deep-buried axe-head.

He picked up the strap and began cutting it into little pieces.

"There! and there! and there!" he said with each snip. "An' ye hit me
agin there may be no mither to save ye."

M'Adam stood huddling in the corner. He shook like an aspen leaf; his
eyes blazed in his white face; and he still nursed one arm with the
other.

"Honor yer father," he quoted in small, low voice.

PART IV THE BLACK KILLER

Chapter XIV. A MAD MAN

TAMMAS is on his feet in the tap-room of the Arms, brandishing a pewter
mug.

"Gen'lemen!" he cries, his old face flushed; "I gie you a toast. Stan'
oop!"

The knot of Dalesmen round the fire rises like one. The old man waves
his mug before him, reckless of the good ale that drips on to the floor.

"The best sheep-dog i' th' North--Owd Bob o' Kenmuir!" he cries. In an
instant there is uproar: the merry applause of clinking pewters; the
stamping of feet; the rattle of sticks. Rob Saunderson and old Jonas
are cheering with the best; Tupper and Ned Hoppin are bellowing in one
another's ears; Long Kirby and Jem Burton are thumping each other on
the back; even Sam'l Todd and Sexton Ross are roused from their habitual
melancholy.

"Here's to Th' Owd Un! Here's to oor Bob!" yell stentorian voices; while
Rob Saunderson has jumped on to a chair.

"Wi' the best sheep-dog i' th' North I gie yo' the Shepherd's
Trophy!--won outreet as will be!" he cries. Instantly the clamor
redoubles.

"The Dale Cup and Th' Owd Un! The Trophy and oor Bob! 'Ip, 'ip, for
the gray dogs! 'Ip, 'ip, for the best sheep-dog as ever was or will be!
'Ooray, 'ooray!"

It is some minutes before the noise subsides; and slowly the enthusiasts
resume their seats with hoarse throats and red faces.

"Gentlemen a'!"

A little unconsidered man is standing up at the back of the room. His
face is aflame, and his hands twitch spasmodically; and, in front, with
hackles up and eyes gleaming, is a huge, bull-like dog.

"Noo," cries the little man, "I daur ye to repeat that lie!"

"Lie!" screams Tammas; "lie! I'll gie 'im lie! Lemme at im', I say!"

The old man in his fury is half over the surrounding ring of chairs
before Jim Mason on the one hand and Jonas Maddox on the other can pull
him back.

"Coom, Mr. Thornton," soothes the octogenarian, "let un be. Yo' surely
bain't angered by the likes o' 'im!"--and he jerks contemptuously toward
the solitary figure at his back.

Tammas resumes his s