He shook the gate. M'Adam tumbled off, and went sprawling into the sheep clustered below. Picking himself up, he dashed on through the flock, waving his arms, kicking fantastically, and scattering confusion everywhere. “Just wait till I'm thro' wi' 'em, will yo'?” shouted the Master, seeing the danger. It was a request which, according to the etiquette of shepherding, one man was bound to grant another. But M'Adam rushed on regardless, dancing and gesticulating. Save for the lightning vigilance of Owd Bob, the flock must have broken. “I think yo' might ha' waited!” remonstrated the Master, as the little man burst his way through. “Noo, I've forgot somethin'!” the other cried, and back he started as he had gone. It was more than human nature could tolerate. “Bob, keep him off!” A flash of teeth; a blaze of gray eyes; and the old dog had leapt forward to oppose the little man's advance. “Shift oot o' ma light!” cried he, striving to dash past. “Hold him, lad!” And hold him the old dog did, while his master opened the gate and put the flock through, the opponents dodging in front of one another like opposing three-quarter-backs at the Rugby game. “Oot o' ma path, or I'll strike!” shouted the little man in a fury, as the last sheep passed through the gate. “I'd not,” warned the Master. “But I will!” yelled M'Adam; and, darting forward as the gate swung to, struck furiously at his opponent. He missed, and the gray dog charged at him like a mail-train. “Hi! James Moore--” but over he went like a toppled wheelbarrow, while the old dog turned again, raced at the gate, took it magnificently in his stride, and galloped up the lane after his master. At M'Adam's yell, James Moore had turned. “Served yo' properly!” he called back. “He'll larn ye yet it's not wise to tamper wi' a gray dog or his sheep. Not the first time he's downed ye, I'm thinkin'!” The little man raised himself painfully to his elbow and crawled toward the gate. The Master, up the lane, could hear him cursing as he dragged himself. Another moment, and a head was poked through the bars of the gate, and a devilish little face looked after him. “Downed me, by--, he did!” the little man cried passionately. “I owed ye baith somethin' before this, and noo, by ----, I owe ye somethin' more. An' mind ye, Adam M'Adam pays his debts!” “I've heard the contrary,” the Master replied drily, and turned away up the lane toward the Marches. 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.