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Updated: August 2, 2024
They were quite uneasy, and to prevent their trail revealing them they dropped a few hundred yards down the shore, where they awaited the coming of darkness. "Worrah! worrah!" said Tim with an immense sigh, "this is a bad day when we came to leave the youngster with the rid gintleman. A fine youngster was the same bowld and presumin'. It's a qua'ar failin', Masther Howard, that comes to me."
At the very moment of doing so, his horse gave a whinny, which was instantly responded to by a whinny from another horse, less than a hundred feet away. "That's qua'ar," muttered the scout, as he grasped his rifle. "Whar thar's a hoss in these parts, thar's generally a man, and whar thar's a man, you kin set him down as an Injun. And as this can't be Lone Wolf, I'll find out who he is."
"My dear sir, I have the greatest affection for yez. The moment I seen yez a qua'ar faaling come over me, and I filt I must come ashore and shake you by the hand. I faals much better." "You don't say?" "That I does. Would yez have the kindness to give me a wee bit of tobaccy?" The sleepy-looking stranger gazed drowsily at him a moment and then made answer: "I'm just smoking the last bit I've got.
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