What they said could not be distinguished, but the rumour of their conversation might have been heard across the world. They bawled and screamed, and always through the tumult came the gruff hoot of laughter.
Said Caeltia:
“Do you know these people?”
“The woman is Eileen Ni Cooley,” replied Mary, “for I know her walk, but I don’t know the shape of the men.”
Caeltia laughed quietly to himself.
“The taller of these men,” said he, “is the seraph Cuchulain, the other man is that Brien O’Brien we were telling you of.”
Mary’s face flamed, but she made no remark.
In a few minutes these people drew near.
Eileen Ni Cooley was dishevelled. Her shawl hung only from one shoulder and there were holes in it, her dress was tattered, and a long wisp of red hair streamed behind her like a flame. Her face was red also, and her eyes were anxious as they roved from one to the other.
She came directly to the girl and sat beside her; young Cuchulain set himself down beside Art, but Brien O’Brien stood a few paces distant with his fists thrust in his pockets and he chewing strongly on tobacco. Every now and then he growled a harsh creak of a laugh and then covered it ostentatiously with his hand.
“God be with you, Mary Ni Cahan,” said Eileen Ni Cooley, and she twisted up her flying hair and arranged her shawl.
“What’s wrong with you?” said Mary.
“Where’s your father?” said Eileen.
“I don’t know where he is. When we lifted from sleep a morning ago he wasn’t in his place, and we haven’t seen him since that time.”
“What am I going to do at all?” said Eileen in a low voice. “These men have me tormented the way I don’t know how to manage.”
“What could my father do?” said Mary sternly, “and you playing tricks on him since the day you were born.”
“That’s between myself and him,” replied Eileen, “and it doesn’t matter at all. I wanted your father to beat O’Brien for me, for he won’t leave me alone day or night, and I can’t get away from him.”
Mary leaned to her whispering:
“My father couldn’t beat that man, for I saw the two of them fighting on the Donnybrook Road, and he had no chance against him.”
“He could beat him, indeed,” said Eileen indignantly, “and I’d give him good help myself.”
“If my father owes you anything,” said Mary, “I’m ready to pay it for him, so let us both rise against the man, and maybe the pair of us would make him fly.”
Eileen stared at her.
“I hit him once,” continued Mary, “and I would like well to hit him again; my people here would keep his friend from joining against us.”
The blue eyes of Eileen Ni Cooley shone with contentment; she slipped the shawl from her shoulders and let it drop to the ground.
“We’ll do that, Mary,” said she, “and let us do it now.”
So the women lifted to their feet and they walked towards Brien O’Brien, and suddenly they leaped on him like a pair of panthers, and they leaped so suddenly that he went down against the road with a great bump. But he did not stay down.
He rose after one dumbfounded moment, and he played with the pair of them the way a conjurer would play with two balls, so that the breath went out of their bodies, and they had to sit down or suffocate.
“That’s the kind of man he is,” panted Eileen.
“Very well!” said Mary fiercely, “we’ll try him again in a minute.”
The camp was in confusion, and from that confusion Art leaped towards Brien O’Brien, but the seraph Cuchulain leaped and outleaped Art, and set himself bristling by the elbow of his friend; then Caeltia, with his face shining happily, tiptoed forward and ranged with Art against these two, but Finaun went quicker than they all; he leaped between the couples, and there was not a man of the four dared move against his hand.
In a second that storm blew itself out, and they returned to their seats smiling foolishly.
“Let the women be quiet,” said Brien O’Brien harshly.
He also seated himself, with his back touching against the donkey’s legs.
The ass had finished eating and drinking, and was now searching the horizon with the intent eye of one who does not see anything, but only looks on the world without in order to focus steadily the world within.
Brien O’Brien stared with a new interest at Finaun, and revolved his quid. Said he to Cuchulain:
“Would the old lad be able to treat us the way Rhadamanthus did, do you think?”
“He could do that,” laughed Cuchulain, “and he could do it easily.”
O’Brien moved the quid to the other side of his jaw.
“If he slung us out of this place we wouldn’t know where we might land,” said he.
“That is so,” replied Cuchulain, thrusting a sleek curl between his teeth. “I don’t know these regions, and I don’t know where we might land, or if we would ever land. Only for that I would go against him,” and he waggled his finger comically at Finaun.
Art commenced to snigger and Finaun laughed heartily, but Caeltia eyed Cuchulain so menacingly that the seraph kept a quiet regard on him for the rest of the day.
Peace was restored, and while they were revolving peace and wondering how to express it, Patsy Mac Cann came on them from a side path that ran narrowly between small hills.
XXX
When Mac Cann saw the visitors he halted for an instant and then came forward very slowly, with his head on one side and his thumb rasping steadily on his chin.
He was staring at Brien O’Brien, and as he stared he bristled like a dog.
“It’s the man himself,” said he, “the man that stole my clothes.”
O’Brien peeped upwards at him but did not move.
“Sit down and hold your prate,”
