Davey went back into the bar of the Black Bull, with its crowd of stockmen, drovers, shop-keepers and sale-yard loungers.
"Where's Conal?" he asked. "Does anybody know if he's left the town yet?"
There was a roar of laughter.
"He was looking for you an hour ago, Davey," a drunken youngster yelled gaily. "Was in here, 'n McNab gave him a turn about the Schoolmaster's girl—"
"McNab was tellin' him you'd made-up to marry her. You should have heard Conal go off," somebody shouted.
"Where is he?" There was a sharpness about Young Davey's question that nobody liked.
"Who? McNab?"
"No, Conal!"
McNab had come into the bar and was standing watching him, his face livid.
"Round somewhere lookin' for your blood," the same jovial youngster, who had first spoken, cried.