"He's made his mark on you, Kennedy," broke in a soldier voice. "You mad fool, trying to tackle a chief like that—even if he was hit, for he had his whole gang behind him."
"Sure he dared me out, an'—what's this he called me? a d——d whiskey thafe!—me that niver——"
"Oh, shut up, Kennedy," laughed a brother Irishman. "You were full as a goat at 'K' Troop's stables—Where'd ye get the whiskey if——"
"I'll lay you, Lanigan, when I get two hands agin, though I misdoubt wan would do it. It's me horse I want now and lave to go on wid the capt'n. Ready now, sir," he added, with sudden change of tone and manner, for a tall, slender form came striding into the fire light, and Field knew Blake at the instant, and would have called but for the first word from the captain's lips.
"Your heart's safe, Kennedy. I wish your head was. Your past master in blasphemy out there won't eat it, at all events."
"Did ye get him, sorr,—afther all?"
"I didn't. His English spoiled my aim. 'Twas Winsor shot him. Now, you're to stay here, you and Kilmaine. The doctor may bring despatches, and you follow us with the first to come." An orderly had led forth a saddled horse, and Blake's foot was already in the stirrup. "They say it was Red Fox himself, Kennedy," he added. "Where on earth did you meet him before?"
"Shure, I niver knew him, sorr," was the quick reply, as Blake's long, lean leg swung over the big charger's back and the rider settled in saddle.
"But he knew you perfectly well. He dared you by name, when we closed on them—you and Mr. Field."
And when an hour later the veteran surgeon came and knelt by the side of the young officer reported seriously wounded, and took his hand and felt his pulse, there was something in the situation that seemed to call for immediate action. "We'll get you back to Frayne to-morrow, Field," said Waller, with kind intent. "Don't—worry now."