Did I see you to-night before?"

"Ask me no question," replied the man; "for I won't answer any I don't
like, and that happens to be one o' them. Whether you saw me this night
before, or whether you didn't, there is no occasion for me to say so,
and I won't say it."

"I think I know him now," said M'Carthy; "and if I judge correctly, he
is anything but a safe guide."

"Come," said the huge Whiteboy, "make up your mind; I won't weet another
minute."

M'Carthy paused and deliberately reconsidered as coolly as possible all
the circumstances of the night. It was obvious that this man must have
had his information with respect to the recent events from his friendly
preserver--a man who would not be likely to betray him into danger after
having actually saved his life, by running the risk of committing two
murders. On the other band it was almost clear, from the manner in which
the person before him pronounced certain words, as well as from his
figure, that he was the celebrated and mysterious Buck English of whose
means of living every one was ignorant, and who, as he himself had
heard, expressed a strong dislike to him.

"Before I make up my mind," said M'Carthy, "may I ask another question?"

"Fifty if you like, but I won't promise to answer any one o' them."

"Was I brought to Finnerty's house with an evil purpose?"

"No: the poor, pious fool that brought you--there--but I'm wrong in
sayin' so--for it was the mist that done it. No, the poor fool that came
there with you is a crature that nobody would trust. He thinks you're
lyin' sound asleep in Finnerty's this minute. He's fit for nothing but
prayin' and thinking the girls in love with him."

"Well," replied M'Carthy, "at all events you are a brother Irishman, and
I will put confidence in you; come, I am ready to accompany you."

"In that case, then, you must suffer me to blacken your face, and for
fear your shoot-in' jacket might betray you, I'll put this shirt over
it."

He then pulled out an old piece of crumpled paper that contained a
mixture of lampblack and grease, with which he besmeared his whole face,
from his neck to the roots of his hair, after which he stripped the
shirt he wore outside his clothes, and in about two or three minutes
completely metamorphosed our friend M'Carthy into a thorough-looking
Whiteboy.

"Come along now," said he, "and folly me; but even as it is, and in
spite of your disguise, we must take the lonesomest way to the only