Bob, Son of Battle Page 4

  Chapter IV. FIRST BLOOD

  AFTER that first encounter in the Dalesman's Daughter, Red Wull, forso M'Adam called him, resigned himself complacently to his lot;recognizing, perhaps, his destiny.

  Thenceforward the sour little man and the vicious puppy grew, as itwere, together. The two were never apart. Where M'Adam was, there wassure to be his tiny attendant, bristling defiance as he kept ludicrousguard over his master.

  The little man and his dog were inseparable. M'Adam never left him evenat the Grange.

  "I couldna trust ma Wullie at hame alone wi' the dear lad," was hisexplanation. "I ken weel I'd come back to find a wee corpse on thefloor, and David singin':

  'My heart is sair, I daur na tell, My heart is sair for somebody.'

  Ay, and he'd be sair elsewhere by the time I'd done wi' him--he! he!"

  The sneer at David's expense was as characteristic as it was unjust.For though the puppy and the boy were already sworn enemies, yet thelad would have scorned to harm so small a foe. And many a tale did Davidtell at Kenmuir of Red Wull's viciousness, of his hatred of him (David),and his devotion to his master; how, whether immersed in the pig-bucketor chasing the fleeting rabbit, he would desist at once, and bundle,panting, up at his master's call; how he routed the tomcat and drove himfrom the kitchen; and how he clambered on to David's bed and pinned himmurderously by the nose.

  Of late the relations between M'Adam and James Moore had been unusuallystrained. Though they were neighbors, communications between the twowere of the rarest; and it was for the first time for many a longday that, on an afternoon shortly after Red Wull had come into hispossession, M'Adam entered the yard of Kenmuir, bent on girding at themaster for an alleged trespass at the Stony Bottom.

  "Wi' yer permission, Mr. Moore," said the little man, "I'll wheestle madog," and, turning, he whistled a shrill, peculiar note like the cry ofa disturbed peewit.

  Straightway there came scurrying desperately up, ears back, head down,tongue out, as if the world depended on his speed, a little tawny beetleof a thing, who placed his forepaws against his master's anklesand looked up into his face; then, catching sight of the strangers,hurriedly he took up his position between them and M'Adam, assuming hisnatural attitude of grisly defiance. Such a laughable spectacle he made,that martial mite, standing at bay with bristles up and teeth bared,that even James Moore smiled.

  "Ma word! Ha' yo' brought his muzzle, man?" cried old Tammas, thehumorist; and, turning, climbed all in a heat on to an upturned bucketthat stood by. Whereat the puppy, emboldened by his foe's retreat,advanced savagely to the attack, buzzing round the slippery pail like awasp on a windowpane, in a vain attempt to reach the old man.

  Tammas stood on the top, hitching his trousers and looking down on hisassailant, the picture of mortal fear.

  "'Elp! Oh, 'elp!" he bawled. "Send for the sogers! Fetch the p'lice!For lawk-amussy's sake call him off, man!" Even Sam'l Todd, watchingthe scene from the cart-shed, was tickled and burst into a loud guffaw,heartily backed by 'Enry and oor Job. While M'Adam remarked: "Ye'refitter for a stage than a stable-bucket, Mr. Thornton."

  "How didst come by him?" asked Tammas, nodding at the puppy.

  "Found him," the little man replied, sucking his twig. "Found him inma stockin' on ma birthday. A present from ma leetle David for his aulddad, I doot."

  "So do I," said Tammas, and was seized with sudden spasm of seeminglycauseless merriment. For looking up as M'Adam was speaking, he hadcaught a glimpse of a boy's fair head, peering cautiously round thecow-shed, and, behind, the flutter of short petticoats. They disappearedas silently as they had come; and two small figures, just returned fromschool, glided away and sought shelter in the friendly darkness of acoal-hole.

  "Coom awa', Maggie, coom awa'! 'Tis th' owd un, 'isself," whispered adisrespectful voice.

  M'Adam looked round suspiciously.

  "What's that?" he asked sharply.

  At the moment, however, Mrs. Moore put her head out of the kitchenwindow.

  "Coom thy ways in, Mister M'Adam, and tak' a soop o' tea," she calledhospitably.

  "Thank ye kindly, Mrs. Moore, I will," he answered, politely for him.And this one good thing must be allowed of Adam M'Adam: that, if therewas only one woman of whom he was ever known to speak well, there wasalso only one, in the whole course of his life, against whom he everinsinuated evil--and that was years afterward, when men said his brainwas sapped. Flouts and jeers he had for every man, but a woman, good orbad, was sacred to him. For the sex that had given him his mother andhis wife he had that sentiment of tender reverence which, if a man stillpreserve, he cannot be altogether bad. As he turned into the house helooked back at Red Wull.

