HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Seaforth News, 1933-10-19, Page 6gasps.
"There's trouble in the wind," said
the Master.
"Ay," answered his laconic son.
All day there had been no breath of
air, and the sky dangerously blue. But
now a world of 'black was surging up
from the horizon, smothering the star
lit night; and small dark clouds, like
puffs of smoke, detaching themselves
from the main 'body, were driving
tempestuously forward — the van-
guard of -the storm.
In the 'distance was , low tumbling
like heavy tinhrils on the floor of
heaven. All about, the wind sounded
;hollow like -a mighty scythe on corn.
The air was oppressed with a leaden!
'blackness—no glimmer of light on
any 'hand; and as they began the
ascent ,of the 'Pass they rea'c'hed out
blind hands to feel along the rock -I,
face, v'A111jJt
A sea -fret, coal and wetting, fell. A
'few big rain -drops splashed heavily
dawn, The wind rose with a leap and
roared past them tip the rocky 'track.'
And the water -gates of heaven were
'flung wide,
Wet and weary, they battled on;
thinking som'etimes of the cosy parlor
behind; sometimes of the home in
front; wondering whither Maggie, in
flat contradiction of 'her father's or-
ders, would be up to welcome them;
or 'whether only 10'wd 'Bob would
PAGE SIX
THE SEAFORTH NEWS.
fru
"Na, na. No cant, if ye please,
James Moore. That'll eiblins go
down wi' the parsons, but not wi' me.
t ken youand you ken me, and all
the whitewash i' th' warld'll no de-
ceive us."
The Master turned away, and .his
lace was hard as the nether millstone.
'But the little ratan pursued him;
"I was nigh forgettin'," he said.
"I've a surprise for ye, James Moore.
'But 'I hear it's yer 'birthday on Sunday
and I'll keep it till then—hel he!"
"Yell see me before Sunday, 11\f' -
_Adam," the other answered. "On
Saturday, as +I told yo', I'm cumin' to
see if yo've done yer duty."
"Whether ye come, James Moore,
is your business. Whether yell iver
go, once there, I'll mak' mine. :I've
warned ye twice noo"—and the little
man laughed that harsh, cackling
laugh of his.
At the door ofthe hall the Master
met .David.
"Noo, lad, yo're comin' along w•i'
:Andrew and 'nee," he said; "Maggie'll
niver forgie us if we dinna bring ,yo'
home wi' us."
"Thank you kindly, Mr. Moore,"
the boy replied. "I've to see squire
'first; and then yo' may be sure 1'11
be after you."
The Master faltered a moment.
"David, ha'n yo' spoke to yer father
yet?" he asked in a low voice. "Yo'
should, lad."
'The boy made a gesture of dissent.
"I canna," he said petulantly.
I would, lad," the other advised.
"An' yo' don't yo' may be sorry after."
:As he turned away he heard the
'boy's steps. dull and sodden, as he
crossed the hall; and then a thin,
would-be cordial voice in the empti-
ness:
"I declar' if 'tfsna David! The re-
turn o' the Prodeegal—he! hel So ye-
ve seen yer aul.d dad at last, and the
last; the proper place, say ye, for yer
father—he! he! Eh, lad, but I'm
blithe to see ye, D'ye mind schen we.
was last thegither? Ye was kneelin'
.on ma chest: 'Your tune's come, dad,'
says you, and wangs me o'er the face
—he! he! 'I mind it as if 'twas yester
day. Weel, weal, we'll say nae mair
about it. 'Boys will be boys. Sons
will be sons, Accidents will happen.:
,And if at first ye don't succeed, why,'
try, try gain-hel he!"
Dusk was merging into ,darkness
when the Master and Andrew reached!
the Da'fesman's Daughter,- at had:
been long dark when they emerged
from the cosy parlor of the inn and
plunged out into the night,
As they crossed the Silver Lea and
trudged over that 'familiar ground,'
where a 'fortnight since had been
fought .otrt the battle of the Cup, the:
wind fluttered past them in spasmodic!
S
THURSDAY, OCTOBER 19, 1933.
come oust to 'meet them,
The wind volleyed past 'them like
salvoes of artillery. The rain stormed
at them ifront above; spat at them
from .the rock -face; and lept vp at
then from their feet,
Once they.halted for s, moment,
finding 'a miserable :shelter in a 'cre-
vice of .the rock, •
"It's a IB•lack'Kil'ler's night," panted
the Master. "I reok'n he's oot."
"Ay," the boy gasped, • "reok'n he
is."
