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At the threshold of the room he stopped and looked round: a little, dim-lit, devilish figure, framed in the door; while from the blackness behind, Red Wull's eyes gleamed yellow. Glancing back, the little man caught such an expression on David's face that for once he was fairly afraid. He banged the door and hobbled actively down the stairs.
Now David, though repudiating in the village Red Wull's complicity with the crimes, at home was never so happy as when casting cunning innuendoes to that effect. "What would you have him then?" he asked. "Red, yaller, muck-dirt colour?" and he stared significantly at the Tailless Tyke, who was lying at his master's feet. The little man ceased rubbing his knees and eyed the boy.
It was not to be, however. For Long Kirby was standing at the door with a cup of hot coffee in his hand. Barely had he greeted the gray dog with "Ullo, Owd Un!" when hoarse yells of "'Ware, lad! The Terror!" mingled with Red Wull's roar. Half turning, he saw the great dog bounding to the attack. Straightway he flung the boiling contents of his cup full in that rage-wracked countenance.
"Reck'n he's good enough if there's none better," David replied dispassionately. "And wha should there be better? Tell me that, ye muckle gowk." David smiled. "Eh, but that'd be long tellin', he said. "And what wad ye mean by that?" his father cried. "Nay; I was but thinkin' that Mr. Moore's Bob'll look gradely writ under yon." He pointed to the vacant space below Red Wull's name.
At that Red Wull walked up to Lady Eleanour, faintly wagging his tail; and she put her hand on his huge bull head and said, "Dear old Ugly!" at which the crowd cheered in earnest. After that, for some moments, the only sound was the gentle ripple of the good lady's voice and the little man's caustic replies. "Why, last winter the country was full of Red Wull's doings and yours.
I' the name o' God, the saviour o' men, I tell ye, dautie, the day 'ill come whan ye'll smile i' the vera face o' the Lord himsel, at the thoucht o' what he has broucht ye throuw! Lord Christ, haud a guid grup o' thy puir bairn and hers, and gie her back her ain. Thy wull be deen! and that thy wull's a' for redemption! Gang on wi' yer tale, my lassie."
Of coorse, Lord, gien ye tellt me, that wad mak a' the differ, for ye're Robert's maister as weel's mine, an' your wull wad saitisfee him jist as weel's me. I wad fain lat him gang, puir chiel! but I daurna. Lord, convert him to the trowth. Lord, lat him ken what hate is. But eh, Lord! I wuss ye wad tell me what to du. Thy wull's the beginnin' an' mids an' en' o' a' thing to me.
Listen hoo pleasantly he addresses his auld dad!" Then turning on his son, and leering at him: "What is it, ye ask? Wha should it be but the Black Killer? Wha else is there I'd be wushin' to hurt?" "The Black Killer!" echoed the boy, and looked at his father in amazement. Now David was almost the only man in Wastrel-dale who denied Red Wull's identity with the Killer.
It's a thing I never was blamed wi' mysel', an' I wadna du't." "That's verra true," said Peter. "The mair weicht's intill't whan I lay 't to the door o' anither," persisted Meg. "Peter, gien ye ha'e onything again' my freen' Ma'colm MacPhail, oot wi' 't like a man, an' no playac' the gunpoother plot ower again. Ill wull's the warst poother ye can lay i' the boddom o' ony man's boat.
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 good-humor 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.
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