“And this time, make yer mind up,” said Pat, grimly, “av I have rason to belave the omadhaun is only a turncoat a-tryin’ to lure us in to be kilt, I’ve a good mind to knock him over, as he desarves.”
“I’d go very slow about that, Pat,” advised Mr. Armstrong.
“For what would ye be sayin’ the likes av that, sor?” asked the trapper, moving his long-barrelled rifle up a little further, as though eager to begin operations right away.
“You can see that he’s jumped into the water now, and is wading boldly out, as though he meant to swim out to us when we come along. There, he stands up to his middle in the river, and levels his rifle. Did you see that savage fall when he fired? Does that look as if he was a renegade, Pat?”
“Arrah! if we only knew that the hathan were kilt, I’d belave ye, sor; but they do be sindin’ in a hape of shots in return; and look at the water splash around his head as he swims away. Some of the balls do be strikin’ mighty clost, it sames to me.”
“Yes, too close to be fired at a friend and ally,” Mr. Armstrong went on; “and I am positive they were meant to bring him down. There, he shakes his fist at them now, and laughs, as though he did not know the meaning of the word fear.”
“It seems to me I have heard that laugh before,” exclaimed Sandy, eagerly.
“Right ye are, laddy,” said Pat, suddenly rousing himself, and lowering his gun.