“Sorra a bit o’ that same,” he growled; “there’s niver a bit o’ hangin’ in this State.”
“Eh! no; are yees sure o’ that same?” she exclaimed, in surprise. “An’ what fur wadn’t they be for takin’ the loives o’ thim as takes other folk’s?”
“It’s agin the law,” he answered, shortly.
“State’s prison for life’s near about as bad as swingin’,” suggested the old man.
“But while there’s life there’s hope,” remarked his son, significantly; “hope o’ breakin’ jail or being pardoned out; an’ it’s mesilf as wadn’t be afeared to take me chance o’ one or t’other.”
“Ye wuz always a brave bye an’ a lucky wan, Phalim,” was his mother’s comment as she rose and set about preparing the evening meal.
When the hour for retiring came Phelim declined to sleep in the house, averring that long use had made mother earth a more comfortable couch to him than the softest of beds, and taught him that he could breathe more freely under the open sky than beneath any roof. Spreading his army blanket under a tree some hundreds of yards distant from the cabin, he threw himself down upon it and fell asleep.
Hours passed on, while all was quiet save the murmur of a brook near at hand and the rustle of the night wind in the treetops; then a shrill whistle roused him.
He started up and listened. It came again, louder, shriller than before. He answered it, and moved swiftly in the direction of the sound, which seemed to come from the road from which he had yesterday turned aside to gain his father’s dwelling. It was long past midnight, but darkness still brooded over the land, and few were abroad save those bent upon evil deeds. To that class belonged Phelim and those who had summoned him to their aid. In the shadow of the trees bordering the roadside lurked three men awaiting the coming of their leader; for such Phelim was.
“Where are yees, byes?” he asked in an undertone as he drew cautiously near.