He stopped, but would not face her.
“You have your hands clenched. Are you
going out to hunt for McTee in that black mood?”
“Kate,” said Harrigan, “by my honor
I’m swearin’ he’s as safe in my
hands as a child.”
Harrigan strode off through the trees. To loosen
the tight, aching muscles of his throat he began to
sing—old Irish songs with a wail and a
swing to them. He had taken no certain direction,
for he only wished to be alone and far away from the
other two; but after a time he realized that he was
on the side of the central hill to which McTee had
gone to look for the dry wood. Above all things
in the world he wished to avoid the Scotchman now,
and as soon as he became conscious of his whereabouts,
he veered sharply to the right. He had scarcely
walked a minute in the new direction before he met
McTee. The latter had seen him first, and now
stood with braced feet in his position of battle,
rolling the sleeves of his shirt away from his forearms.
Harrigan stepped behind a tree.
“Come out,” roared McTee. “I’ve
seen you. Don’t try to sneak behind and
take me from the back.”
With an exceeding bitterness of heart, Harrigan stepped
into view again.
“You look sick,” went on McTee. “If
you knew what would happen when we met, why did you
come? If you fear me, go back and hug the skirts
of the girl. She’ll take pity on you, Harrigan.”
The Irishman groaned. “Think your thoughts
an’ say your say, McTee. I can’t
lay a hand on you today.”
The latter stepped close, stupefied with wonder.
“Do I hear you right? Are you taking water,
Harrigan?”
Harrigan bowed his head, praying mutely for strength
to endure.
“Don’t say it!” pleaded McTee.
“I’ve hunted the world and worn the roads
bare looking for one man who could stand up to me—and
now that I’ve found him, he turns yellow inside!”
And he looked upon the Irishman with a sick horror,
as if the big fellow were turning into a reptile before
his eyes. On the face of Harrigan there was an
expression like that of the starving man whom the
fear of poison induces to push away food.
“There’s no word I can speak to you, McTee.
You could never understand. Go back to the girl.
Maybe she’ll explain.”
“The girl?”
At the wild hope in that voice Harrigan shuddered,
and he could not look up.
“Harrigan, what do you mean?”
“Don’t ask me. Leave me alone, McTee.”
“Here’s a mystery,” said the Scotchman,
“and our little party is postponed. The
date is changed, that’s all. Remember!”
He stepped off through the trees in the direction
of the shelter on the beach, leaving Harrigan to throw
himself upon the ground in a paroxysm of shame and
hate.
But McTee, with hope to spur him on—a vague
hope; a thought half formed and therefore doubly delightful—went
with great strides until he came to Kate where she
sat tending the fire. He broke at once into the
heart of his question.
