"I can tell you where we have met him before," I remarked. "Don't you remember the Irishman whose wounds you dressed on the second night of your arrival, and who swore that he would yet live to reward you?"
Fred nodded, and his face grew dark with passion.
"Well, this is the person. He was destitute of money and credit, and to save his life we spent many hours in cleansing his injuries, and dressing them with care. He has already attempted to pay us his debt of gratitude, and perhaps when he is again sick he will visit us."
"You miserable apology for a man," cried Murden, raising his arm, and the fellow cowered at the threatened blow; but Fred interposed, and stopped the impetuous officer from carrying his intention into effect.
"What excuse have you to offer for plotting against us?" demanded Fred, addressing the Irishman.
"I was poor, and wanted food," he returned, with a face of shame.
"Why did you not come to me, and I would have supplied your wants? It is but a poor return to attempt to burn us out for the attention that we showed you. Is your heart made of stone?"
"I was told that you two was plotting agin the miners concerning the tax, and that it would be a good thing to ruin ye, and make ye lave the country," answered the Irishman, not daring to raise his downcast glances from the floor.
"And the miners hired both of you to commence the war of burning, did they?" asked Fred.