When he had eased his mind he said: “We went down a hole over thayre, an’ I’ll bet it was thin it jounced out. Let’s go and take a bit of a look.”
We were both busily turning over the sod and searching, with our faces bent toward the ground, when a voice said:
“Well, Murphy?”
No sound had heralded any one’s approach. The question came so entirely unexpected we both started and looked up.
There, seated in graceful ease upon a mound of grass, was a lean, dark man, with a revolver in his hand.
At this sight Tommy stopped rigid, still half stooped. His broad, good-natured face went gray in an instant. His eyes glittered with fear. Twice he opened his mouth to speak, and twice no sound came; but the next time the words poured out in a torrent of frantic haste.
“Stephens! I didn’t mane it! Lord God, man! I take it back! Sure yer wouldn’t hold it aginst me! I was wild drunk at th’ time—Fur the love of Heaven, don’t shoot me! I’ve got a wife an’ two childer.”
The stranger’s mouth went sideways in an evil smile.
“You should have thought of that before, Murphy,” he said slowly.
“Yer wouldn’t kill me before the lad, would yer?” the other went on, his lips so dry now that the words were no more than a whisper.