“Exactly! I see you understand the situation. Presently I heard a stumble on the stone outside the porch, and peeping in through the hedge I saw Murdock holding up old Moynahan. Then he shut the door and they came down the path. The wind was by this time blowing pretty strongly, and made a loud noise in the hedgerows, and bore in the roar of the surf. Neither of the men could hear me, for I took care as I followed them to keep on the leeward side, and always with something between us. Murdock did not seem to have the slightest suspicion that any one was even on the hill side, let alone listening, and he did not even lower his tone as he spoke. Moynahan was too drunk to either know or care how loud he spoke, and indeed both had to speak pretty loud in order to be heard through the sound of the growing storm. The rain fell in torrents, and the men passed down the boreen stumbling and slipping. I followed on the other side of the hedge, and I can tell you I felt grateful to the original Mackintosh, or Golosh, or whatever was the name of the Johnny who invented waterproof. When they had reached the foot of the hill, they went on the road which curves round by the south-east, and I managed to scramble through the fir wood without losing sight of them. When they came to the bridge over the stream, where it runs out on the north side of the Peninsula, they turned up on the far bank. I slipped over the bridge behind them, and got on the far side of the fringe of alders. Here they stopped and sheltered for a while, and as I was but a few feet from them I heard every word which passed. Murdock began by saying to Moynahan:—
“‘Now, keep yer wits about ye, if ye can. Ye’ll get lashins iv dhrink whin we get back, but remimber ye promised to go over the ground where yer father showed ye that the Frinchmin wint wid the gun carriage an’ the horses. Where was it now that he tuk ye?’ Moynahan evidently made an effort to think and speak:—
“‘It was just about this shpot wheer he seen thim first. They crast over the sthrame—there wor no bridge thin nigher nor Galway—an’ wint up the side iv the hill sthraight up.’
“‘Now, couldn’t ye folla the way yer father showed ye? Jist think. It’s all dark, and there’s nothin’ that ye know to confuse ye—no threes what has growed up since thin. Thry an’ remimber, an’ ye’ll have lashins iv dhrink this night, an’ half the goold whin we find it.”
“‘I can go! I can show the shpot! Come on.’ He made a sudden bolt down into the river, which was running unusually high. The current almost swept him away; but Murdock was beside him in a moment, crying out:—
“‘Go an! the wather isn’t deep! don’t be afeerd! I’m wid ye.’ When I heard this I ran round and across the bridge, and was waiting behind the hedge on the road when they came up again. The two men went up the hill straight for perhaps a hundred yards, I still close to them; then Moynahan stopped:—
“‘Here’s about the shpot me father tould me that he seen the min whin the moon shone out. Thin they went aff beyant,’ and he pointed to the south. The struggle through the stream had evidently sobered him somewhat, for he spoke much more clearly.
“‘Come on thin,’ cried Murdock, and they moved off.
“‘Here’s wheer they wint to, thin,’ said Moynahan, as he stopped on the south side of the hill—as I knew it to be from the louder sound of the surf which was borne in by the western gale. ‘Here they wor, jist about here, an’ me father wint away to hide from thim beside the big shtone at the Shleenanaher so that they wouldn’t see him.’ Then he paused, and went on in quite a different voice:—
“There, now I’ve tould ye enough for wan night. Come home! for it’s chilled to the harrt I am, an’ shtarved wid the cowld. Come home! I’ll tell no more this night.’ The next sound I heard was the popping of a cork, and then the voice of Murdock in a cheery tone:—