"We'll
help protect Salem, my man," said Dyck.
The man grinned. "That's good," he answered. "They knew naught of the
rising when I left. But the governor was there yesterday, and he'd
protect us."
"Nonsense, fellow, the governor would go straight to Spanish Town where
he belongs, when there is trouble."
When the man had gone, Dyck turned to his servant. "Michael," he said,
"the news in the letter came from Darius Boland. He says the governor
told him he had orders from England to confine me here at Enniskillen,
and he meant to do it. We'll see how he does it. If he sends his
marshals, we'll make Gadarene swine of them."
There was a smile at his lips, and it was contemptuous, and the lines of
his forehead told of resolve. "Michael," he added, "we'll hunt Lord
Mallow with the hounds of our good fortune, for this war is our war.
They can't win it without me, and they shan't. Without the hounds it may
be a two years' war--with the hounds it can't go beyond a week or so."
"If the hounds get here, sir! But if they don't?"
Dyck laid his hand upon the sword at his side. "If they don't get here,
Michael, still the war will be ours, for we understand fighting, and the
governor does not.
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