"You don't seem yet to understand the parable of the leech-fisher," said the singular old man. "You are dense blockheads."
"Ha, ha, ha! hear him," cried the first beggar. "He is quite a treat."
"What I meant was that I am a trap for you. I have set myself to catch you; I am the bait; the leech fishers are their own bait, I am my own. So now come on, my merry men, my unbelieving pagans."
One of the men here laid a rough hand upon his shoulder, when there was a loud explosion.
A flash and smoke issued from the old man's square coat pocket, and the brigand staggered back.
The rest of the party looked utterly amazed.
What was it?
"An ambuscade," ejaculated one of them.
"No, no; it came from the old man's coat skirt. See, it is smoking."
There was a small round hole in the cloth, and it was singed and smelt of gunpowder.