“If I were you,” said the D.I., “I wouldn’t insist on any kind of legal trial about that hay. At present there’s no evidence against you, Mr. Gallaher, except that you paid a perfectly absurd price for some hay that you didn’t want, and I’m not inclined to press the matter now. I’ve got what I wanted; but if you insist on dragging the matter into Court----” “I do not,” said Gallaher. At ten o’clock that evening Dan Gallaher and James McNiece sat together in the private room behind the bar of Sam Twining’s public-house. The house was neutral ground used by Orangemen and Nationalists alike, a convenient arrangement, indeed a necessary arrangement, for there was no other public-house nearer than Curraghfin. “Dan,” said James McNiece, “I’m an Orangeman and a Protestant and a loyalist, and what I’ve always said about Home Rule and always will say is this:--We’ll not have it and to Hell with the rebels. But I’m telling you now I’d rather you had them, papist and rebel and all as you are, than see them swept off that way by the police. And what’s more, I’m not the only one says that. The Colonel was talking to me after he heard what happened, and what he said was this--‘The Government of this country,’ said he, meaning the police, ‘is a disgrace to civilization.’” “Give me your hand, James McNiece,” said Gallaher. “Let me shake your hand to show there’s no ill feeling about the way I bid against you at the sale to-day.” McNiece laid down the glass of whisky which he was raising to his lips and stretched out his hand. Gallaher grasped it and held it. “Tell me this now, James McNiece,” he said, “for it’s what I was never sure of--How many was there behind that hay?” McNiece looked round him carefully and made sure that no third person could hear him. Neglecting no precaution he sank his voice to a whisper. “Twenty rifles,” he said, “of the latest pattern, the same as the soldiers use, and four hundred rounds of ball cartridge.” “Gosh,” said Gallaher, “but we’d have done great work with them. Either your lads or mine, James McNiece, would have done great work with them. But, sure, what’s the use of talking? The police has them now.” “Damn the police,” said James McNiece. XIII ~~ OLD BIDDY AND THE REBELS