er side of the path and sit
down in the grass.

"So 'tis that big buck yeller naygur from Darrow an' two o' the
Greeks," he mused. "An' God knows I never did like fightin' in the
dark. They'll knife me as sure as pussy is a cat."

Decidedly, the prospect did not appeal to Dirty Dan. However, he had
his orders to protect The Laird's son; he had his own peculiar notions
of honor, and in his wild Irish heart there was not one drop of craven
blood. So presently, with the stealth of an animal, he crawled
soundlessly away until he judged it would be safe for him to stand up
and walk, which he did with infinite caution.

He reached the gate, passed like a wraith through it, and round to the
side of Caleb Brent's home, in momentary dread of discovery by a dog.
He breathed a sigh of relief when, the outcry failing to materialize,
he decided the Brents were too poor to maintain a dog; whereupon he
filled his pipe, lighted it, leaned up against the house, and, for the
space of an hour, stood entranced, for from Caleb Brent's poor shanty
there floated the voice of an angel, singing to the notes of a piano.

"Glory be!" murmured the amazed Daniel. "Sure, if that's what the
young fella hears whin he calls, divil a bit do I blame him. Oh, the
shweet v'ice of her--an' singin' 'The Low-backed Car'!"

Despite the wicked work ahead of him, Dirty Dan was glad of the ill
fortune which had sent him hither. He had in full measure the Gael's
love of music, and when, at length, the singing ceased and reluctantly
he made up his mind that the concert was over, he was thrilled to a
point of exaltation.

"Begorra, I didn't expect to be piped into battle," he reflected
humorously--and sought the Brent wood-pile, in which he poked until
his hard hands closed over a hard, sound, round piece of wood about
three feet long. He tested it across his knee, swung it over his head,
and decided it would do.

"Now thin, for the surprise party," he reflected grimly, and walked
boldly to the gate, which he opened and closed with sufficient vigor
to advertise his coming, even if his calked boots on the hard path had
not already heralded his advance. However, Dirty Dan desired to make
certain; so he pursed his lips and whistled softly the opening bars of
"The Low-backed Car" in the hope that the lilting notes would still
further serve to inculcate in the lurking enemy the impression that he
was a lover returning well content from his tryst. As he sauntered