The little man turned away.

"Ye're all agin me," he said, and his voice shook. A pitiful figure
he made, standing there with the water dripping from him. A red
stream was running slowly from his chin; his head was bare, and
face working.

James Moore stood eyeing him with some pity and some
contempt. Behind was Tammas, enjoying the scene. While Sam'l
regarded them all with an impassive melancholy.

M'Adam turned and bent over Red Wull, who still lay like a dead
thing. As his master handled him, the button-tail quivered feebly;
he opened his eyes, looked about him, snarled faintly, and glared
with devilish hate at the gray dog and the group with him.

The little man picked him up, stroking him tenderly. Then he
turned away and on to the bridge. Half-way across he stopped. It
rattled feverishly beneath him, for he still trembled like a palsied
man.

"Man, Moore!" he called, striving to quell the agitation in his
voice--" I wad shoot yon dog."

Across the bridge he turned again. "Man, Moore!" he called and
paused. Ye'll not forget this day." And with that the blood flared up
a dull crimson into his white face.

PART II THE LITTLE MAN