'Now, don't be in a hurry, gentlemen,' he said in a clear voice that must have been distinctly heard by every one. 'You shall have the honour of my company so soon as my horse can be harnessed, I assure you.'
'Eh, what! what does he mean?' I asked of a person next me. 'Surely he will not venture out among these howling fiends?'
'That is just what he is going to do,' replied my companion. 'There is no use talking to him. He has given orders for the mare and gig to be got ready, and it's as much as any one's life is worth to try to stop him. Wolff by name, and wolf by nature; he's enraged at having to steal down here last night like a thief. Ah, there the fun begins! Look out!'
As my companion spoke, he griped me by the arm, and dragged me close against a space between two windows. Next moment, a shower of stones crashed through the windows, leaving not a single inch of glass unbroken. Then, at longer or shorter intervals, volley followed volley, till the floor of the room was completely covered with road-metal and broken glass. Presently, there was a lull in the storm, and the crowd became all at once as silent as the grave. In the hush, I could distinctly hear the grating sound of the opening of some big door almost under us. I looked inquiringly at my companion.
'It's the entry doors being opened to let the wolf out,' he said in reply. 'Ah, there he is.'
I glanced out of the window, and saw the squire alone in his gig, a smile on his face, his whole bearing as cool and unconcerned as if there was not a single enemy within a thousand miles. Then I heard the great doors clang to, and as they did so, the crowd gave vent to a howl of delighted rage.
At the first appearance of the squire in his gig, the people had swayed back, and left an open space in front of the hotel. Now they seemed about to close in on him, and one man in the front stooped to lift a stone. Quick as lightning, the hand of the squire went to his breast, and just as the man stood upright to throw, I heard the sharp crack of a pistol. The man uttered a wild shriek of pain, clapped his hands to his cheeks, and plunged into the crowd. The bullet had entered at one cheek and gone out at the other, after tearing away a few teeth in its passage. The man was the very person who had made the mistake in shooting at me over-night.
'A near nick that for our friend,' said the squire in his clear voice, while the crowd swayed back a pace or two. 'But the next will be nearer still, and I've nearly half-a-dozen still left. Now, will any of you oblige me by stooping to lift a stone?'
He paused and glanced round, while every man in the crowd held his breath and stood still as a statue.
'No? you won't oblige me,' he said presently, with a sneer. Then fierce as if charging in some world-famous battle: 'Out of my way, you scoundrels! Faugh-a-ballagh!'