“What keeps him out so late at night? I mean occasionally. He is out two or three nights every week until twelve or one o'clock. Now, you know, in the present state of the country, that it is not safe. Shawn-na-Middogue and such scoundrels are abroad, and they might put a bullet through him some night or other.
“He is not at all afraid on that score,” replied Charles; “he never goes out in the evening without a case of pistols freshly loaded.”
“Well, but it, is wrong to subject himself to danger. Where is he gone now?”
“He and Barney Casey have gone out to course; I think they went up towards the mountains.”
Such was the fact. Harry was quite enamoured of sport, and, finding dogs, guns, and fishing-rods ready to his hand, he became a regular sportsman—a pursuit in which he found Barney a very able and intelligent assistant, inasmuch as he knew the country, and every spot where game of every description was to be had. They had traversed a considerable portion of rough mountain land, and killed two or three hares, when the heat of the day became so excessive that they considered it time to rest and take refreshments.
“The sun, Masther Harry, is d—— hot,” said Barney; “and now that ould Bet Harramount hasn't been in it for many a long year, we may as well go to that desolate cabin there above, and shelter ourselves from the hate—not that I'd undhertake to go there by myself; but now that you are wid me I don't care if I take a peep into the inside of it, out of curiosity.”
“Why,” said Woodward, “what about that cabin?”
“I'll tell you that, sir, when we get into it. It's consarnin' coorsin' too; but nobody ever lived in it since she left it.”
“Since who left it?”
“Never mind, sir; I'll tell you all about it by and by.”