“To be shure, sor.”
“I want you to keep out of the way of the foe. You know my signal whistle. When you hear it, answer.”
“Shure I will that, sor!”
So the plan was completed for the incursion into Death Pass by night.
It was somewhile before midnight, however, and our adventurers settled down for a quiet time until that hour should come.
Barney brought out his fiddle and Pomp the banjo.
They played lively tunes and sang to the keen enjoyment of the old trapper, Beaver Bill.
“Wall, by mighty!” roared the old woodsman, “that does jest take ther pancake. I never heern anythin’ better nor that in me life.”
“Did yez niver dance a jig?” cried Barney. “Shure, here’s the jig the Kilkenny piper danced himself to death over.”
With this, the Celt set up a rollicking air on the fiddle which was more meritorious in jingle than measure.