He dhropped his glass of cock-tail, with a crash upon the floor;
And looked, as if he'd jump the sash, of window, or the door,
He looked, as if he'd rather be in Hell, or on the moon;
Said they, "At last we have you, for a traitor, John McKune!"
He didn't spake an answer, but he quickly thried to grip,
The bright revolver waypon, from the fob, behind his hip,
He hadn't time to dhraw it, like a flashin' lightenin' dart,
Two loaded levelled weapons, wor against his jumpin' heart!
"Hands up!" they shouted "Damn you! ye scaymin' divil's limb;