"James Moore, as I live!" he cried, and advanced with both hands extended, as though welcoming a long-lost brother. "'Deed and it's a weary while sin' ye've honored ma puir hoose." And, in fact, it was nigh twenty years. "I tak' it gey kind in ye to look in on a lonely auld man. Come ben and let's ha' a crack. James Moore kens weel hoo welcome he aye is in ma bit biggin'."The Master ignored the greeting.
"One o' ma sheep been killed back o' t' Dyke," he announced shortly, jerking his thumb over his shoulder.
"The Killer?"
"The Killer."
The cordiality beaming in every wrinkle of the little man's face was absorbed in a wondering interest; and that again gave place to sorrowful sympathy.
"Dear, dear! it's come to that, has it--at last?" he said gently, and his eyes wandered to the gray dog and dwelt mournfully upon him.
"Man, I'm sorry--I canna tell ye I'm surprised. Masel', I kent it all alang. But gin Adam M'Adam had tell't ye, no ha' believed him.
Weel, weel, he's lived his life, gin ony dog iver did; and noo he maun gang where he's sent a many before him. Puir mon! puir tyke!" He heaved a sigh, profoundly melancholy, tenderly sympathetic. Then, brightening up a little: "Ye'll ha' come for the gun?"James Moore listened to this harangue at first puzzled. Then he caught the other's meaning, and his eyes flashed. 305"Ye fool, M'Adarn! did ye hear iver tell o' a sheep-dog worryin' his master's sheep?"The little man was smiling and suave again now, rubbing his hands softly together.
"Ye're right, I never did. But your dog is not as ither dogs--'There's none like him-- none,' I've heard ye say so yersel, mony a time. An'
I'm wi' ye. There's none like him--for devilment." His voice began to quiver and his face to blaze. "It's his cursed cunning that's deceived ivery one but me-- whelp o' Satan that he is!" He shouldered up to his tall adversary. "If not him, wha else had done it?" he asked, looking, up into the other's face as if daring him to speak.
The Master's shaggy eyebrows lowered. He towered above the other like the Muir Pike above its surrounding hills.
"Wha, ye ask?" he replied coldly, "and I answer you. Your Red Wull, M'Adam, your Red Wull. It's your Wull's the Black Killer!
It's your Wull's bin the plague o' the land these months past! It's your Wull's killed ma sheep back o'yon!"At that all the little man's affected goodhumor fled.
"Ye lee, mon! ye lee!" he cried in a dreadful scream, dancing up to his antagonist. "I knoo hoo 'twad be. I said so. I see what ye're at.
Ye've found at last--blind that ye've been!--that it's yer am hell's tyke that's the Killer; and noo ye think by yer leein' impitations to throw the blame on ma Wullie. Ye rob me o' ma Cup, ye rob me o'
ma son, ye wrang me in ilka thing; there's but ae thing left me--Wullie. And noo ye're set on takin' him awa'. But ye shall not--I'll kill ye first!"He was all a-shake, bobbing up and down like a stopper in a soda-water bottle, and almost sobbing.
"Ha' ye no wranged me enough wi' oo that? Ye lang-leggit liar, wi'
yer skulkin murderin' tyke!" he cried. "Ye say it's Wullie. Where's yer proof? "--and he snapped his fingers in the other's face.
The Master was now as calm as his foe was passionate. "Where?"he replied sternly; why, there!" holding out his right hand. "Yon's proof enough to hang a hunner'd." For lying in his broad palm was a little bundle of that damning red hair.
"Where?"
"There!"
"Let's see it!" The little man bent to look closer.
"There's for yer proof!" he cried, and spat deliberately down into the other's naked palm. Then he stood back, facing his enemy in a manner to have done credit to a nobler deed.
