“Take it you wont,” said he bluntly.
Hughie laughed, and it was a laugh to reach under the skin and sting.
“Is that so, Mr. Callahan? It’s sorry I’d be to hurt ye, and you washed ashore and out of luck; so keep a civil tongue in your head. Have no such talk around Matt Big Mary, I warn ye, for this is his camp and mine, and he’s a bad man in his anger.”
Hardrock’s thin lips twitched. “So they said about Connie Dunlevy this morning in St. James. I hope he’s not related to you? He came out on the dock to have a talk with me, and I think they’re taking him over on the mailboat this afternoon to the hospital.”
Hughie scrambled to his feet. “Glory be! What have ye done to my brother Connie, ye red-haired outlander?”
“Not a thing,” said Hardrock, and chuckled. “Poor Connie fell off the dock. I think he broke a rib or two, and maybe his shoulder.”
“Get up!” cried Hughie hoarsely, passion flaming in his face. “So that’s who marked ye up, eh? Then I’ll finish the job—”
Hardrock stretched himself and began to rise, lazily enough. Just then Nelly Callahan stepped forward.
“Don’t, Hughie!” she exclaimed. “It isn’t fair—you mustn’t! He’s all worn out—”
Hughie turned on her and shoved her aside. “Out o’ this! Stand aside, and see—”