wheelbarrow, while
the old dog turned again, raced at the gate, took it magnificently in
his stride, and galloped up the lane after his master.

At M'Adam's yell, James Moore had turned.

"Served yo' properly!" he called back. "He'll larn ye yet it's not wise
to tamper wi' a gray dog or his sheep. Not the first time he's downed
ye, I'm thinkin'!"

The little man raised himself painfully to his elbow and crawled toward
the gate. The Master, up the lane, could hear him cursing as he dragged
himself. Another moment, and a head was poked through the bars of the
gate, and a devilish little face looked after him.

"Downed me, by--, he did!" the little man cried passionately. "I owed ye
baith somethin' before this, and noo, by ----, I owe ye somethin' more.
An' mind ye, Adam M'Adam pays his debts!"

"I've heard the contrary," the Master replied drily, and turned away up
the lane toward the Marches.

Chapter XXIV A SHOT IN THE NIGHT

IT was only three short weeks before Cup Day that one afternoon Jim
Mason brought a letter to Kenmuir. James Moore opened it as the postman
still stood in the door.

It was from Long Kirby--still in retirement--begging him for mercy's
sake to keep Owd Bob safe within doors at nights; at all events till
after the great event was over. For Kirby knew, as did every Dalesman,
that the old dog slept in the porch, between the two doors of the house,
of which the outer was only loosely closed by a chain, so that the
ever-watchful guardian might slip in and out and go his rounds at any
moment of the night.

This was how the smith concluded his ill-spelt note: "Look out for
M'Adam i tell you i _know_ hel tri at thowd un afore cup day--failin im
you if the ole dog's bete i'm a ruined man i say so for the luv o' God
keep yer eyes wide."

The Master read the letter, and handed it to the postman, who perused it
carefully.

"I tell yo' what," said Jim at length, speaking with an earnestness that
made the other stare, "I wish yo'd do what he asks yo': keep Th' Owd Un
in o' nights, I mean, just for the present."

The Master shook his head and laughed, tearing the letter to pieces.

"Nay," said he; "M'Adam or no M'Adam, Cup or no Cup, Th' Owd Un has the
run o' ma land same as he's had since a puppy. Why, Jim, the first night
I shut him up that night the Killer comes, I'll lay."

The postman turned wearily away, and the Master stood looking after him,
wondering what had come of late to his