“I hope so indeed,” said Sam, as he came forward, a flush of gratified pride on his hardy cheek. He was a young, athletic fellow, with a fine manly countenance, expressive of frankness and candour.
“Luke Heffernan! where's Luke?” said the other.
“I'm here beside ye,” answered a dark-visaged, middle-aged man, with the collar of his frieze coat buttoned high on his face; “ye needn't be shouting my name that way—there may be more bad than good among uz.
“There's not an informer, any way—if that's what ye mean,” said the other quickly. “Gavan Daly! Call Gavan Daly, will ye, out there?” And the words were passed from mouth to mouth in a minute, but no one replied to the summons.
“He's not here—Gavan's not here!” was the murmured answer of the crowd, given in a tone that hoded very little in favour of its absent owner.
“Not here!” said the leader, as he crushed the piece of paper, from which he read, in his hand; “not here! Where is he, then? Does any of yez know where's Gavan Daly?”
But there was no answer.
“Can no body tell?—is he sick?—or is any belonging to him sick and dying, that he isn't here this night, as he swore to be?”
“I saw him wid a new coat on him this morning early in Oughterarde, and he said he was going to see a cousin of his down below Oranmore,” said a young lad from the outside of the crowd, and the speaker was in a moment surrounded by several, anxious to find out some other particulars of the absent man. It was evident that the boy's story was far from being satisfactory, and the circumstance of Daly's wearing a new coat, was one freely commented on by those who well knew how thoroughly they were in the power of any who should betray them.
“He's in the black list this night,” said the leader, as he motioned the rest to be silent; “that's where I put him now; and see, all of yez—mind my words—if any of uz comes to harm, it will go hard but some will be spared; and if there was only one remaining, he wouldn't be the cowardly villain not to see vengeance on Gavan Daly, for what he's done.”