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"Somebody call the captain; the mate's dead." There was a moment of silence; then a cackle of words from several of them together. The Greek's hands on his shoulders tightened. He heard the man's purring voice in his ear. "How did you do it?" Conroy thrust himself loose; the skies of his mind were split by a frightful lightning flash of understanding.
"Ho, you, Ned, an' you, too, Sully!" he cried fiercely, "get your ears flappin'. Huyk that rotten skunk Conroy out. I ain't tellin' you again." The woman had thrilled at his words. There was such command, such fearlessness in them, in his whole poise. She felt, too, that there was trouble looming. There was rebellion in the air. Her excitement rose, and her sympathies were all for this one man.
It looked something like The Spectator, but had none of the pleasant advertisements of schools and books, and much fewer pages of correspondence than the English weekly has. "Surely," I said, "you can't expect it to pay at that price." "We don't," said McNeice. "We've plenty of money behind us. Conroy you know Conroy, don't you?"
He would have snubbed the cigar if he thought Conroy was inclined to moderation. As things were, we all warmly invited Conroy to desert his private encampment and join us round the table. "I guess I'm here as an onlooker," said Conroy. "You gentlemen can settle things nicely without me, till it comes to writing cheques. Then I chip in."
"Good thing you've got me to look after you," he went on. "Thinks I, 'He might easy make a mistake that 'ud cost him dear; so I took a look round. An' I found this." From within his coat he brought forth an iron belaying-pin, and held it out to Conroy. "See?" His finger pointed to it. "That's blood, that is and that's hair. Look for yourself. Now I suppose you'll tell me you never touched him!"
Forty years of subjection to arbitrary masters had left him shrewd and secret, a Machiavelli of the forecastle. Once Conroy, after seeming to sleep for an hour, rose on his elbow and stared across at him, craning his neck from his bunk to see the still mask of his face. "Slade?" he said uncertainly. "What?" demanded the other, unmoving. Conroy hesitated.
But they certainly became allies, planned together and worked together the amazing scheme which ended in the last we are justified in assuming that it really was the last rebellion of Irishmen against the power of England. Conroy supplied the money and a great deal of the brains which went to the carrying through of the plan.
But if you've ever rode over them dried-up benches, you savvy the merry party we'll be when we git there. I've saw jack-rabbits packing their lunch along over there." "Belknap" Rowdy dropped his saddle spitefully to the ground "is where our friend Conroy has just gone to fill a splendid position." Pink thoughtfully blew the ashes from his cigarette. "Harry Conroy would fill one position fine.
A courier was coming like mad on the road from Frayne a courier whose panting horse reined up a minute, with heaving flanks, in the midst of the thronging men, and all the troop turned white and still at the news the rider briefly told: three companies at Warrior Gap were massacred by the Sioux, one hundred and seventy men in all, including Sergeant Bruce and all "C" Troop's men but Conroy and Garret, who had cut their way through with Lieutenant Dean and were safe inside the stockade, though painfully wounded.
My mother and brother listened to it attentively, said it was very strange, and owned themselves as puzzled as we. Mr. Conroy of course laughed uproariously, and made us dislike him more than ever. After he had gone we talked it over again among ourselves, and my mother, who hated mysteries, did her utmost to explain what I had seen in a matter-of-fact, natural way.
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