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With The Main Guard
by
“No, ye wasp, I’ve seen ye do ut. I say there’s nothin’ better than the bay’nit, wid a long reach, a double twist av ye can, an’ a slow recover.”
“Dom the bay’nit,” said Learoyd, who had been listening intently, “Look a-here!” He picked up a rifle an inch below the foresight with an underhand action, and used it exactly as a man would use a dagger.
“Sitha,” said he, softly, “thot’s better than owt, for a mon can bash t’ faace wi’ thot, an’, if he divn’t, he can breeak t’ forearm o’ t’ gaard, ‘Tis not i’ t’ books, though. Gie me t’ butt”
“Each does ut his own way, like makin’ love,” said Mulvaney, quietly; “the butt or the bay’nit or the bullet accordin’ to the natur’ av the man. Well, as I was sayin’, we shtuck there breathin’ in each other’s faces and swearin’ powerful; Orth’ris cursin’ the mother that bore him bekaze he was not three inches taller.
“Prisintly he sez:–‘Duck, ye lump, an’ I can get at a man over your shouldher!’
“‘You’ll blow me head off,’ I sez, throwin’ my arm clear; ‘go through under my arm-pit, ye bloodthirsty little scutt,’ sez I, ‘but don’t shtick me or I’ll wring your ears round.’
“Fwhat was ut ye gave the Paythan man for-ninst me, him that cut at me whin I cudn’t move hand or foot? Hot or cowld was ut?”
“Cold,” said Ortheris, “up an’ under the rib-jint. ‘E come down flat. Best for you ‘e did.”
“Thrue, my son! This jam thing that I’m talkin’ about lasted for five minutes good, an’ thin we got our arms clear an’ wint in. I misremimber exactly fwhat I did, but I didn’t want Dinah to be a widdy at the Depot. Thin, after some promishkuous hackin’ we shtuck again, an’ the Tyrone behin’ was callin’ us dogs an’ cowards an’ all manner av names; we barrin’ their way.
“‘Fwhat ails the Tyrone?’ thinks I; ‘they’ve the makin’s av a most convanient fight here.’
“A man behind me sez beseechful an’ in a whisper:–‘Let me get at thim! For the Love av Mary give me room beside ye, ye tall man!”
“‘An’ who are you that’s so anxious to be kilt?’ sez I, widout turnin’ my head, for the long knives was dancin’ in front like the sun on Donegal Bay whin ut’s rough.
“‘We’ve seen our dead,’ he sez, squeezin’ into me; ‘our dead that was men two days gone! An’ me that was his cousin by blood could not bring Tim Coulan off! Let me get on,’ he sez, ‘let me get to thim or I’ll run ye through the back!’
“‘My troth,’ thinks I, ‘if the Tyrone have seen their dead, God help the Paythans this day!’ An’ thin I knew why the Oirish was ragin’ behind us as they was.
“I gave room to the man, an’ he ran forward wid the Haymaker’s Lift on his bay’nit an’ swung a Paythan clear off his feet by the belly-band av the brute, an’ the iron bruk at the lockin’-ring.
“‘Tim Coulan ‘ll slape easy to-night,’ sez he, wid a grin; an’ the next minut his head was in two halves and he wint down grinnin’ by sections.
“The Tyrone was pushin’ an’ pushin’ in, an’ our men was swearin’ at thim, an’ Crook was workin’ away in front av us all, his sword-arm swingin’ like a pump-handle an’ his revolver spittin’ like a cat. But the strange thing av ut was the quiet that lay upon. ‘Twas like a fight in a drame–except for thim that was dead.
“Whin I gave room to the Oirishman I was expinded an’ forlorn in my inside. ‘Tis a way I have, savin’ your presince, sorr, in action. ‘Let me out, bhoys,’ sez I, backin’ in among thim. ‘I’m goin’ to be onwell!’ Faith they gave me room at the wurrud, though they would not ha’ given room for all Hell wid the chill off. When I got clear, I was, savin’ your presince, sorr, outragis sick bekaze I had dhrunk heavy that day.