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Updated: June 15, 2025
It's this: Tupper lost a sheep to the Killer last night." "And what if he did?" The little man rose smoothly to his feet. Each noticed the others' face dead-white. "Why, he lost it on Wheer d'yo' think?" He drawled the words out, dwelling almost lovingly on each. "Where?" "On the Red Screes." The crash was coming inevitable now.
"I see them mysell weel eneugh," said Mucklebackit; "they are sitting down yonder like hoodie-craws in a mist; but d'yo think ye'll help them wi' skirling that gate like an auld skart before a flaw o' weather? Steenie, lad, bring up the mast Od, I'se hae them up as we used to bouse up the kegs o' gin and brandy lang syne Get up the pickaxe, make a step for the mast make the chair fast with the rattlin haul taught and belay!"
Jim looked up inquiringly at his companion. "D'yo' think it'll coom to that?" he asked. "What?" "Why murder." "Not if I can help it," the other answered grimly. The fog had cleared away by now, and the moon was up. To their right, on the crest of a rise some two hundred yards away, a low wood stood out black against the sky.
If had bin ony other dog greyhound, bull, tarrier, or even a young sheep-dog d'yo' think he'd ha' stopped wi' the one? Not he; he'd ha' gone through 'em, and be runnin' 'em as like as not yet, nippin' 'em, pullin' 'em down, till he'd maybe killed the half. But 'im as did this killed for blood, I say. He got it killed just the one, and nary touched the others, d'yo 'see, Jim?"
It was heartrending work; and all the more so in that, though his incrimination seemed as far off as ever, there was still the same positiveness as to the culprit's identity. Long Kirby, indeed, greatly daring, went so far on one occasion as to say to the little man: "And d'yo' reck'n the Killer is a sheep-dog, M'Adam?" "I do," the little man replied with conviction.
The boy looked scornfully down on his father. Standing on his naked feet, he already towered half a head above the other and was twice the man. "D'yo' think I'm fear'd o' a thrashin' fra yo'? Goo' gracious me!" he sneered. "Why, I'd as lief let owd Grammer Maddox lick me, for all I care." A reference to his physical insufficiencies fired the little man as surely as a lighted match powder.
"D'yo' reck'n M'Adam had a hand in't?" the postman was asking. "Nay; there's no proof." "Ceptin' he's mad to get shut o' Th' Owd Un afore Cup Day." "Im or me it mak's no differ. For a dog is disqualified from competing for the Trophy who has changed hands during the six months prior to the meeting. And this holds good though the change be only from father to son on the decease of the former."
Ain't dat Injun got no respec' for who I is?" "I don't believe he knows who you really are, Wash," chuckled Jack, whose wounded hand was now so much better that it did not keep him from handling his rifle in a way to make old Andy proud of his pupil's marksmanship. "Can dat be a posserbility?" demanded Wash, vainly. "Ain't dey nebber hearn tell ob me, d'yo s'pose, Massa Jack?"
"Why 'alf t' lads in t' village is called Jimmy. Yo're called Jimmy yourself, coom t' thot." He considered it. "Well it's nat as ef they didn' knaw all of 'em." "Oh they knaws!" "D'yo' mind them, Essy? They dawn't maake yo' feel baad about it, do they?" She shook her head and smiled her dreamy smile. He rose and looked down at her with his grieved, resentful eyes.
"D'yo' think, yo' little fule," he cried in that hard voice of his, "that onst they got set we should iver git either of them off alive?" It seemed to strike the little man as a novel idea; for, from that moment, he was ever the first in his feverish endeavors to oppose his small form, buffer-like, between the would-be combatants.
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