Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer
BOB, SON OF BATTLE
By Alfred Ollivant
CONTENTS
PART I THE COMING OF THE TAILLESS TYKE Chapter I. The Gray Dog Chapter II. A Son of Hagar Chapter III. Red Wull Chapter IV. First Blood
PART II THE LITTLE MAN Chapter V. A Man's Son Chapter VI. A Licking or a Lie Chapter VII. The White Winter Chapter VIII. M'Adam and His Coat
PART III THE SHEPHERDS' TROPHY Chapter IX. Rivals, Chapter X. Red Wull Wins Chapter XI. Oor Bob, Chapter XII. How Red Wull Held the Bridge Chapter XIII. The Face in the Frame
PART IV THE BLACK KILLER Chapter XIV. A Mad Man Chapter XV. Death on the Marches, Chapter XVI. The Black Killer Chapter XVII. A Mad Dog Chapter XVIII. How the Killer was Singed Chapter XIX. Lad and Lass Chapter XX. The Snapping of the String Chapter XXI. Horror of Darkness
PART V OWD BOB O' KENMUIR Chapter XXII. A Man and a Maid Chapter XXIII. Th' Owd Un Chapter XXIV. A Shot in the Night Chapter XXV. The Shepherds' Trophy.
PART VI THE BLACK KILLER Chapter XXVI. Red-handed Chapter XXVII. For the Defence Chapter XXVIII. The Devil's Bowl Chapter XXIX. The Devil's Bowl Chapter XXX. The Tailless Tyke at Bay
Postscript
PART I THE COMING OF THE TAILLESS TYKE
Chapter I. THE GRAY DOG
THE sun stared brazenly down on a gray farmhouse lying, long and lowin the shadow of the Muir Pike; on the ruins of peel-tower and barmkyn,relics of the time of raids, it looked; on ranges of whitewashedoutbuildings; on a goodly array of dark-thatched ricks.
In the stack-yard, behind the lengthy range of stables, two men werethatching. One lay sprawling on the crest of the rick, the other stoodperched on a ladder at a lower level.
The latter, small, old, with shrewd nut-brown countenance, was TammasThornton, who had served the Moores of Kenmuir for more than half acentury. The other, on top of the stack, wrapped apparently in gloomymeditation, was Sam'l Todd. A solid Dales--man, he, with huge hands andhairy arms; about his face an uncomely aureole of stiff, red hair; andon his features, deep-seated, an expression of resolute melancholy.
"Ay, the Gray Dogs, bless 'em!" the old man was saying. "Yo' canna beat'em not nohow. Known 'em ony time this sixty year, I have, and niverknew a bad un yet. Not as I say, mind ye, as any on 'em cooms up to Rexson o' Rally. Ah, he was a one, was Rex! We's never won Cup since hisday."
"Nor niver shall agin, yo' may depend," said the other gloomily.
Tammas clucked irritably.
"G'long, Sam'! Todd!" he cried, "Yo' niver happy onless yo' making'yo'self miser'ble. I niver see sich a chap. Niver win agin? Why, ooryoung Bob he'll mak' a right un, I tell yo', and I should know. Not aswhat he'll touch Rex son o' Rally, mark ye! I'm niver saying' so, Sam'lTodd. Ah, he was a one, was Rex! I could tell yo' a tale or two o' Rex.I mind me hoo--"
The big man interposed hurriedly.
"I've heard it afore, Tammas, I welly 'ave," he said.
Tammas paused and looked angrily up.
"Yo've heard it afore, have yo', Sam'l Todd?" he asked sharply. "Andwhat have yo' heard afore?"
"Yo' stories, owd lad--yo' stories o' Rex son o' Rally."
"Which on' em
"All on 'em, Tammas, all on 'em--mony a time. I'm fair sick on 'em,Tammas, I welly am," he pleaded.
The old man gasped. He brought down his mallet with a vicious smack.
"I'll niver tell yo' a tale agin, Sam'l Todd, not if yo' was to go onyo' bended knees for't. Nay; it bain't no manner o' use talkin'. Niveragin, says I."
"I niver askt yo'," declared honest Sam'l.
"Nor it wouldna ha' bin no manner o' use if yo' had," said the otherviciously. "I'll niver tell yo' a tale agin if I was to live to be ahunderd."
