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and Wally stood slightly behind him.
    The four mashers from the copper mine quickly positioned themselves on either side of Rory. The chieftroublemaker quickly took charge of his role. They called him Oak and he was known as a terror around the mining camps. Oak won most of his fights without throwing a punch, he was that fearsome-looking, with pocked face, red beard, and hands the size of cannonballs.
    “I hear some pigshit by the name of Conor Larkin attacked a British fort in Ulster,” Oak said for openers.
    “Bloody disgrace,” a mate chimed in, “what with Irish boys in the trenches in France having dirty traitors stabbing us in the back.”
    “And I’m drinking to the man who blew Larkin’s guts out,” the third said.
    “Yeah,” said the fourth, completing the alliance. “Us fighting a war, our lads dying in France, and that murdering jailbird committing treachery.”
    “If you’ve spoken your piece,” Wally said, “would you mind retiring to a table so as further commerce won’t suffer interruption.”
    “I want to know how this Larkin boy here feels about the matter,” Oak said.
    “I’m very sad,” Rory said softly.
    Too softly. Wally knew what Wally knew. The big Maori bartender reached down and wrapped his hand around a staying pin.
    “We’d like you to step outside so we can express our sorrow as well,” Oak taunted, “but first, what say about a toast to our beloved King.”
    “Ah now, gentlemen,” Wally said. “It’s four against one. That’s kind of unsporting, Oak.”
    “Aye,” Rory agreed, “that’s indeed cowardly. Isn’t that cowardly!” he shouted to the room.
    “Tell you what we’ll do,” Wally said quickly. “I’ll put twenty on Rory here, but no four against one.”
    “Then I’ll only have to fight them two at a time?” Rory asked.
    “That’s still cowardly, isn’t it?” Wally asked the bartender. The big Maori nodded.
    “Tell you what. Twenty on Rory Larkin and I’ll give two-to-one odds he lays out the four of you. Even money on the side says that one or more will require hospitalization. Clear back a few tables there to give them room to fall.”
    “Bullshit, Ferguson,” Oak roared and brought a punch up from his boot tops that caught Rory directly between the eyes. Rory fell back, shook his head, and stared at the giant who groped, bewildered.
    “If that’s the best punch you’ve got, Oak, you’re fucked!” Rory’s fists blazed fast into the miner, who was stunned long enough so that a knee to the groin, elbow to the Adam’s apple, and hand chop behind the neck caused the entire room to shake as he thudded to the floor, clapped out.
    “Gentlemen,” Rory said to the others, “who wishes the honors?”
    There was a total loss of enthusiasm among those burdened with dragging Oak’s hulk from the place.
    Rory banged his mug on the bar and glared at the room. “My name is Rory Larkin and I’m a New Zealander! I love my country! I loved my uncle and I think the Brits got what was coming to them!”
    He snatched a bottle off the bar and barreled for the door. Wally caught him outside and spun him around.
    “Jesus, I hate to see this thing happen in New Zealand. Two Irishmen fighting each other. This is not the place for it, Rory. Now, God rest your uncle’s soul, but this is your country!”
    Rory backed away fighting for breath, trying to unscramble the whirl of torment so that words could form off his lips, somehow. Wally backed up and there was fear involved. He had never seen such a blaze of eyes and Rory shaking from top to bottom.
    “Can’t you see,” Rory screamed. The veins bulged from his neck and his forehead. “I’m haunted, man!”
    “Jesus, boy, you’re not yourself now. Come on, calm-like. It’s me, Wally, talking. Go to my office and drink yourself to sleep.” Wally reached out, but Rory swung his arm.
    “You’re scared of me, aren’t you, Wally?”
    “No.”
    In a time Rory’s control returned and he told Wally