“Hot, Paddy, hot!” he said to the soldier.
“Dinny, sor, av you plaze. Thrue for you, sor, and a taste of dhrink would be very nice for ye; but I shouldn’t sit there.”
“Why not?” said the overseer.
“Because the place swarms with them ugly, four-futted, scaly divils. I’ve gone the rounds here of a night, sor, and heard them snapping their jaws and thumping the wet mud with their tails till I’ve shivered again.”
“Yes, there’s plenty of them in the creek, Dinny.”
“Plinty, sor, ’s nothing to it. There niver seems to have been a blessed Saint Pathrick here to get rid of the varmin. Why, I’ve seen frogs here as big as turtles, and sarpints that would go round the Hill of Howth.”
“Well, look here, Dinny, cock your piece, and if you see anything stir, let drive at it at once.”
“Oi will, sor,” said the soldier, obeying orders; and, taking a step or two forward, he stood watchfully gazing into the dark jungle.
“Have you got your knife, Bart?” whispered Abel, whose face was of a peculiar muddy hue.
Bart nodded as he chopped away.