'Don't make game!' said the Cockney. 'I knowed I wasn't no good then, but I guv 'em compot from the lef' flank when we opened out. No!' he said, bringing down his hand with a thump on the bedstead, 'a bay'nit ain't no good to a little man--might as well 'ave a bloomin' fishin'-rod! I 'ate a clawin', maulin' mess, but gimme a breech that's wore out a bit, an' hamminition one year in store, to let the powder kiss the bullet, an' put me somewheres where I ain't trod on by 'ulkin swine like you, an' s'elp me Gawd, I could bowl you over five times outer seven at height 'undred. Would yer try, you lumberin' Hirishman.' 'No, ye wasp. I've seen ye do ut. I say there's nothin' better than the bay'nit, wid a long reach, a double twist av ye can, an' a slow recover.' 'Dom the bay'nit,' said Learoyd, who had been listening intently. 'Look a-here!' He picked up a rifle an inch below the foresight with an underhand action, and used it exactly as a man would use a dagger. 'Sitha,' said he softly, 'thot's better than owt, for a mon can bash t' faace wi' thot, an', if he divn't, he can breeak t' forearm o' t' gaard.' Tis not i' t' books, though. Gie me t' butt.' 'Each does ut his own way, like makin' love,' said Mulvaney quietly; 'the butt or the bay'nit or the bullet accordin' to the natur' av the man. Well, as I was sayin', we shtuck there breathin' in each other's faces and swearin' powerful; Orth'ris cursin' the mother that bore him bekaze he was not three inches taller. 'Prisintly he sez:--“Duck, ye lump, an' I can get at a man over your shouldher!” '“You'll blow me head off,” I sez, throwin' my arm clear; “go through under my arm-pit, ye bloodthirsty little scutt,” sez I, “but don't shtick me or I'll wring your ears round.” 'Fwhat was ut ye gave the Paythan man forninst me, him that cut at me whin I cudn't move hand or foot? Hot or cowld was ut?' 'Cold,' said Ortheris, 'up an' under the rib-jint. 'E come down flat. Best for you 'e did.' 'Thrue, my son! This jam thing that I'm talkin' about lasted for five minutes good, an' thin we got our arms clear an' wint in. I misremimber exactly fwhat I did, but I didn't want Dinah to be a widdy at the Depot. Thin, after some promishkuous hackin' we shtuck again, an' the Tyrone behin' was callin' us dogs an' cowards an' all manner av names; we barrin' their way. '“Fwhat ails the Tyrone?” thinks I; “they've the makin's av a most convanient fight here.” 'A man behind me sez beseechful an' in a whisper:--“Let me get at thim! For the Love av Mary give me room beside ye, ye tall man!” '“An' who are you that's so anxious to be kilt?” sez I, widout turnin' my head, for the long knives was dancin' in front like the sun on Donegal Bay whin ut's rough. '“We've seen our dead,” he sez, squeezin' into me; “our dead that was men two days gone! An' me that was his cousin by blood could not bring Tim Coulan off! Let me get on,” he sez, “let me get to thim or I'll run ye through the back!”