lie--fifty to one they're on him! My God! My God! And me not there!
Wullie, Wullie! "--in a scream--"I'm wi' ye!"

At the same moment Bessie Boistock rushed in, white-faced.

"Hi! Feyther! Mr. Saunderson! all o' you! T'tykes fightin' mad! Hark!"

There was no time for that. Each man seized his stick and rushed for the
door; and M'Adam led them all.

A rare thing it was for M'Adam and Red Wull to be apart. So rare, that
others besides the men in that little tap-room noticed it.

Saunderson's old Shep walked quietly to the back door of the house and
looked out.

There on the slope below him he saw what he sought, stalking up and
down, gaunt and grim, like a lion at feeding-time. And as the old dog
watched, his tail was gently swaying as though he were well pleased.

He walked back into the tap-room just as Teddy began his tale. Twice
he made the round of the room, silent-footed. From dog to dog he went,
stopping at each as though urging him on to some great enterprise. Then
he made for the door again, looking back to see if any followed.

One by one the others rose and trailed out after him: big blue Rasper,
Londesley's Lassie, Ned Hoppin's young dog; Grip and Grapple, the
publican's bull-terriers; Jim Mason's Gyp, foolish and flirting even
now; others there were; and last of all, waddling heavily in the rear,
that scarred Amazon, the Venus.

Out of the house they pattered, silent and unseen, with murder in their
hearts. At last they had found their enemy alone. And slowly, in a black
cloud, like the shadow of death, they dropped down the slope upon him.

And he saw them coming, knew their errand--as who should better than the
Terror of the Border?--and was glad. Death it might be, and such an
one as he would wish to die--at least distraction from that long-drawn,
haunting pain. And he smiled grimly as he looked at the approaching
crowd, and saw there was not one there but he had humbled in his time.

He ceased his restless pacing, and awaited them. His great head was high
as he scanned them contemptuously, daring them to come on.

And on they came, marching slow and silent like soldiers at a funeral:
young and old; bob-tailed and bull; terrier and collie; flocking like
vultures to the dead. And the Venus, heavy with years, rolled after them
on her bandy legs panting in her hurry lest she should be late. For had
she not the blood of her blood to avenge?

So they came about him, slow, certain, murderous, openi