"They've done ye at last, Wullie--they've done ye at last," he said quietly; unalterably convinced that the attack had been organized while he was detained in the tap-room.
On hearing the loved little voice, the dog gave one weary wag of his stump-tail. And with that the Tailless Tyke, Adam M'Adam's Red Wull, the Black Killer, went to his long home.
One by one the Dalesmen took away their dead, and the little man was left alone with the body of his last friend.
Dry-eyed he sat there, nursing the dead dog's head; hour after hour--alone--crooning to himself:
"'Monie a sair daurk we twa hae wrought, An' wi' the weary warl' fought! An' mony an anxious day I thought We wad be beat.'
So he went on, repeating the lines over and over again, always with the same sad termination.
"A man's mither--a man's wife--a man's dog! They three are a' little M'Adam iver had to back him! D'ye mind the auld mither, Wullie? And her, 'Niver be down-hearted, Adam; ye've aye got yer mither,' And ae day I had not. And Flora, Wullie (ye remember Flora, Wullie? Na, na; ye'd not) wi' her laffin' daffin' manner, cryin' to one: 'Adam, ye say ye're alane. But ye've me--is that no enough for ony man?' And God kens it was--while it lasted!" He broke down and sobbed a while. "And you Wullie--and you! the only man friend iver I had!" He sought the dog's bloody paw with his right hand.
"'An' here's a hand, my trusty fier, An gie's a hand o' thine; An' we'll tak' a right guid willie-waught, For auld lang syne.'"
He sat there, muttering, and stroking the poor head upon his lap, bending over it, like a mother over a sick child.
"They've done ye at last, lad--done ye sair. And noo I'm thinkin' they'll no rest content till I'm gone. And oh, Wullie!"--he bent down and whispered--"I dreamed sic an awfu' thing--that ma Wullie--but there! 'twas but a dream."
So he sat on, crooning to the dead dog; and no man approached him. Only Bessie of the inn watched the little lone figure from afar.
It was long past noon when at length he rose, laying the dog's head reverently down, and tottered away toward that bridge which once the dead thing on the slope had held against a thousand.
He crossed it and turned; there was a look upon his face, half hopeful, half fearful, very piteous to see.