“You are right, captain, that wasn't the way at all; and, since your belly is full and your courage up, you will be able to enjoy my story better than you could afore.”
“Yes, so let us have it;” and Robinson leaned back luxuriously, being filled and warmed.
“First and foremost,” commenced this artful narrator, “there is a chap prowling in this wood at the present time with a double-barreled gun to blow out your brains, captain.”
“The devil,” cried Robinson, starting to his feet.
“And yours, farmer.”
“How do you know?” asked George, without moving.
“That is what I am going to tell you. That Mary McDogherty came crying to my tent all through the snow. 'What is up?' says I; says she, 'Murder is up.' Then she told me her cousin, an Irish boy, was at Bevan's store and he heard some queer talk, and he looked through a chink in the wall and saw two rascals putting their heads together, and he soon made out they were driving a bargain to rob you two. One was to do it, the other was a-egging him on. 'I must have fifty pounds first,' says this one. 'Why?' says the other. 'Because he has been and locked my pal up that was to be in it with me.'”
“Ah!” cried Robinson. “Go on, Jem—there is a clew anyway.”
“I have got a thicker one behind. Says the other, 'Agreed! when will you have it?' 'Why, now,' says t'other. Then this one gave him a note. Pat couldn't see that it was a fifty, but no doubt it was, but he saw the man take it and put it in a little tin box and shove it in his bosom.”
“That note was the price of blood,” said Robinson. “Oh, the black-hearted villains. Tell me who they were, that is all; tell me but who they were!”