Mary had been staying with the McGregors for nearly two weeks, and it had rained every day. Finally, there was a nice day.
“I think I’ll just go for a walk,” said Mary.
Her hosts warned her that it wasn’t safe to go out on the moors alone because of a man called Red Tam. He robbed people, among other things. But Mary was sure she would be fine.
“If I see him in the distance, I’ll run home,” she promised.
It was beautiful outside. Mary enjoyed her walk and was sorry to head home. But it was rough walking, and she was stooping to get a stone out of her shoe when she heard a sad whine.
Unafraid, she guessed it must be a dog that had fallen into a nearby pit. She went to the side and looked in, and a dog lay at the bottom.
“You poor thing. I believe you’ve broken your leg,” Mary cried.
Mary had been learning nursing, and she was anxious to practice what she was learning. She scrambled down into the pit, getting scratched and disheveled before she landed near the dog. He had broken a leg and yelped in pain as Mary examined him. She tore a cloth in strips and wrapped his leg tightly. Then, a whine of pleasure told her that the dog was welcoming his master. Her heart jumped as she saw the rough-looking man with brick-red hair swinging into the pit. She knew at once that he was Red Tam.
She could not, however, run away. Swallowing her fears as best she could, she turned to greet the man.
“Your dog has broken its leg,” said Mary.
He stood glaring down at her. She didn’t want to show her fear. A moan from the dog turned her attention to it.
“Poor fellow,” Mary said, patting the dog, “is it very bad?”
The dog licked her hand and looked at its master.
Red Tam dropped down on his knees, and his face softened as he bent over the dog, murmuring kindly. Then he faced Mary. “I’m Red Tam McEwen,” he said proudly.
Mary smiled, for the man had lost his terror for her, and she felt sorry for him.
“I am so sorry your dog is hurt, Red Tam,” she said gently. “I have bound up his leg as well as I can, but it will be hard to move him. Do you live far from here?”
His jaw dropped as he looked at her.
“You are not afraid of me?”
Mary looked him in the face and smiled. “No,” she replied.
The man turned a darker red. Then he looked at the dog.
“You would not have done that for Roy if you’d known he was Red Tam’s.”
“Indeed, I would. Poor old Roy.”
Red Tam’s face twisted with
sudden emotion.
“He’s all I have,” he muttered. “All I have — and you’re not afraid of me?”
“I’m going to help you get your dog home,” Mary said. “Take off your cloak and let’s put him in it. It will hurt him if you try to carry him in your arms.”
He obeyed without a word, and they somehow managed to hoist Roy out of the pit. Tam strode on silently, with Roy carried between them. The hut, almost a cave, was not far off. Mary shuddered at the sight of it. When Roy was in his bed, Tam turned to her.
“Why did you do it?” he demanded tensely.
“Why?” she said very gently. “Because I was sorry for your dog, and — and I am sorry for you too,” and in a quick impulse she put out her hand.
He gripped her hand so strongly it nearly made her scream.
“You’re sorry for me?” he said harshly. “You don’t mean that, lassie! Ah, then you don’t know Red Tam. I’m a thief, lassie, and a villain who’s the terror of the countryside.”
“I know,” she replied. “At least, I heard. But I am not afraid—
only sorry.”
He dropped her hand and, sinking down on the ground, began to sob. It was perhaps the first word of kindness he had heard for years.
She laid her hand lightly on his shoulder, his loneliness and degradation touching her deeply.
“Red Tam,” she whispered, “God pities you too — and loves you.” And then she left.
That was the beginning of Mary’s acquaintance with Red Tam. She went several times to the cave hut on the moors, supposedly to ask about Roy, but really to talk to Roy’s master. It was not easy to win his confidence, but bit by bit the sad tale of a ruined life was told. A broken heart and bad friends were the beginning of his downward path, and Tam had learned how fast that descent can go.
Mary had serious talks with him about his soul. Memories of his youth and his mother’s love had been brought to life at her pity and opened the way to a dim understanding of God’s infinite love and forgiveness. Bitterly he would sob out his repentance, despairing of forgiveness at times, or repeating, “Him that cometh to Me I’ll in no wise cast out — no, no, not even Red Tam.”
Mary had a great interest in him — cast out by society, but found by Christ. Tam’s gratitude to her was great.
Two days before she was to leave the area, Harold McGregor took her on a drive. They were as happy as two young people could be who are soon to start their married life with God.
“What a steep hill,” Mary was saying, when click, something seemed to snap. Harold
turned white.
“The brake won’t work,” he said, hoarsely. “I — I—.”
He caught Mary around the waist with one arm, his other hand gripping the wheel. She understood in a flash. They were tearing downhill at top speed, and at the bottom was a gate and then another hill. If the gate had been opened, they might have been saved. As it was — she closed her eyes and hid her face on Harold’s shoulder, praying brokenly as she waited for
the crash.
Harold cried out, and she looked up.
Far ahead of them ran a figure in a ragged cloak. At its heels was a dog. Downwards the car rushed.
Mary felt Harold’s arm tighten, and then — a yelp, a cry — and the car was slowly crawling up the opposite hill.
“Wait here for me, darling,” he said in an odd voice.
The dizziness of fear had passed. She understood, clearer, perhaps, than he did.
“I am coming,” she said.
At the bottom of the hill Mary saw the open gate, and a figure in a ragged cloak lying across the road with a dog beside it.
“It’s Red Tam!” she said, in a choked voice. “He died to save me!”
In silence they went down the hill. She knelt beside Tam’s bruised and battered body, in which his spirit still lingered, as if anxious to give her its last message.
Red Tam’s face was white with pain, but the wide-open eyes had lost forever their look of bold defiance; a wonderful look of triumph and joy was now in them. His lips moved, and she bent low, sobbing as she tried to tell him thanks. But his thoughts were far from the self-sacrifice which stretched him there. “It’s true, lassie,” he whispered. “It’s true. ‘Him that cometh — I’ll in no wise cast out — no wise cast out’ — not even Red Tam. God bless you for that message.”
Mary knew that her friend was no longer Red Tam the outcast, but the lost son brought home to the Father’s arms. And what about you? Have you come to the One who said in John 6:37,37All that the Father giveth me shall come to me; and him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out. (John 6:37) “Him that cometh to Me I will in no wise cast out”?
Messages of God’s Love 5/11/2025