"Yo'll not live to be a hunderd, Tammas Thornton, nor near it," saidSam'l brutally.
"I'll live as long as some, I warrant," the old man replied with spirit."I'll live to see Cup back i' Kenmuir, as I said afore."
"If yo' do," the other declared with emphasis, "Sam'l Todd niver spake atrue word. Nay, nay, lad; yo're owd, yo're wambly, your time's near runor I'm the more mistook."
"For mussy's sake hold yo' tongue, Sam'l Todd! It's clack-clack allday--" The old man broke off suddenly, and buckled to his work withsuspicious vigor. "Mak' a show yo' bin workin', lad," he whispered."Here's Master and oor Bob."
As he spoke, a tall gaitered man with weather-beaten face, strong, lean,austere, and the blue-gray eyes of the hill-country, came striding intothe yard. And trotting soberly at his heels, with the gravest, saddesteyes ever you saw, a sheep-dog puppy.
A rare dark gray he was, his long coat, dashed here and there withlighter touches, like a stormy sea moonlit. Upon his chest an escutcheonof purest white, and the dome of his head showered, as it were, witha sprinkling of snow. Perfectly compact, utterly lithe, inimitablygraceful with his airy-fairy action; a gentleman every inch, you couldnot help but stare at him--Owd Bob o' Kenmuir.
At the foot of the ladder the two stopped. And the young dog, placinghis forepaws on a lower rung, looked up, slowly waving his silverybrush.
"A proper Gray Dog!" mused Tammas, gazing down into the dark facebeneath him. "Small, yet big; light to get about on backs o' his sheep,yet not too light. Wi' a coat hard a-top to keep oot Daleland weather,soft as sealskin beneath. And wi' them sorrerful eyes on him as nivergoes but wi' a good un. Amaist he minds me o' Rex son o' Rally."
"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" groaned Sam'l. But the old man heard him not.
"Did 'Enry Farewether tell yo' hoo he acted this mornin', Master?" heinquired, addressing the man at the foot of the ladder.
"Nay," said the other, his stern eyes lighting.
"Why, 'twas this way, it seems," Tammas continued. "Young bull gets'isseif loose, somegate and marches oot into yard, o'erturns milkpail,and prods owd pigs i' ribs. And as he stands lookin' about un, thinking'what he shall be up to next, oor Bob sees un 'An' what yo' doin' here,Mr. Bull?' he seems to say, cockin' his ears and trottin' up gay-like.Wi' that bull bloats fit to bust 'isseif, lashes wi's tail, waggles hishead, and gets agate o' chargin' 'im. But Bob leaps oot o' way, quickas lightnin' yet cool as butter, and when he's done his foolin drives unback agin."
"Who seed all this?" interposed Sam'l, sceptically.
"'Enry Farewether from the loft. So there, Fat'ead!" Tammas replied, andcontinued his tale. "So they goes on; bull chargin' and Bob drivin'un back and back, hoppin' in and oot agin, quiet as a cowcumber, yetdetermined. At last Mr. Bull sees it's no manner o' use that gate, so heturns, rares up, and tries to jump wall. Nary a bit. Young dog jumpsin on un and nips him by tail. Wi' that, bull tumbles down in a hurry,turns wi' a kind o' groan, and marches back into stall, Bob after un.And then, dang me!"--the old man beat the ladder as he loosed off thislast titbit,--"if he doesna sit' isseif i' door like a sentrynel till'Enry Farewether coom up. Hoo's that for a tyke not yet a year?"
Even Sam'l Todd was moved by the tale.
"Well done, oor Bob!" he cried.
"Good, lad!" said the Master, laying a hand on the dark head at hisknee.
"Yo' may well say that," cried Tammas in a kind of ecstasy. "A properGray Dog, I tell yo'. Wi' the brains of a man and the way of a woman.Ah, yo' canna beat 'em nohow, the Gray Dogs o' Kenmuir!"
The patter of cheery feet rang out on the plank-bridge over the streambelow them. Tammas glanced round.
"Here's David," he said. "Late this mornin' he be."
A fair-haired boy came spurring up the slope, his face all aglow withthe speed of his running. Straightway the young dog dashed off tomeet him with a fiery speed his sober gait belied. T
he two raced backtogether into the yard.
"Poor lad!" said Sam'l gloomily, regarding the newcomer.