  "Ay, we may leave him," he said. "That is, gin ye're no afraid, Mr.Thornton?"

  Of what happened while the men were within doors, it is enough to telltwo things. First, that Owd Bob was no bully. Second, this: In the codeof sheep-dog honor there is written a word in stark black letters; andopposite it another word, writ large in the color of blood. The firstis "Sheep-murder"; the second, "Death." It is the one crime only tobe wiped away in blood; and to accuse of the crime is to offer the oneunpardonable insult. Every sheep-dog knows it, and every shepherd.

  That afternoon, as the men still talked, the quiet echoes of thefarm rung with a furious animal cry, twice repeated: "Shot forsheep-murder"--"Shot for sheep-murder"; followed by a hollow stillness.

  * * * * *

  The two men finished their colloquy. The matter was concludedpeacefully, mainly owing to the pacifying influence of Mrs. Moore.Together the three went out into the yard; Mrs. Moore seizing theopportunity to shyly speak on David's behalf.

  "He's such a good little lad, I do think," she was saying.

  "Ye should ken, Mrs. Moore," the little man answered, a thoughtbitterly; "ye see enough of him."

  "Yo' mun be main proud of un, mester," the woman continued, heedless ofthe sneer: "an' 'im growin' such a gradely lad."

  M'Adam shrugged his shoulders.

  "I barely ken the lad," he said. "By sight I know him, of course, butbarely to speak to. He's but seldom at hame."

  "An' hoo proud his mother'd be if she could see him," the womancontinued, well aware of his one tender place. "Eh, but she was fond o'him, so she was."

  An angry flush stole over the little man's face. Well he understood theimplied rebuke; and it hurt him like a knife.

  "Ay, ay, Mrs. Moore," he began. Then breaking off, and looking abouthim--"Where's ma Wullie?" he cried excitedly. "James Moore!" whippinground on the Master, "ma Wullie's gone--gone, I say!"

  Elizabeth Moore turned away indignantly. "I do declar' he tak's morefash after yon little yaller beastie than iver he does after his ownflesh," she muttered.

  "Wullie, ma we doggie! Wullie, where are ye? James Moore, he's gone--maWullie's gone!" cried the little man, running about the yard, searchingeverywhere.

  "Cannot 'a' gotten far," said the Master, reassuringly, looking abouthim.

  "Niver no tellin'," said Sam'l, appearing on the scene, pig-bucketin hand. "I misdoot yo'll iver see your dog agin, mister." He turnedsorrowfully to M'Adam.

  That little man, all dishevelled, and with the perspiration standing onhis face, came hurrying out of the cow-shed and danced up to the Master.

  "It's robbed I am--robbed, I tell ye!" he cried recklessly. "Ma weeWull's bin stolen while I was ben your hoose, James Moore!"

  "Yo' munna say that, ma mon. No robbin' at Kenmuir," the Master answeredsternly.

  "Then where is he? It's for you to say."

  "I've ma own idee, I 'aye," Sam'l announced opportunely, pig-bucketuplifted.

  M'Adam turned on him.

  "What, man? What is it?"

  "I misdoot yo'll iver see your dog agin, mister," Sam'l repeated, as ifhe was supplying the key to the mystery.

  "Noo, Sam'l, if yo' know owt tell it," ordered his master.

  Sam'l grunted sulkily.

  "Wheer's oor Bob
, then?" he asked.

  At that M'Adam turned on the Master.

  "'Tis that, nae doot. It's yer gray dog, James Moore, yer ---- dog. Imight ha' kent it,"--and he loosed off a volley of foul words.

  "Sweerin' will no find him," said the Master coldly. "Noo, Sam'l."

  The big man shifted his feet, and looked mournfully at M'Adam.

  "'Twas 'appen 'aif an hour agone, when I sees oor Bob goin' oot o'yard wi' little yaller tyke in his mouth. In a minnit I looks agin--andtheer! little yaller 'un was gone, and oor Bob a-sittin' a-lickin'his chops. Gone foriver, I do reck'n. Ah, yo' may well take on, TammasThornton!" For the old man was rolling about the yard, bent double withmerriment.

  M'Adam turned on the Master with the resignation of despair.

  "Man, Moore," he cried piteously, "it's yer gray dog has murdered ma weeWull! Ye have it from yer ain man."

  "Nonsense," said the Master encouragingly. "'Tis but yon girt oof."

  Sam'l tossed his head and snorted.

  "Coom, then, and i'll show yo'," he said, and led the way out of theyard. And there below them on the slope to the stream, sitting likeJustice at the Courts of Law, was Owd Bob.

