“Do youse know me, old pal?” asked the mucker, and Barbara Harding knew from the man's voice that there were tears in his eyes; but what she did not know was that they welled there in response to the words the mucker had just spoken—the nearest approach to words of endearment that ever had passed his lips.
Theriere reached up and took Byrne's hand. It was evident that he too had noted the unusual quality of the mucker's voice.
“Yes, old man,” he said very faintly, and then “water, please.”
Barbara Harding brought him a drink, holding his head against her knee while he drank. The cool liquid seemed to give him new strength for presently he spoke, quite strongly.
“I'm going, Byrne,” he said; “but before I go I want to tell you that of all the brave men I ever have known I have learned within the past few days to believe that you are the bravest. A week ago I thought you were a coward—I ask your forgiveness.”
“Ferget it,” whispered Byrne, “fer a week ago I guess I was a coward. Dere seems to be more'n one kind o' nerve—I'm jest a-learnin' of the right kind, I guess.”
“And, Byrne,” continued Theriere, “don't forget what I asked of you before we tossed up to see which should enter Oda Yorimoto's house.”
“I'll not ferget,” said Billy.
“Good-bye, Byrne,” whispered Theriere. “Take good care of Miss Harding.”
“Good-bye, old pal,” said the mucker. His voice broke, and two big tears rolled down the cheeks of “de toughest guy on de Wes' Side.”