Bob, Son of Battle by Alfred Ollivant

  Chapter VI. A LICKING OR A LIE

  THENCEFORWARD David buckled down to work at home, and in one point onlyfather and son resembled--industry. A drunkard M'Adam was, but a drone,no.

  The boy worked at the Grange with tireless, indomitable energy; yet hecould never satisfy his father.

  The little man would stand, a sneer on his face and his thin lipscontemptuously curled, and flout the lad's brave labors.

  "Is he no a gran' worker, Wullie? 'Tis a pleasure to watch him, hishands in his pockets, his eyes turned heavenward!" as the boy snatcheda hard-earned moment's rest. "You and I, Wullie, we'll brak' oorsel'sslavin' for him while he looks on and laffs."

  And so on, the whole day through, week in, week out; till he sickenedwith weariness of it all.

  In his darkest hours David thought sometimes to run away. He wasmiserably alone on the cold bosom of the world. The very fact that hewas the son of his father isolated him in the Daleland. Naturally of areserved disposition, he had no single friend outside Kenmuir. And itwas only the thought of his friends there that withheld him. He couldnot bring himself to part from them; they were all he had in the world.

  So he worked on at the Grange, miserably, doggedly, taking blows andabuse alike in burning silence. But every evening, when work was ended,he stepped off to his other home beyond the Stony Bottom. And on Sundaysand holidays--for of these latter he took, unasking, what he knew to behis due--all day long, from cock-crowing to the going down of the sun,he would pass at Kenmuir. In this one matter the boy was invinciblystubborn. Nothing his father could say or do sufficed to break him ofthe habit. He endured everything with white-lipped, silent doggedness,and still held on his way.

  Once past the Stony Bottom, he threw his troubles behind him with acourage that did him honor. Of all the people at Kenmuir two only everdreamed the whole depth of his unhappiness, and that not through David.James Moore suspected something of it all, for he knew more of M'Adamthan did the others. While Owd Bob knew it as did no one else. He couldtell it from the touch of the boy's hand on his head; and the story waswrit large upon his face for a dog to read. And he would follow the ladabout with a compassion in his sad gray eyes greater than words.

  David might well compare his gray friend at Kenmuir with that other atthe Grange.

  The Tailless Tyke had now grown into an immense dog, heavy of muscle andhuge of bone. A great bull head; undershot jaw, square and lengthy andterrible; vicious, yellow-gleaming eyes; cropped ears; and an expressionincomparably savage. His coat was a tawny, lion-like yellow, short,harsh, dense; and his back, running up from shoulder to loins, endedabruptly in the knob-like tail. He looked like the devil of a dogs'hell. And his reputation was as bad as his looks. He never attackedunprovoked; but a challenge was never ignored, and he was greedy ofinsults. Already he had nigh killed Rob Saunderson's collie, Shep; JemBurton's Monkey fled incontinently at the sound of his approach; whilehe had even fought a round with that redoubtable trio, the Vexer, Venus,and Van Tromp.

  Nor, in the matter of war, did he confine himself to his own kind.His huge strength and indomitable courage made him the match of almostanything that moved. Long Kirby once threatened him with a broomstick;the smith never did it again. While in the Border Ram he attacked BigBell, the Squire's underkeeper, with such murderous fury that it tookall the men in the room to pull him off.

  More than once had he and Owd Bob essayed to wipe out mutual memories,Red Wull, in this case only, the aggressor. As yet, however, while theyfenced a moment for that deadly throat-grip, the value of which eachknew so well, James Moore had always seized the chance to intervene.

  "That's right, hide him ahint yer petticoats," sneered M'Adam on one ofthese occasions.

  "Hide? It'll not be him I'll hide, I warn you, M'Adam," the Masteranswered grimly, as he stood, twirling his good oak stick between thewould-be duellists. Whereat there was a loud laugh at the little man'sexpense.