Up and up they climbed through
the blackness, blind and buffeted. The
eternal thunder of the rain :was all
about them; the clamor of the gale
above; and far beneath, the roar of
angry 'w'aters.
iOnce, in a. lull in the .storm, the
Master turned and looked back into
the blackness along the path' they had
come.
"'Did ye hear onythin'?" the roared
above the muffled soughing of the
wind.
"Nay!" Andrew shouted ,back,
"I thowt 'I heard a step:" 'the Mas-
ter cried, peering dawn. ,But ,nothing
could he see,
Then the wind 'lea -ped to -life again
like a giant 'from his sleep, drowning
all sound with its hurricane voice; and
they turned and bent to their task a-
gain.
Nearing the summit, the Master
turned once more.
"There it was again:" he called;
but his words were swept away on the
storm; and they buckled to the
struggle afresh.
Ever and anon the moon ,gleamed
down through the riot of tossing sky.
Then they could see the wet .wall a-
bove then, with the water 'tumbling
down its sheer face; and 'far below, in
the roaring gutter of the Pass a
brown -stained torrent. 'Hardly how-
ever, had they time to glance around
when a mass of .cloud would hurry
jealously pp, and all again Was ,black-
ness and noise.
At length, nigh spent, 'they tapped
the last and steepest pitch of-the+Pass,
and emerged into the iDevil's IB'owl.
There, overcome with their .exertions,
they flung themselves on to the soak-
ing ground to draw breath.
!Behind them, the wind rustled with
a sullen roar up the funnel of the
Pass,- 'It screamed above them as
though ten million devils were a -horse
and blurted out on to the wild Mar-
ches 'beyond.
As they lay there, still panting, t'h'e
'noon gleamed down in momentary
graciousness. lIn front, 'through the
lashing rain, they could discern the
hillocks that squat, .hag -like, round the
Devil's ;Bowl; and lying in its bosom,
its white waters, usually 'so still,
ploughed now into a 'tlsousand fur-
rows the Lone Tarn.
The Master raised 'his 'head' and
craned forward at the glhostly scene.
Of a sudden he reared 'himself on to
his arms, .and stayed motionless a-
while. Then he dropped as 'though
dead, forcing down 'Andrew with an
iron hand.
"Lad, did'st see?" 'he whispered,
"Nay! what was't?" 'bh'e boy replied,
roused by his father's Colne.
"There!"
IBut as the Master pointed 'forward,
a'b'lur of cloud intervened and all was
dark, Quickly it passed; .and again
the lantern of the night shone down.
And Andrew, looking with 'all .his
eyes, saw indeed.
There, in .front, by the fretting
waters of the Tarn, packed in a solid
phalanx, 'with every head turned in
the same direction, was a 'flack of
sheep. They were motionless, all -
intent, staring with ,horror -'bulging
eyes. A 'column of steam rose from
their bodies into the rainepierced air,
Panting and palpitating, yet they
stood with their.backs to the water,
as though determined to sell their
lives dearly. !Beyond them, not fifty
yards away, crouched a bump -hacked
boulder, casting a long, misshapen
shadow in the 'moonl'ight. And be-
neath it 'were two black objects, one
still struggling feebly.
"The 'Kibler:" 'gasped the 'boy, and,
ail ablaze with excitement, 'began for-
•
ging forward.
"Steady, lad, steady:" - urged . his
father, d'rop'ping a restraining hand on
the boy's shoulder.
Above them a 'huddle o'f clouds
flung in furious riot across the night,
and the moon was. veiled.
"Follow, lad!" ordered the Master,
and began to crave' silently forward.
As stealthily ._Andrew pursued. And
over the sodden ground they crept,
one behind the other, like ,two night-
hawks on some foul errand.
lOn,'they crawled, lying prone dur-
ing ,the 'blinks of 'moon, stealing for-
ward in the dark; till, at length, the
sw'is'h of the rain on the waters Of the
Tarn, and the sobbing of 'th'e 'flock in
front, warned them they were near.
They ,skirted the trembling pack,
passing so close as to brush against
the flanking sheep; and yet unnoticed,
for the sheep were :sone-alesorlbed itt
the tragedy id .front. !Only, when the
moon was in, ,Andrew could hear them
huddling and sltamping ilii, the d'ark-
ne'ss, And again, as it ,shone out,
'fearfully they edged olo:ser to watch
the 'bloody play.
Along the Tarn edge the two crept.
