Tears for a Tinker Read Online Free PDF Page B

licked the meat juices from her fingers, he licked his lips. The meat was cooked and the feast began! She tore off strips
with her bare hands, and no sooner had one slid down her gulping thrapple when another and another followed. She gorged like a demon possessed, running her tongue up and down her forearm and
licking the juice that escaped. Gristle and bone were also crunched and gulped, until nothing, not even a saucer of gravy, remained that might feed her hungry menfolk when night would bring them
home starving. But another creature was beginning to feel hunger pangs. It watched as Peggy shoved the meat down that gargling throat, and to his empty stomach that great bulk of a neck looked
quite delectable. Her day had reached its fulfilment and now she was exhausted. After her trip to the market, cooking and eating, she just had to rest, so down onto the mattress went that massive
frame with a great thud.
    From the shadows of her tent a face, grinning with menace, watched her in deathly silence. Cats are not known as impulsive eaters, unlike dogs and certain humans; they have patience, and can
wait to savour their moment. Yet how could he, this demonic creature of the shadows, stay patient when such a prize lay sprawled before him? Lifting his slender body with stealthy movements he
crouched above the half-sleeping woman. For a little while he scanned the meat-stained face. Then very slowly he positioned one leg over her shoulders until he stood directly straddling her
head.
    Aware not all was right, she opened her eyes and stared into those yellow orbs! This was his time, when his prey froze in terror. He waited on the smell of fear. But it did not come from Peggy
Moore!
    ‘If ye think tae sink yer green and yella teeth intae ma neck, pussy, then think again!’
    Suddenly the cat creature realised, as she picked him up and threw him the length of the tent, he’d met his match. This prey wouldn’t go as easy to his stomach as the market meat
went to hers. He stood rigid, stretched his spine, unsheathed sharp claws and pounced. Claws and teeth tore a lump from Peggy Moore’s neck. Blood, hot and steaming, poured freely from the
gaping wound. This should have shocked her to death. But instead of being sent into the throes of terror, the big woman rose onto splayed feet, sucked her head into her shoulders and screamed,
‘give me all you’ve got, cat!’
    From then on it was life or death for them both, as fist met claw and kick met paw. Scratching and ripping, punching and gouging, they rolled and wrestled, neither giving in. Peggy was torn and
tattered, while the cat limped and bled. For a minute, when it seemed as if all strength was gone, they rallied and tore into each other again. They rolled out of the tent, among the shale, over
boulders, tripping over dried tree roots at the loch’s edge, then, in one last desperate grapple they met and rolled over, and were both swallowed by the deep waters of Loch Ness.
    Down they gurgled, clinging to each other, neither giving in until their lungs filled to the top and death claimed them both. Only a tiny trail of air bubbles popped and evaporated into nothing
as the monsters breathed their last: she a mistake of Nature, he a ferocious hunter who had met his match when he had taken on Mistress Moore.
    Now, as it happens, never before had anyone seen such a spectacular contest. No human had witnessed the pair, but a water kelpie, that supernatural creature of myth and legend, had seen it all
from the other side of the black water. Without a moment lost, he swam down into the fathomless depths. Down and down he sank, entering a world where nightmares and ghoulish creatures live.
    ‘Your Majesty,’ he shouted, awakening the horny Devil from a grand slumber, ‘did ye no see Peggy Moore and the wild cat fechting?’
    ‘Na,’ answered the Hairy Man, angry at the intrusion. ‘Now, water horse, it had better be good, this tale ye’re about tae tell me, for