Chapter III. RED WULL
THE winter came and went; the lambing season was over, and springalready shyly kissing the land. And the back of the year's work broken,and her master well started on a fresh season, M'Adam's old collie,Cuttie Sark, lay down one evening and passed quietly away.
The little black-and-tan lady, Parson Leggy used to say, had beenthe only thing on earth M'Adam cared for. Certainly the two had beenwondrously devoted; and for many a market-day the Dalesmen missed theshrill, chuckling cry which heralded the pair's approach: "Weel done,Cuttie Sark!"
The little man felt his loss acutely, and, according to his wont, ventedhis ill-feeling on David and the Dalesmen. In return, Tammas, whoseforte lay in invective and alliteration, called him behind his back,"A wenomous one!" and "A wiralent wiper!" to the applause of tinklingpewters.
A shepherd without his dog is like a ship without a rudder, and M'Adamfelt his loss practically as well as otherwise. Especially did heexperience this on a day when he had to take a batch of draft-ewes overto Grammoch-town. To help him Jem Burton had lent the services of hisherring-gutted, herring-hearted, greyhound lurcher, Monkey. But beforethey had well topped Braithwaite Brow, which leads from the villageon to the marches, M'Adam was standing in the track with a rock in hishand, a smile on his face, and the tenderest blandishments in his voiceas he coaxed the dog to him. But Master Monkey knew too much for that.However, after gamboling a while longer in the middle of the flock, aboulder, better aimed than its predecessors, smote him on the hinderparts and sent him back to the Sylvester Arms, with a sore tail and asubdued heart.
For the rest, M'Adam would never have won over the sheep-infestedmarches alone with his convoy had it not been for the help of oldSaunderson and Shep, who caught him on the way and aided him.
It was in a very wrathful mood that on his way home he turned into theDalesman's Daughter in Silverdale.
The only occupants of the tap-room, as he entered, were Teddy Bolstock,the publican, Jim Mason, with the faithful Betsy beneath his chair andthe post-bags flung into the corner, and one long-limbed, drover-likeman--a stranger.
"And he coom up to Mr. Moore," Teddy was saying, "and says he, 'I'll gieye twal' pun for yon gray dog o' yourn.' 'Ah,' says Moore, 'yo' may gieme twal' hunner'd and yet you'll not get ma Bob.'--Eh, Jim?"
"And he did thot," corroborated Jim. "'Twal' hunner'd,' says he."
"James Moore and his dog agin" snapped M'Adam. "There's ithers in thewarld for bye them twa."
"Ay, but none like 'em," quoth loyal Jim.
"Na, thanks be. Gin there were there'd be no room for Adam M'Adam inthis 'melancholy vale.'"
There was silence a moment, and then--:
"You're wantin' a tyke, bain't you, Mr. M'Adam?" Jim asked.
The little man hopped round all in a hurry.
"What!" he cried in well-affected eagerness, scanning the yellow mongrelbeneath the chair. "Betsy for sale! Guid life! Where's ma check-book?"Whereat Jim, most easily snubbed of men, collapsed.
M'Adam took off his dripping coat and crossed the room to hang it on achair-back. The stranger drover followed the meagre, shirt-clad figurewith shifty eyes; then he buried his face in his mug.
M'Adam reached out a hand for the chair; and as he did so, a bomb inyellow leapt out from beneath it, and, growling horribly, attacked hisankles.
"Curse ye!" cried M'Adam, starting back.
"Ye devil, let me alone!" Then turning fiercely on the drover, "Yours,mister?" he asked. The man nodded. "Then call him aff, can't ye? D--nye!" At which Teddy Bolstock withdrew, sniggering; and Jim Mason slungthe post-bags on to his shoulder and plunged out into the rain, thefaithful Betsy following, disconsolate.