  Straightway Sam'l whose humor was something of the calibre of oldRoss's, the sexton, burst into horse-merriment. "Why's he sittin' sostill, think 'ee? Ho! Ho! See un lickin' his chops--ha! ha!"--and heroared afresh. While from afar you could hear the distant rumbling of'Enry and oor Job.

  At the sight, M'Adam burst into a storm of passionate invective, andwould have rushed on the dog had not James Moore forcibly restrainedhim.

  "Bob, lad," called the Master, "coom here!"

  But even as he spoke, the gray dog cocked his ears, listened a moment,and then shot down the slope. At the same moment Tammas hallooed: "Theerhe be! yon's yaller un coomin' oot o' drain! La, Sam'l!" And there,indeed, on the slope below them, a little angry, smutty-faced figure wascrawling out of a rabbit-burrow.

  "Ye murderin' devil, wad ye duar touch ma Wullie?" yelled M'Adam, and,breaking away, pursued hotly down the hill; for the gray dog had pickedup the puppy, like a lancer a tent-peg, and was sweeping on, his captivein his mouth, toward the stream.

  Behind, hurried James Moore and Sam'l, wondering what the issue of thecomedy would be. After them toddled old Tammas, chuckling. While overthe yard-wall was now a little cluster of heads: 'Enry, oor Job, Maggieand David, and Vi'let Thornton, the dairy-maid.

  Straight on to the plank-bridge galloped Owd Bob. In the middle hehalted, leant over, and dropped his prisoner; who fell with a cool plopinto the running water beneath.

  Another moment and M'Adam had reached the bank of the stream. In heplunged, splashing and cursing, and seized the struggling puppy; thenwaded back, the waters surging about his waist, and Red Wull, limp asa wet rag, in his hand. The little man's hair was dripping, for his capwas gone; his clothes clung to him, exposing the miserableness of hisfigure; and his eyes blazed like hot ashes in his wet face.

  He sprang on to the bank, and, beside himself with passion, rushed atOwd Bob.

  "Curse ye for a ----"

  "Stan' back, or yo'll have him at your throat!" shouted the Master,thundering up. "Stan' back, I say, yo' fule!" And, as the little manstill came madly on, he reached forth his hand and hurled him back; atthe same moment, bending, he buried the other hand deep in Owd Bob'sshaggy neck. It was but just in time; for if ever the fierce desire ofbattle gleamed in gray eyes, it did in the young dog's as M'Adam camedown on him.

  The little man staggered, tottered, and fell heavily. At the shock, theblood gushed from his nose, and, mixing with the water on his face, randown in vague red streams, dripping off his chin; while Red Wull, jerkedfrom his grasp, was thrown afar, and lay motionless.

  "Curse ye!" M'Adam screamed, his face dead-white save for the runningred about his jaw. "Curse ye for a cowardly Englishman!" and, strugglingto his feet, he made at the Master.

  But Sam'l interposed his great bulk between the two.

  "Easy, little mon," he said leisurely, regarding the small fury beforehim with mournful interest. "Eh, but thee do be a little spit-cat,surely!"

  James Moore stood, breathing deep, his hand still buried in Owd Bob'scoat.

  "If yo'd touched him," he explained, "I couldna ha' stopped him. He'dha' mauled yo' afore iver I could ha' had him off. They're bad to hold,the Gray Dogs, when they're roosed."

  "Ay, ma word, that they are!" corroborated Tammas, speaking from theexperience of sixty years. "Once on, yo' canna get 'em off."

  The little man turned away.

  "Ye're all agin me," he said, and his voice shook. A pitiful figure hemade, standing there with the water dripping from him. A red stream wasrunning slowly from his chin; his head was bare, and face working.

  James Moore stood eyeing him with some pity and some contempt. Behindwas Tammas, enjoying the scene. While Sam'l regarded them all with animpassive melancholy.

  M'Adam turned and bent over Red Wull, who still lay like a dead thing.As his master handled him, the button-tail quivered feebly; he openedhis eyes, looked about him, snarled faintly, and glared with devilishhate at the gray dog and the group with him.

  The little man picked him up, stroking him tenderly. Then he turned awayand on to the bridge. Half-way across he stopped. It rattled feverishlybeneath him, for he still trembled like a palsied man.

  "Man, Moore!" he called, striving to quell the agitation in hisvoice--"I wad shoot yon dog."

  Across the bridge he turned again. "Man, Moore!" he called and paused."Ye'll not forget this day." And with that the blood flared up a dullcrimson into his white face.

  PART II THE LITTLE MAN