He stopped, but would not face her.
"You have your hands clenched. Are you going out to hunt for McTee in that black mood?"
"Kate," said Harrigan, "by my honor I'm swearin' he's as safe in my hands as a child."
CHAPTER 13
Harrigan strode off through the trees. To loosen the tight, aching muscles of his throat he began to sing—old Irish songs with a wail and a swing to them. He had taken no certain direction, for he only wished to be alone and far away from the other two; but after a time he realized that he was on the side of the central hill to which McTee had gone to look for the dry wood. Above all things in the world he wished to avoid the Scotchman now, and as soon as he became conscious of his whereabouts, he veered sharply to the right. He had scarcely walked a minute in the new direction before he met McTee. The latter had seen him first, and now stood with braced feet in his position of battle, rolling the sleeves of his shirt away from his forearms. Harrigan stepped behind a tree.
"Come out," roared McTee. "I've seen you. Don't try to sneak behind and take me from the back."
With an exceeding bitterness of heart, Harrigan stepped into view again.
"You look sick," went on McTee. "If you knew what would happen when we met, why did you come? If you fear me, go back and hug the skirts of the girl. She'll take pity on you, Harrigan."
The Irishman groaned. "Think your thoughts an' say your say, McTee. I can't lay a hand on you today."
The latter stepped close, stupefied with wonder.