And still the gracious 'moon hid their
approach, and the drunken wind
drowned with its revelry the sound of
their c'ominlg,
ISo they stole on, on hands and
knees, with 'hearts aghast and flu'tter-
ing breath; until, of a sudden, in a dell
o'f ,wind, they could hear, right 'before
them, the smack and .slobber of
bloody lips, chewing their ,bloody
meal.
"Say thy prayers, :Red 'Wulf. Thy
bast minute's come!" muttered the
:faster, rising to his knees, Then, in
Andrew's . ear: •°''When I rush, lad,
follow!" For he 'thought, when th'e
moon rose, to jump in on 'the great
dog, and, surprising him as he lay
gorged and unsuspicious, to deal ,him
one terrible swa'shin'g,'b'lblw, and end
forever the •lawless, doings of the
Tailless Tyke,
The moon flung off its veil of cloud.
White and gold, it stared down into
the Devil's IBo'wl, on murderer and
murdered.
Within a h'and's cast of the aven-
gers of bioiod humped the black bawl -
der. 'On the 'border .o'f its shadow lay
a dead sheep; and standing beside the
body, his coat all ruffled by the 'hand
of the storm'-Owd 'Bo'b-On'd Bob
o' Kenmuir,
Then the light went in, and dark-
ness covered the land.
thing worse 'Mian- sheep -murder i'n th
dreadful lonesomeness of the Devil'
Bowl upon that night; ibut of a sud
den, there so'un'ded the splash of
m'an's foot falling heavily behind;
hand bike •a falling tree smote th
Master on the shoulder; and a eso'ic
roared above the noise offthe storm
"Mr. Moorel Look, than! look!"
The Master tried to shake off than
detaining grasp; but dt-'pinn ed 'h'!1
where he was, immovable.
"Look, S tell yo'!" cried that grea
vaice again.
A hand pushed past hien and point
ed; and sullenly he turned, ignorin
the ;figure at his side and looked,
'Tile wind had ,dropped suddenly a
it 'had 'nisei; the little 'nnain on th
m!oun'd :had ceased to chuckle; And
rew's sobs -were :tushed; and in th
baolcground the huddled flock edge
closer. The world thong balanced o
the ,p'innpoint o'f 'the 'nvo'ment, •Ever
'eye was in the one directioon.
With dull, uncomprehending gaze
James Moore stared as 'bidden. There
was !the gray dog naked in the moon-
light, heedless still off any w'itnesses
there the murdered sheep, lying with
in and without thlat .distorted shade
andthere the humpb'ac'ked boulder.
IH'e stared into the shadow, and
stili! stared.
Then he started as though struck.
The shadow of the boulder had mov-
ed.l
Motionless, with head shot forward
and b'ud'ging eyes, he gazed.
lAy, ay, ay; the was' sure of it—a
huge dim ou'bline• as of a lion coudh-
gnit, in the very thickest of .the blac'k-
nes's.
At that he was seized 'wit'h such
palsy of trem'bl'ing that •he must hay
.fallen 'but for ,the s'tron'g arm ahoy
his waist
Clearer every moment grew that
crou'c'hing' figure; till at length they
plainly could discern the zine of arch-
ing' loins, the crest, thick as a s'tal-
lion's,' th'e massive, wagging -head. No
mistake this time, There he lay in the
deepest 'blac'k, gigantic, revelling in
'his 'horrid debauch—lfhe 'Black Killer!
And they watched ltitn at his feast.
Now 'he 'burrowed into the spongy
flesh; Doer turned to 'lap the dark
pool which glittered in the moonlight
at his' side like claret in a silver 'cup.
Now lifting his 'head, he snapped ir-
rltably at the raindrops, and the moon
,c'au'ght hisnvi'cked, rolling eye and the
red shreds of ,flesh dripping from his
jaw, And again, raising his great
nuzzle as if about to howl, he let -the
delicious nectar 'trickle down his
throat and ravish his palate.
So he went on, all unsuspicious,
wisely nodding in slow -mouthed glut-
tony. And in the stillness, between
the claps of wind, they could hear the
shacking of his lips.
While all the time the 'gray dog
stood before✓him, motionless, as
though carved in stone.
At last, as the ni,urderer rolled his
great 'head from side to side, be saws
that still ifigure. At the sight he 'leap-
ed back, dismayed. Then with a deep -
mouthed roar that shook the waters
of the Tarn he was up and across his
victim with fangs bared, his coat
'standing erect in wet, rigid furrows
:from topknot to tail.
ISo the two stood, face to. face, with
perhaps a yard of rain -pierced air 'be-
tween them.
The Wind hushed its sighing to lis-
ten. The moon stared down, .white and
dumb; Away .at the back the sheep
edged c'lo'ser, While save for the ev-
erlasting thunder of 'the rain, there
was utter stillness.
