Bob, Son of Battle by Alfred Ollivant (classic literature list TXT) đ
- Author: Alfred Ollivant
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âThank ye, lad,â he said. âBut I reckân we can âfend for oorselâs, Bob and I. Eh, Owd Un?â
Anxious as David might be, he was not so anxious as to be above taking a mean advantage of this state of strained apprehension to work on Maggieâs fears.
One evening he was escorting her home from church, when, just before they reached the larch copse: âGooâ sakes! Whatâs that?â he ejaculated in horror-laden accents, starting back.
âWhat, Davie?â cried the girl, shrinking up to him all in a tremble.
âCouldna say for sure. It mought be owt, or agin it mought be nowt. But yoâ grip my arm, Iâll grip yoâ waist.â
Maggie demurred.
âCanst see onythinâ?â she asked, still in a flutter.
âBeâind the âedge.â
âWheer?â
âTheer! ââpointing vaguely.
âI canna see nowt.â
âWhy, theer, lass. Can yoâ not see? Then yoâ pit your head along oâ mineâsoâcloserâ- closer.â Then, in aggrieved tones: âWhativer is the matter wiâ yoâ, wench? I might be a leprosy.â
But the girl was walking away with her head high as the snow-capped Pike.
âSo long as I live, David MâAdam,â she cried, âIâll niver go to church wiâ you agin!â
âIss, but you will though-.-onst,â he answered low.
Maggie whisked round in a flash, superbly indignant.
âWhat dâyoâ mean, sir-r-r?â
âYoâ know what I mean, lass,â he replied sheepish and shuffling before her queenly anger.
She looked him up and down, and down and up again.
âIâll niver speak to you agin, Mr. MâAdam, she cried; ânot if it was ever soâNay, Iâll walk home by myself, thank you. Iâll haâ nowt to do wiâ you.â
So the two must return to Kenmuir, one behind the other, like a lady and her footman..
Davidâs audacity had more than once already all but caused a rupture between the pair. And the occurrence behind the hedge set the cap on his impertinences. That was past enduring and Maggie by her bearing let him know it.
David tolerated the girlâs new attitude for exactly twelve minutes by the kitchen clock. Then: âSulk wiâ me, indeed! Iâll teach her!â and he marched out of the door, âNiver to cross it agin, ma word!â
Afterward, however, he relented so far as to continue his visits as before; but he made. it clear that he only came to see the Master and hear of Owd Bobâs doings. On these occasions he loved best to sit on the window-sill outside the kitchen, and talk and chaff with Tammas and the men in the yard, feigning an uneasy bashfulness was reference made to Bessie Boistock. And after sitting thus for some time, he would half turn, look over his.
the girl within: âOh, good-eveninâ! I forgot yoâ, ââand then resume his conversation. While the girl within, her face a little pinker, her lips a little tighter, and her chin a little higher, would go about her business, pretending neither to hear nor care.
The suspicions that MâAdam nourished dark designs against James Moore were somewhat confirmed in that, on several occasions in the bitter dusks of January afternoons, a little insidious figure was reported to have been seen lurking among the farm-buildings of Kenmuir.
Once Samâl Todd caught the little man fairly, skulking away in the woodshed. Samâl took him up bodily and carried him down the slope to the Wastrel, shaking him gently as he went.
Across the stream he put him on his feet.
âIf I catches yoâ cadgerinâ arounâ the farm agin, little mon,â he admonished, holding up a warning finger; âIâll takâ yoâ and drap yoâ in tâ Sheep-wash, I warn yoâ fair. Iâd haâ done it noo anâ yoâd bin a bigger and a younger mon. But theer! yoâm sic a scrappety bit. Noo, nfl whoam.â And the little man slunk silently away.
For a time he appeared there no more. Then, one evening when it was almost dark, James Moore, going the round of the outbuildings, felt Owd Bob stiffen against his side.
and, dropping his hand on the old dogâs neck felt a ruff of rising hair beneath it.
âSteady, lad, steady,â he whispered; âwhat is ât?â He peered forward into the gloom; and at length discerned a little familiar figure huddled away in the crevice between two stacks.
âItâs yo, is it, MâAdam?â he said, and, bending, seized a wisp of Owd Bobâs coat in a grip like a vice.
Then, in a great voice, moved to rare anger. âOot oâ this afore I do ye a hurt, ye meeserable spyinâ creeturtâ he roared. âYoâ mun wait. till dark cooms to hide yoâ, yoâ coward, afore yo daur coom crawlinâ aboot ma hoose, frighteninâ the women-folk and up to yer devilments. If yoâve owt to say to me, coom like a mon in the open day. Noo git aff wiâ yoâ, afore I lay hands to yoâ!â
He stood there in the dusk, tall and mighty, a terrible figure, one hand pointing to the gate, the other still grasping the gray dog.
The little man scuttled away in the halflight, and out of the yard.
On the plank-bridge he turned and shook his fist at the darkening house.
âCurse ye, James Moore!â he sobbed, âIâll be even wiâ ye yet.â
Chapter XV. DEATH ON THE MARCHES
ON the top of this there followed an attempt to poison Thâ Owd Un. At least there was no other accounting for the affair.
In the dead of a long-remembered night James Moore was waked by a low moaning beneath his room. He leapt out of bed and ran to the window to see his favorite dragging about the moonlit yard, the dark head down, the proud tail for once lowered, the lithe limbs wooden, heavy, unnaturalâaltogether pitiful.
