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Updated: May 19, 2025
By the time we had crossed the Green River these consultations had matured into a plan for consolidation of trains, for greater concentration of strength. A. J. Drennan's company of four or five wagons, immediately ahead of us, and the Dr. Kidd train, of three wagons, next behind us, closed up the space between, and all three traveled as one train.
Mary Drennan's parents were proud of another loyalty. They hated what Denis loved. The two loyalties were strong and irreconcilable, like the loyalties of the South and the North when the South and the North were at war in America. "What does it matter about your father and mother?" he said. "If you love me, Mary, isn't that enough?" She hid her face cm his shoulder again.
He had never handled firearms of any sort, and a revolver in the hands of an inexperienced man is of all weapons the most dangerous. Nevertheless, with Murnihan's eye upon him, with the ring of anxious, threatening faces round him, he took the revolver. An hour later, eight men walked quietly up to the Drennan's house. They wore black masks.
"He was always an enemy of Ireland." "And Drennan's away at the fair at Ballyruddery, with his bullocks," said another. "There'll be nobody in the house only his wife and daughter. They'll not be able to interfere with us." Murnihan asked for ten volunteers. Every man in the room, except Denis Ryan, crowded round him, offering to go. "Eight will be enough," said Murnihan.
The men knew the locality in which they lived and knew the houses where there were arms. Sporting guns in many houses, revolvers in some, rifles in one or two. "There's a service rifle in Drennan's," said Murnihan, "that belonged to that nephew of his that was out in France, fighting for the English, and there's a double-barrelled shotgun there, too." "Drennan is no friend of ours," said a man.
He could barely hear the murmur of her answer. "I love you altogether, Denis! I love you so much that I would give my soul for you!" A man came down the road walking fast. He passed the gate of Drennan's farm and came near the corner where the lovers stood. Denis took his arm from Mary's waist, and they moved a little apart. The man stopped when he came to them. "Good-evening, Denis!" he said.
Then she rushed at him, thrusting with the hay-fork. Denis stepped back, and back again, until he stood in the doorway. One of the sharp prongs of the hay-fork grazed his hand, and slipped up his arm tearing his skin. Involuntarily, his hand clutched the revolver. His forefinger tightened on the trigger. There was a sharp explosion. The hay-fork dropped from Mrs. Drennan's hand.
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