He kept round by the rear—so as to avail himself of the cover afforded by the trees; and at length, having crouched into the horse-shed at the back, he knelt down and listened.
There was an opening before his eyes; where one of the split posts had been pushed out of place, and the skin tapestry torn off. He saw this with some surprise; but, before he could shape any conjecture as to its cause, his ears were saluted with a sonorous breathing, that came out through the aperture. There was also a snore, which he fancied he could recognise, as proceeding from Irish nostrils.
A glance through the opening settled the point. The sleeper was Phelim.
There was an end to the necessity for stealthy manoeuvring. The hunter rose to his feet, and stepping round to the front, entered by the door—which he found unbolted.
He made no attempt to rouse the sleeper, until after he had taken stock of the paraphernalia upon the floor.
“Thur’s been packin’ up for some purpiss,” he observed, after a cursory glance. “Ah! Now I reccollex. The young fellur sayed he war goin’ to make a move from hyur some o’ these days. Thet ere anymal air not only soun’ asleep, but dead drunk. Sartin he air—drunk as Backis. I kin tell that by the smell o’ him. I wonder if he hev left any o’ the licker? It air dewbious. Not a drop, dog-gone him! Thur’s the jar, wi’ the stop plug out o’ it, lyin’ on its side; an thur’s the flask, too, in the same preedikamint—both on ’em fall o’ empiness. Durn him for a drunken cuss! He kin suck up as much moister as a chalk purayra.
“Spanish curds! A hul pack on ’em scattered abeout the place. What kin he ha’ been doin’ wi’ them? S’pose he’s been havin’ a game o’ sollatury along wi’ his licker.”
“But what’s cut the hole in the door, an why’s the tother broken out at the back? I reckon he kin tell. I’ll roust him, an see. Pheelum! Pheelum!”
Phelim made no reply.
“Pheelum, I say! Pheelum!”