But the bullocks fed on undisturbed. No
one came to remove them; only their owner stood regarding them for a
while. Darkness fell, and the call of an owl that hooted eerily, or the
distant wail of a curlew, alone broke the stillness. Then up came
Dicky's best friend, a moon but little past the full. Everything was in
his favour, not a hitch of any kind occurred; quietly and without any
fuss the great fat beasts began to make their slow way west across the
hills for Cumberland.
Morning came, bringing with it a great hue and cry on that farm bereft
of its fat cattle, and things might chance to have fared ill with Dicky
had he not adroitly contrived to lay a false trail, that headed the
furious owner in hasty pursuit north, towards Tweed and Scotland.
Meanwhile, in due time--not for worlds would Dicky have overdriven
them--the bullocks and their driver found themselves in Cumberland, near
by Lanercost. There, as they picked their leisurely way along, they
encountered an old farmer riding a bay mare, the like of which for
quality Dicky had never seen. His mouth watered.
"Where be'st gangin' wi' the nowt?" asked the farmer.
"Oh, to Carlisle," said Dicky.
"Wad ye sell?"
"Oh aye!" answered Dicky. "For a price. But the beasts are good.
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