e--curse him!--will
win ma Cup awa' from me, yer ain dad. I wonder ye're no 'shamed to crass
ma door! Ye live on me; ye suck ma blood, ye foul-mouthed leech. Wullie
and me brak' oorsel's to keep ye in hoose and hame--and what's yer
gratitude? Ye plot to rob us of oor rights."

He dropped the boy's coat and stood back.

"No rights about it," said David, still keeping his temper.

"If I win is it no ma right as muckle as ony Englishman's?"

Red Wull, who had heard the rising voices, came trotting in, scowled at
David, and took his stand beside his master.

"Ah, _if_ yo' win it," said David, with significant emphasis on the
conjunction.

"And wha's to beat us?"

David looked at his father in well-affected surprise.

"I tell yo' Owd Bob's rinin'," he answered.

"And what if he is?" the other cried.

"Why, even yo' should know so much," the boy sneered.

The little man could not fail to understand.

"So that's it!" he said. Then, in a scream, with one finger pointing to
the great dog: "And what o' him? What'll ma Wullie be doin' the while?
Tell me that, and ha' a care! Mind ye, he stan's here hearkenin'!" And,
indeed, the Tailless Tyke was bristling for battle.

David did not like the look of things; and edged away toward the door.

"What'll Wullie be doin', ye chicken-hearted brock?" his father cried.

"Im?" said the boy, now close on the door. "Im!" he said, with a slow
contempt that made the red bristles quiver on the dog's neck. "Lookin'
on, I should think--lookin' on. What else is he fit for? I tell yo' oor
Bob--"

"--'Oor Bob'!" screamed the little man darting forward. "'Oor Bob'! Hark
to him. I'll 'oor--' At him, Wullie! at him!"

But the Tailless Tyke needed no encouragement. With a harsh roar he
sprang through the air, only to crash against the closing door!

The outer door banged, and in another second a mocking finger tapped on
the windowpane.

"Better luck to the two on yo' next time!" laughed a scornful voice; and
David ran down the hill toward Kenmuir.

Chapter XII. HOW RED WULL HELD THE BRIDGE

FROM that hour the fire of M'Adam's jealousy blazed into a mighty flame.
The winning of the Dale Cup had become a mania with him. He had won it
once, and would again despite all the Moores, all the Gray Dogs, all the
undutiful sons in existence; on that point he was resolved. The fact of
his having tasted the joys of victory served to whet his desire. And now
he felt he could never be h