Bold Sons of Erin by Owen Parry, Ralph Peters Page B

silliness. But that was just the start of my realizations. I saw at once that I had shown no fortitude, but had let myself be quashed by the corpse of a cat. The miners would likely be having the laugh of their lives, enjoying their beer and their whisky. They had made a fool of me and my authority. But worse, I had let them do it.
    I like to think that I do not lack courage. But I had run away like a little boy.
    “Stop the wagon, if you please. Let me down now, and thank you.”
    “Yes, sir. Yes, indeed-ee. I need to empty some water myself about now.”
    “That is not what I meant, see. I am going back to Heckschersville. For there is a business I have left unfinished.”
    “You’re going back there? Alone? Christ awmighty!”
    “No harm will come to me, Mr. Downs. But call for me in your wagon in the morning, or send another. I believe there is a hotel or such in the town. Apply for me there.”
    “There’s two of them Irish flea-pits. But you don’t want to stay up there in Heckschersville, Major. They don’t like Welshies, and they don’t like soldiers, neither. To tell the truth, they didn’t seem to like you much at all.”
    “Being liked is not my purpose, Mr. Downs.”
    I got me down from the perch, which was a trick. For though I am most capable, I must be wary of my bothered leg.
    A deputy’s horse loped up beside the wagon, almost nudging me. I do not like horses, you understand. I have ridden upon their backs, when such was a necessity, but a donkey was sufficient for Our Savior, and a good pair of boots is quite enough for me.
    “Major says he’s going back to Heckschersville,” Mr. Downs called to the moderately curious deputy. “Tole him that weren’t smart.”
    Streaked with rain and anxious for his hearth, the deputy leaned down toward me. “I wouldn’t do that, now,” he told me frankly. “That’s one bad idea, if you don’t mind me saying so.” He looked at Mr. Downs, then back at me—doubtless wondering if he would be held responsible for my straying from the fold. “Don’t mind me asking, why would a body do a thing like that?”
    It was a reasonable question, I suppose. But I was not inclined to explain my decision.
    Perhaps I knew how foolish it was myself.
    “Go on with you now,” I told them. “For it is no good standing in the rain. And tell Mrs. Jones that I am well and will return tomorrow.”
    “Want my horse, Major? She’ll go, if she has to.”
    “I will walk, thank you.”
    The deputy looked down at my leg and cane.
    “I will walk,” I repeated. “Now get you home.” I turned to Mr. Downs. “Do not forget to send a wagon or such in the morning.”
    And they obeyed me. But as they left, I heard the teamster muttering. Perhaps he spoke intending I should hear.
    “I tole the damn fool, Ab, and you heard me when I tole him. Welsh don’t have a lick of sense, if it ain’t to do with money or singing hymns. Get on, mules. After I come out for that general feller, I had to sweep my wagon down with quicklime. Get on, now.”
    GLAD I WAS that I wore good boots, not shoes. For the mud had such a great suck to it that I think it would have liked to steal my legs. I recall hoping that my other uniform had come properly clean, because the one I wore would look a sight. The mud leapt onto my rubber cape and crept beneath its folds. As if the muck were a living thing that hoped to drag me down.The weight of the wet and the slop fair bent me over, and I will admit my leg gave me discomfort.
    Twas not yet late enough to call it night, but dark rain hid the world. I curled my hands beneath my cape, for the cold had a sting impatient for the snows. Glum I was, but determined. I would have answers before I next left Heckschersville. Nor would I subscribe to Irish threats or succumb to the pranks of drunkards. I could defend myself as well as any man. And better than most, that I will tell you plain.
    Not that I intended violence, mind you. But I wished to have my