An age, it seemed, they Waited so.
Then a voice, clear yet low and far
away, like a bugle in a distant city,
broke the silence:
"'Eh, '\Vul'lie l" it said.
There was no anger in the tones,
only an incomparable reproach; the
sound of the cracking of a man's
heart.
At the call the great dog leapt
round, snarling in hideous passion.
He sew the small, familiar 'figure,
clear -,cut against the- tumbling sky;
el 1Go elle mound above stood his
s Inas'ter.. The little malt's white hair
was 'bared to the night wind; the rain
a trickled down his face;':and :his hands
a were folded ibehind his back, He Stood
e there, looking do't•n into the dell be-
e low hien, as a man may stand at the
toan'b of leis lately buried wilfe. And.
there was such an expression on 'his
t ifaee as I cann'o't describe.
t1 "Wuilte, Wnt't1ie, to mel" he cried
at 'length; and his voice sounded
t :Iwcalc and fair, like a disitamt memory.
At that, the huge br'u'te came ,crawl-
- ing toward hhn on his 'belie,, whimp-
ering as he came, very' pitiful in his
distress: 'II'e' knew his. fate as every
sheep -dog knows it. That .troubled
him not. +His insufferable ,pains was
that this, his friend and father, who
nhal trusted him, should have found
him its his sin.
ISo he crept up to his master's feet;
y and the little mart never uuaved. -
"'Wtfll'ie—era W1.1.111el" •ire said very
genitly, "Th'ey've aye bin agin nae—
and non yout A man's atiithel—'a
m'an's wife -a :man's dog! they're,- ail
I iver had; end noo ain o' They ;three
has turned Agin reel af'udeed I am
alone!"
At that the great dog raised hien
self, and placing his forepaws •on his
masters chest tenderly, lest he 'should
hurt him who was already hurt past
healing, s'too'd towering above him;
while- the little man laid ..his two cold
hands on the dog's shoulders.
!So they . stood, looking at one alt -
other, like man nand his love.
e
d
n
a
e
CHAPTER XXIIX
!It was .O'wd 'Bob. There could he
no mistaking.`' In the wide world there
was •but. one 'Owd 'Bob o' !Kenmtuir.
The silver moon gleamed dawn on
the dark head and rough gray coat,
and lit up the white •escutcheon on
his chest.
And in the darkness 'James Moore
was lying with his face pressed down
that he might not see.
Once 'he raised himself on his arms,
'His eyes were shut and face uplifted,
like a •blind man praying. 'He 'passed
a weary hand across itis brow; his
head dropped again; and he moaned
and moaned like a man in everlasting
pain.
Then the darkness lifted a moment,
and he stole a furtive glance, like a
murderer's at the gallows -tree, at the
scene in front.
It was no dream; clear and cruel
in the moonlight the hu'mp'backed
boulder; the dead sheep; and that
gray ,figure, beautiful, motionless,
damned for all eternity.
The :faster turned his face and
looked at Andrew, a .dumb, pitiful
entreaty in his eyes;; but in the boy's
whi te, horror-stricken countenance
was no comfort. Then his 'head lolled
down again, and the strong man was
whimpering.
"Hel hel hel ,Scuse ma laffin', Mr.
Moors—hel hal the l"
A little man, 'all ,wet and shrunk,
sat h'unc'hing on a mound above
them, rocking his shrivelled form to
and from in the agony .of his merri-
ment,
erriment,
"Ye raskil—hel he! Ye rogue—hel
he!" and he shook his fist waggishly
at the u'ncons'cious gray dog. "'I owe
ye anither grudge for this—ye've an-
ticipated me"—and he leant 'b'ack and
shook this way and that in convulsive
mirth.
The man below him rose heavily to
his feet, and tumbled toward the
mocker, 'his great 'figure swaying from
side to side as though in blind delir-
ium, moaning still as he went. And
there was that on his face which no
m,an can mistake.' Boy that the was,
Andrew knew it.
"Feytherl feytherl do'ee note" he
pleaded, running after his father and
Paying impotent hands on 'hian.
'But the strong man shook him off
like a fly, and rolled on, swaying and
groaning, with that awful expression
plain to see in the moonlight,
Ian front 'the little man squatted in
the rain, b'o'wed double stilly and took
no thought to flee;
'Come on, Janes Moore! Come
on I" he laughed, malignant joy in 'his
voice; and something gleamed bright
in his right ]rand, and was hid again.
