And he dropped in a dead faint.
So long as I stay alive I shall remember that night, the smell of the dead horses, the silence, the smoke of our fire going up straight to a white sky of stars, the Bar Y people in pairs lying wrapped in their blankets around the waggons, the reliefs of riders going out on guard, the cold towards dawn. The little boy Jim had curled up beside me because he felt lonesome in the waggon. Balshannon lay by the fire, his mind straying away off beyond our range. Often he muttered, but I could not catch the words, and sometimes said something aloud which sounded like nonsense. It must have been midnight, when all of a sudden he sat bolt upright, calling out loud enough to waken half the camp—
"Ryan!" he shouted, "don't disturb him, Ryan! He's upstairs dying. If you fire, the shock will—Ryan! Don't shoot! Ryan!"
Then with a groan he fell back. I moistened his lips with cold tea. "All right," he whispered, "thanks, Helen."
For a long time he lay muttering while I held his hands. "You see, Helen," he whispered, "neither you nor the child could be safe in Ireland. Ryan killed my father."
He seemed to fall asleep after that, and, counting by the stars, an hour went by. Then he looked straight at me—
"You see, dear? I turned them out of their farms, and Ryan wants his revenge, so——"
Towards morning I put some sticks on the fire which crackled a lot. "Go easy, Jim," I heard him say, "don't waste our cartridges. Poor little chap!"
Day broke at last, the cook was astir, and the men rode in from herd. I dropped off to sleep.
It was noon before the heat awakened me, and I sat up to find the fire still burning, but Lord Balshannon gone. I saw his waggons trailing off across the desert. Dick Bryant was at the fire lighting his pipe with a coal.