His was an incomparable exhibition. Sheep should be humored rather than hurried; coaxed, rather than coerced. And that sheepdog has attained the summit of his art who subdues his own personality and leads his sheep in pretending to be led. Well might the bosoms of the Dalesmen swell with pride as they watched their favorite at his work; well might Tammas pull out that hackneyed phrase, "The brains of a mon and the way of a woman"; well might the crowd bawl their enthusiasm, and Long Kirby puff his cheeks and rattle the money in his trouser pockets.
But of this part it is enough to say that Pip, Owd Bob, and Red Wull were selected to fight out the struggle afresh.
The course was altered and stiffened. On the far side the stream it remained as before; up the slope; round a flag; down the hill again;through the gap in the wall; along the hillside; down through the two flags; turn; and to the stream again. But the pen was removed from its former position, carried over the bridge, up the near slope, and the hurdles put together at the very foot of the spectators.
The sheep had to be driven over the plank bridge, and the penning done beneath the very nose of the crowd. A stiff course, if ever there was one; and the time allowed, ten short minutes.
The spectators hustled and elbowed in their endeavors to obtain a good position. And well they might; for about to begin was the finest exhibition of sheep-handling any man there was ever to behold.
Those two, who had won on many a hard-fought field, worked together as they had never worked before. Smooth and swift, like a yacht in Southampton Water; round the flag, through the gap, they brought their sheep. Down between the two flags--accomplishing right well that awkward turn; and back to the bridge.
There they stopped: the sheep would not face that narrow way.
Once, twice, and again, they broke; and each time the gallant little Pip, his tongue out and tail quivering, brought them back to the bridge-head.
At length one faced it; then another, and--it was too late. Time was up. The judges signalled; and the Welshman called off his dog and withdrew.
Out of sight of mortal eye, in a dip of the ground, Evan Jones sat down and took the small dark head between his knees--and you may be sure the dog's heart was heavy as the man's. "We did our pest, Pip," he cried brokenly, "but we're peat--the first time ever we've been!"No time to daily.
James Moore and Owd Bob were off on their last run.
No applause this time; not a voice was raised; anxious faces;twitching fingers; the whole crowd tense as a stretched wire. Afalse turn, a wilful sheep, a cantankerous judge, and the gray dog would, he beat. And not a man there but knew it.
Yet over the stream master and dog went about their business never so quiet, never so collected; for all the world as though they were rounding up a flock on the Muir Pike.
The old dog found his sheep in a twinkling and a wild, scared trio they proved. Rounding the first flag, one bright-eyed wether made a dash for the open. He was quick; but the gray dog was quicker: a splendid recover, and a sound like a sob from the watchers on the hill.
Down the slope they came for the gap in the wall. A little below the opening, James Moore took his stand to stop and turn them;while a distance behind his sheep loitered Owd Bob, seeming to follow rather than drive, yet watchful of every movement and anticipating it. On he came, one eye on his master, the other on his sheep; never hurrying them, never flurrying them, yet bringing them rapidly along.
No word was spoken; barely a gesture made; yet they worked, master and dog, like one divided.
Through the gap, along the hill parallel to the spectators, playing into one another's hands like men at polo.
A wide sweep for the turn at the flags, and the sheep wheeled as though at the word of command, dropped through them, and trayelled rapidly for the bridge.
"Steady!" whispered the crowd.
"Steady, man!" muttered Parson Leggy.
"Hold 'em, for God's sake!" croaked Kirby huskily. "D--n! I knew it! I saw it coming!"The pace down the hill had grown quicker--too quick. Close on the bridge the three sheep made an effort to break. A dash--and two were checked; but the third went away like the wind, and after him Owd Bob, a gray streak against the green.
Tammas was cursing silently; Kirby was. white to the lips; and in the stillness you could plainly hear the Dalesmen's sobbing breath, as it fluttered in their throats.
"Gallop! they say he's old and slow!" muttered the Parson. "Dash!
Look at that!" For the gray dog, racing like the Nor'eastcr over the sea, had already retrieved the fugitive.
Man and dog were coaxing the three a step. at a time toward the bridge.
One ventured--the others followed.
In the middle the leader stopped and tried to turn--and time was flying, flying, and the penning alone must take minutes. Many a man's hand was at hig watch, but no one could take his eyes off the group below him to~ look.
"We're beat! I've won bet, Tammas! groaned Sam'l. (The two had a long-standing wager on the matter.) "I allus knoo hoo 'twould be. Iallus told yo' th' owd tyke Then breaking into a bellow, his honest face crimson with enthusiasm: "Coom on, Master! Good for yo', Owd Un! Yon's the style!"For the gray dog had leapt on the back of the hindmost sheep; it had surged forward against the next, and they were over, and making up the slope amidst a thunder of applause.
At the pen it was a sight to see shepherd and dog working together.
The Master, his face stern and a little whiter than its wont, casting forward with both hands, herding the sheep in; the gray dog, his eyes big and bright, dropping to hand; crawling and creeping, closer and closer.
"They're in!--Nay--Ay--dang me! Stop 'er! Good, Owd Un! Ah-h-h, they're in!" And the last sheep reluctantly passed through --on the stroke of time.
A roar went up from the crowd; Maggie's white face turned pink;and the Dalesmen mopped their wet brows. The mob surged forward, but the stewards held them back.
