The Editor.This is a stirring, entrancing story of Erin when Cromwell was campaigning, and when the fighting heritage that is every Irishman's found vent through sword and ax and fire. You meet Brian Buidh, Brian of the Yellow Hair, more thrilling than even your favorite movie hero; and as for Nuala herself—well, just wait till you meet her!—
TABLE OF CONTENTS
| [December 30, 1916] | ||
| I. | THE BLACK WOMAN. | [177] |
| II. | THE BEGINNING OF THE STORM. | [179] |
| III. | THE DARK MASTER. | [182] |
| IV. | BRIAN LEANS ON HIS SWORD. | [186] |
| V. | YELLOW BRIAN RIDES SOUTH. | [191] |
| VI. | BRIAN TAKES CAPTIVES. | [196] |
| VII. | THE BIRD DAUGHTER. | [201] |
| [January 6, 1917] | ||
| VIII. | HOW BRIAN WAS NETTED. | [419] |
| IX. | THE NAILING OF BRIAN. | [424] |
| X. | IN BERTRAGH CASTLE. | [429] |
| XI. | THE BAITING OF CATHBARR. | [434] |
| XII. | HOW THE DARK MASTER WAS RUINED. | [438] |
| [January 13, 1917] | ||
| XIII. | BRIAN RIDES TO VENGEANCE. | [659] |
| XIV. | HOW THE STORM FARED NORTH. | [664] |
| XV. | WHAT HAPPENED AT THE TARN. | [670] |
| XVI. | BRIAN GETS HIS SWORD AGAIN. | [674] |
| XVII. | BRIAN GOES A CRUISING. | [679] |
| [January 20, 1917] | ||
| XVIII. | BRIAN YIELDS BERTRAGH. | [137] |
| XIX. | BRIAN MEETS THE BLACK WOMAN. | [142] |
| XX. | THE STORM BURSTS. | [147] |
| XXI. | CATHBARR YIELDS UP HIS AX. | [151] |
| XXII. | THE STORM OF MEN COMES TO REST. | [155] |
CHAPTER I.
THE BLACK WOMAN.
The horseman reined in as his jaded steed scrambled up the shelving bank, and for a space sat there motionless, for which the horse gave mute thanks. The moon was struggling to heave through fleecy clouds, as it was hard on midnight; in the half obscurity the rider gazed around suspiciously.
There was nothing in sight to cause any man fear. Behind him rippled the Dee, and all around was desolation. Ardee itself lay a good two miles in the rear, burned and laid waste six weeks before, and ten miles to the south lay Drogheda. Indeed, as the horseman gazed about, he caught sight of a faint glare on the horizon that drew a bitter word from his lips.
Dismounting with some difficulty, owing to his cloak and Spanish hat, he examined a long, raking gash in his horse's flank; then flung off hat and cloak and calmly proceeded to bind up his own naked shoulder beneath.
His was a strange figure, indeed, now that he stood revealed. He wore no clothing save breeches and high riding-boots; an enormous sword without a sheath was girt about his waist, and the caked blood on his shoulder and cheek made his fair skin stand out with startling contrast.