arge upon his face for a dog to read. And he would follow the lad
about with a compassion in his sad gray eyes greater than words.

David might well compare his gray friend at Kenmuir with that other at
the Grange.

The Tailless Tyke had now grown into an immense dog, heavy of muscle and
huge of bone. A great bull head; undershot jaw, square and lengthy and
terrible; vicious, yellow-gleaming eyes; cropped ears; and an expression
incomparably savage. His coat was a tawny, lion-like yellow, short,
harsh, dense; and his back, running up from shoulder to loins, ended
abruptly in the knob-like tail. He looked like the devil of a dogs'
hell. And his reputation was as bad as his looks. He never attacked
unprovoked; but a challenge was never ignored, and he was greedy of
insults. Already he had nigh killed Rob Saunderson's collie, Shep; Jem
Burton's Monkey fled incontinently at the sound of his approach; while
he had even fought a round with that redoubtable trio, the Vexer, Venus,
and Van Tromp.

Nor, in the matter of war, did he confine himself to his own kind.
His huge strength and indomitable courage made him the match of almost
anything that moved. Long Kirby once threatened him with a broomstick;
the smith never did it again. While in the Border Ram he attacked Big
Bell, the Squire's underkeeper, with such murderous fury that it took
all the men in the room to pull him off.

More than once had he and Owd Bob essayed to wipe out mutual memories,
Red Wull, in this case only, the aggressor. As yet, however, while they
fenced a moment for that deadly throat-grip, the value of which each
knew so well, James Moore had always seized the chance to intervene.

"That's right, hide him ahint yer petticoats," sneered M'Adam on one of
these occasions.

"Hide? It'll not be him I'll hide, I warn you, M'Adam," the Master
answered grimly, as he stood, twirling his good oak stick between the
would-be duellists. Whereat there was a loud laugh at the little man's
expense.

It seemed as if there were to be other points of rivalry between the two
than memories. For, in the matter of his own business--the handling of
sheep--Red Wull bid fair to be second only throughout the Daleland to
the Gray Dog of Kenmuir. And M'Adam was patient and painstaking in the
training of his Wullie in a manner to astonish David. It would have been
touching, had it not been so unnatural in view of his treatment of his
own blood, to watch the tender carefulne