"Back, please! Don't encroach! M'Adam's to come!"

From the far bank the little man watched the scene. His coat and cap
were off, and his hair gleamed white in the sun; his sleeves were rolled
up; and his face was twitching but set as he stood--ready.

The hubbub over the stream at length subsided. One of the judges nodded
to him.

"Noo, Wullie--noo or niver!--'Scots wha hae'! "--and they were off.

"Back, gentlemen! back! He's off--he's coming! M'Adam's coming!"

They might well shout and push; for the great dog was on to his sheep
before they knew it; and they went away with a rush, with him right on
their backs. Up the slope they swept and round the first flag, already
galloping. Down the hill for the gap, and M'Adam was flying ahead to
turn them. But they passed him like a hurricane, and Red Wull was in
front with a rush and turned them alone.

"M'Adam wins! Five to four M'Adam! I lay agin Owd Bob!" rang out a clear
voice in the silence.

Through the gap they rattled, ears back, feet twinkling like the wings
of driven grouse.

"He's lost 'em! They'll break! They're away!" was the cry.

Sam'l was half up the wheel of the Kenmuir wagon; every man was on his
toes; ladies were standing in their carriages; even Jim Mason's face
flushed with momentary excitement.

The sheep were tearing along the hillside, all together, like a white
scud. After them, galloping like a Waterloo winner, raced Red Wull. And
last of all, leaping over the ground like a demoniac, making not for the
two flags, but the plank-bridge, the white-haired figure of M'Adam.

"He's beat! The Killer's beat!" roared a strident voice.

"M'Adam wins! Five to four M'Adam! I lay agin Owd Bob!" rang out the
clear reply.

Red Wull was now racing parallel to the fugitives and above them. All
four were travelling at a terrific rate; while the two flags were barely
twenty yards in front, below the line of flight and almost parallel to
it. To effect the turn a change of direction must be made almost through
a right angle.

"He's beat! he's beat! M'Adam's beat! Can't make it nohow!" was the
roar.

From over the stream a yell--"Turn 'em, Wullie!"

At the word the great dog swerved down on the flying three. They turned,
still at the gallop, like a troop of cavalry, and dropped, clean and
neat, between the flags; and down to the stream they rattled, passing
M'Adam on the way as though he was standing.

"Weel done, Wullie!" came the scream from th