eye. They stopped the sheep well enough, but one had to go and push it to get it moving again. While I stood wondering what astronomical price would be asked for the replacement, there was a clattering of stones and boulders to announce the approach of someone up the other side of the fell.
I was hardly surprised to see the black head and brown face of Jack Gamble. I thought he might return to see how his drinking crony did this morning. I was in a mood to accuse him of having killed Scout himself, though I had no reason to believe him so stupidly cruel, and he had nothing to gain by doing so.
“Ah, Miss Barwick,” he said, striding over the rocks with an easy familiarity with the terrain that is impossible to simulate. It made his origins clear, his upbringing in the Lake District. “I hoped I might meet you. I often see you from a balcony at the Hall, cantering over the rocks. A fine day for a walk, is it not?”
“The fineness of the day is destroyed for me, Mr. Gamble,” I answered in a damping way, and with an eye cast off to that spot where ravens had joined the buzzard, honking and gabbling over the carcass of Scout.
“Lost a sheep, have you?” he asked. “Ulrich mentioned some trouble with your stone walls.”
“It is a much more precious animal we have lost. Our sheep dog has been killed.”
“Is that so? Too bad. I noticed a pair of foxes yesterday. They won’t often attack a dog. Was it foxes?”
“No, it was a bullet.”
“Shot?” he asked, in a surprised tone. “I am sorry to hear it. The hunters ought not to shoot near where the herd are grazing.”
“They don’t,” I answered curtly.
“How did it happen then? When?”
“Last night, while Ulrich was—indisposed, after your visit,” I said, throwing all the significance I could contrive into the speech. Ulrich hung his head in shame, making me feel a monster.
Gamble regarded me warily for a moment without speaking, deciding, I suppose, what reply to make to this oblique charge. “It is hardly a tragedy,” he said, with a twitching of the shoulders that relegated it to a minor mishap. “You will be in a hurry to find a replacement for Scout.”
“Just what I’ve been telling her,” Ulrich said, turning his full attention to Gamble. It is a custom of the lower born male natives to relegate mere females to onlookers when there is serious business to be done. The fact of my being in charge of Ambledown was not of sufficient importance to include me now. “Ritson, over to Stickle Tarn, has a fine breed. It’s one of them she wants.’’
“I will be happy to take you over, Miss Barwick, to make up for having caused Ulrich’s indisposition,” Gamble offered.
“That’s not necessary,” I said, brushing the offer aside.
“It’s a longer trip than she’d like to make alone, and her brother is away,” Ulrich went on, still ignoring my presence. “Tell Ritson it’s Becky we want. She showed well at the fair. She’ll cost something, but there’s no stinting on your dog. If she’s wise she’ll take the bitch, Becky, so as to breed up her own dogs. I could train them to gather for her. It’s poor economy not having a young ‘un learning. If we had one now ...” he said, his voice petering out while his hands silently finished the statement for him. He flung them out, showing the callouses that had deformed his right hand from the constant pressure of the crook. It hung now over his wrist like an umbrella.
“I don’t intend going all the way to Stickle Tarn to buy a dog, Ulrich,” I said firmly.
“It’s the cost you’re worried about,” he said, reading my mind, or perhaps the worried lines on my forehead. “Ritson will give you credit.” This offending speech at least he directed to myself.
“It’s not the cost; it is the time. I’ll go to Axels, in the village.”
“Nay, I don’t want to be stuck with a fixer,” he said, in a voice that did not invite argument.
To terminate this unpleasant
I was hardly surprised to see the black head and brown face of Jack Gamble. I thought he might return to see how his drinking crony did this morning. I was in a mood to accuse him of having killed Scout himself, though I had no reason to believe him so stupidly cruel, and he had nothing to gain by doing so.
“Ah, Miss Barwick,” he said, striding over the rocks with an easy familiarity with the terrain that is impossible to simulate. It made his origins clear, his upbringing in the Lake District. “I hoped I might meet you. I often see you from a balcony at the Hall, cantering over the rocks. A fine day for a walk, is it not?”
“The fineness of the day is destroyed for me, Mr. Gamble,” I answered in a damping way, and with an eye cast off to that spot where ravens had joined the buzzard, honking and gabbling over the carcass of Scout.
“Lost a sheep, have you?” he asked. “Ulrich mentioned some trouble with your stone walls.”
“It is a much more precious animal we have lost. Our sheep dog has been killed.”
“Is that so? Too bad. I noticed a pair of foxes yesterday. They won’t often attack a dog. Was it foxes?”
“No, it was a bullet.”
“Shot?” he asked, in a surprised tone. “I am sorry to hear it. The hunters ought not to shoot near where the herd are grazing.”
“They don’t,” I answered curtly.
“How did it happen then? When?”
“Last night, while Ulrich was—indisposed, after your visit,” I said, throwing all the significance I could contrive into the speech. Ulrich hung his head in shame, making me feel a monster.
Gamble regarded me warily for a moment without speaking, deciding, I suppose, what reply to make to this oblique charge. “It is hardly a tragedy,” he said, with a twitching of the shoulders that relegated it to a minor mishap. “You will be in a hurry to find a replacement for Scout.”
“Just what I’ve been telling her,” Ulrich said, turning his full attention to Gamble. It is a custom of the lower born male natives to relegate mere females to onlookers when there is serious business to be done. The fact of my being in charge of Ambledown was not of sufficient importance to include me now. “Ritson, over to Stickle Tarn, has a fine breed. It’s one of them she wants.’’
“I will be happy to take you over, Miss Barwick, to make up for having caused Ulrich’s indisposition,” Gamble offered.
“That’s not necessary,” I said, brushing the offer aside.
“It’s a longer trip than she’d like to make alone, and her brother is away,” Ulrich went on, still ignoring my presence. “Tell Ritson it’s Becky we want. She showed well at the fair. She’ll cost something, but there’s no stinting on your dog. If she’s wise she’ll take the bitch, Becky, so as to breed up her own dogs. I could train them to gather for her. It’s poor economy not having a young ‘un learning. If we had one now ...” he said, his voice petering out while his hands silently finished the statement for him. He flung them out, showing the callouses that had deformed his right hand from the constant pressure of the crook. It hung now over his wrist like an umbrella.
“I don’t intend going all the way to Stickle Tarn to buy a dog, Ulrich,” I said firmly.
“It’s the cost you’re worried about,” he said, reading my mind, or perhaps the worried lines on my forehead. “Ritson will give you credit.” This offending speech at least he directed to myself.
“It’s not the cost; it is the time. I’ll go to Axels, in the village.”
“Nay, I don’t want to be stuck with a fixer,” he said, in a voice that did not invite argument.
To terminate this unpleasant
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