vengeance. He did not
absolutely mean to take Green's life, but he meant to thrash him within
an inch of it. Dennis, anxious to thrash Green, but not quite seeing
his way to it, opened his mind one afternoon, when work was over, to
his friends--fellow-Irishmen and navvies--Messrs. Redding and Hickie.
These took up Doolan's wrong as their own, and that evening, by the
dull light of a bothy fire, they held a rude parliament, discussing
ways and means of revenge. It was arranged that Green should be
thrashed--the amount of thrashing left an open question, to be decided,
unhappily, when the blood was up and the cinder of rage blown into a
flame. Hickie's spirit was found not to be a mounting one, and it was
arranged that the active partners in the game should be Doolan and
Redding. Doolan, as the aggrieved party, was to strike the first blow,
and Redding, as the aggrieved party's particular friend, asked and
obtained permission to strike the second. The main conspirators, with
a fine regard for the feelings of the weaker Hickie, allowed him to
provide the weapons of assault,--so that by some slight filament of aid
he might connect himself with the good cause. The unambitious Hickie
at once applied himself to his duty. He went out, and in due time
returned with two sufficient iron pokers. The weapons were examined,
approved of, and carefully laid aside. Doolan, Redding, and Hickie ate
their suppers, and retired to their several couches to sleep,
peacefully enough no doubt. About the same time, too, Green, the
English overseer, threw down his weary limbs, and entered on his last
sleep--little dreaming what the morning had in store for him.

Uprose the sun, and uprose Doolan and Redding, and dressed, and thrust
each his sufficient iron poker up the sleeve of his blouse, and went
forth. They took up their station on a temporary wooden bridge which
spanned the line, and waited there. Across the bridge, as was
expected, did Green ultimately come. He gave them good morning; asked,
"why they were loafing about?" received no very pertinent answer,
perhaps did not care to receive one; whistled--the unsuspecting
man!--thrust his hands into his breeches pockets, turned his back on
them, and leaned over the railing of the bridge, inspecting the
progress of the works beneath. The temptation was really too great.
What could wild Irish flesh and blood do? In a moment out from the
sleeve of Doolan's blouse came the hidden po