Bob, Son of Battle by Alfred Ollivant (classic literature list TXT) đ
- Author: Alfred Ollivant
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âThere are my reasons!â said MâAdam, pointing to the forest of menacing faces. âYe see Iâm no beloved amang yonder gentlemen, andââin a stage whisper in the otherâs ear ââI thocht maybe Iâd be âtacked on the road.â
Tammas foremost of the crowd, had now his foot upon the first plank.
âYe robber! ye thief! Wait till we set hands on ye, you and yer gorilla!â he called.
MâAdam half turned.
âWullie,â he said quietly, âkeep the bridge.â
At the order the Tailless Tyke shot gladly forward, and the leaders on the bridge as hastily back. The dog galloped on to the rattling plank, took his post fair and square in the centre of the narrow way, and stood facing the hostile crew like Cerberus guarding the gates of hell: his bull-head was thrust forward, hackles up, teeth glinting, and a distant rumbling in his throat, as though daring them to come on.
âYoâ first, ole lad!â said Tammas, hopping agilely behind Long Kirby.
âNay; the old uns lead!â cried the big smith, his face gray-white. He wrenched round, pinned the old man by the arms, and held him forcibly before him as a covering shield. There ensued an unseemly struggle betwixt the two valiants, Tammas bellowing and kicking in the throes of mortal fear.
âJim Masonâll show us,â he suggested at last.
âNay,â said honest Jim; âIâm fearâd.â He could say it with impunity; for the pluck of Postie Jim was a matter long past dispute.
Then Jem Burtonâd go first?
Nay; Jem had a lovinâ wife and dear little kids at âome.
Then Big Bell?
Big Bellâd see âisseif further first.
A tall figure came forcing through the crowd, his face a little paler than its wont, and a formidable knob-kerry in his hand.
âIâm goinâ!â said David.
âBut yoâre not,â answered burly Samâl, gripping the boy from behind with arms like the roots of an oak. âYour timeâll coom soon enough by the look on yoâ wiâ niver no hurry.
And the sense of the Dalesmen was with the big man; for, as old Rob Saunderson said:
âI reckân heâd liefer claw on to your throat,. lad, nor ony oâ oors.â
As there was no one forthcoming to claim the honor of the lead, Tammas came forward with cunning counsel.
âTell yoâ what, lads, weâd best let âem as donât know nowt at all aboot him go first. And onst theyâre on, mind, we winna let âem off; but keep a-shovinâ and a-boviri âon âem forraâd. Then usâll foller.
By this time there was a little naked space of green round the bridge-head, like a fairy circle, into which the uninitiated might not penetrate. Round this the mob hedged: the Dalesmen in front, striving knavishly back and bawling to those behind to leggo that shovinâ; and these latter urging valorously forward, yelling jeers and contumely at the front rank. âCome on! â0âs afraid? Lerrus. through to âem, then, ye Royal Stanâ-backs!ââfor well they knew the impossibility of their demand.
And as they wedged and jostled thus, there stole out from their midst as gallant a champion as ever trod the grass. He trotted out into the ring, the observed of all, and paused to gaze at the gaunt figure on the bridge. The sun lit the sprinkling of snow on the dome of his head; one forepaw was off the ground ;.. and he stood there, royally alert, scanning his antagonist.
âThâ Owd Un!â went up in a roar fit to split the air as the hero of the day was recognized. And the Dalesmen gave a pace forward,, spontaneously as the gray knight-errant stole across the green.
âOor Bobâll fetch him!â they roared, their blood leaping to fever heat, and gripped their sticks, determined in stern reality to follow now.
The gray champion trotted up on to the
bridge, and paused again, the long hair about his neck rising like a ruff, and a strange glint in his eyes; and the holder of the bridge never moved. Red and Gray stood thus, face to. face: the one gay yet resolute, the other motionless, his great head slowly sinking between his forelegs, seemingly petrified.
There was no shouting now: it was time forâdeeds, not words. Only, above the stillness, came a sound from the bridge like the snore of a giant in his sleep, and blending, with it, a low, deep, purring thunder like some monster cat well pleased.
âWullie,â came a solitary voice from the far side, âkeep the bridge!â
One ear went back, one ear was still for-âward; the great head was low and lower between his forelegs and the glowing eyes rolled upward so that the watchers could see the murderous white.
Forward the gray dog stepped.
Then, for the second time that afternoon, a -voice, stern and hard, came ringing down from the slope above over the heads of the many.
âBob, lad, coom back!â
âHe! he! I thocht that was cominâ,â sneered the small voice over the stream.
The gray dog heard, and checked.
âBob, lad, coom in, I say!â
At that he swung round and marched slowly back, gallant as he had come, dignified still in his mortification.
And Red Wull threw back his head and bellowed a paean of victoryâchallenge, triumph, âscorn, all blended in that bull-like, bloodchilling blare.
In the mean time, MâAdam and the secretary had concluded their business. It had been settled that the Cup was to be delivered over to James Moore not later than the following Saturday.
âSaturday, see! at the latest!â the secretary cried as he turned and trotted off.
