Bob, Son of Battle by Alfred Ollivant
Chapter XIV. A MAD MAN
TAMMAS is on his feet in the tap-room of the Arms, brandishing a pewtermug.
"Gen'lemen!" he cries, his old face flushed; "I gie you a toast. Stan'oop!"
The knot of Dalesmen round the fire rises like one. The old man waveshis mug before him, reckless of the good ale that drips on to the floor.
"The best sheep-dog i' th' North--Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!" he cries. In aninstant there is uproar: the merry applause of clinking pewters; thestamping of feet; the rattle of sticks. Rob Saunderson and old Jonasare cheering with the best; Tupper and Ned Hoppin are bellowing in oneanother's ears; Long Kirby and Jem Burton are thumping each other onthe back; even Sam'l Todd and Sexton Ross are roused from their habitualmelancholy.
"Here's to Th' Owd Un! Here's to oor Bob!" yell stentorian voices; whileRob Saunderson has jumped on to a chair.
"Wi' the best sheep-dog i' th' North I gie yo' the Shepherd'sTrophy!--won outreet as will be!" he cries. Instantly the clamorredoubles.
"The Dale Cup and Th' Owd Un! The Trophy and oor Bob! 'Ip, 'ip, forthe gray dogs! 'Ip, 'ip, for the best sheep-dog as ever was or will be!'Ooray, 'ooray!"
It is some minutes before the noise subsides; and slowly the enthusiastsresume their seats with hoarse throats and red faces.
"Gentlemen a'!"
A little unconsidered man is standing up at the back of the room. Hisface is aflame, and his hands twitch spasmodically; and, in front, withhackles up and eyes gleaming, is a huge, bull-like dog.
"Noo," cries the little man, "I daur ye to repeat that lie!"
"Lie!" screams Tammas; "lie! I'll gie 'im lie! Lemme at im', I say!"
The old man in his fury is half over the surrounding ring of chairsbefore Jim Mason on the one hand and Jonas Maddox on the other can pullhim back.
"Coom, Mr. Thornton," soothes the octogenarian, "let un be. Yo' surelybain't angered by the likes o' 'im!"--and he jerks contemptuously towardthe solitary figure at his back.
Tammas resumes his seat unwillingly.
The little man in the far corner of the room remains silent, waitingfor his challenge to be taken up. It is in vain. And as he looks at therange of broad, impassive backs turned on him, he smiles bitterly.
"They dursen't Wullie, not a man of them a'!" he cries."They're one--two--three--four--eleven to one, Wullie, and yetthey dursen't. Eleven of them, and every man a coward! LongKirby--Thornton--Tupper--Todd--Hoppin--Ross--Burton--and the rest, andnot one but's a bigger man nor me, and yet--Weel, we might ha' kent it.We should ha' kent Englishmen by noo. They're aye the same and aye havebin. They tell lies, black lies--"
Tammas is again half out his chair and, only forcibly restrained by themen on either hand.
"--and then they ha' na the courage to stan' by 'em. Ye're English,ivery man o' ye, to yer marrow."
The little man's voice rises as he speaks. He seizes the tankard fromthe table at his side.
"Englishmen!" he cries, waving it before him. "Here's a health! The bestsheep-dog as iver penned a flock--Adam M'Adam's Red Wull!"
He pauses, the pewter at his lips, and looks at his audience withflashing eyes. There is no response from them.
"Wullie, here's to you!" he cries. "Luck and life to ye, ma trusty fier!Death and defeat to yer enemies!"
"'The warld's warld's wrack we share o't, The warstle and the care o't;"
He raises the tankard and drains it to its uttermost dreg.
Then drawing himself up, he addresses his audience once more:
"An' noo I'll warn ye aince and for a', and ye may tell James Moore Isaid it: He may plot agin us, Wullie and me; he may threaten us; he maywin the Cup outright for his muckle favorite; but there was niver a manor dog yet as did Adam M'Adam and his Red Wull a hurt but in the end hewush't his mither hadna borne him."
A little later, and he walks out of the inn, the Tailless Tyke at hisheels.
After he is gone it is Rob Saunderson who says: "The little mon's mad;he'll stop at nothin"; and Tammas who answers:
"Nay; not even murder."
* * * * *
The little man had aged much of late. His hair was quite white, his eyesunnaturally bright, and his hands were never still, as though he were ineverlasting pain. He looked the picture of disease.
After Owd Bob's second victory he had become morose and untalkative. Athome he often sat silent for hours together, drinking and glaring at theplace where the Cup had been. Sometimes he talked in low, eerie voice toRed Wull; and on two occasions, David, turning, suddenly, had caught hisfather glowering stealthily at him with such an expression on his faceas chilled the boy's blood. The two never spoke now; and David held thissilent, deadly enmity far worse than the old-time perpetual warfare.
It was the same at the Sylvester Arms. The little man sat alone with RedWull, exchanging words with no man, drinking steadily, brooding over hiswrongs, only now and again galvanized into sudden action.
