“Who or what are they?” said I, my curiosity being stimulated by fear.
“Them 's the 'Tapageers '! The chaps that never spared man or woman in their rounds. 'T is bad enough, the place is; but they make it far worse!”
“Can we stop here for the night?” said Joe, growing impatient at the colloquy.
“And what for wud ye stop here?” asked the crone, as she held up the lantern the better to see him who made the demand.
“We want our supper, and a place to sleep,” said the old man; “and we 're able and willin' to pay for both.”
“'T is a nice place ye kem for either!” said she; and she leaned back against the wall and laughed with a fiend-like malice that made my blood chill.
“Then I suppose we must go somewhere else,” said Joe. “Come, boys; 't is no use losing our time here!”
“God speed you!” said she, preparing to undo the chain that fastened the door. “Ye have bould hearts, any way! There they go! d' ye hear them?” This was said in a half-whisper, as the wild yells of the “Tapageers” arose without; and soon after, the noise and tumult of a scuffle,—at least we could hear the crashing of sticks, and the shouting of a fray; from which, too, piercing cries for help burst forth.
“What are ye doin'? Are ye mad? Are ye out of your sinses?” cried the hag, as Joe endeavored to wrest open the chain, the secret of which he did not understand.
“They're murdering some one without there!” said he. “Let me free, or I'll kick down your old door this minute!”