  It seemed as if there were to be other points of rivalry between the twothan memories. For, in the matter of his own business--the handling ofsheep--Red Wull bid fair to be second only throughout the Daleland tothe Gray Dog of Kenmuir. And M'Adam was patient and painstaking in thetraining of his Wullie in a manner to astonish David. It would have beentouching, had it not been so unnatural in view of his treatment of hisown blood, to watch the tender carefulness with which the little manmoulded the dog beneath his hands. After a promising display he wouldstand, rubbing his palms together, as near content as ever he was.

  "Weel done, Wullie! Weel done. Bide a wee and we'll show 'em a thing ortwo, you and I, Wullie.

  "'The warld's wrack we share o't, The warstle and the care o't.'

  For it's you and I alane, lad." And the dog would trot up to him, placehis great forepaws on his shoulders, and stand thus with his great headovertopping his master's, his ears back, and stump tail vibrating.

  You saw them at their best when thus together, displaying each his onesoft side to the other.

  From the very first David and Red Wull were open enemies: under thecircumstances, indeed, nothing else was possible. Sometimes the greatdog would follow on the lad's heels with surly, greedy eyes, neverleaving him from sunrise to sundown, till David could hardly hold hishands.

  So matters went on for a never-ending year. Then there came a climax.

  One evening, on a day throughout which Red Wull had dogged him thushungrily, David, his work finished, went to pick up his coat, which hehad left hard by. On it lay Red Wull.

  "Git off ma coat!" the boy ordered angrily, marching up. But the greatdog never stirred: he lifted a lip to show a fence of white, even teeth,and seemed to sink lower in the ground; his head on his paws, his eyesin his forehead.

  "Come and take it!" he seemed to say.

  Now what, between master and dog, David had endured almost more than hecould bear that day.

  "Yo' won't, won't yo', girt brute!" he shouted, and bending, snatcheda corner of the coat and attempted to jerk it away. At that, Red Wullrose, shivering, to his feet, and with a low gurgle sprang at the boy.

  David, quick as a flash, dodged, bent, and picked up an ugly stake,lying at his feet. Swinging round, all in a moment, he dealt hisantagonist a mighty buffet on the side of the head. Dazed with the blow,the great dog fell; then, recovering himself, with a terrible, deep roarhe sprang again. Then it must have gone hard with the boy, fine-grown,muscular young giant though he was. For Red Wull was now in the firstbloom of that great strength which earned him afterward an undyingnotoriety in the land.

  As it chanced, however, M'Adam had watched the scene from the kitchen.And now he came hurrying out of the house, shrieking commands and cursesat the combatants. As Red Wull sprang, he interposed between the two,head back and eyes flashing. His small person received the full shockof the charge. He staggered, but recovered, and in an imperative voiceordered the dog to heel.

  Then he turned on David, seized the stake from his hand, and beganfuriously belaboring the boy.

  "I'll teach ye to strike--a puir--dumb--harmless--creetur,ye--cruel--cruel---lad!" he cried. "Hoo daur ye strike--ma----Wullie?yer--father's----Wullie? Adam--M 'Adam's--Red Wull?" He was panting fromhis exertions, and his eyes were blazing. "I pit up as best I can wi'all manner o' disrespect to masel'; but when it comes to takin' ma puirWullie, I canna thole it. Ha' ye no heart?" he asked, unconscious of theirony of the question.

  "As much as some, I reck'n," David muttered.

  "Eh, what's that? What d'ye say?"

  "Ye may thrash me till ye're blind; and it's nob'but yer duty; but ifonly one daurs so much as to look at yer Wullie ye're mad," the boyanswered bitterly. And with that he turned away defiantly and openly inthe direction of Kenmuir.

  M'Adam made a step forward, and then stopped.

  "I'll see ye agin, ma lad, this evenin'," he cried with cruelsignificance.

  "I doot but yo'll be too drunk to see owt--except, 'appen, your bottle,"the boy shouted back; and swaggered down the hill.

 
; * * * * *

  At Kenmuir that night the marked and particular kindness of ElizabethMoore was too much for the overstrung lad. Overcome by the contrast ofher sweet motherliness, he burst into a storm of invective against hisfather, his home, his life--everything.

