Orren worked his jaw in irritation but went on. "Great Goose-Gogs stamped his cloven hooves in the mud, waving his magnificent twisting rack of horns, lowered his giant heavy head and —"

"— stones no bigger than a pair o' gooseberries, but they grew in just fine later on."

"The evildoer braced himself, the black fire of battle in his dark eyes, his fancy clothes smeared with mud, and prepared to face the great ram's charge."

Orren paused to down a rather unbelievably large tankard of ale in three gulps, knowingly leaving his audience on the edge of their benches. Then he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and gave an appreciative belch before tossing the tankard to the ale-wife, who caught it deftly, and resuming his tale.

"Goose-Gogs charged! And as he neared the stranger he gathered up his forelegs and launched himself up into the air like a stag a'leapin' —"

"It's a good thing they'd not et him when he were young, then!"

"WOULD YOU KINDLY SHUT YOUR YAPPER?"

Orren wasn't simply a large man. He was a very large man. Yaps were shut.

"Right then." Satisfied, Orren continued. "The malicious stranger ducked out of the way at the very last moment and that's when we all saw it, the terrible trick the dastardly intruder played on an honorable beast! Goose-Gogs slammed into the central post of the pavilion with all the force of his mighty rage! The evildoer had hidden the post in his own shadow and tricked our great Goose-Gogs into knocking himself dead silly on that post!"

"Aw. I thought he said Goose-Gogs won this one."

Orren pointed at the disappointed audience member. "Aye, and that's how we know how great our Goose-Gogs is, being a true Ram of Destiny — because that's when the miracle happens! That crazed stranger attacks the crowd in the pavilion, y'see. He grabs up wee children and flings them away, to be caught by their own desperate mothers! He knocks three full grown men right over the railing of the pavilion with one blow! He picked up a poor widow woman and threw her into the air to land on the ground!

"That idiot even grabbed Goose-Gogs — well, he was up and about by then, don't you know. Shaking his head and looking a bit waggle-eyed, truth be told. And that muddy, black-eyed stranger picked up biggest ram in Swaledale and flung him into the air!"

A hush of wonder settled the boisterous crowd.

A whispered voice broke the silence.

"And then what happened?"

The giant Shepherd Orren stood in the dusty beam of the sunlight slanting through the grimy tavern windows with his thick arms raised high, and a transcendent gleam in his eyes.

"A righteous bit o' justice, I tell ye! The pavilion fell square down on top o' the bastard!"

The entire male population of three-and-one-half villages rose to their feet with a mighty roar, lifting their fists to the sky and chanting, "Goose-Gogs! Goose-Gogs!"