rged into the Devil's Bowl it was
altogether black and blind. But the threat of wind had passed, leaving
utter stillness; and they could hear the splash of an otter on the far
side of the Lone Tarn as they skirted that gloomy water's edge. When at
length the last steep rise on to the Marches had been topped, a breath
of soft air smote them lightly, and the curtain of fog began drifting
away.

The two men swung steadily through the heather with that reaching stride
the birthright of moor-men and highlanders. They talked but little,
for such was their nature: a word or two on sheep and the approaching
lambing-time; thence on to the coming Trials; the Shepherds' Trophy;
Owd Bob and the attempt on him; and from that to M'Adam and the Tailless
Tyke.

"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."

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. As they passed it, a blackbird rose up screaming,
and a brace of wood-pigeons winged noisily away.

"Hullo! hark to the yammerin'!" muttered Jim, stopping; "and at this
time o' night too!"

Some rabbits, playing in the moonlight on the outskirts of the wood, sat
up, listened, and hopped back into security. At the same moment a big
hill-fox slunk out of the covert. He stole a pace forward and halted,
listening with one ear back and one pad raised; then cantered silently
away in the gloom, passing close to the two men and yet not observing
them.

"What's up, I wonder?" mused the postman.

"The fox set 'em clackerin', I reck'n," said the Master.

"Not he; he was scared 'maist oot o' his skin," the other answered. Then
in tones of suppressed excitement, with his hands on James Moore's arm:
"And, look'ee, theer's ma Gyp a-beckonin' on us!"

There, indeed, on the crest of the rise beside the wood, was the
little lurcher, now looking back at h