Thinkin’ ’twas the spirits that were in it Paddy whipped up his pony an’ hurried on his way. But the next morning, misdoubtin’ whether ’twasn’t a human woice, afther all, he had heard, Paddy gathered up a dozen of the neighbours an’ went back to inwestigate. What did they find in one of the upper rooms but a peddler, lying flat on the floor, his pack ramsacked an’ he dead as a doornail. ’Twas his cries Paddy had heard as the poor thraveller was bein’ murdhered.
Since that time a dozen people passing the mill at night had heard the cries of the same peddler, an’ had seen the place blazin’ with lights. So, that now no one who could help it ever alone passed the mill afther dark.
At the hill this side of that place the pony slowed down to a walk; nayther coaxin’ nor batin’ ’d injooce the baste to mend his steps. The horse’d stop a little an’ wait, an’ thin it’d go on thrimblin’.
They could all see the dim outlines of the empty mill glowerin’ up at them, an’ the nearer they came the more it glowered, an’ the faster their two hearts bate. Halfway down the hill an ould signpost pinted the way with its broken arm; just beyant that the bridge, an’ afther that the long, level road an’—salwaytion.
But at the signpost Clayopathra sthopped dead still, starin’ into some bushes just beyant. She was shakin’ an’ snortin’ and her limbs thrimblin’.
At the same time, to tell the truth, she was no worse off than the two Christians sittin’ in the cart behint her, only they were not so daymonsthray-ta-tive about it. Small blame to the lads at that, for they were both sure an’ sartin that lurking in the black shadows was a thing waiting to freeze their hearts with terror, an’ maybe to put a mark on thim that they’d carry to their graves.
Afther coaxing Clayopathra an’ raysonin’ with her in wain, Darby, his knees knocking, turned to the tinker, an’ in the excitement of the events forgettin’ that Bill was deef, whuspered, as cool an’ as aisy-like as he could:
“Would ye mind doin’ me the favour of steppin’ out, avick, an’ seein’ what’s in that road ahead of us, Wullum?”
But Bothered Bill answered back at once, just as cool an’ aisy:
“I would mind, Darby,” he says; “an’ I wouldn’t get down, asthore, to save you an’ your family an’ all their laneyal daysindents from the gallus-rope,” says he.
“I thought you was deef,” says Darby, growin’ disrayspectful.
“This is no time for explaynations,” says Wullum. “An’ I thought meself,” he wint on, turning his chowlder on Darby, “that I was in company with a brave man; but I’m sorry to find that I’m riding with no betther than an’ outrageous coward,” says he, bitther.
Whilst Wullum was sayin’ them wexatious worruds Darby stood laning out of the cart with a hand on Clayopathra’s back an’ a foot on the shaft, goggling his eyes an’ sthrivin’ to pierce the darkness at the pony’s head. Without turnin’ round he med answer:
“Is that the way it is with you, Wullum?” he says, still sarcastic. “Faix, thin ye’ll have that complaint no longer, for if yez don’t climb down this minute I’ll trow you bag an’ baggage in the ditch,” he says; “so get out immaget, darlint, or I’ll trow you out,” says he.
The worruds weren’t well out of his mouth whin the owdacious tinker whipped out his scissors an’ sint the sharp pint half an inch into Clayopathra’s flank. Clayopathra jumped, an’ Darby, legs an’ arrums flying, took a back sommerset that he never ayquiled in his supplest days, for it landed him flat agin the hedge; an’ the leap Clayopathra gave, if she could only keep it up’d fit her for the Curragh races. An’ keep it up for a surprisin’ while she did, at any rate, for as the knowledgeable man scrambled to his feet he could hear her furious gallop a hundhred yards down the road.
“Stop her, Wullum avourneen, I was only joking! Come back, ye shameless rogue of the univarse, or I’ll have ye thransported!” he shouted, rushing a few steps afther them. But the lash of the whip on Clayopathra’s sides was the only answer Wullum sint back to him.
To purshue was useless, so the daysarted man slacked down to a throt. I’d hate bad to have befall me any one of the hundhred things Darby wished aloud then an’ there for Wullum.
Well, at all events, there was Darby, his head bint, plodding along through the storm, an’ a fiercer storm than the wind or rain ever med kept ragin’ in his heart.
Only that through the storm in his mind there flared now an’ thin quivers of fear an’ turpitation that sometimes hastened his steps an’ thin again falthered thim. Howsumever, taking it all in all, he was making good pro‑gress, an’ had got to the bunch of willows at the near side of the mill whin one particular raymembrance of Sheelah Maguire and of the banshee’s comb halted the lad in the middle of the road an’ sint him fumblin’ with narvous hands in his weskit pocket. There, sure enough, was the piece of the banshee’s comb. The broken bit had lain forgotten in the lad’s pocket since Halloween; an’ now, as he felt it there next his thumping heart an’ buried undher pipefuls of tobaccy, the rayalisation almost floored him with consthernaytion. All rushed over his sowl like a flood.
Who else could it be but the banshee that guv Sheelah
