Nuala O'Malley

by H. Bedford-Jones

They were hard on Claregalway when Brian saw his quarry first—a deep mass of men far ahead on an open stretch of road. Then he knew that the race was nearly won, and for all that his beast was sobbing under his thighs, he raced ahead, and laughed out loud when a little band cut off from the main body of the Dark Master's men. There were fifteen or less who waited his coming with pistols ready, but Brian rode hardily at them, their balls whistled overhead or past, and he was on them.

The shock of the meeting came near to unseating him, and sent one of the foe sprawling, horse and man; Brian cut another to the chin and thrust the life from a third, and before the first sword had slithered on his steel-cap his men had swept aside the devoted fifteen, and he was riding on. O'Donnell had straightened his party for nothing.

Now the Dark Master was riding for his life, and knew it. Some few of his men fell out with spent beasts, and these Brian's party rode over, taking and giving but one blow, or none at all. When Claregalway drew up ahead, cold and gray under the stars, Brian was but two hundred yards behind with forty men still behind him, while O'Donnell had not half so many.

As he thundered down to the river Brian had drawn as much ahead of Turlough and the others as he was behind the Dark Master. He shouted back to those of his men whose matches were lit to loose off their muskets, but before the first pan had flashed out he saw the O'Donnells draw rein and wheel at the bridge-head, while two of their number drove clattering on into the town.

Now, had Brian chosen to wait for his men things would have fallen out differently; but this he would not do, for he thought to break through these as he had done with the others. So he went at them with naked sword, his heart raging within him and his face set and cold like stone. He was still fifty paces from the bridge-head when their pistols spattered out; the men behind dared not fire for fear of hitting him, so that Brian had all the fight for himself.

He came near to having none, for at that first discharge a pistol-ball split his jack and lodged in his buff-coat over his heart, while another came between his arm and his side, drawing blood a little from both; while a third and worse went into his horse between the fore shoulders. Brian felt the poor beast falter shudderingly, and pause; then the O'Donnells shouted greatly and closed about him, thinking to slay him before his men could come up.

Brian saw a long skean plunge into his horse's neck, and in terrible anger he smote with the edge, so that a hand and arm hung down from the dagger, a ghastly thing to see. But the poor steed was dead with that blow, and Brian had but time to fling himself headlong ere the horse rolled over.

The leap saved his life, for the O'Donnells were striking fast at him. Brian rose up between two of them, dragged one down with his left hand and thrust the other under the arm, and tried to leap up into the saddle. But as he did so his own men struck, so that the horses were swept together and pinned Brian's legs between them, and he hung helpless.

In that instant he saw an ax swinging above him and flung back his head, but not enough, for the ax fell, and Brian went down under the horses.

Save for three of his men who saw the thing and stood over him, Brian would have been trampled to death on the spot. These O'Donnells were no loose fighting-men, and they smote shrewdly against the press of Brian's greater numbers, while their wild cry rose high over the shrill of steel. When Brian's men knew that he was down, however, they struck such blows as they knew not they had in them, and quarter was not asked or offered in that battle by the bridge.