ession strong upon him he resolved to put no confidence in the
words of the Rapparee. In a few minutes the horses were brought up, and
Randy (Randall) Ruah having wiped Mr. Folliard's saddle--for such was
his name--with the skirt of his _cothamore_, and removed the hoar frost
or rime which had gathered on it, he brought the animal over to him, and
said, with a kind of rude courtesy,

"Come, sir, trust me; I will help you to your saddle."

"You have not the reputation of being trustworthy," replied Mr.
Folliard; "keep back, sir, at your peril; I will not trust you. My own
servant will assist me."

This seemed precisely the arrangement which the Rapparee and his men had
contemplated. The squire, in mounting, was obliged, as every man is, to
use both his hands, as was his servant also, while assisting him.
They consequently put up their pistols until they should get into the
saddles, and, almost in an instant, found themselves disarmed, and
prisoners in the hands of these lawless and unscrupulous men.

"Now, Squire Folliard," exclaimed the Rapparee, "see what it is not to
trust an honest man; had you done so, not a hair of your head would
be injured. As it is, I'll give you five minutes to do three things;
remember my uncle, the priest, that you transported."

"He acted most illegally, sir," replied the old man indignantly; "and,
in my opinion, I say that, in consequence of his conduct, the country
had a good riddance of him. I only wish I could send you after him;
perhaps I shall do so yet. I believe in Providence, sirra, and that God
can protect me from your violence even here."

"In the next place," proceeded the Rapparee, "think of your daughter,
that you will never see again, either in this world or the next."

"I know I am unworthy of having such an angel," replied the old man,
"but unless you were a cruel and a heartless ruffian, you would not
at this moment mention her, or bring the thoughts of her to my
recollection."

"In the last place," continued the other, "if you have any thing to say
in the shape of a prayer, say it, for in five minutes' time there will
be a bullet through your heart, and in five more you will be snug and
warm at the bottom of the loch there below--that's your doom."

"O'Donnel," said Andy, "think that there's a God above you. Surely
you wouldn't murdher this ould man and make the sowl within your body
redder--if the thing's possible--than the head that's on the top of
it, though i