The cause of the squall, having beaten off the attacking force, hadwithdrawn again beneath its chair. M'Adam stooped down, still cursing,his wet coat on his arm, and beheld a tiny yellow puppy, crouchingdefiant in the dark, and glaring out with fiery light eyes. Seeingitself remarked, it bared its little teeth, raised its little bristles,and growled a hideous menace.
A sense of humor is many a man's salvation, and was M'Adam's oneredeeming feature. The laughableness of the thing--this ferocious atomydefying him--struck home to the little man. Delighted at such a displayof vice in so tender a plant, he fell to chuckling.
"Ye leetle devil!" he laughed. "He! he! ye leetle devil!" and flippedtogether finger and thumb in vain endeavor to coax the puppy to him.
But it growled, and glared more terribly.
"Stop it, ye little snake, or I'll flatten you!" cried the big drover,and shuffled his feet threateningly. Whereat the puppy, gurgling likehot water in a kettle, made a feint as though to advance and wipe themout, these two bad men.
M'Adam laughed again, and smote his leg.
"Keep a ceevil tongue and yer distance," says he, "or I'll e'en ha' tomak' ye. Though he is but as big as a man's thumb, a dog's a dog fora' that--he! he! the leetle devil." And he fell to flipping finger andthumb afresh.
"Ye're maybe wantin' a dog?" inquired the stranger. "Yer friend said asmuch."
"Ma friend lied; it's his way," M'Adam replied.
"I'm willin' to part wi' him," the other pursued.
The little man yawned. "Weel, I'll tak' him to oblige ye," he saidindifferently.
The drover rose to his feet.
"It's givin' 'im ye, fair givin' im ye, mind! But I'll do it!"--hesmacked a great fist into a hollow palm. "Ye may have the dog for apun'--I'll only ask _you_ a pun'," and he walked away to the window.
M'Adam drew back, the better to scan his would-be benefactor; his lowerjaw dropped, and he eyed the stranger with a drolly sarcastic air.
"A poun', man! A pouxi'--for yon noble dorg!" he pointed a crookedforefinger at the little creature, whose scowling mask peered frombeneath the chair. "Man, I couldna do it. Na, na; ma conscience wadnapermit me. 'Twad be fair robbin' ye. Ah, ye Englishmen!" he spoke halfto himself, and sadly, as if deploring the unhappy accident of hisnationality; "it's yer grand, open-hairted generosity that grips apuir Scotsman by the throat. A poun'! and for yon!" He wagged his headmournfully, cocking it sideways the better to scan his subject.
"Take him or leave him," ordered the drover truculently, still gazingout of the window.
"Wi' yer permission I'll leave him," M'Adam answered meekly.
"I'm short o' the ready," the big man pursued, "or I wouldna part withhim. Could I bide me time there's many'd be glad to give me a tennerfor one o' that bree--" he caught himself up hastily--"for a dog sic asthat."
"And yet ye offer him me for a poun'! Noble indeed!"
Nevertheless the little man had pricked his ears at the other's slipand quick correction. Again he approached the puppy, dangling his coatbefore him to protect his ankles; and again that wee wild beast sprangout, seized the coat in its small jaw, and worried it savagely.
M'Adam stooped quickly and picked up his tiny assailant; and thepuppy, suspended by its neck, gurgled and slobbered; then, wrigglingdesperately round, made its teeth meet in its adversary's shirt. Atwhich M'Adam shook it gently and laughed. Then he set to examining it.
Apparently some six weeks old; a tawny coat, fiery eyes, a square headwith small, cropped ears, and a comparatively immense jaw; the wholegiving promise of great strength, if little beauty. And this effectwas enhanced by the manner of its docking. For the miserable relic ofa tail, yet raw, looked little more than a red button adhering to itswearer's stern.
M'Adam's inspection was as minute as it was apparently absorbing; heomitted nothing from the square muzzle to the lozenge-like scut. Andevery now and then he threw a quick glance at the man at the window, whowas watching the careful scrutiny a thought uneasily.
"Ye've cut him short," he said at length, swinging round on the drover.
"Ay; strengthens their backs," the big man answered with averted gaze.
