“That the prayers may fall on the preacher,” said Larry to himself.
The cat now began to make desperate efforts to escape from the bag, whilst Larry redoubled his exertions to detain him. His attention, however, was soon arrested by the cry of hounds, and on looking westward, he perceived, rapidly approaching over the morass, a big black man mounted on a black horse, and accompanied by a numerous pack of black dogs.
“Ochone,” thought Larry, “now I am coached of all ever happened me. Here is the chap’s black friends coming to rescue him, and they won’t leave a toothful a-piece in my carcass.”
“Let me go, Larry,” said the cat, “let me go, and I’ll show you where there’s a cart-load of gold buried in the ground.” But Larry remained silent, and meantime the horseman and hounds came up.
“Good morrow and good luck, Larry Roche,” said the black equestrian, with a grim smile.
“Good morrow, kindly, your worship,” said Larry.
“Is that a fox you have in the bag, Larry?”
“No, in troth,” said Larry, “though I believe he is not much honester than a fox.”
“I must see what it is, any how,” said the sable horseman, with a gesticulation which convinced Larry at once that he was the fellow whom he had seen before.
So Larry opened the bag, and out jumped Puss, and away with him over the bog like a flash of lightning. The wild huntsman hallooed his dogs, and the pursuit commenced, but the cat was soon surrounded and torn to pieces.