Bob Son of Battle | Page 4

one, was Rex! We's never won Cup
since his day."
"Nor niver shall agin, yo' may depend," said the other gloomily.
Tammas clucked irritably.
"G'long, Sam'! Todd!" he cried, "Yo' niver happy onless yo' making'
yo'self miser'ble. I niver see sich a chap. Niver win agin? Why, oor
young Bob he'll mak' a right un, I tell yo', and I should know. Not as
what he'll touch Rex son o' Rally, mark ye! I'm niver saying' so, Sam'l
Todd. Ah, he was a one, was Rex! I could tell yo' a tale or two o' Rex. I
mind me boo--"
The big man interposed hurriedly.
"I've heard it afore, Tammas, I welly 'aye," he said.

Tammas paused and looked angrily up.
"Yo've heard it afore, have yo', Sam'l Todd?" he asked sharply. "And
what have yo' heard afore?"
"Yo' stories, owd lad--yo' stories o' Rex son o' Rally."
"Which on' em
"All on 'em, Tammas, all on 'em--mony a time. I'm fair sick on 'em,
Tammas, I welly am," he pleaded.
The old man gasped. He brought down his mallet with a vicious smack.
"I'll niver tell yo' a tale agin, Sam'l Todd, not if yo' was to go on yo'
bended knees for't.
Nay; it bain't no manner o' use talkin'. Niver agin, says I."
"I niver askt yo'," declared honest Sam'l. "Nor it wouldna ha' bin no
manner o' use if yo' had," said the other viciously. "I'll niver tell yo' a
tale agin if I was to live to be a hunderd."
"Yo'll not live to be a hunderd, Tammas Thornton, nor near it," said
Sam'l brutally.
"I'll live as long as some, I warrant," the old man replied with spirit.
"I'll live to see Cup back i' Kenmuir, as I said afore."
"If yo' do," the other declared with emphasis, "Sam'l Todd niver spake
a true word. Nay, nay, lad; yo're owd, yo're wambly, your time's near
run or I'm the more mistook."
"For mussy's sake hold yo' tongue, Sam'l Todd! It's clack-clack all
day--" The old man broke off suddenly, and buckled to his work with
suspicious vigor. "Mak' a show yo' bin workin', lad," he whispered.
"Here's Master and oor Bob."
As he spoke, a tall gaitered man with weather-beaten face, strong, lean,

austere, and the blue-gray eyes of the hill-country, came striding into
the yard. And trotting soberly at his heels, with the gravest, saddest
eyes ever you saw, a sheep-dog puppy.
A rare dark gray he was, his long coat, dashed here and there with
lighter touches, like a stormy sea moonlit. Upon his chest an
escutcheon of purest white, and the dome of his head showered, as it
were, with a sprinkling of snow. Perfectly compact, utterly lithe,
inimitably graceful with his airy-fairy action; a gentleman every inch,
you could not help but stare at him--Owd Bob o' Ken-muir.
At the foot of the ladder the two stopped. And the young dog, placing
his forepaws on a lower rung, looked up, slowly waving his silvery
brush.
"A proper Gray Dog!" mused Tammas, gazing down into the dark face
beneath him. "Small, yet big; light to get about on. backs o' his sheep,
yet not too light. Wi' a coat hard a-top to keep oot Daleland weather,
soft as sealskin beneath. And wi' them sorrerful eyes on him as niver
goes but wi' a good un. Amaist he minds me o' Rex son o' Rally."
"Oh, dear! Oh, dear!" groaned Sam'l. But the old man heard him not.
"Did 'Enry Farewether tell yo' hoo he acted this mornin', Master?" he
inquired, addressing the man at the foot of the ladder.
"Nay," said the other, his stern eyes lighting.
"Why, 'twas this way, it seems," Tammas continued. "Young bull gets
'isseif loose. somegate and marches oot into yard, o'erturns milkpail,
and prods owd pigs i' ribs. And as he stands lookin' about un, thinking'
what he shall be up to next, oor Bob sees un 'An' what yo' doin' here,
Mr. Bull?' he seems to say, cockin' his ears and trottin' up gay-like. Wi'
that bull bloats fit to bust 'isseif, lashes wi's tail, waggles his head, and
gets agate o' chargin' 'im. But Bob leaps oot o' way, quick as lightnin'
yet cool as butter, and when he's done his foolin drives un back agin."
"Who seed all this?" interposed Sam'l, sceptically.

" 'Enry Farewether from the loft. So there, Fat'ead!" Tammas replied,
and continued his tale. "So they goes on; bull chargin' and Bob drivin'
un back and back, hoppin' in and oot agin, quiet as a cowcumber, yet
determined. At last Mr. Bull sees it's no manner o' use that gate, so he
turns, rares up, and tries to jump wall. Nary a bit. Young dog jumps in
on un and nips him