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Updated: June 13, 2025
A second's palpitating silence; a woman's hysterical laugh and a deep-mouthed bellow rent the expectant air: shouts, screams, hat-tossings, back-clappings blending in a din that made the many-winding waters of the Silver Lea quiver and quiver again. Owd Bob o' Kenmuir had won the Shepherds' Trophy outright. Maggie's face flushed a scarlet hue.
When you wander in the gray hill-country of the North, in the loneliest corner of that lonely land you may chance upon a low farmhouse, lying in the shadow of the Muir Pike. Entering, a tall old man comes out to greet you the Master of Kenmuir. His shoulders are bent now; the hair that was so dark is frosted; but the blue-gray eyes look you as proudly in the face as of yore.
Men told how the gray dog had outdone Gypsy Jack, the sheep-sneak; how he had cut out a Kenmuir shearling from the very centre of Londesley's pack; and a thousand like stories. The Gray Dogs of Kenmuir have always been equally heroes and favorites in the Daleland. And the confidence of the Dalesmen in Owd Bob was now invincible.
Sometimes on market days he would execute some unaccountable maneuvre, and... strange shepherd would ask: "What's the gray dog at?" To which the nearest Dalesman would reply: "Nay, I canno tell ye! But he's reet enough. Yon's Owd Bob o' Kenmuir." Whereon the stranger would prick his ears and watch with close attention.
"The first time ever the Dale Cup's been won outright!" said the Parson, "and I daresay it never will again. And I think Kenmuir's the very fittest place for its final home, and a Gray Dog of Kenmuir for its winner." "Oh, by the by!" burst in the squire. "I've fixed the Manor dinner for to-day fortnight, James. Tell Saunderson and Tupper, will you? Want all the tenants there."
Is James Moore feared ye'll steal the Cup fra him, as ye stole it from me, that he'll not ha' ye at Kenmuir? or what is it?" "I thought I could maybe keep an eye on the Killer gin I stayed here," David answered, leering at Red Wull. "Ye'd do better at Kenmuir eh, Wullie!" the little man replied. "Nay," the other answered, "he'll not go to Kenmuir. There's Th' Owd Un to see to him there o' nights."
As he had no dog, the Master offered him Th' Owd Un. "And he'll pick me i' th' town to-morrow," said he. Now the butcher was a stranger in the land. Of course he had heard of Owd Bob o' Kenmuir, yet it never struck him that this handsome gentleman with the quiet, resolute manner, who handled sheep as he had never seen them handled, was that hero "the best sheep-dog in the North."
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Quite close stood James Moore and the gray dog; above was the black wall of people, utterly still; below, the judges comparing notes. In the silence you could almost hear the panting of the crowd. Then one of the judges went up to James Moore and shook him by the hand. The gray dog had won. Owd Bob o' Kenmuir had won the Shepherds' Trophy outright.
And his motto was, "Shun a Radical as you do the devil!" and he was very glad to see them all there very glad; and he wished to give them a toast, "The Queen! God bless her!" and wait a minute! with her Majesty's name to couple he was sure that gracious lady would wish it that of "Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!" Then he sat down abruptly amid thundering applause.
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