Bob, Son of Battle by Alfred Ollivant
Chapter XIII. THE FACE IN THE FRAME
ALL Friday M'Adam never left the kitchen. He sat opposite the Cup, in acoma, as it were; and Red Wull lay motionless at his feet.
Saturday came, and still the two never budged. Toward the eveningthe little man rose, all in a tremble, and took the Cup down from themantelpiece; then he sat down again with it in his arms.
"Eh, Wullie, Wullie, is it a dream? Ha' they took her fra us? Eh, butit's you and I alane, lad."
He hugged it to him, crying silently, and rocking to and fro like amother with a dying child. And Red Wull sat up on his haunches, andweaved 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 theboy; yet seemed not to recognize him. In the half-light David could seethe tears coursing down the little wizened face.
"'Pon ma life, he's gaein' daft!" was his comment as he turned away toKenmuir. And again the mourners were left alone.
"A few hours noo, Wullie," the little man wailed, "and she'll be gane.We won her, Wullie, you and I, won her fair: she's lit the hoose forus; she's softened a' for us--and God kens we needed it; she was the aething we had to look to and love. And noo they're takin' her awa', and'twill be night agin. We've cherished her, we've garnished her, we'veloved her like oor ain; and noo she maun gang to strangers who know hernot."
He rose to his feet, and the great dog rose with him. His voiceheightened to a scream, and he swayed with the Cup in his arms till itseemed he must fall.
"Did they win her fair, Wullie? Na; they plotted, they conspired, theyworked ilka ain o' them agin us, and they beat us. Ay, and noo they'rerobbin' us--robbin' us! But they shallna ha' her. Oor's or naebody's,Wullie! We'll finish her sooner nor that."
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 agreat axe about his head.
"Come on, Wullie!" he cried. "'Scots wha hae'! Noo's the day and noo'sthe hour! Come on!"
On the table before him, serene and beautiful, stood the target of hismadness. The little man ran at it, swinging his murderous weapon like aflail.
"Oor's or naebody's Wullie! Come on! 'Lay the proud usurpers low'!" Heaimed a mighty buffet; and the Shepherds' Trophy--the Shepherds' Trophywhich had won through the hardships of a hundred years--was almost gone.It seemed to quiver as the blow fell. But the cruel steel missed, andthe 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 wasgrumbling a chorus to his master's yells. The little man danced up anddown, tugging and straining at the axe-handle.
"You and I, Wullie! 'Tyrants fall in every foe! Liberty's in every blow!'"
The axe-head was as immoveable as the Muir Pike.
"'Let us do or die!'"
The shaft snapped, and the little man tottered back. Red Wull jumpeddown from the table, and, in doing so, brushed against the Cup. Ittoppled* over on to the floor, and rolled tinkling away in the dust.And the little man fled madly out of the house, still screaming hiswar-song.
*N.B.--You may see the dent in the Cup's white sides to this day.
* * * * *
When, late that night, M'Adam returned home, the Cup was gone. Down onhis hands and knees he traced out its path, plain to see, where it hadrolled along the dusty floor. Beyond that there was no sign.
At first he was too much overcome to speak. Then he raved round the roomlike a derelict ship, Red Wull following uneasily behind. He cursed;he blasphemed; he screamed and beat the walls with feverish hands. Astranger, passing, might well have thought this was a private Bedlam. Atlast, exhausted, he sat down and cried.
"It's David, Wullie, ye may depend; David that's robbed his father'shoose. Oh, it's a grand thing to ha' a dutiful son!"--and he bowed hisgray head in his hands.
David, indeed, it was. He had come back to the Grange during hisfather's absence, and, taking the Cup from its grimy bed, had marched itaway to its rightful home. For that evening at Kenmuir, James Moore hadsaid to him:
"David, your father's not sent the Cup. I shall come and fetch itto-morrow." And David knew he meant it. Therefore, in order to save acollision between his father and his friend--a collision the issue ofwhich he dared hardly contemplate, knowing, as he did, the unalterabledetermination of the one and the lunatic passion of the other--the boyhad resolved to fetch the Cup himself, then and there, in the teeth, ifneeds 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 hisknees. For once the little man was alone; and David, brave though hewas, thanked heaven devoutly that Red Wull was elsewhere.
For a while father and son kept silence, watching one another like twofencers.
"'Twas you as took ma Cup?" asked the little man at last, leaningforward in his chair.
"'Twas me as took Mr. Moore's Cup," the boy replied. "I thowt yo' munha' done wi' it--I found it all bashed upon the floor."
"You took it--pit up to it, nae doot, by James Moore."
David made a gesture of dissent.
