"What think you of this ally, Art Bocagh? Could he be truly the Earl's
grandson?"

"I know not," grunted the other. "But I do not care whether he be Brian
Buidh or Brian O'Neill or Brian the devil--he is such a man as I would
fain see sitting in Gorumna Castle, Shaun!"

And Shaun the Little nodded with a grin.

When the sun began its westering, Brian and Cathbarr rode back from the
tower with food and weapons at their saddle-bows, and they paused at the
hill-crest to watch the four ships weigh anchor and up sail, then went
on into the hills. They were to meet their men at that valley where the
Dark Master had been defeated and broken in the first siege, and jogged
along slowly, resting as they rode.

"Brother," said Cathbarr suddenly, fingering the haft of his ax and
looking at Brian, "do you remember my telling you, that night after we
had bearded the Dark Master and got the loan of those two-score men, how
an old witch-woman had predicted my fate?"

"Yes," returned Brian, with a sharp glance. In the giant's face there
was only a simple good-humor, however, mingled with a childlike
confidence in all things. "And I told you that you were not bound to my
service."

"No, but I am bound to your friendship," laughed Cathbarr rumblingly. "I
can well understand how I might die in a cause not mine own, since I am
fighting for you; but I cannot see how death is to come upon me through
water and fire, brother!"

"Nonsense," smiled Brian. "Death is far from your heels, brother, unless
you are seeking it."

"Not I, Brian. I neither seek nor avoid if the time comes. Only I wish
that witch-woman had told me a little more--"

"Keep your mind off it, Cathbarr," said Brian. "In Spain the Moriscoes
say that the fate of man is written on his forehead, and God is just."

"What the devil do I care about that?" bellowed Cathbarr. "I care not
when I die, brother--but I want to strike a blow or two first, and how
can that be done if death comes by water and fire?"

"Well, take heart," laughed Brian, seeing the cause of the other's
anxiety. "You are not like to die from that cause to-night, and I
promise you blows enough and to spare."

Cathbarr grunted and said no more. The last of the storm had fled away,
and the two men rode through a glittering sunset and a clear, cold
evening that promised well for the morrow.

They traveled easily, and it was hard on midnight when a sentry stopped
them half a mile from the hollow wher