"Poor heart!" muttered Tammas. While the Master's face softened visibly.Yet there looked little to pity in this jolly, rocking lad with thetousle of light hair and fresh, rosy countenance.
"G'mornin', Mister Moore! Morn'n, Tammas! Morn'n, Sam'l!" he panted ashe passed; and ran on through the hay-carpeted yard, round the corner ofthe stable, and into the house.
In the kitchen, a long room with red-tiled floor and latticed windows,a woman, white-aproned and frail-faced, was bustling about her morningbusiness. To her skirts clung a sturdy, bare-legged boy; while atthe oak table in the centre of the room a girl with brown eyes andstraggling hair was seated before a basin of bread and milk.
"So yo've coom at last, David!" the woman cried, as the boy entered;and, bending, greeted him with a tender, motherly salutation, which hereturned as affectionately. "I welly thowt yo'd forgot us this mornin'.Noo sit you' doon beside oor Maggie." And soon he, too, was engaged in atask twin to the girl's.
The two children munched away in silence, the little bare-legged boywatching them, the while, critically. Irritated by this prolonged stare,David at length turned on him.
"Weel, little Andrew," he said, speaking in that paternal fashion inwhich one small boy loves to address another. "Weel, ma little lad,yo'm coomin' along gradely." He leant back in his chair the better tocriticise his subject. But Andrew, like all the Moores, slow of speech,preserved a stolid silence, sucking a chubby thumb, and regarding hispatron a thought cynically.
David resented the expression on the boy's countenance, and half rose tohis feet.
"Yo' put another face on yo', Andrew Moore," he cried threateningly, "orI'll put it for yo'."
Maggie, however, interposed opportunely.
"Did yo' feyther beat yo' last night?" she inquired in a low voice; andthere was a shade of anxiety in the soft brown eyes.
"Nay," the boy answered; "he was a-goin' to, but he never did. Drunk,"he added in explanation.
"What was he goin' to beat yo' for, David?" asked Mrs. Moore.
"What for? Why, for the fun o't--to see me squiggle," the boy replied,and laughed bitterly.
"Yo' shouldna speak so o' your dad, David," reproved the other asseverely as was in her nature.
"Dad! a fine dad! I'd dad him an I'd the chance," the boy mutteredbeneath his breath. Then, to turn the conversation:
"Us should be startin', Maggie," he said, and going to the door. "Bob!Owd Bob, lad! Ar't coomin' along?" he called.
The gray dog came springing up like an antelope, and the three startedoff for school together.
Mrs. Moore stood in the doorway, holding Andrew by the hand, and watchedthe departing trio.
"'Tis a pretty pair, Master, surely," she said softly to her husband,who came up at the moment.
"Ay, he'll be a fine lad if his fether'll let him," the tall mananswered.
"Tis a shame Mr. M'Adam should lead him such a life," the womancontinued indignantly. She laid a hand on her husband's arm, and lookedup at him coaxingly.
"Could yo' not say summat to un, Master, think 'ee? Happen he'd 'tendto you," she pleaded. For Mrs. Moore imagined that there could be no onebut would gladly heed what James Moore, Master of Kenmuir, might sayto him. "He's not a bad un at bottom, I do believe," she continued. "Henever took on so till his missus died. Eh, but he was main fond o' her."
Her husband shook his head "Nay, mother," he said "'Twould nob' butmak' it worse for t' lad. M'Adam'd listen to no one, let alone me." And,indeed, he was right; for the tenant of the Grange made no secret of hisanimosity for his straight-going, straight-speaking neighbor.
* * * * *
Owd Bob, in the mean time, had escorted the children to the larch-copsebordering on the lane which leads to the village. Now he creptstealthily back to the yard, and established himself behind thewater-butt.
How he played and how he laughed; how he teased old Whitecap till thatgray gander all but expired of apoplexy and impotence; how he ran theroan bull-calf, and aroused the bitter wrath of a portly sow, mother ofmany, is of no account.
At last, in the midst of his merry mischief-making, a stern voicearrested him.
"Bob, lad, I see 'tis time we larned you yo' letters."
So the business of life began for that dog of whom the simplefarmer-folk of the Daleland still love to talk,--Bob, son of Battle,last of the Gray Dogs of Kenmuir.
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