In a moment he was downstairs and out to his friendâs assistance. âWhativer isât, Owd Un?â he cried in anguish.
At the sound of that dear voice the old dog tried to struggle to him, could not, and fell, whimpering.
In a second the Master was with him, examining him tenderly, and crying for Samâl, who slept above the stables.
There was every symptom of foul play: the tongue was swollen and almost black; the breathing labored; the body twiched horribly; and the soft gray eyes all bloodshot and straining in agony.
With the aid of Samâl and Maggie, drenching first and stimulants after, the Master pulled him around for the moment. And soon Jim Mason and Parson Leggy, hurriedly summoned, came running hot-foot to the rescue.
Prompt and stringent measures saved the victimâbut only just. For a time the best sheepdog in the North was pawing at the Gate of Death. In the end, as the gray dawn broke, the danger passed.
The attempt to get at him, if attempt it was, aroused passionate indignation in the countryside. It seemed the culminating-point of the excitement long bubbling.
There were no traces of the culprit; not a vestige to lead to incrimination, so cunningly had the criminal accomplished his foul task. But as to the perpetrator, if there where no proofs there were yet fewer doubts.
At the Sylvester Arms Long Kirby asked MâAdam point-blank for his explanation of the matter.
âHoo do I âcount for it?â the little man cried. âI dinna âcount for it ava.â
âThen hoo did it happen?â asked Tammas with asperity.
âI dinna believe it did happen,â the little man replied. âItâs a lee oâ James Mooreâsâ a charactereestic lee.â Whereon they chucked him out incontinently; for the Terror for once was elsewhere.
Now that afternoon is to be remembered for threefold causes. Firstly, because, as has been said, MâAdam was alone. Secondly, because, a few minutes after his ejectment, the window of the tap-room was thrown open from without, and the little man looked in. He spoke no word, but those dim, smouldering eyes of his wandered from face to face, resting for a second on each, as if to burn them on his memory. âIâll remember ye, gentlemen,â he said at length quietly, shut the window, and was gone.
Thirdly, for a reason now to be told.
Though ten days had elapsed since the attempt on him, the gray dog had never been his old self since. He had attacks of shivering; his vitality seemed sapped; he tired easily, and, great heart, would never own it. At length on this day, James Moore, leaving the old dog behind him, had gone over to Grammochtown to consult Dingley, the vet. On his way home he met Jim Mason with Gyp, the faithful Betsyâs unworthy successor, at the Dalesmanâs Daughter. Together they started for the long tramp home over the Marches. And that journey is marked with a red stone in this story.
All day long the hills had been bathed in inpenetrable fog. Throughout there had been an accompanying drizzle; and in the distance the wind had moaned a storm-menace. To the darkness of the day was added the sombreness of falling night as the three began the ascent of the Murk Muir Pass. By the time they emerged into the Devilâs Bowl it was altogether black and blind. But the threat of wind had passed, leaving utter stillness; and they could hear the splash of an otter on the far side of the Lone Tarn as they skirted that gloomy waterâs edge. When at length the last steep rise on to the Marches had been topped, a breath of soft air smote them lightly, and the curtain of fog began drifting away.
The two men swung steadily through the heather with that reaching stride the birthright of moor-men and highianders. They talked but little, for such was their nature: a word or two on sheep and the approaching lambingtime; thence on to the coming Trials; the Shepherdsâ Trophy; Owd Bob and the attempt on him; and from that to MâAdam and the Tailless Tyke,
âDâyoâ reckân MâAdam had a hand inât?â the postman was asking.
âNay; thereâs no proof.â
âCeptinâ heâs mad to get shut oâ Thâ Owd Un afore Cup Day.â
or meâit makâs no differ.â For a dog is disqualified from competing for the Trophy who has changed hands during the six months prior to the meeting. And this holds good though the change be only from father to son on the decease of the former.
Jim looked up inquiringly at his companion.
âDâyoâ think itâll coorn to that?â he asked.
âWhat?â
âWhyâmurder
âNot if I can help it,â the other answered grimly.
The fog had cleared away by now, and the moon was up. To their right, on the crest of a rise some two hundred yards away, a low wood stood out black against the sky. As they passed it, a blackbird rose up screaming, and a brace of wood-pigeons winged noisily away.
âHullo! hark to the yammerinâ!â muttered Jim, stopping; âand at this time oâ night too!â
Some rabbits, playing in the moonlight on the outskirts of the wood, sat up, listened, and hopped back into security. At the same moment a big hill-fox slunk out of the covert. He stole a pace forward and halted, listening with one ear back and one pad raised; then cantered silently away in the gloom, passing close to the two men and yet not observing them.
âWhatâs up, I wonder?â mused the postman.
âThe fox set âem clackerinâ, I reckân,â said the Master.
âNot he; he was scared âmaist oot oâ his skin,â the other answered. Then in tones of suppressed excitement, with his hands on James Mooreâs arm: âAnd, lookâee, theerâs ma Gyp a-beckoninâ on us!â
There, indeed, on the crest of the rise beside the wood, was the little lurcher, now looking back at his master, now creeping stealthily forward.
âMa word! theerâs summat wrong yonder!â cried Jim, and jerked the post-bags off his shoulder. âCoom on, Master! ââand he set off running toward the dog; while James Moore, himself excited now, followed with an agility that
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