âMr. Trotter,â MâAdam called after him. âIâm sorry, but ye maun bide this side the Lea till Iâve reached the foot oâ the Pass. Gin they gentlemen âânodding toward the crowd
ââshould set hands on me, whyââ and he shrugged his shoulders significantly. âForbye, Wullieâs keepinâ the bridge.â
With that the little man strolled off leis-. urely; now dallying to pick a flower, now to wave a mocking hand at the furious mob, and so slowly on to the foot of the Muirk Muir Pass.
There he turned and whistled that shrill peculiar note.
âWullie, Wullie, to me!â he called.
At that, with one last threat thrown at theâ thousand souls he had held at bay for thirty minutes, the Tailless Tyke swung about and galloped after his lord.
Chapter XIII. THE FACE IN THE FRAME
ALL Friday MâAdarn never left the kitchen. He sat opposite the Cup, in a coma, as it were; and Red Wull lay motionless at his feet.
Saturday came, and still the two never budged. Toward the evening the little man rose, all in a tremble, and took the Cup down from the mantelpiece; then he sat down again with it in his arms.
âEh, Wullie, Wullie, is it a dream? Haâ they took her fra us? Eh, but itâs you and I alane, lad.â
He hugged it to him, crying silently, and rocking to and I ro like a mother with a dying child. And Red Wull sat up on his haunches, and weaved from side to side in sympathy.
As the dark was falling, David looked in.
At the sound of the opening door the little man swung round noiselessly, the Cup nursed in his arms, and glared, sullen and suspicious, at the boy; yet seemed not to recognize him. In the halflight David could see the tears coursing down the little wizened face.
âPon ma life, heâs gaeinâ daft!â was his comment as he turned away to Kenmuir. And again the mourners were left alone.
âA few hours noo, Wullie,â the little man wailed, âand sheâll be gane. We won her, Wullie, you and I, won her fair: sheâs lit the hoose for us; sheâs softened aâ for usâand God kens we needed it; she was the ae thing we had to look to and love. And noo theyâre takinâ her awaâ, and âtwill be night agin. Weâve cherished her, weâve garnished her, weâve loved her like oor am; and noo she maun gang to strangers who know her not.â
He rose to his feet, and the great dog rose with him. His voice heightened to a scream, and he swayed with the Cup in his arms till it seemed he must fall.
âDid they win her fair, Wullie? Na; they plotted, they conspired, they worked ilka am oâ them agin us, and they beat us. Ay, and noo theyâre robbinâ usârobbinâ us! But they shallna haâ her. Oorâs or naebodyâs, Wullie! Weâll finish her sooner nor that.â
He banged the Cup down on the table and rushed madly out of the room, Red Wull at his heels. In a moment he came running back, brandishing a great axe about his head.
âCome on, Wullie!â he cried. ââScots wha haeâ! Nooâs the day and nooâs the hour! Come on!â
On. the table before him, serene and beautiful, stood the target of his madness. The little man ran at it, swinging his murderous weapon like a flail.
âOorâs or naebodyâs Wulliel Come on.
âLay the proud usurpers lowâ!â He aimed a mighty buffet; and the Shepherdsâ Trophyâ the Shepherdsâ Trophy which had won through the hardships of a hundred yearsâwas almost gone. It seemed to quiver as the blow fell. But the cruel steel missed, and the axe-head sank into the wood, clean and deep, like a spade in snow.
Red Wull had leapt on to the table, and in his cavernous voice was grumbling a chorus to his masterâs yells. The little man danced up and down, tugging and straining at the axe-handle,
âYou and I, Wullie!
âTyrants fall in every foe! Libertyâs in every blow!â
The axe-head was as immoveable as the Muir Pike.
âLet us do or die!â
The shaft snapped, and the little man tottered back. Red Wull jumped down from the table, and, in doing so, brushed against the Cup. It toppled* over on to the floor, and rolled tinkling away in the dust. And the little man fled madly out of the house, still screaming his war-song.
When, late that night, MâAdam returned home, the Cup was gone. Down on his hands and knees he traced out its path, plain to see, where it had rolled along the dusty floor. Beyond that there was no sign.
At first he was too much overcome to speak. Then he raved round the room like a derelict ship, Red Wull following uneasily behind. He cursed; he blasphemed; he screamed and beat the walls with feverish hands. A stranger, passing, might well have thought this was a private Bedlam. At last, exhausted, he sat down and cried.
âItâs David, Wullie, ye may depend; David thatâs robbed his fatherâs hoose. Oh, itâs a grand thing to haâ a dutiful son!ââand he bowed his gray head in his hands.
David, indeed, it was. He had come back to the Grange during his fatherâs absence, and, taking the Cup from its grimy bed, had marched it away to its rightful home. For that evening at Kenmuir, James Moore had said to him:
âDavid, your fatherâs not sent the Cup. I shall come and fetch it to-morrow.â And David knew he meant it. Therefore, in order to save a collision between his father and his friendâa collision the issue of which he dared hardly contemplate, knowing, as he did, the unalterable determination of the one and the lunatic passion of the otherâthe boy had resolved to fetch the Cup himself, then and there, in the teeth, if needs be, of his father and the Tailless Tyke. And he had done it.
When he reached home that night he marched, contrary to his wont, straight into the kitchen.
There sat his father facing the door, awaiting him, his hands upon his knees. For once the little man was alone; and David, brave though he was, thanked heaven devoutly that Red Wull was elsewhere.
For a while
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