The Buccaneer Farmer Part 39

"Forrad! Gan forrad!" cried the farmer. "Head them, Merry Lad!"

The dog turned the sheep and brought them back through another opening, after which they raced towards the hurdles, and the collie hesitated as if puzzled by its master's shouts. The sheep were near the end of the rails, but it was not the end the card indicated. Then the dog seemed to understand what was required, and circling round the flock with swift, graceful leaps, drove them along the hurdles and round the other end.

There was some applause from the crowd and afterwards good-humored banter when the dog ran backwards and forwards at a loss. The animal obviously knew the flock must be taken round the remaining obstacles, but had only its master's shouts for guide to the order in which they must be pa.s.sed. Sometimes the farmer got angry and sometimes laughed, but except for a mistake or two the collie drove the sheep in and out among the barriers as the card required and put them in the pen.

Two or three more trials took place, and for the most part, the unoccupied dogs strained at their leads and whimpered, but old Bob sat at Kit's feet, watching, with his head on one side.

"One can see he's thinking; I believe he wants to remember the right way round," Grace remarked, and smiled when a steward beckoned Kit. "It's your turn," she said. "I wish you good luck!"

Kit went off with his heart beating and felt half amused by his keenness when the steward tied the string to his leg. After his adventures on the Caribbean and the stakes he and Adam had played for, it was strange he should be eager to win a box of plated forks at a rustic show. Yet, he was eager; Grace had wished him luck.

"Number four; Mr. Askew's Old Bob!" the steward announced.

Kit called, and Bob, trotting away deliberately, got the sheep together and drove them correctly through the holes. He was doing well, in one sense, and Kit knew he would make few mistakes, but time counted and old Bob was slow. He had trouble at the hurdles, where the sheep seemed resolved to go the wrong way, but he stopped them and took them back to the proper end. Kit gave very few orders, although he looked at his watch rather anxiously. Bob understood and could be trusted to do his work, the trouble was he might not finish it in time. At length, Kit drew a deep breath, and put back his watch. The sheep were in the pen and there was a minute left.

Kit went back to Grace, and Bob trotted up, panting, with his tongue hanging out. He looked at Kit, as if for approval; and then, after wagging his tail when his master spoke, held up his paw to Grace.

"Hallo!" said Kit. "I haven't known him to do that before. It's not a sheepdog's trick."

"I taught him," Grace replied, with a touch of color. "He has not forgotten, and really deserves to be stroked."

She went away, but she gave Kit a smile across the railing, behind which she stood with Mrs. Osborn, when the judge called out:

"First prize, Number Four; Mr. Askew's Bob!"

When lunch was served in a big tent Osborn sat at the top of the table, but his satisfaction had vanished. For one thing, everybody had applauded when Askew won the prize; the fellow was obviously a favorite and this annoyed him. Then, Drysdale's sheep were to be sold by auction after lunch and the committee had hinted that the president was the proper person to buy the flock. Drysdale sat next to Kit at the bottom of the table. He was a little, shabbily-dressed man, with a brown face, and a twinkling smile.

"Where are the sheep?" Kit asked.

"We'll send t' band for them presently. Are you gan t' bid?"

"I don't know until I've seen them. What about their quality?"

"Weel, it might be better; they're gifts, you ken. There's a young ram might suit you; he's true Carlside strain."

"I don't know how you got him then. I can't see Mayson giving away good breeding stock."

Drysdale grinned. "Some big stanes fell on t' ram when Mayson was Bringing flock doon Barra ghyll. He looks a bit the waur o' it, but you can tell the Carlside blood."

"I'll see what I think about the animal," Kit said with a laugh. "Do you expect a good sale? The rich people, as a rule, go to church."

"They'll bid aw t' same. When you canna stir their generosity, you can try their pride. If you look at it one way, the thing's humorsome. They dinna want to help me, but they will."

"It's possible," Kit agreed. "I don't know if the plan's above suspicion, but you need the money."