"Ay, by James Moore," his father continued. "He dursena come hissel'for his ill-gotten spoils, so he sent the son to rob the father. Thecoward!"--his whole frame shook with passion. "I'd ha' thocht JamesMoore'd ha' bin man enough to come himself for what he wanted. I see nooI did him a wrang--I misjudged him. I kent him a heepocrite; ain o' yerunco gudes; a man as looks one thing, says anither, and does a third;and noo I ken he's a coward. He's fear'd o' me, sic as I am, five foottwa in ma stockin's." He rose from his chair and drew himself up to hisfull height.
"Mr. Moore had nowt to do wi' it," David persisted.
"Ye're lyin'. James Moore pit ye to it."
"I tell yo' he did not."
"Ye'd ha' bin willin' enough wi'oot him, if ye'd thocht o't, I grant ye.But ye've no the wits. All there is o' ye has gane to mak' yer mucklebody. Hooiver, that's no matter. I'll settle wi' James Moore anithertime. I'll settle wi' you noo, David M'Adam."
He paused, and looked the boy over from bead to foot.
"So, ye're not only an idler! a wastrel! a liar!"--he spat the wordsout. "Ye're--God help ye--a thief!"
"I'm no thief!" the boy returned hotly. "I did but give to a mon what mafeyther--shame on him!--wrongfully kept from him."
"Wrangfully?" cried the little man, advancing with burning face.
"'Twas honorably done, keepin' what wasna your'n to keep! Holdin' backhis rights from a man! Ay, if ony one's the thief, it's not me: it'syou, I say, you!"--and he looked his father in the face with flashingeyes.
"I'm the thief, am I?" cried the other, incoherent with passion. "Thoughye're three times ma size, I'll teach ma son to speak so to me."
The old strap, now long disused, hung in the chimney corner. As he spokethe little man sprang back, ripped it from the wall, and, almost beforeDavid realized what he was at, had brought it down with a savage slashacross his son's shoulders; and as he smote he whistled a shrill,imperative note:
"Wullie, Wullie, to me!"
David felt the blow through his coat like a bar of hot iron laid acrosshis back. His passion seethed within him; every vein throbbed; everynerve quivered. In a minute he would wipe out, once and for all, thescore of years; for the moment, however, there was urgent business onhand. For outside he could hear the quick patter of feet hard-galloping,and the scurry of a huge creature racing madly to a call.
With a bound he sprang at the open door; and again the strap camelashing down, and a wild voice:
"Quick, Wullie! For God's sake, quick!"
David slammed the door to. It shut with a rasping snap; and at the samemoment a great body from witho
"Too late, agin!" said David, breathing hard; and shot the bolt homewith a clang. Then he turned on his father.
"Noo," said he, "man to man!"
"Ay," cried the other, "father to son!"
The little man half turned and leapt at the old musketoon hanging on thewall. He missed it, turned again, and struck with the strap full atthe other's face. David caught the falling arm at the wrist, hitting itaside with such tremendous force that the bone all but snapped. Thenhe smote his father a terrible blow on the chest, and the little manstaggered back, gasping, into the corner; while the strap dropped fromhis numbed fingers.
Outside Red Wull whined and scratched; but the two men paid no heed.
David strode forward; there was murder in his face. The little mansaw it: his time was come; but his bitterest foe never impugned AdamM'Adam's courage.
He stood huddled in the corner, all dishevelled, nursing one arm withthe other, entirely unafraid.
"Mind, David," he said, quite calm, "murder 'twill be, notmanslaughter."
"Murder 'twill be," the boy answered, in thick, low voice, and wasacross the room.
Outside Red Wull banged and clawed high up on the door with impotentpats.
The little man suddenly slipped his hand in his pocket, pulled outsomething, and flung it. The missile pattered on his son's face like arain-drop on a charging bull, and David smiled as he came on. It droppedsoftly on the table at his side; he looked down and--it was the face ofhis mother which gazed up at him!
"Mither!" he sobbed, stopping short. "Mither! Ma God, ye saved him--andme!"
He stood there, utterly unhinged, shaking and whimpering.
It was some minutes before he pulled himself together; then he walked tothe wall, took down a pair of shears, and seated himself at the table,still trembling. Near him lay the miniature, all torn and crumpled, andbeside it the deep-buried axe-head.
He picked up the strap and began cutting it into little pieces.
"There! and there! and there!" he said with each snip. "An' ye hit meagin there may be no mither to save ye."
M'Adam stood huddling in the corner. He shook like an aspen leaf; hiseyes blazed in his white face; and he still nursed one arm with theother.
"Honor yer father," he quoted in small, low voice.
PART IV THE BLACK KILLER