The uproar died away, and the other's voice came to him. "So you are trapped at last, Brian Buidh! Now yield and I promise you a swift hanging." "Not I," laughed Brian curtly. "There is no lack of powder here, O'Donnell Dubh, and one of my men holds a pistol ready for it." At this he glanced at Turlough, who grimaced. But from outside came a sudden yell of alarm, and Brian saw a few fleeing figures, while O'Donnell shouted at his men in furious rage. Brian called out to him again: "Give me a horse and let me go free with the one man left me, or else I will blow up both tower and castle, and you will have little gain for my death." "Would you trust my word in this?" cried the Dark Master. Brian smiled. "Yes, as you must trust mine to leave no fuse in the powder when I am gone." Then fell silence. Brian hated O'Donnell, as he knew he was hated in return; and so great was the hatred between them that he felt instinctively he could trust the Dark Master to send him out free. It seemed to him that the other would sooner have him go broken and crushed than do him to death, for that would be a greater revenge. Moreover, the Dark Master could know nothing of those men at Gorumna and would have little fear of the Bird Daughter. And it befell exactly as Brian thought. "I agree," cried the Dark Master, stepping out in the dawn-light boldly. "You shall go forth empty as you came, Yellow Brian. What of those two-score men you owe me?" "The time is not yet up," returned Brian, beginning to unbar the door, and he laughed at the mocking voice. CHAPTER XIX. BRIAN MEETS THE BLACK WOMAN. "The storm is over, master, or will be by this night." "Too late now, Turlough." Brian and the old man stood in the courtyard, while the Dark Master was seeing to horses being made ready for them. Drawing his cloak farther about his hunched shoulders, the latter turned to Brian with a mocking sneer. "Now farewell, Brian Buidh, and forget not to repay that loan, if you can gather enough men together. When you come again, you will find me here. A merry riding to you. _Beannacht leath!_" Brian looked at him grimly. "Your curse would make better company than your blessing, O'Donnell," he said, and turned to his horse with no more words. The Scots who were standing around gave vent to a murmur of approval, and Brian saw the black looks passing between them and the wild O'Donnells. The Highlanders had done murdering enough in Ireland since Hamilton brought them over, but they were outspoken men, who had little love for poisoners; and as Brian settled into the saddle with his huge sword slung across his back, he caught more than one word of muttered approval, which the Dark Master was powerless to check.