"Adam Mackadam yer warned to mak' an end to yer Red Wull will be best for him and the Sheep. This is the first you have two more the third will be the last ---+"
It was written in pencil, and the only signature was a dagger, rudely limned in red.
M'Adam read the paper once, twice, thrice. As he slowly assimilated its meaning, the blood faded from his face. He stared at it and still stared, with whitening face and pursed lips. Then he stole a glance at David's broad back.
"What d'ye ken o' this, David?" he asked, at length, in a dry thin voice, reaching forward in his chair.
"O' this," holding up the slip. "And ye'el. obleege me by the truth for once."
David turned, took up the paper, read it, and laughed harshly.
"It's coom to this, has it?" he said, still laughing, and yet with blanching face.
"Ye ken what it means. I daresay ye pit it there; aiblins writ it. Ye'll explain it." The little man spoke in the same small, even voice, and his eyes never moved off his son's face.
