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 going to be onwell!"
Faith they gave me room at the wurrud, though they would not ha' givin
room for all Hell wid the chill off. When I got clear, I was, savin'