he made as though about to fall fainting to the ground.

  Then, in bantering tones: "Ah, but ye shouldna covet ----"

  "He'll ha' no need to covet it long, I can tell yo'," interposedTammas's shrill accents.

  "And why for no?"

  "Becos next year he'll win it fra yo'. Oor Bob'll win it, little mon.Why? thot's why."

  The retort was greeted with a yell of applause from the sprinkling ofDalesmen in the crowd.

  But M'Adam swaggered away into the tent, his head up, the Cup beneathhis arm, and Red Wull guarding his rear.

  "First of a' ye'll ha' to beat Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull!" he criedback proudly.