he last of the Gray Dogs is now to be told.

PART VI THE BLACK KILLER

Chapter XXVI RED-HANDED

THE SUN was hiding behind the Pike. Over the lowlands the feathery
breath of night hovered still. And the hillside was shivering in the
chillness of dawn.

Down on the silvery sward beside the Stony Bottom there lay the ruffled
body of a dead sheep. All about the victim the dewy ground was dark and
patchy like dishevelled velvet; bracken trampled down; stones
displaced as though by straggling feet; and the whole spotted with the
all-pervading red.

A score yards up the hill, in a writhing confusion of red and gray, two
dogs at death-grips. While yet higher, a pack of wild-eyed hill-sheep
watched, fascinated, the bloody drama.

The fight raged. Red and gray, blood-spattered, murderous-eyed; the
crimson froth dripping from their jaws; now rearing high with arching
crests and wrestling paws; now rolling over in tumbling, tossing,
worrying disorder--the two fought out their blood-feud.

Above, the close-packed flock huddled and stamped, ever edging nearer
to watch the issue. Just so must the women of Rome have craned round the
arenas to see two men striving in death-struggle.

The first cold flicker of dawn stole across the green. The red eye of
the morning peered aghast over the shoulder of the Pike. And from the
sleeping dale there arose the yodling of a man driving his cattle home.

Day was upon them.

* * * * *

James Moore was waked by a little whimpering cry beneath his window.
He leapt out of bed and rushed to look; for well he knew 'twas not for
nothing that the old dog was calling.

"Lord o' mercy! whativer's come to yo', Owd Un?" he cried in anguish.
And, indeed, his favorite, war-daubed almost past recognition, presented
a pitiful spectacle.

In a moment the Master was downstairs and out, examining him.

"Poor old lad, yo' have caught it this time!" he cried. There was a
ragged tear on the dog's cheek; a deep gash in his throat from which the
blood still welled, staining the white escutcheon on his chest; while
head and neck were clotted with the red.

Hastily the Master summoned Maggie. After her, Andrew came hurrying
down. And a little later a tiny, night-clad, naked-footed figure
appeared in the door, wide-eyed, and then fled, screaming.

They doctored the old warrior on the table in the kitchen. Maggie
tenderly washed his wounds, and dressed them with