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'Next morn the news was through all the rig'mint, an' there was nothin' that the men did not tell. O'Hara reports, fair an' easy, that Vulmea was come to grief through tamperin' wid his rifle in barricks, all for to show the mechanism. An' by my sowl, he had the impart'nince to say that he was on the shpot at the time an' cud certify that ut was an accidint!
"Well?" said I. "Go on. What next?" "I wanted to run awaa, sorr, but I shtood rutted to the shpot wid th' surproise I had on me, until foinally ivery segyar was burnt to a shtub and trun into the foireplace, where I found 'em the nixt mornin' when I came to clane up, provin' ut wasn't ony dhrame I'd been havin'."
"Damn that 'Dismal Jimmy' owl!" he ejaculated testily, in a low tone "an' thim ki-oots! . . . beggars all seem to be givin' us th' ha! ha! as if they knew. P'raps he has beat ut on us afther all? . . . 'Tis harrd tu say we cannot shpot a glim from this side winders all face east. Now! luk a-here, all av yez!"
"He said that I'd been seen a-talking to his daughter, Jule Anderson." "Vell, you nebber said no hoorm doo Shule, tid you? If I dought you said vot you zhoodn't zay doo Shule, I vood shust drash you on der shpot! Tid you gwarl mit Shule, already?" "Quarrel with Jule! She's the last person in the world I'd think of quarreling with. She's as good as " "Oh! you pe in lieb mit Shule! You vool, you!
"I'm thinking they'll have trouble with these wagons, for there's a swamp at the bottom and only a log-road across." "Tis the proper shpot f'r to ambuscade us," observed Murphy, craning his neck and standing on tiptoe to see ahead. We walked forward and sat down on the bank close to the brow of the hill.
"Here's the shpot now!" she called out, flinging the shawl down on the fence; "here's the very way just that he wint! Go south to the gap; I'll pull the pole out for ye this is a cross place." The hunt gratefully accepted her good offices.
"Wirra," he murmured presently, "but 'tis a terrible thing to hit an unsuspectin' man wit' a monkey wrench! An' that divil von Staden, for all his faults, is not a bad lad at all at all. An' I'd give five dollars yes, seven an' a half if he were bald an' shiny on any other shpot save an' exceptin' the shpot I have to hit him. Ochone!
Not bein' on th' thrail, betune us an' yu', means he's either beat ut shtraight south from yu're place an' over th' ice tu th' railway-thrack, or west a piece, an' thin onto th' thrack. Yu'll niver find a hobo far away from th' line. He'd niver go thrapsein' thru' th' snow tu th' high ground beyant. Yuh cud shpot him plain for miles doin' that comin' along."
"Oi think he's becomin' acquainted wid himself." "Yeou ain't gut nuthin' to say!" snapped Eph. "Yeou wanted to make a bet with Mr. Silent, didn't ye?" "Oi did," nodded Barney. "Av it hadn't been for Frankie to kape me sinsible, Oi'd cracked up me money on the shpot. It's Frankie whot's got the livel head, Gallup. The rest av us are chumps, begobs!" "I guess, by gum, that's correct!" nodded Eph.
"'Come tell me, dearest mother, what makes me father shtay Or what can be th' reason that he's so long away? 'Oh, howld yer tongue, me darlin' son, yer tears do grieve me sore, I fear he has been murdhered in the fair av Turloughmore! "Sure, I haven't got the heart to dhrive the head av this monkey wrench into that bald shpot. If he'd hair there I wouldn't mind." Mr. Reardon sighed dismally.
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