It was the first time in his life that he had held a gun in his hands, and the touch of the steel barrel made him shudder. He was not quite free from doubt either as to whether it would not go off, but he was burning with excitement; and soon he stood amongst the ruins of the hut where, by the light of a more cautious fire than the one he had kicked into flames the night before, Pat sat waiting for him.
"There," he cried, putting the gun into Pat's hands. "Now when are you going to do it?"
"To-morrow evening'll be my chance. He's going to dine up at the Castle to-morrow, and on his way home is when I'm to do it," replied Pat. "Then I'm to throw the gun down beside him and go straight away off again, and being his own gun there's no one will be suspected."
"Oh, no, Pat," he exclaimed, "I don't like that. Do it out in the field in the morning, and let him know what it's for. Couldn't you show me how to do it?"
"Whisht, sir; ye don't know anything about it," replied Pat, grasping the gun. "Leave it to me, and I'll settle it right enough."
"Yes, but, Pat, you mustn't do it that cowardly way," persisted Murtagh.
"Now, Mr. Murtagh, ye're talking foolish," said Pat. "Whatever way we do it, mustn't we do it sure an' certain? and if it's me's to do it, mustn't I do it my own way? What good would it do ye for the polis to take me? Leave it to me, and he'll know what it's for, sure enough. Ye don't want to be goin' back of your word, do ye?"
"No, indeed, I don't!" cried Murtagh, with vivid recollection of Winnie's grief and Theresa's stories.
"They said I'd never be able to do it right," pursued Pat; "but gettin' a gun was the only thing that bothered me; now my mother'll stop where she is and die in the old home; and it isn't only her—there's many'll say a prayer for ye for this evening's work, Mr. Murtagh. They say what he wants is to turn us all out and get foreigners in bit by bit. It's an Englishman he's put into Dolan's farm. But if we mayn't live at home in our own place, where is it we'll live at all? We're made no more account of than if we was rats and mice."
Then followed detail after detail that only served to inflame Murtagh's heated brain the more. Neither of them really knew anything of what he was talking about. They only heard that people had to pay more than they had ever paid before for their homes, and that in some cases they were turned out of them altogether. They did not hear that where rents had been raised it was in consequence of expensive and necessary improvements; where tenants had been turned out it was always for a solid reason. But the people did not like such ways, and Pat repeated to Murtagh the grumblings of the worst and most discontented among them.