"Night had closed in, as I passed the cross-roads of Kilmactigue, about two miles from home; and I pulled up into a walk, to bring my bad bargain cool to the stable. Just then I heard a horse behind me, coming on in a slapping trot; and, before you could say Jack Robinson, a strange horseman was beside me. "'Morra,[60] Mistre Dixon,' says he. "'Morra to ye, sir,' says I, turning sharp about to see if I could know him. He looked in the dim light a 'top-sawyer,' and, as far as I could judge, the best-mounted man I had met for a month of Sundays. He appeared to be dressed in black; his horse was the same colour as his coat, and I began to tax my memory, hard, to recollect the place where he and I had met before. "'You have the advantage of me, sir,' says I. "'Faith, and that's odd enough,' says he, 'for you and I rode head and girth together at the stag-hunt at Rathgranaher.' "'Death and nouns!' says I, 'is this Mr. Magan?' "'I believe so,' says he, 'for want of a better.' "'Ah! then,' said I, 'I'm glad I met you. Is that the black mare that carried you so brilliantly?' "'The same,' he replied. "'No wonder I didn't know ye: you wore at Rathgranaher a light-green coatee, and now you're black as a bishop.' "'I buried an aunt of mine lately,' says he. "'Maybe you could do as much for a friend,' replied I; 'I have a couple at your service; and, as I pay them a hundred a year, I wish them often at the devil.' "'I'll make no objection on my part,' replied Mr. Magan. 'But how far is it to Templebeg? It will be late before I reach it, I fear.' "'It's the worst road in Connaught,' said I: 'my den is scarcely a mile off; and, if you are not in a hurry, turn in for the night, and you shall have a warm stall, a grilled bone, and a hearty welcome.' "'Never say it again,' says Mr. Magan; and on we rode, cheek by jowl, talking of fairs, horses, and the coming election. Lord! nothing came amiss to him: he was up to every thing, from _écarté_ to robbing the mail-coach; and in politics so knowing, that one while I fancied him a Whig, and at the next I would have given my book oath he was a black Orangeman. "Before we reached the avenue, I tried if he would 'stand a knock.'[61] "'Would you part with the mare?' says I. "'If I was bid a sporting price, I would part with my grandmother, if I had one,' was the reply. "'What boot will you take, and turn tails?' said I. "'Neighbour,' replied Mr. Magan, 'it must be a long figure that gets Black Bess. What's that you're riding?' "'A thorough-bred four-year old, by Langar, out of a Tom Pipes mare.' "'Bedershin!' says Mr. Magan; 'Tom died before you were born.' "This was a hard hit. Devil a one of me knew how the horse was bred; but, as he happened to be a chestnut, I thought I would give Langar for a sire. Pretending not to hear the remark, I continued,