Bob, son of Battle . ugitive. On the bridge MAdam turned, and, seeing his pursuerhot upon him, screamed, missed his footing, and fell with aloud splash into the stream—almost in that identical spotinto which, years before, he had plunged voluntarily tosave Red Wull. On the bridge Owd Bob halted and looked down at theman struggling in the water below. He made a half moveas though to leap in to the rescue of his enemy; then, A SHOT IN THE NIGHT 239 seeing it was unnecessary, turned and trotted back to hismaster. Yo nobbut served him right, Im thinkin, said theMaster. Like as not he came here wi
Bob, son of Battle . ugitive. On the bridge MAdam turned, and, seeing his pursuerhot upon him, screamed, missed his footing, and fell with aloud splash into the stream—almost in that identical spotinto which, years before, he had plunged voluntarily tosave Red Wull. On the bridge Owd Bob halted and looked down at theman struggling in the water below. He made a half moveas though to leap in to the rescue of his enemy; then, A SHOT IN THE NIGHT 239 seeing it was unnecessary, turned and trotted back to hismaster. Yo nobbut served him right, Im thinkin, said theMaster. Like as not he came here wi the intent to makan end to yo\ Well, after Thursday, I pray God, wellha peace. Its gettin above a joke. The two turnedback into the yard. But down below them, along the edge of the stream, forthe second time in this story, a little dripping figure wastottering homeward. The little man was crying—the hottears mingling on his cheeks with the undried waters of theWastrel—crying with rage, mortification, CHAPTER XXV THE SHEPHERDS TROPHY CUP broke calm and beautiful, no cloud on the hori-zon, no threat of storm in the air; a fitting day on whichthe Shepherds Trophy must be won outright. And well it was so. For never since the founding of theDale Trials had such a concourse been gathered togetheron the north bank of the Silver Lea. From the High-lands they came; from the far Campbell country; fromthe Peak; from the county of many acres; from all alongthe silver fringes of the Solway; assembling in that quietcorner of the earth to see the famous Gray Dog of Kenmuirfight his last great battle for the Shepherds Trophy. By noon the gaunt Scaur looked down on such a gather-ing as it had never seen. The paddock at the back of theDalesmans Daughter was packed with a clammering,chattering multitude: animated groups of farmers; bev-ies of solid rustics; sharp-faced townsmen; loud-voiced tfOj THE SHEPHERDS TROPHY 241 bookmakers; giggling girls; amorous boys,—thrown t
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