"It will be weel spent. Hooiver, I must be off and see the band dinna get ower much to drink."

Drysdale went away and soon afterwards a strange procession headed by the band and guarded by children, entered the field. A row of geese, waddling solemnly in single file, came first, and then turkeys stalked among their broods; a boy led a handsome goat and long-legged calf, and in the rear straggled a flock of sheep. When all were driven into pens the sale began and the crowd laughed and bantered the men who bid. In the meantime, Kit examined the sheep. Some had faults and the ram had obviously suffered from its accident. It was clear, though, that it sprang from a famous stock, and Kit knew an animal transmits to its offspring inherited qualities and not acquired defects. He recognized the stamp of breeding and resolved to buy the sheep. The ram was worth much more than he imagined the shepherds thought.

He went back to the stand and by and by the auctioneer praised the flock.

When he stopped, there was silence for a few moments until Osborn nodded.

"A cautious beginning often makes a good ending, but we've a long way to go yet," the auctioneer remarked. "Who'll say five pounds more?"

Thorn made a sign, and the auctioneer raised his hammer. "We've got a start, but you must keep it up. The opportunity's what folks call unique; you'll save money by buying, and help a good cause. Don't know which will appeal to you, but you can pay your money, and take your choice."

He looked about while the crowd laughed, and after two or three flockmasters advanced the price, caught Kit's eye. "Mr. Askew's a judge of sheep. We'll call it ten pounds rise!"

Kit nodded, and Osborn glanced at Thorn, who shrugged. The latter had helped to start the bidding, which was all he meant to do, and Osborn would have tried to draw out after making another offer, had he not seen Kit. He did not want the sheep, although he was willing to buy them at something above their proper price. Now, however, Askew was his antagonist, the fellow must be beaten.

"We must finish the sale before the driving-matches," he said. "Go up twenty pounds."

"They'd not sell near it if you sent them to the market," a farmer remarked.

"Do you sell pedigree stock to butchers? The ram's worth the money," the auctioneer rejoined.

On the whole, Kit agreed, although he saw that others did not. Moreover he was willing to run some risk by helping Drysdale, whom he liked, and he signed to the auctioneer. The farmers stopped, but Osborn went on. He had not liked Peter Askew and liked Kit worse. Father and son had opposed him, and now the young upstart was proud of the money he had, no doubt, got by doubtful means. He would not let the fellow balk him, and his face got red as he answered the auctioneer's inquiring glance. Presently he turned with a frown as Hayes touched his arm.

"It's an extravagant price," the agent remarked. "They'll want a check and your account is getting very low."

"You'll have to cut down expenses, then," Osborn answered haughtily.

"This is not a matter about which I need your advice."

Hayes shrugged and Osborn nodded to the auctioneer when Kit made another bid. He felt hot and savage and wanted a drink, but could not leave the stand. Askew meant to humiliate him and he must hold out. He was the most important man in the neighborhood, and must not be beaten by a small farmer. For all that, the sum he would have to pay would be a drain.

After the next bid the auctioneer looked at Kit, who smiled and shook his head.

"Mr. Osborn takes the lot," the auctioneer remarked. "He has paid a high price to help a good object, but I think we all hope the next lambing season will give him his money back."

Osborn's savage satisfaction was spoiled by a chilling doubt and he went off to look for Hayes.

"Give the fellow a check for the sheep on the estate account," he said.

"How much?" Hayes asked, and looked thoughtful when Osborn told him.

"There are a number of bills to meet and we'll have no money coming in until term-day."

"Can't you put off the bills?"

"I think not," Hayes answered, meaningly. "It mightn't be prudent. Our credit is not too good."

Osborn was silent for a moment or two. "Very well," he said. "I'll try to sell the sheep to somebody who'll give me what they're really worth. Come over to-morrow and we'll talk about the new mortgage."

Then he went back, moodily, to join the judges for the driving-match.

CHAPTER IV