Chapter XXIV A SHOT IN THE NIGHT
IT was only three short weeks before Cup Day that one afternoon Jim Mason brought a letter to Kenmuir. James Moore opened it as the postman still stood in the door.
It was from Long Kirby—still in retirement—begging him for mercy's sake to keep Owd Bob safe within doors at nights; at all events till after the great event was over. For Kirby knew, as did every Dalesman, that the old dog slept in the porch, between the two doors of the house, of which the outer was only loosely closed by a chain, so that the ever-watchful guardian might slip in and out and go his rounds at any moment of the night.
This was how the smith concluded his ill-spelt note: “Look out for M'Adam i tell you i know hel tri at thowd un afore cup day—failin im you if the ole dog's bete i'm a ruined man i say so for the luv o' God keep yer eyes wide.”
The Master read the letter, and handed it to the postman, who perused it carefully.
“I tell yo' what,” said Jim at length, speaking with an earnestness that made the other stare, “I wish yo'd do what he asks yo': keep Th' Owd Un in o' nights, I mean, just for the present.”
The Master shook his head and laughed, tearing the letter to pieces.
“Nay,” said he; “M'Adam or no M'Adam, Cup or no Cup, Th' Owd Un has the run o' ma land same as he's had since a puppy. Why, Jim, the first night I shut him up that night the Killer comes, I'll lay.”
The postman turned wearily away, and the Master stood looking after him, wondering what had come of late to his former cheery friend.