“Why, of coorse I know the man by that name; but, at the same time, I know nothin' else about him.”
“Did you never hear?” asked his companion.
“Why, to tell you the truth,” said the other, “I heerd it said that he's the Cannie Soogah, or the Jolly Pedlar that goes about the country.”
“Well,” said the other, lowering his voice a good deal in reply, “if I could trust you, I'd tell you what I think.”
“I'll give you my name, then,” replied the other, “if you doubt me;” he accordingly whispered it to him, and the conversation proceeded.
“I know your family well,” returned our friend; “but, as I said before, be more on your guard, unless you know well the man you spake to. As for myself, I sometimes think it is the Cannie Soogah and sometimes that it is not. Others say it's Buck English; but the Buck, for raisons that some people suspect, could never be got to join us. He wishes us well, he says, but won't do anything till there comes an open 'ruction, and then he'll join us, but not before. It's hard to say, at any rate, who commands us when we meet this way.”
“Why so?”
“Why the dickens need you ax? Sure it's not the same man two nights runnin'.”
“But I have been only three or four times out yet,” replied his companion; “and, sure enough, you're very—right—they hadn't the same man twiste.”
They had now reached the road under the Fort or Rath we have alluded to, and as there was no further necessity for any combined motion among them, and as every man now was anxious to reach home as soon as possible, their numbers diminished rapidly, until they ultimately dispersed themselves in all directions throughout the country.