"I've bin 'wa'itin' ,this a Weary while
noo. Come on!"
Then ,had there been done s'o'me-
and for the only time in ,his life Red,
Wull was afraid,
His blood -foe was forgotten; the
dead sheep was forgotten; everything
was sunk in the agony o'f that mom-
ent, 'He cowered upon the ground and
a cry like that o'f a lost soul was
wrung from him; it rose . on the still
!'tight air and fl'o'ated, wailing, away;
and the •w'hite waters of the Tarn
thrilled in cold pity; out of the lonely
hollow; .over the desolate Marches;
into the night.
At M'A'dan's word, O•wd Bob
l'oo'ked up, and for the first time saw
'his master,
IHe seemed tel nowise startled, but
trotted over to him. There was noth-
ing fearful in his carriage, no haunt-
ing bIood,gu'iltiness in the true gray
eyes which never told a lie, -which
never, dog -like, .failed to look you in
the face. Yet his tail was low, and, as
he stopped at his master's feet, he
was quivering. For he, too, knew, and
was not ,unmoved. "
'For weeks be had tracked the Kill-
er; for w-eeks he had followed: ;tint as
'he crossed Kenlnuir, bound on his
bloody errands; yet always had 'lost
hien on the marches. Now, at last, 'he
had run him to the ground. Yet his
heart went out .to his enemy in :his
distress. •
thowt Chad 'been yo', lad," the
Master w'his'pered, 'his hand on the
dark head at his knee—•"I thowt .Chad
bin yo'!"
(Rooted to the ground, the three
Watched the scene between. M'A'dann
and his (Wall
.In 'the end the Master was whimp-
ering; Andrew crying, and David
turned his back.
"Had 'I--skould (I go to ;him " ask-
ed David (coarsely, nodding toward
his father,
"Nay, nay, 'lad," •the 'Master replied,
"Yon's not a •matter for a mop's
friends,"
ISo they m'arc'hed out 'o'f the Devil's
Bowl, : and left those two 'alone toge-
ther,
A little later, as they trampled M-
eng, James Moore heard little patter-
ing, staggering footsteps behind.
11•Ie' stopped, and the other two
went an.
"Man," a voice whispered, and a
face, White and pitiful, like a mother's
pleading for her child, looked into his
—'Man, ye'll n•o tell them a'? fI'd no
like 'em to ken 'teas ma Wullie
!'drink an. Oiled 'bin yer ain dog."
"You may trust mei" the other, an-
swered thickly.
The little man stretched out a pal-
sied 'hand,
'lGie us yer hand out. And God
bless ye, James Moore!" -
ISo these two shook 'hands .!'n the
moonlight, with none to witness it' but
the God who made them.
And that is why the -mystery of the'.
!Black Killer is yet unsolved in the
Dlatleland, Many 'have surmised; be-
sides .those three only one other
knows—knows now which .o,f those
two he saw ,upon a summer night was
the gu'il'ty, which the innocent , And,
Po's'bie 'J'im tells no .man.
'GH!AIPTE'R XXX
lOn the following morning there
was h ,sheep -auction at the ,Dale'sntan's
Daughter.
'Early as many of the
farmers ar-
rived, there was one e'a'rlier. Tupper,
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William Knox,'Lond'esboro; George
Leantardt, Brod'hagen; James !Con-
nolly, Goderioh; Alex, Broa'dfoot, No.
3, Seaforth; Robert Ferris, Blyth;
George McCartney, No. 3, Seaforth;
John Pepper,'Rruoefie1d; James S'ho1-
dice, Walton; 'Phomas. Moylan, No. 5,
Seaforth.
Parties desirous to effect insurano,
or transact other business, will be
promptly attended to by applications
to any of the above named officers ad-
dressed to their respective post
offices.
the first man to enter the sand -'floored
parlor, found MTAd'a'in before 'him.
IHe was sitting a little forward in
his chair; his thin hands rested on his
lances; and on :his face was a gentle,
dreamy .expression such as no lean
had ever seen there before. All the
!iansh' wrinkles seemed •to have fled in
the night; and, ithe sour face, stamped
deep with the bitterne's's of life, was
softened new, as if at length at peace.
(To Be 'Continued,)
Far .Rheumatic Tains.—The
l„ pains
and aches of Sciatica and Rheuma-
tism should be treated with Dr.
Thomas' Eclectric ION. The soothing
and healing properties of this famous
remedy have been, demonstrated for
fifty years. Use it also for inflam-
matory pains, cuts, scratches, bruises
and sprains, either in 'human beings
or the lower animlals.