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Billy Byrne leaped to his feet, shaking himself as a great mastiff might whose coat had been ruffled in a fight. "Come!" he whispered. "We gotta beat it now for sure. That guy's shot'll lead 'em right down to us," and once more they took up their flight down toward the valley, along an unknown trail through the darkness of the night.
No one was any longer incommoded by it except young Shot, who would get up uncomfortably and lie at a distance, his nose on his paws, regarding with a wistful melancholy the place from which he had been driven forth. "Meself an' ould Shot'll never lave the Master till we have to," Patsy Kenny had said to Lady O'Gara, to whom he was as much attached as old Shot had been.
Yet he only said or started to say: "Little Sure Shot'll get that Chink yet! I tell you, now, that old boy is sure the real Peruvian " This was absurdly too much. I then and there opened on Boogles, opened flooding gates of wrath and scorn on him for him and for his idol of clay who, I flatly told him, could not be the real doughnuts of any sort. As for his being the real Peruvian Faugh!
"Now I was jest goin' to," mumbled Jimmie Time; and he amazingly slunk from the scene of his late triumphs toward the open front of a woodhouse. His insulter turned back to the kitchen with a final affronting flourish of the towel. The whisper of Boogles came hoarsely to me: "Some of these days Little Sure Shot'll put a dose o' cold lead through that Chink's heart." "Is he really dangerous?"
Peaslee's reflections rose in a strophe of hope and fell in an antistrophe of despair. "'T ain't likely it hurt him any just bird shot," said Hope. "Bird shot's mighty irritatin' specially to a wrathy fellow," said Despair. And alternating thus, his thoughts ran on: "Bird shot'll show I didn't have any serious intent; but mebbe a piece of the marble struck him.
"And if they do, a shot'll bring help." He was in the doorway, now. "W'y," he cried, "here's thet fool Norwegian goin' t' th' landin'. Wal, he is pritty shy on sand!" "We'll be killed if the Indians come, Dallas." It was Marylyn, whispering up fearfully to her sister. "We'll be careful, honey. Keep away from the coulée after this. Walk toward Brannon, always."
"Me an' Shot'll stick by the Master," he had often said in his own mind, and sometimes aloud, when he was out in the paddocks with the horses and there was no human ear to listen to him. Then he would have a vision of a young man in a grey suit, slender and elegant, face downward on the grass and he calling out to some one to forgive him.
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