The Promise Part 23

"Why, Bill," he replied.

"Bill or Moike or Pat--wurrah! Oi mane yer rale name--th' whole av ut?"

"That I have not told. I am called Bill."

"Lord av hiven! I thocht ut th' fir-rst toime Oi seen ye--but now! Man!

B'y. Wid thim eyes an' that shmile on yer face, d'ye think ye c'd fool owld Daddy Dunnigan, that was fir-rst corp'l t'rough two campaigns an'

a scourge av peace f'r Captain Fronte McKim?

"Who lucked afther um loike a brother--an' loved um more--an' who fought an' swore an' laughed an' dhrank wid um trough all th'

plague-ridden counthry from Kashmir to th' say--an' who wropped um in his blanket f'r th' lasht toime an' helped burry um wid his eyes open--f'r he'd wished ut so--on th' long, brown slope av a rock-pocked Punjab hill, ranged round tin deep wid th' dead naygers av Hira Kal?"

Bill stared at the man wide-eyed.

"Fronte McKim?" he cried.

"Aye, Fronte McKim! As sh'u'd 'a' been gineral av all Oirland, England, an' Injia. Av he'd 'a' been let go he'd licked th' naygers fir-rst an'

diplomated phwat was lift av um. He'd made um shwim off th' field to kape from dhroundin' in their own blood--an' kep' 'em good aftherward wid th' buckle ind av a surcingle.

"My toime was up phwin he was kilt, an' Oi quit. F'r Oi niver 'listed to rot in barracks. Oi wint back to Kerry an' told his mither, th'

pale, sad Lady Constance--G.o.d rist her sowl!--that sint foor b'ys to th' wars that niver come back--an' wud sint foor more if she'd had 'em.

"She give me char-rge av th' owld eshtate, wid th' big house, an th'

lawn as wide an' as grane as th' angel pastures av hiven--an' little Eily--his sisther--th' purtiest gur-rl owld Oirland iver bred, who was niver tired av listhenin' to tales av her big brother.

"Oi shtayed till th' Lady Constance died an' little Eily married a rich man from Noo Yor-rk--Car-rson, or meby Carmen, his name was; an' he carried her off to Amur-rica. 'Twas not th' same in Kerry afther that, an' Oi shtrayed from th' gold camps av Australia to th' woods av Canada."

The far-away look that had crept into the old man's eyes vanished, and his voice became gruff and hard.

"Oi've hear-rd av yer doin's in th' timber--av yer killin' th' werwolf in th' midst av her pack--an yer lickin' Moncrossen wid a luk an' a grin--av yer knockin' out Shtromberg wid t'ree blows av yer fisht.

"Ye might carry th' name av a Noo York money-grubber, but yer hear-rt is th' hear-rt av a foightin' McKim--an' yer eyes, an' that smile--th'

McKim smile--that's as much a laugh as th' growl av a grizzly--an' more dangerous thin a c.o.c.ked gun."

The old man paused and filled his pipe, muttering and chuckling to himself. Bill grasped his hand, wringing it in a mighty grip.

"You have guessed it," he said huskily. "My name does not matter. I am a McKim. She was my mother--Eily McKim--and she used to tell me of my uncle--and of you."

"Did she, now? Did she remember me?" he exclaimed. "G.o.d bless th'

little gur-rl. An' she is dead?" Bill nodded, and Daddy Dunnigan drew a coa.r.s.e sleeve across his eyes and puffed hard at his short pipe.

"And will you go back with me and work the rest of the winter for Moncrossen?"

The old man remained silent so long that Bill thought he had not heard.

He was about to repeat the question when the other laid a hand upon his knee.

"Oi don't have to wor-rk f'r no man, an' Oi'll not wor-rk f'r Moncrossen. But Oi'd cross h.e.l.l on thin ice in July to folly a McKim wanst more, an' if to do ut Oi must cook f'r Appleton's camp, thin so ut is. Git ye some shleep now whilst Oi loaf down to Burrage's."

CHAPTER XXII

CREED SEES A GHOST

When Bill awoke, yellow lamplight flooded the room and Daddy Dunnigan was busy about the stove, from the direction of which came a cheerful sizzling and the appetizing odor of frying meat and strong coffee.

For several minutes he lay in a delicious drowse, idly watching the old man as he hobbled deftly from stove to cupboard, and from cupboard to table.

So this was the man, he mused, of whom his mother had so often spoken when, as a little boy, he had listened with bated breath to her tales of the fighting McKims.

He remembered how her soft eyes would glow, and her lips curve with pride as she recounted the deeds of her warrior kin.

But, most of all, she loved to tell of Captain Fronte, the big, fighting, devil-may-care brother who was her childish idol; and of one, James Dunnigan, the corporal, who had followed Captain Fronte through all the wars, and to whose coolness and courage her soldier brother owed his life on more than one occasion, and whose devotion and loyalty to the name of McKim was a byword throughout the regiment, and in Kerry.

"And now," thought Bill, "that I have found him, I will never lose sight of him. He needs someone to look after him in his old age."

Over the little flat-topped stove the leathern old world-rover muttered and chuckled to himself as he prodded a fork into the browning pork-chops, shooting now and then an affectionate glance toward the bunk.

"Saints be praised!" he muttered. "Oi'd av know'd um in hiven or h.e.l.l, or Hong-Kong. Captain Fronte's own silf, he is, as loike as two peas.

An' the age av Captain Fronte befure he was kilt, phwin he was th'

besht officer in all th' British ar-rmy--or an-ny ar-rmy.

"Him that c'd lay down th' naygers in windrows all day, an' dhrink, an'

play car-rds, an' make love all noight--an' at 'em agin in th' marnin'!

An' now Oi've found um Oi'll shtay by um till wan av us burries th'

other. For whilst a McKim roams th' earth James Dunnigan's place is to folly um.

"An', Lord be praised, he's a foightin' man--but a McKim that don't dhrink! Wurrah! Maybe he wasn't failin' roight, or th' liquor didn't look good enough fer um. Oi'll thry um agin."

Bill threw off the blankets and sat up on the edge of the bunk.

"That grub smells good, Daddy," he sniffed.

"Aye, an 'twill tashte good, too, av ye fly at ut befure ut gits cold.

Ye've had shleep enough fer two min--Captain Fronte'd git along fer wakes at a toime on foorty winks in th' saddle."

"I am afraid I will have a hard time living up to Captain Fronte's standard," laughed Bill, as he adjusted his bandages.

"Well, thin, Oi'll tell yez th' fir-rst thing Captain Fronte'd done phwin his two feet hit th' flure: he'd roar fer a dhrink av good liquor. An' thin he'd ate a dozen or two av thim pork-chops, an' wash 'em down wid a gallon av black coffee--an' he'd be roight fer an-nything from a carouse wid th' brown dancin' Nautch gir-rls, to a brush in th' hills wid their fightin' brown brothers.

"Th' liquor's waitin'--ut moightn't be as good as ye're used, but Oi've seen Captain Fronte himself shmack his lips over worse. An' as fer th'

tin cup--he'd dhrink from a batthered tomaty can or a lady's shlipper, an' rasp th' dhregs from his t'roat wid a cur-rse or a song, as besht fitted th' toime or th' place he was in."

The old man began to pour out the liquor: "Say phwin," he cried, "an'

Oi've yit to see th' McKim 'twud hurry th' wor-rd."