the man at whom the measure was
aimed.

"Why, it's this way, I'm thinkin'," the little man replied. "Gin ye haud
Shep's the guilty one I _wad_, by all manner o' means--or shootin'd be
aiblins better. If not, why"--he shrugged his shoulders significantly;
and having shown his hand and driven the nail well home, the little man
left the meeting.

James Moore stayed to see the Parson's resolution negatived, by a large
majority, and then he too quitted the hall. He had foreseen the result,
and, previous to the meeting, had warned the Parson how it would be.

"Tie up!" he cried almost indignantly, as Owd Bob came galloping up
to his whistle; "I think I see myself chainin' yo', owd lad, like any
murderer. Why, it's yo' has kept the Killer off Kenmuir so far, I'll
lay."

At the lodge-gate was M'Adam, for once without his familiar spirit,
playing with the lodge-keeper's child; for the little man loved all
children but his own, and was beloved of them. As the Master approached
he looked up.

"Weel, Moore," he called, "and are you gaein' to tie yer dog?"

"I will if you will yours," the Master answered grimly.

"Na," the little man replied, "it's Wullie as frichts the Killer aff the
Grange. That's why I've left him there noo."

"It's the same wi' me," the Master said. "He's not come to Kenmuir yet,
nor he'll not so long as Th' Owd Un's loose, I reck'n."

"Loose or tied, for the matter o' that," the little man rejoined,
"Kenmuir'll escape." He made the statement dogmatically, snapping his
lips.

The Master frowned.

"Why that?" he asked.

"Ha' ye no heard what they're sayin'?" the little man inquired with
raised eyebrows.

"Nay; what?"

"Why, that the mere repitation o' th' best sheep-dog in the North'
should keep him aff. An' I guess they're reet," and he laughed shrilly
as he spoke.

The Master passed on, puzzled.

"Which road are ye gaein' hame?" M'Adam called after him. "Because,"
with a polite smile, "I'll tak' t'ither."

"I'm off by the Windy Brae," the Master answered, striding on. "Squire
asked me to leave a note wi' his shepherd t'other side o' the Chair."
So he headed away to the left, making for home by the route along the
Silver Mere.

It is a long sweep of almost unbroken moorland, the well-called Windy
Brae; sloping gently down in mile on mile of heather from the Mere
Marches on the top to the fringe of the Silver Mere below. In all that
waste of moor the only break is the quaint-shaped Gian