es, won by Rob Saunderson's
veteran, Shep. There followed the Open Juveniles, carried off by Ned
Hoppin's young dog. It was late in the afternoon when, at length, the
great event of the meeting was reached.

In the enclosure behind the Dalesman's Daughter the clamor of the crowd
increased tenfold, and the yells of the bookmakers were redoubled.

"Walk up, gen'lemen, walk up! the ole firm! Rasper? Yessir--twenty to
one bar two! Twenty to one bar two! Bob? What price, Bob? Even money,
sir--no, not a penny longer, couldn't do it! Red Wull? 'oo says Red
Wull?"

On the far side the stream is clustered about the starting flag the
finest array of sheep-dogs ever seen together.

"I've never seen such a field, and I've seen fifty," is Parson Leggy's
verdict.

There, beside the tall form of his master, stands Owd Bob o' Kenmuir,
the observed of all. His silvery brush fans the air, and he holds his
dark head high as he scans his challengers, proudly conscious that
to-day will make or mar his fame. Below him, the mean-looking,
smooth-coated black dog is the unbeaten Pip, winner of the renowned
Cambrian Stakes at Llangollen--as many think the best of all the good
dogs that have come from sheep-dotted Wales. Beside him that handsome
sable collie, with the tremendous coat and slash of white on throat
and face, is the famous MacCallum More, fresh from his victory at the
Highland meeting. The cobby, brown dog, seeming of many breeds, is from
the land o' the Tykes--Merry, on whom the Yorkshiremen are laying as
though they loved him. And Jess, the wiry black-and-tan, is the favorite
of the men of of the Derwent and Dove. Tupper's big blue Rasper is
there; Londesley's Lassie; and many more--too many to mention: big and
small, grand and mean, smooth and rough--and not a bad dog there.

And alone, his back to the others, stands a little bowed, conspicuous
figure--Adam M'Adam; while the great dog beside him, a hideous
incarnation of scowling defiance, is Red Wull, the Terror o' the Border.

The Tailless Tyke had already run up his fighting colors. For MacCallum
More, going up to examine this forlorn great adversary, had conceived
for him a violent antipathy, and, straightway, had spun at him with
all the fury of the Highland cateran, who attacks first and explains
afterward. Red Wull, forthwith, had turned on him with savage, silent
gluttony; bob-tailed Rasper was racing up to join in the attack; and in
another second the three would