It should be said that Long Mike seldom attempted to kill anybody. Murder was not his habit, he being usually a tolerant person, albeit he required a full equivalent of labour in return for the wages he paid. On such occasions, however, as he had deemed serious enough to demand extreme action, he had never been known to fail to get his man, until Gallagher had eluded him by a flight that took him far from Brownsville. Some months had elapsed since then, but Gallagher had no means of knowing whether his boss’s wrath had cooled or not. The caution he displayed in eluding observation when he went ashore from the river boat was not, therefore, uncalled for. Knowing the ground perfectly, even in the darkness, he picked his way carefully to the door of his own house, but before lifting the latch he stopped and listened, as one who was in great doubt. As he continued to listen he passed through many phases and degrees of doubt, perplexity, and amazement. It was his own house beyond a question, but many things had happened since his sudden departure. Long Mike was impetuous, but not devoid of generous impulses, or of a prejudice in favour of fair play. When he realized that he had wrought injustice to Mrs. Gallagher in the fervour of his pursuit of her husband, he had taken effective and characteristic measures to remedy the wrong. This was largely due to the personality of Stumpy, whose Irish blood boiled on slight provocation, and who entertained no fear, even of his boss, when he was moved to remonstrate against any happening which failed to comport with his ideas of propriety. Stumpy it was who said: “Sure, it was a blackguard’s thrick to lave Misthress Gallagher widout a bed to lie on, or a shtove or a taable to her back.” “Did Gallagher do that?” demanded Long Mike, indignantly. “He did not,” said Stumpy, “but there’s them that did.” “Who did it?” asked Long Mike. “It was yoursilf,” said Stumpy, and stood immediately on the defensive. The look of blank astonishment that Long Mike gave at the accusation was at least presumptive proof that he did not realize his offence, and seeing it, Stumpy’s wrath was somewhat assuaged. It did not right the wrong, however, and Stumpy wanted that done. “It was whin ye was lukkin’ f’r Gallagher,” he explained. “Belike ye was confused wid the rage that was in ye, an’ maybe a thrifle o’ liquor, too, but ye found his house, an’ him not bein’ there, by the mercy o’ God, ye smashed, and smashed, an’ there’s nothin’ left.” “Did I, now?” said Long Mike, and he chuckled, whereat Stumpy’s wrath blazed up again. “Ye did,” he said, briefly, “an’ ’twas a blackguard act for to lave a lone woman deshtitoot.” “Aisy now, Stumpy, aisy now,” said Long Mike, good-naturedly. “Av that pirut, Gallagher, has left his woman deshtitoot--” “‘Twas you drove him away,” interrupted Stumpy.