“Let up!” cried Con. “Lave me be—who are you afther talking to? Help! Mary! Moses!” The thong of the whip curled round his legs. Then, whip in one hand and grasping the collar of Con’s old coat in the other, Croom ran the villain in amidst the trees, and they were lost to sight. The populace danced. “On you go before me,” said Croom, releasing the collar. “Play me crucked, and I’ll brain yiz with the butt-end of me whip.” “I’ll go quiet,” replied the other. “But, sure, it’s the fear of Paddy Murphy that’s before me.” “Faith, it’s the fear of Billy Croom that’s behind yiz. On you go. Which way, now?” “To the lift.” Con led fair and straight, and in ten minutes they had reached the little path that led to the Druids’ Altar. “To the lift again,” said Con. “There’s the ould tree—musha, but who’s them!” “Sit quiet,” said Mr Fanshawe to Violet; “we may be able to bluff them without telling lies.” Con, seeing Mr Fanshawe and knowing the strength of Croom, began to lose fear of Paddy Murphy, and did not bolt away as he might otherwise have done, but waited—for his own undoing—to see the sport. Croom touched his hat to Mr Fanshawe’s scarlet coat. “Beg pardon, sir,” said he, “but have you seen a sight of that chap we was chasin’?” “I have,” replied Mr Fanshawe. “What do you want with him?” “Faith,” said Croom, “I want to kitch him.” “And what do you want to catch him for?” asked Mr Fanshawe. “You must ax the polis that,” replied the huntsman. “They can bile him, for all I care, all I wants is to kitch him, and if you axes me why, it’s because there’s a hundred pounds reward aginst him, and I’ve a wife and childer.” “Well, you can go home to your wife and childer, and tell them you’ve lost a hundred pounds to-day, for you’re not going to catch him.” A blaze came into the eyes of Billy Croom and was smothered. “I’m not wishful to be disrespectful, sir,” said Billy, “I’m axing you have you seen him?” “I told you before, I have.” “And where was that?” “Here.” “Con Cogan!” said the whip. “Yes,” replied Con. “Is this the tree or not.” “It is.” “Well, then, sir,” said Billy, “I’m not wishin’ to be disrespectful, but is the chap in the ould tree behind you, or is he not?” “He is,” replied Mr Fanshawe. “That’s all right,” said the whip, buttoning his coat and approaching the tree. “It’s worse than tacklin’ a badger in a barrel, but I’ll do it.” “Stop,” said Mr Fanshawe. “Who’s goin’ to stop me?” enquired Billy, the blaze lighting up again in his eyes. “I am.” “For sure?” said Billy. “Yes, for sure, he’s under my protection—do you want him?” “I’m goin’ to have him.” “I say, do you want him?” repeated Mr Fanshawe, rising to his feet. “O’ course I want him.” “Then, you’ll have to fight me for him.” “O Dicky!” murmured Violet.