The door of the porch was wide, the chain hanging limply down, unused; and the little man could see within, the moon shining on the iron studs of the inner door, and the blanket of him who should have slept there, and did not.
"He's no there, Wullie! He's no there!" He jumped down from the gate. Throwing all caution to the winds, he reeled recklessly across the yard. The drunken delirium of battle was on him. The fever of anticipated. victory flushed his veins. At length he would. take toll for the injuries of years.
Another moment, and he was in front of the good oak door, battering at it madly with clubbed weapon, yelling, dancing, screaming vengeance.
"Where is he? What's he at? Come and tell me that, James Moore!
Come doon, I say, ye coward! Come and meet me like a. man!"'Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Scots wham Bruce has aften led--Welcome to your gory bed Or to victorie!'
The soft moonlight streamed down on the white-haired madman thundering at the door, screaming his war-song.
The quiet farmyard, startled from its sleep, awoke in an uproar.
Cattle shifted in their stalls; horses whinnied; fowls chattered, aroused by the din and dull thudding of the blows:. and above the rest, loud and piercing, the. shrill cry of a terrified child.
Maggie, wakened from a vivid dream of David chasing the police, hurried a shawl around her, and in a minute had the baby in her arms and was comforting her--vaguely fearing the while that the police were after David.
James Moore flung open a window, and, leaning out, looked down on the dishevelled figure below him.
M'Adam heard the noise, glanced up, and saw his enemy.
Straightway he ceased his attack on the door, and, running beneath the window, shook his weapon up at his foe.
"There ye are, are ye? Curse ye for a -coward! .'urse ye for a liar! Come doon, I say, James Moore!
come doon--I daur ye to it! Aince and for a' let's settle oor account."The Master, looking down from above, thought that at length the little man's brain had gone.
"What is't yo' want?" he asked, as calmly as he could, hoping to gain time.
"What is't I want?" screamed the madman. "Hark to him! He crosses mi in ilka thing; he plot-s agin me; lie robs me o' ma Cup;he sets ma son agin me and pits him on to murder me! And in the end he--""Coom, then, coom! I'll--~---"
"Gie me back the Cup ye stole, James Moore! Gie me back ma son ye've took from rue! And there's anither thing. What's yer gray dog doin'? Where's yer--"The Master interposed again:
"I'll coom doon and talk things over wi' yo'." he said soothingly.
But before he could withdraw, M'Adam had jerked his weapon to his shoulder and aimed it full at his enemy's head.
The threatened man looked down the gun's great quivering mouth, wholly unmoved.
"Yo' mon hold it steadier, little mon, if yo'd hit!" he said grimly.
"There, I'll cooni help yo'!" He withdrew slowly; and all the-time was wondering where the gray dog was.
In another moment he was downstairs, un--doing the bolts and bars of the door. On the other side stood M'Adam, his blunderbuss at his shoulder, his finger trembling on the trigger, waiting.
"Hi, Master! Stop, or yo're dead!" roared a voice from the loft on the other side the yard.
"Feyther! feyther! git yo' back!" screamed Maggie, who saw it all from the window above-the door.
Their cries were too late! The blunderbuss. went off with a roar, belching out a storm of sparks and smoke. The shot peppered the door like hail, and the whole yard seemed for a moment wrapped in flame.
"Aw! oh! ma gummy! A'm waounded~ A'm a goner! A'm shot!
'Elp! Murder! Eh! Oh!" bellowed a lusty voice--and it was. not James Moore's.
