'But to come back. Bob Mahon was coming home from the bog about five o'clock in the evening, cantering along on a little dun pony he had, thinking of nothing at all, except maybe the elegant rick of turf that he 'd be bringing home in the morning, when what did he see before him but a troop of dragoons, and at their head old Basset, the sub-sheriff, and another fellow whose face he had often seen in the Four Courts of Dublin. “By the mortial,” said Bob, “I am done for!” for he saw in a moment that Basset had waited until all the country-people were employed at a distance, to come over and take him. However, he was no ways discouraged, but brushing his way through the dragoons, he rode up beside Basset's gig, and taking a long pistol out of the holster, he began to examine the priming as cool as may be.
“'How are you, Nick Basset?” said Bob; “and where are you going this evening?”
'“How are you, Major?” said Basset, with his eye all the while upon the pistol. “It is an unpleasant business, a mighty unpleasant business to me, Major Bob,” says he; “but the truth is, there is an execution against you, and my friend here, Mr. Hennessy—Mr. Hennessy, Major Mahon—asked me to come over with him, because as I knew you——”
'“Well, well,” said Bob, interrupting him. “Have you a writ against me? Is it me you want?”
'“Nothing of the kind, Major Mahon. God forbid we 'd touch a hair of your head. It's just a kind of a capias, as I may say, nothing more.”
'“And why did you bring the dragoons with you?” said Bob, looking at him mighty hard.
'Basset looked very sheepish, and didn't know what to say; but Mahon soon relieved him—-
'“Never mind, Nick, never mind; you can't help your trade. But how would you look if I was to raise the country on ye?”
'“You wouldn't do the like, Major; but surely, if you did, the troops——”
'“The troops!” said Bob; “God help you! we'd be twenty, ay, thirty to one. See now, if I give a whistle, this minute——”