  "Don't 'ee, Davie, don't 'ee, dearie!" cried Mrs. Moore, muchdistressed. And taking him to her she talked to the great, sobbing boyas though he were a child. At length he lifted his face and looked up;and, seeing the white, wan countenance of his dear comforter, was struckwith tender remorse that he had given way and pained her, who looked sofrail and thin herself.

  He mastered himself with an effort; and, for the rest of the evening,was his usual cheery self. He teased Maggie into tears; chaffed stolidlittle Andrew; and bantered Sam'l Todd until that generally impassiveman threatened to bash his snout for him.

  Yet it was with a great swallowing at his throat that, later, he turneddown the slope for home.

  James Moore and Parson Leggy accompanied him to the bridge over theWastrel, and stood a while watching as he disappeared into the summernight.

  "Yon's a good lad," said the Master half to himself.

  "Yes," the parson replied; "I always thought there was good in the boy,if only his father'd give him a chance. And look at the way Owd Bobthere follows him. There's not another soul outside Kenmuir he'd do thatfor."

  "Ay, sir," said the Master. "Bob knows a mon when he sees one."

  "He does," acquiesced the other. "And by the by, James, the talk in thevillage is that you've settled not to run him for the Cup. Is, that so?"

  The Master nodded.

  "It is, sir. They're all mad I should, but I mun cross 'em. They sayhe's reached his prime--and so he has o' his body, but not o' his brain.And a sheep-dog--unlike other dogs--is not at his best till his brainis at its best--and that takes a while developin', same as in a mon, Ireck'n."

  "Well, well," said the parson, pulling out a favorite phrase, "waiting'swinning--waiting's winning."

  * * * * *

  David slipped up into his room and into bed unseen, he hoped. Alone withthe darkness, he allowed himself the rare relief of tears; and at lengthfell asleep. He awoke to find his father standing at his bedside. Thelittle man held a feeble dip-candle in his hand, which lit his sallowface in crude black and white. In the doorway, dimly outlined, was thegreat figure of Red Wull.

  "Whaur ha' ye been the day?" the little man asked. Then, looking down onthe white stained face beneath him, he added hurriedly: "If ye like tolie, I'll believe ye."

  David was out of bed and standing up in his night-shirt. He looked athis father contemptuously.

  "I ha' bin at Kenmuir. I'll not lie for yo' or your likes," he saidproudly.

  The little man shrugged his shoulders.

  "'Tell a lee and stick to it,' is my rule, and a good one, too, inhonest England. I for one 'll no think ony the worse o' ye if yer memoryplays yer false."

  "D'yo' think I care a kick what yo' think o' me?" the boy askedbrutally. "Nay; there's 'nough liars in this fam'ly wi'oot me."

  The candle trembled and was still again.

  "A lickin' or a lie--tak' yer choice!"

  The boy looked scornfully down on his father. Standing on his nakedfeet, he already towered half a head above the other and was twice theman.

  "D'yo' think I'm fear'd o' a thrashin' fra yo'? Goo' gracious me!" hesneered. "Why, I'd as lief let owd Grammer Maddox lick me, for all Icare."

  A reference to his physical insufficiencies fired the little man assurely as a lighted match powder.

  "Ye maun be cauld, standin' there so. Rin ye doon and fetch oor littlefrien'"--a reference to a certain strap hanging in the kitchen. "I'llsee if I can warm ye."

  David turned and stumbled down the unlit, narrow stairs. The hard, coldboards struck like death against his naked feet. At his heels followedRed Wull, his hot breath fanning the boy's bare legs.

  So into the kitchen and back up the stairs, and Red Wull alwaysfollowing.

  "I'll no despair yet o' teachin' ye the fifth commandment, though I killmasel' in doin' it!" cried the little man, seizing the strap from theboy's numb grasp.

  * * * * *

  When it was over, M'Adam turned, breathless, away. At the thresholdof the room he stopped and looked round: a little, dim-lit, devilishfigure, framed in the door; while from the blackness behind, Red Wull'seyes gleamed yellow.

  Glancing back, the little man caught such an expression on David'sface that for once he was fairly afraid. He banged the door and hobbledactively down the stairs.