The little man, the cause of the uproar, lay-quite still upon the ground, with another figure standing over him. As he had stood, finger on trigger, waiting for that last bolt to be drawn, a gray form, shooting whence no one knew, had suddenly and silently attacked him from behind, and jerked him backward to the ground.
With the shock of the fall the blunderbuss had gone off.
The last bolt was thrown back with a clatter, and the Master emerged. In a glance he took in the whole scene: the fallen man;the gray dog; the still-smoking weapon.
"Yo', was't Bob lad?" he said. "I was wonderin' wheer yo' were. Yo'
came just at the reet moment, as yo' aye do!" Then, in a loud voice, addressing the darkness: "Yo're-not hurt, Sam'! Todd--I can tell that by yer-noise; it was nob'but the shot off the door warmed yo'.
Coom away doon and gie me a hand."
He walked up to M'Adam, who still lay-gasping on the ground.
The shock of the fall and recoil of the weapon had knocked the breath out of the little man's body; beyond that he was barely hurt.
The Master stood over his fallen enemy and looked sternly down at him.
"I've put up wi' more from you, M'Adam, than I would from ony other man, " he said. "But this is too much--comin' here at night -wi' loaded arms, scarin' the wimmen and childer oot o' their lives, and I can but think meanin' worse. If yo' were half a man I'd gie yo' the finest thrashin' iver yo' had in yer life. But, as yo' know well, I could no more hit yo' than I could a woman. Why yo've got this down on me yo' ken best. I niver did yo' or ony ither mon a harm. As to the Cup, I've got it and I'm goin' to do ma best to keep it--it's for yo' to win it from me if yo' can o' Thursday. As for what yo' say o' David, yo' know it's a lie. And as for what yo're drivin' at wi' yer hints and mysteries, I've no more idee than a babe unborn.
Noo I'm goin' to lock yo' up, yo're not safe abroad. I'm thinkin' I'll ha' to hand ye o'er to the p'lice."With the help of Sam'l he half dragged, half supported the stunned little man across the yard; and shoved him into a tiny semisubterraneous room, used for the storage of coal, at the end of the farm-buildings.
"Yo' think it over that side, ma lad," called the Master grimly, as he turned the key, "and I will this." And with that he retired to bed.
Early in the morning he went to release his prisoner. But he was a minute too late. For scuttling down the slope and away was a little black-begrimed, tottering figure with white hair blowing in the wind. The little man had broken away a wooden hatchment which covered a manhole in the wall of his prison-house, squeezed his small body through, and so escaped.
"Happen it's as well," thought the Master, watching the flying figure. Then, "Hi, Bob, lad!" he called; for the gray dog, ears back, tail streaming, was hurling down the slope after the fugitive.
On the bridge M'Adam turned, and, seeing his pursuer hot upon him, screamed, missed his footing, and fell with a loud splash into the stream--almost in that identical spot into which, years before, he had plunged voluntarily to save Red Wull.
On the bridge Owd Bob halted and looked down at the man struggling in the water below. He made a half move as though to leap in to the rescue of his enemy; then, seeing it was unnecessary, turned and trotted back to his master.
"Yo' nob'but served him right, I'm think-in'," said the Master. "Like as not he came here wi' the intent to mak' an end to yo.' Well, after Thursday, I pray God we'll ha' peace. It's gettin' above a joke." The two turned back into the yard.
But down below them, along the edge of the stream, for the second time in this story, a little dripping figure was tottering homeward.
The little man was crying--the hot tears mmgling on his cheeks with the undried waters of the Wastrel--crying with rage, mortification, weariness.