M'Adam's chin went up in the air; his mouth partly opened and hiseyelids partly closed as he eyed his informant.
"Oh, ay," he said.
"Ye wad ha' bought him yerseif', nae doot?" M'Adam inquired blandly.
"In course; if you says so."
"Or airblins ye bred him?"
"'Appen I did."
"Ye'll no be from these parts?"
"Will I no?" answered the other.
A smile of genuine pleasure stole over M'Adam's face. He laid his handon the other's arm.
"Man," he said gently, "ye mind me o' hame." Then almost in the samebreath: "Ye said ye found him?"
It was the stranger's turn to laugh.
"Ha! ha! Ye teekle me, little mon. Found 'im? Nay; I was give 'im by afriend. But there's nowt amiss wi' his breedin', ye may believe me."
The great fellow advanced to the chair under which the puppy lay. Itleapt out like a lion, and fastened on his huge boot.
"A rare bred un, look 'ee! a rare game un. Ma word, he's a big-heartedun! Look at the back on him; see the jaws to him; mark the pluck ofhim!" He shook his booted foot fiercely, tossing his leg to and fro likea tree in a wind. But the little creature, now raised ceilingward, nowdashed to the ground, held on with incomparable doggedness, till itssmall jaw was all bloody and muzzle wrinkled with the effort.
"Ay, ay, that'll do," M'Adam interposed, irritably.
The drover ceased his efforts.
"Now, I'll mak' ye a last offer." He thrust his head down to a levelwith the other's, shooting out his neck. "It's throwin' him at ye, mind.'Tain't buyin' him ye'll be--don't go for to deceive yourself. Ye mayhave him for fifteen shillin'. Why do I do it, ye ask? Why, 'cos I thinkye'll be kind to him," as the puppy retreated to its chair, leaving aspotted track of red along its route.
"Ay, ye wadna be happy gin ye thocht he'd no a comfortable hame,conseederate man?" M'Adam answered, eyeing the dark track on the floor.Then he put on his coat.
"Na, na, he's no for me. Weel, I'll no detain ye. Good-nicht to ye,mister!" and he made for the door.
"A gran' worker he'll be," called the drover after him.
"Ay; muckle wark he'll mak' amang the sheep wi' sic a jaw and sic atemper. Weel, I maun be steppin'. Good-nicht to ye."
"Ye'll niver have sich anither chanst."
"Nor niver wush to. Na, na; he'll never mak' a sheep-dog"; and thelittle man turned up the collar of his coat.
"Will he not?" cried the other scornfully. "There niver yet was one o'that line--" he stopped abruptly.
The little man spun round.
"Iss?" he said, as innocent as any child; "ye were sayin'?"
The other turned to the window and watched the rain fallingmonotonously.
"Ye'll be wantin' wet," he said adroitly.
"Ay, we could do wi' a drappin'. And he'll never mak' a sheep-dog."He shoved his cap down on his head. "Weel, good-nicht to ye!" and hestepped out into the rain.
* * * * *
It was long after dark when the bargain was finally struck.
Adam M'Adam's Red Wull became that little man's property for thefollowing realizable assets: ninepence in cash--three coppers and adoubtful sixpence; a plug of suspicious tobacco in a well-worn pouch;and an old watch.
"It's clean givin' 'im ye," said the stranger bitterly, at the end ofthe deal.
"It's mair the charity than aught else mak's me sae leeberal," the otheranswered gently. "I wad not like to see ye pinched."
"Thank ye kindly," the big man replied with some acerbity, and plungedout into the darkness and rain. Nor was that long-limbed drover-man everagain seen in the countryside. And the puppy's previous history--whetherhe was honestly come by or no, whether he was, indeed, of the famous RedMcCulloch* strain, ever remained a mystery in the Daleland.
*N. B.--You may know a Red McCulloch anywhere by the ring of white upon his tail some two inches from the root.
Bob, Son of Battle Page 3
