buyin' him ye'll be--don't go for to deceive yourself. Ye may
have him for fifteen shillin'. Why do I do it, ye ask? Why, 'cos I think
ye'll be kind to him," as the puppy retreated to its chair, leaving a
spotted track of red along its route.

"Ay, ye wadna be happy gin ye thocht he'd no a comfortable hame,
conseederate man?" M'Adam answered, eyeing the dark track on the floor.
Then he put on his coat.

"Na, na, he's no for me. Weel, I'll no detain ye. Good-nicht to ye,
mister!" and he made for the door.

"A gran' worker he'll be," called the drover after him.

"Ay; muckle wark he'll mak' amang the sheep wi' sic a jaw and sic a
temper. Weel, I maun be steppin'. Good-nicht to ye."

"Ye'll niver have sich anither chanst."

"Nor niver wush to. Na, na; he'll never mak' a sheep-dog"; and the
little man turned up the collar of his coat.

"Will he not?" cried the other scornfully. "There niver yet was one o'
that line--" he stopped abruptly.

The little man spun round.

"Iss?" he said, as innocent as any child; "ye were sayin'?"

The other turned to the window and watched the rain falling
monotonously.

"Ye'll be wantin' wet," he said adroitly.

"Ay, we could do wi' a drappin'. And he'll never mak' a sheep-dog."
He shoved his cap down on his head. "Weel, good-nicht to ye!" and he
stepped out into the rain.

* * * * *

It was long after dark when the bargain was finally struck.

Adam M'Adam's Red Wull became that little man's property for the
following realizable assets: ninepence in cash--three coppers and a
doubtful sixpence; a plug of suspicious tobacco in a well-worn pouch;
and an old watch.

"It's clean givin' 'im ye," said the stranger bitterly, at the end of
the deal.

"It's mair the charity than aught else mak's me sae leeberal," the other
answered gently. "I wad not like to see ye pinched."

"Thank ye kindly," the big man replied with some acerbity, and plunged
out into the darkness and rain. Nor was that long-limbed drover-man ever
again seen in the countryside. And the puppy's previous history--whether
he was honestly come by or no, whether he was, indeed, of the famous Red
McCulloch* strain, ever remained a mystery in the Daleland.

*N. B.--You may know a Red McCulloch anywhere by the ring of
white upon his tail some two inches from the root.

Chapter IV. FIRST BLOOD

AFTER that first encounter in the Dalesman's Daughter, Red Wull, for
so M