Other people than Tammas Thornton came to the conclusion that M'Adamwould stop at nothing in the undoing of James Moore or the gray dog.They said drink and disappointment had turned his head; that he was madand dangerous. And on New Year's day matters seemed coming to a crisis;for it was reported that in the gloom of a snowy evening he had drawna knife on the Master in the High Street, but slipped before he couldaccomplish his fell purpose.
Most of them all, David was haunted with an ever-present anxiety as tothe little man's intentions. The boy even went so far as to warn hisfriend against his father. But the Master only smiled grimly.
"Thank ye, lad," he said. "But I reck'n we can 'fend for oorsel's, Boband I. Eh, Owd Un?"
Anxious as David might be, he was not so anxious as to be above takinga mean advantage of this state of strained apprehension to work onMaggie's fears.
One evening he was escorting her home from church, when, just beforethey reached the larch copse: "Goo' sakes! What's that?" he ejaculatedin horror-laden accents, starting back.
"What, Davie?" cried the girl, shrinking up to him all in a tremble.
"Couldna say for sure. It mought be owt, or agin it mought be nowt. Butyo' grip my arm, I'll grip yo' waist."
Maggie demurred.
"Canst see onythin'?" she asked, still in a flutter.
"Be'ind the 'edge."
"Wheer?"
"Theer! "--pointing vaguely.
"I canna see nowt."
"Why, theer, lass. Can yo' not see? Then yo' pit your head along o'mine--so--closer--closer." Then, in aggrieved tones: "Whativer is thematter wi' yo', wench? I might be a leprosy."
But the girl was walking away with her head high as the snow-cappedPike.
"So long as I live, David M'Adam," she cried, "I'll niver go to churchwi' you agin!"
"Iss, but you will though--onst," he answered low.
Maggie whisked round in a flash, superbly indignant.
"What d'yo' mean, sir-r-r?"
"Yo' know what I mean, lass," he replied sheepish and shuffling beforeher queenly anger.
She looked him up and down, and down and up again.
"I'll niver speak to you agin, Mr. M'Adam," she cried; "not if it wasever so--Nay, I'll walk home by myself, thank you. I'll ha' nowt to dowi' you."
So the two must return to Kenmuir, one behind the other, like a lady andher footman.
David's audacity had more than once already all but caused a rupturebetween the pair. And the occurrence behind the hedge set the cap on hisimpertinences. That was past enduring and Maggie by her bearing let himknow it.
David tolerated the girl's new attitude for exactly twelve minutes bythe kitchen clock. Then: "Sulk wi' me, indeed! I'll teach her!" and hemarched out of the door, "Niver to cross it agin, ma word!"
Afterward, however, he relented so far as to continue his visits asbefore; but he made it clear that he only came to see the Master andhear of Owd Bob's doings. On these occasions he loved best to sit on thewindow-sill outside the kitchen, and talk and chaff with Tammas
The suspicions that M'Adam nourished dark designs against James Moorewere somewhat confirmed in that, on several occasions in the bitterdusks of January afternoons, a little insidious figure was reported tohave been seen lurking among the farm-buildings of Kenmuir.
Once Sam'l Todd caught the little man fairly, skulking away in thewoodshed. Sam'l took him up bodily and carried him down the slope to theWastrel, shaking him gently as he went.
Across the stream he put him on his feet.
"If I catches yo' cadgerin' aroun' the farm agin, little mon," headmonished, holding up a warning finger; "I'll tak' yo' and drap yo'in t' Sheep-wash, I warn yo' fair. I'd ha' done it noo an' yo'd bin abigger and a younger mon. But theer! yo'm sic a scrappety bit. Noo, rinwhoam." And the little man slunk silently away.
For a time he appeared there no more. Then, one evening when it wasalmost dark, James Moore, going the round of the outbuildings, felt OwdBob stiffen against his side.
"What's oop, lad" he whispered, halting; and, dropping his hand on theold dog's neck felt a ruff of rising hair beneath it.
"Steady, lad, steady," he whispered; "what is 't?" He peered forwardinto the gloom; and at length discerned a little familiar figure huddledaway in the crevice between two stacks.
"It's yo, is it, M'Adam?" he said, and, bending, seized a wisp of OwdBob's coat in a grip like a vice.
Then, in a great voice, moved to rare anger:
"Oot o' this afore I do ye a hurt, ye meeserable spyin' creetur" heroared. "Yo' mun wait till dark cooms to hide yo', yo' coward, afore yodaur coom crawlin' aboot ma hoose, frightenin' the women-folk and up toyer devilments. If yo've owt to say to me, coom like a mon in the openday. Noo git aff wi' yo', afore I lay hands to yo'!"
He stood there in the dusk, tall and mighty, a terrible figure, one handpointing to the gate, the other still grasping the gray dog.
The little man scuttled away in the half-light, and out of the yard.
On the plank-bridge he turned and shook his fist at the darkening house.
"Curse ye, James Moore!" he sobbed, "I'll be even wi' ye yet."