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.
David looked at his father in well-affected surprise.
"I tell yo' Owd Bob's rinin'," he answered.
"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 happy till the Cup was his own--won outright.
At home David might barely enter the room There the trophy stood.
"I'll not ha' ye touch ma Cup, ye dirty-fingered, ill-begotten wastrel. Wullie and me won it--you'd naught to do wi' it. Go you to James Moore and James Moore's dog."