«A tale to mourn, indeed,» said Belphebe. «How are you so wise in these matters, Master Pete? Are you of this race?»

«I only wisht I was,» said Brodsky fervently. «It would do me a lot of good on the force. But I ain’t, so I dope it this way, see? I’ll study this Irish stuff till I know more about it than anybody. And then I got innarested, see?»

They were well down the slope now, the grass dragging at their feet, approaching the impassive sheep.

Belphebe said, «I trust we shall come soon to where there are people. My bones protest I have not dined.»

«Listen,» said Brodsky, «This is Ireland, the best country in the world. If you want to feed your face, just knock off one of them sheep. It’s on the house. They run the pitch that way.»

«We have neither knife nor fire,» said Belphebe.

«I think we can make out on the fire deal with the metal we have on us and a piece of flint,» said Shea. «And if we have a sheep killed and a fire going, I’ll bet it won’t be long before somebody shows up with a knife to share our supper. Anyway, it’s worth a try.»

He walked over to a big tree and picked up a length of dead branch that lay near the base. By standing on it and heaving, he broke it somewhat raggedly in half, handing one end to Brodsky. The resulting cudgels did not look especially efficient, but they could be made to do.

«Now,» said Shea, «if we hide behind that boulder, Belphebe can circle around and drive the flock toward us.»

«Would you be stealing our sheep now, darlings?» said a deep male voice.

Shea look around. Out of nowhere, a group of men had appeared, standing on the slope above them. There were five of them, in kilts or trews, with mantles of deerskin or wolfhide fastened around their necks. One of them carried a brassbound club, one a clumsy-looking sword, and the other three, spears.