The sergeant had also halted.
“Draw well into the side of the road,” said he, “and poke your batons in front of you. Keep a tight hold of that man, Shawn.”
“I’ll do that,” said Shawn.
Just then one of them found a few matches in his pocket, and he struck a light; there was no wind, so that it blazed easily enough, and they all peered in front. A big black cart-horse was lying in the middle of the road having a gentle sleep, and when the light shone it scrambled to its feet and went thundering away in a panic.
“Isn’t that enough to put the heart crossways in you?” said one of the men, with a great sigh.
“Ay,” said another; “if you stepped on that beast in the darkness you wouldn’t know what to be thinking.”
“I don’t quite remember the way about here,” said the sergeant after a while, “but I think we should take the first turn to the right. I wonder have we passed the turn yet; these criss-cross kinds of roads are the devil, and it dark as well. Do any of you men know the way?”
“I don’t,” said one voice; “I’m a Cavan man myself.”
“Roscommon,” said another, “is my country, and I wish I was there now, so I do.”
“Well, if we walk straight on we’re bound to get somewhere, so step it out. Have you got a good hold of that man, Shawn?”