Then Ryan broke in on me.
"Boys," he said, "we don't need Chalkeye Davies to judge our play. You know me, all of you; you know my record, and what I've done for our city. I've not asked you here, citizens, to see murder, or fighting of any sort, but to witness an act of justice done by this Lord Balshannon on himself."
The crowd kept still, remembering that our leading citizen had acted straight for our city, and had a right to be heard.
"Now you shall judge as citizens," said Ryan, "between this man and me. For a thousand years my people, the Ryans, had land and homes in Oireland, until the Balshannons came over with bloody Cromwell to steal our little holdings by force of ar-r-ms. We were overpowered, we were forced to pay rent to the tyrants, but we were free men, not slaves; we are free men to-day, and we have fought for liberty.
"Look at this last Balshannon, this man who once tried to get me hung on a false charge, this cowardly, brutal ruffian, who drove me and all my people out of our homes to die in the bitter cold. Think of our women starving to death in the snow-drifts—and, if you doubt me, go and ask me wife. We were driven, she and I, and all our people, out of the land we loved, out of Erin, beggared, hopeless, despairing exiles. Out on the black Atlantic we had to bury one of my little children in the sea—there stands the murderer! Do you blame me, citizens, for wanting vengeance?"
"Dook," says the Alabama Kid, "suppose we hear your side?"
"You'll hear my side," says Lord Balshannon, "from Ryan. This is his court—of—er—justice." Then he wiped the running blood from his cheek, and yawned behind his hand. Even Ryan's men began to look ashamed of such a court.
"Vengeance!" Ryan was howling; "vengeance with the Apaches first—I turned them loose on your camp! Vengeance with McCalmont's robbers—I turned them loose on your ranche!"
Balshannon swung half round and grasped Curly McCalmont's hand. We saw his back shaking with laughter, but when he faced Ryan again he straightened his lips. "Excuse me," he said, "go on."
But the crowd remembered how McCalmont's wolves had breakfasted with Ryan after that little dinner at Holy Cross. They howled with laughter.