“What's the use?” he asked, with an expression of disgust.
“Why, it will stop the man coming down on us.”
“Man, do ye say? He ain't any more a man than me gun is.”
“What, then, can he be?”
“He's a blanket that they've twisted up so as to look as though it is gathered about the shoulders of an Apache. It's easy to see that there's nothing in it from the way it swings around, as though it was a little toy; and, be the same token, that little cord which holds him aloft is no thicker than a darning-needle. Why they are thrying such a simple thrick is more than I can tell.”
“I think I know,” said Fred. “They've dropped him down to find out whether we're on the watch or not. If we didn't pay any attention to it, they would think that neither of us was on the look-out, and they would send some others down to scalp us.”
“Be the powers, me laddy, I b'lave ye are right!” exclaimed Mickey, admiringly. “That's just the plan of the spalpeens, by which towken, I'll tip him a shot.”
With this he raised his rifle, and, sighting rather carelessly, fired. The shot, which was aimed at the roll of blanket, missed it altogether and cut the string which held it suspended in mid-air.
The next moment there was a dull thump upon the sand, and the package lay at the feet of the Irishman, who gave it a kick to make sure of its nature. It rebounded several feet, the resistance to the blow showing that there was nothing more than the simple blanket, and then he stooped over and examined it more closely by the sense of touch.
“'Twas very kind of the spalpeens to furnish us with a blanket that saams as good as this, though the weather ain't so cold that we naad it just now; but sometimes the rain comes and the northers blow, and then a chap is mighty glad to have seech a convanient article about. 'Twas very kind I say.”