Exhausted and trembling, the little man leant against the pen, one hand on it; while Red Wull, his flanks still heaving, gently licked the other. Quite close stood James Moore and the gray dog; above was the black wall of people, utterly still; below, the judges comparing notes. In the silence you could almost hear the panting of the crowd.
Then one of the judges went up to James Moore and shook him by the hand.
The gray dog had won. Owd Bob o' Ken-muir had won the Shepherds' Trophy outright.
A second's palpitating silence; a woman's hysterical laugh,--and a deep-mouthed bellow rent the expectant air: shouts, screams, hattossings, back-clappings blending in a din that made the many-winding waters of the Silver Lea quiver and quiver again.
Owd Bob o' Kenmuir had won the Shepherds' Trophy outright.
Maggie's face flushed a scarlet hue. Wee Anne flung fat arms toward her triumphant Bob, and screamed with the best. Squire and parson, each red-cheeked, were boisterously shaking hands.
Long Kirby, who had not prayed for thirty years, ejaculated with heartfelt earnestness, "Thank God!" Sam'l Todd bellowed in Tammas's ear, and almost slew him with his mighty buffets.
Among the Dalesmen some laughed like drunken men; some cried like children; all joined in that roaring song of victory.
To little M 'Adam, standing with his back to the crowd, that storm of cheering came as the first announcement of defeat.
A wintry smile, like the sun over a March sea, crept across his face.
"We might a kent it, Wullie," he muttered, soft and low. The tension loosed, the battle lost, the little man almost broke down.
There were red dabs of color in his face; his eyes were big; his lips pitifully quivering; he was near to sobbing.
An old man utterly alone he had staked his all on a throw and lost.
Lady Eleanour marked the forlorn little figure, standing solitary on the fringe of the uproarious mob. She noticed the expression on his face; and her tender heart went out to the lone man in his defeat.
She went up to him and laid a hand upon his arm.
"Mr. M'Adam," she said timidly, "won't you come and sit down in the tent? You look so tired! I can find you a corner where no one shall disturb you."The little man wrenched roughly away. The unexpected kindness, coming at that moment, was almost too much for him. A few paces off he turned again.
"It's reel kind o' yer ladyship," he said huskily; and tottered away to be alone with Red Wull.
Meanwhile the victors stood like rocks in the tideway. About them surged a continually changing throng, shaking the man's hand, patting the dog.
Maggie had carried wee Anne to tender her congratulations; Long Kirby had come; Tammas, Saunderson, Hoppin, Tupper, Londesley all but Jim Mason; and now, elbowing through the press, came squire and parson.
"Well done, James! well done, indeed! Knew you'd win! told you so eh, eh!" Then facetiously to Owd Bob: "Knew you would, Robert, old man! Ought to Robert the Dev musn't be a naughty boy eh, eh!""The first time ever the Dale Cup's been won outright!" said the Parson, "and I dare-say it never will again. And I think Ken-muir's the very fittest place for its final home, and a Gray Dog of Kenmuir for its winner.""Oh, by the by!" burst in the squire. "I've fixed the Manor dinner for to-day fortnight, James. Tell Saunderson and Tupper, will you?
Want all the tenants there." He disappeared into the crowd, but in a minute had fought his way back. "I'd forgotten something!" he shouted. "Tell your Maggie perhaps you'll have news for her after it eh! eh! " and he was gone again.
Last of all, James Moore was aware of a white, blotchy, grinning face at his elbow.
"I maun congratulate ye, Mr. Moore. Ye've beat us you and the gentlemen judges.""'Twas a close thing, M'Adam," the other answered. "An' yo' made a gran' fight. In ma life I niver saw a finer turn than yours by the two flags yonder. I hope yo' bear no malice.""Malice! Me? Is it likely? Na, na. 'Do onto ivery man as he does onto you and somethin' over,' that's my motter. I owe ye mony a good turn, which I'll pay ye yet. Na, na; there's nae good fechtin'
again fate and the judges. Weel, I wush you well o' yer victory.
Aiblins' twill be oor turn next."
Then a rush, headed by Sam'l, roughly hustled the one away and bore the other off on its shoulders in boisterous triumph.
In giving the Cup away, Lady Eleanour made a prettier speech than ever. Yet all the while she was haunted by a white, miserable face;and all the while she was conscious of two black moving dots in the Murk Muir Pass opposite her solitary, desolate, a contrast to the huzzaing crowd around.
That is how the champion challenge Dale Cup, the world-known Shepherds' Trophy, came to wander no more; won outright by the last of the Gray Dogs of Kenmuir Owd Bob.
Why he was the last of the Gray Dogs is now to be told.
