And he quickly followed McAndrew’s example. Both continued recumbent, despite the detective’s exertions to keep them in the observance of a perpendicular; and before many minutes elapsed, were snoring away in concert, as though safely under blankets at their respective homes. “What the divil am I to do now?” soliloquized McKenna. “It’ll never do to follow Kehoe’s advice, beside the matches are as wet as a dog after a bath, wid the snow in me pocket! Here’s a raal quandary!” He did not forget his brogue even when talking to himself. Presently the agent observed a faint light in the distance, and resolved to make one more effort. He shouted in McAndrew’s ear: “Get up now! Faith an’ I see the light in Mike Carey’s shebeen! Sure they’re awake yet, an’ ye know the sort o’ liquor they sells? Get up, an’ we’ll rouse that drunken Maguire—not that you’re touched at all yourself—an’ go on a few steps, an’ I’ll stan’ trate when Mike Casey puts out the stamin’ whisky-punch!” “What-yer say about ‘whis-sy-punch?’” drowsily inquired McAndrew, turning over on his side and filling his mouth with snow, “Was-is—it bout ‘whissy-punch?’” “I say old Mike Casey’s place is jist beyant, an’ that I’ll trate!” “Enough said! Give me a lif’,” begged McAndrew, and he strove to rise. “I—I—belave I really am gettin’ uncommon thirsty! ’Swonderful how atin’ snow’ll make one take to the drink!” The drunken fellow blew the snow away from his eyes, nostrils, and mouth, and truly stood alone, while the sober man turned his attention to Maguire. That besotted individual at first flatly refused to get up, but finally made out to rise to his feet, and McKenna, once more taking an arm of each, marched away in the direction of the light. The shebeen-shop of Mike Casey and his wife—an elderly couple, living on the mountain by themselves—was reached after much difficulty, and the detective, puffing like a porpoise, from over-exertion, released his protégés and knocked at the unpainted door. When left to themselves McAndrew and Maguire fell in a limp and confused heap, like so many damp rags, upon the ground. Soon there were heard footsteps within and Casey opened the door, saying: “Who the divil comes here at this time o’ night?” “Oh, it’s McKenna an’ two belated travelers,” answered the operative. “Well, whatever have brought _you_ here? But niver mind! Step in, an’ in a jiffy the old woman will be out to help you!” “Its very well to say ‘come in!’ an’ _I_ can do it, but these two spalpeens here, are too drunk to do anything! Just get on some clothes, plaze, an’ come help me to house the rascals!” In a few moments, by dint of hard pulling and much tugging at hands and feet, McAndrew and Maguire were at last hauled inside the cabin, where they reposed on the floor, a couple of as wet and uncomfortable bodies as can well be imagined.