Part 21 (1/2)
”What ails you at the Macdonalds?” demanded the gentleman of that ilk, looking him over haughtily from head to foot.
Creagh flung out his answer with an insolent laugh. ”Culloden.”
The Macdonald's colour ebbed. ”It will be a great peety that you hafe insulted me, for there will presently be a dead Irishman to stain the snow with hiss blood,” he said deliberately, falling into more broken English as he always did when excited.
Creagh shrugged. ”That's on the knees of the G.o.ds. At the worst it leaves one less for the butcher to hang, Scotch or Irish.”
”It sticks in my mind that I hafe heard you are a pretty man with the steel--at the least I am thinking so,” said Captain Roy, standing straight as an arrow, his blue eyes fixed steadily on his opponent.
”Gadso! Betwixt and between, but I dare say my sword will serve to keep my head at all events whatefer,” cried Creagh, mimicking scornfully the other's accent.
Donald whipped his sword from its scabbard.
”Fery well. That will make easy proving, sir.”
The quarrel had cropped out so quickly that hitherto I had found no time to interfere, but now I came between them and beat down the swords.
”Are you mad, gentlemen? Put up your sword, Tony. Back, Macdonald, or on my soul I'll run you through,” I cried.
”Come on, the pair of ye. Captain Roy can fend for (look out for) himself,” shouted the excited Highlander, thrusting at me.
”Fall back, Tony, and let me have a word,” I implored.
The Irishman disengaged, his anger nearly gone, a whimsical smile already twitching at his mouth.
”Creagh, you don't mean to impeach the courage of Captain Macdonald, do you?” I asked.
”Not at all--not at all. Faith, I never saw a man more keen to fight,” he admitted, smiling.
”He was wounded at Culloden. You know that?”
”So I have heard.” Then he added dryly, some imp of mischief stirring him: ”In the heel, wasn't it?”
”Yes, in the foot,” I told him hastily. ”I suppose you do not doubt the valour of the Captain's clan any more than his own.”
”Devil a bit!” he answered carelessly. ”I've seen them fight too often to admit of any question as to their courage at all, at all. For sheer daring I never saw the beat of the Highland troops--especially if there chanced to be any plunder on the other side of the enemy, Egad!”
I turned to Donald Roy, who was sullenly waiting for me to have done. ”Are you satisfied, Captain, that Tony meant to impute nothing against you or your men?”
”Oich! Oich!” he grumbled. ”I wa.s.s thinking I heard some other dirty sneers.”
”If the sneers were unjust I retract them with the best will in the world.
Come, Captain Macdonald, sure 'tis not worth our while doing the work of the redcoats for them. 'Slife, 'tis not fair to Jack Ketch!” exclaimed the Irishman.
”Right, Donald! Why, you fire-eating Hotspur, you began it yourself with a fling at the Irish. Make up, man! Shake hands with Tony, and be done with your bile.”
Creagh offered his hand, smiling, and his smile was a handsome letter of recommendation. Donald's face cleared, and he gripped heartily the hand of the other.
”With great pleasure, and gin I said anything offensive I eat my words at all events,” he said.