"THEM McMahons, Y'r Anner, they'll be the death of some one before they're done with it, the way they carry on! Look at him—look at him now, ragin'
up the street with them harses, and he drunk too, and no constable annywhere. There's no good in them fellas, not a ha'purth."
It was Patsy Kernaghan who spoke. He was standing outside the office of the Young Doctor, to whom he addressed his complaint.
The Young Doctor was just getting into his buggy for a long drive across the prairie on a visit to a patient. In silence, for a moment, he watched the galloping horses and the swaying wagon, with the driver erect, his outstretched hands holding the reins above his head as he shouted wild encouragement to the excited pair. Presently, with a sorrowful shake of the head, the Young Doctor replied:
"It's the best of them. too. It's Phil McMahon. The cut of his jib isn't the same as the other two. It isn't a bad face, and he's open in his ways. The others go blanketed, as the Indians say."
"It doesn't do 'cm much good, annyhow," remarked Patsy. "Everyone's got onto them. They're horse-thieves, and that'll come out all right some day."
The Young Doctor was in his buggy now, getting the reins into his hands. "Patsy," he said reprovingly, "don't give your tongue so much mouth. It's dangerous calling a man a thief even when it's true. For myself, I don't believe Phil McMahon would steal horses—or anything else."
Patsy scratched his head. "Well, Y'r Anner," he said, "I'd take your word about a man quicker than I would annyone else's. All I can say is, he's aither a damned hippycrit, with his laughin' face and roarin' voice, or he's just a scamp with the devil in him. But how could he be straight and open, and bis blood-brothers what they are!"
"Patsy, you'd be keeping me here all day if I'd let you, though you know there's the sick waiting me," remarked the Young Doctor, preparing to start and yet looking at the other with a benevolent eye. for the little Irishman had not an ill streak in him. "There's this to be said for him, you'll admit—that he has only joined his brothers within the last month, and he mayn't know what they are."
"Shure, that's true for you, Doctor dear," answered Patsy quickly. "That's as likely as annything else. He's been in Idaho, in the States yonder, for years past. Rut I know what Tom and Matt McMahon was in Ireland twenty years ago—begare, I do! I've h'ard tell. Like boy, like man, sez the man that told me. They're no credit to Ireland, them two, though yourself too only come from Inniskillen, that I never h'ard army good of, Y'r Anner."
The Young Doctor smiled quizzically, and laid his whip on Patsy's shoulders. "1 left Inniskillen because I'd have starved to death as a doctor, the place being so healthy, and so little for me to do. The Lord loveth Inniskillen, Patsy. Goodness is health, and the place was healthy because it sent the bad men straight away to Hell or Kerry, and Hell had the preference with them."
Patsy flushed, for he was a Kerry man and loved it, and he was ready to burst forth in protest, but he caught the look in the other's eye, and he only smiled helplessly as the Young Doctor continued:
"Newer mind. Patsy. They tell me Kerry's better the last fifteen years—since you left. So no one can say you haven't done some good in the world."
"Get along, my lads," he added to the fretful pair of horses, which instantly tightened the traces and bravely trotted away.
Patsy watched the Young Doctor out of sight admiringly. "If he asked me to hand me liver out for a dog's breakfast. I'd do it," he said with decision, and then swung round to watch Phil McMahon tearing down the street again, his voice breaking into snatches of ribald song.
PHIL was having what he called a "hoot." He had had only one hoot since coming to Askatoon, and the place had got on his nerves, somehow. Down in Montana and Idaho and Wisconsin and Wyoming he had had the time of his life, as he called it, and it was only homesickness to see his two elder brothers—so much older than himself—which had brought him to Askatoon.
He had been warmly welcomed by Tom and Matt, who forthwith determined to make him settle down on the ranch and ultimately join their gang of horse-thieves operating on the Border. They had skillfully organized it, but they needed one who had Phil's popular gifts, his daring and resource, his ingenuity and brains, to carry through their boldest proposals successfully. Neither of them had Phil's gifts or looks, though in one sense Tom McMahon was a handsome man, with a strong blue eye and well-molded head, a fine full beard, while in stature he far exceeded Phil. Yet he did not inspire confidence, and Matt was little better.
Phil, however, had made friends ever since his coming to Askatoon, particularly among the casual population and non-church-members. He was the essence of querulous good-nature, if such a contradiction may exist. He was free with his money, and full of good stories, and an attraction to every saloon and hotel in the place. Though the Young Doctor and Patsy Kernaghan had frowned upon his reckless driving in the streets, the people who looked out of the doors of the saloons at the tearing onset of man, horses and wagon said merely that he was showing off, and they yelled rude remarks at him.
The town constable, however (moved thereto by the complaints of certain citizens), intent to repress riotous conduct and the sale and use of strong drink, went out and stood in the middle of the street, holding both hands up against the thundering pair of horses and their driver. As for Phil, he took no notice, and the constable would have been run down, had he not jumped aside just in time.