IT was Owd Bob. There could be no mistaking. In the wide world there was but one Owd Bob o' Kenmuir. The silver moon gleamed down on the dark head and rough gray coat, and lit the white escutcheon on his chest.
And in the darkness James Moore was lying with his face pressed downward 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 his 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 humpbacked boulder; the dead sheep; and that gray figure, beautiful, motionless, damned for all eternity.
The Master turned his face and looked at Andrew, a dumb, pitiful entreaty in his eyes; but in the boy's white, horror-stricken countenance was no comfort. Then his head lolled down again, and the strong man was whimpering.
"He! he! he! 'Scuse ma laffin', Mr. Moore--he! he! he!"A little man, all wet and shrunk, sat hunching on a mound above them, rocking his shrivelled form to and fro in the agony of his merriment.
"Ye raskil--he! he! Ye rogue--he! he!' and he shook his fist waggishly at the unconscious gray dog. "I owe ye anither grudge for this--ye've anteecipated me "--and he leant. back 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 delirium, moaning still as he went. And. there was that on his face which no man can mistake. Boy that he was, Andrew knew it..
"Feyther! feyther! do'ee not!" he pleaded, running after his father and laying impotent. hands on him.
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.
In front the little man squatted in the rain, bowed double still; and took no thought to flee.
"Come on, James Moore! Come on!" he laughed, malignant joy in his voice; and. something gleamed bright in his right hand, and was hid again. "I've bin waitin' this a weary while noo. Come on!"Then had there been done something worse than sheep-murder in the dreadful lonesomeness of the Devil's Bowl upon that night; but of a sudden, there sounded the splash of a man's foot, falling heavily behind; a hand like a falling tree smote the Master on the shoulder;~ and a voice roared above the noise of the storm:
"Mr. Moore! Look, man! look!"
The Master tried to shake off that detaining grasp; but it pinned him where he was, immovable.
"Look, I tell yo'!" cried that great voice again.
A hand pushed past him and pointed; and. sullenly he turned, ignoring the figure at his. side, and looked.
The wind had dropped suddenly as it had risen; the little man on the mound had ceased to chuckle; Andrew's sobs were hushed; and in the background the huddled flock edged closer. The world hung balanced on the pinpoint of the moment. Every eye was in the one direction, With dull, uncomprehending gaze James Moore stared as bidden.
There was the gray dog naked in the moonlight, heedless still of any witnesses; there the murdered sheep, lying within and without that distorted shade; and there the humpbacked boulder.
He stared into the shadow, and still stared.
Then he started as though struck. The shadow of the boulder h~d moved!
Motionless, with head shot forward and bulging eyes, he gazed.
Ay, ay, ay; he was sure of it--a huge dim outline as of a lion couchant, in the very thickest of the blackness.
At that he was seized with such a palsy of trembling that he must have fallen but for the strong arm about his waist.
Clearer every moment grew that crouching figure; till at length they plainly could discern the line of arching loins, the crest, thick as a ~stallion's, the massive, wagging head. No mistake this time.
There he lay i the deep..est black, gigantic, revelling in hi horrid debauch--the Black Killer!
