he hands of men
that are enemies to Ireland. I could name twenty houses in the locality
where there are guns, and good guns, and you could name as many more.
Why don't we go and take them? Are we cowards?"

The men around him shouted angrily that they were no cowards. Denis
Ryan, excited and intensely moved, shouted with the rest. It seemed to
him that an intolerable reproach lay on him and all of them.

"What's to hinder us going out to-night?" said Murnihan. "Why shouldn't
we take the guns that ought to be in our hands and not in the hands of
men who'd use them against us? All of you that are in favour of going
out tonight will hold up your hands."

There was a moment's silence. None of the men present had ever taken
part in any deed of violence, had ever threatened human life or openly
and flagrantly broken the law. The delegate from Dublin, standing
near Murnihan, looked round at the faces of the men. There was a cool,
contemptuous smile on his lips.

"Perhaps," he said, "you'd rather not do it. Perhaps you'd rather go
away and tell the police that I'm here with you. They'll be glad of the
information. You'll get a reward, I dare say. Anyhow, you'll be safe."

Stung by his reproach, the young men raised their hands one after
another. Denis Ryan raised his, though it trembled when he held it up.

"So we're all agreed," said Murnihan. "Then we'll do it to-night. Where
will we go first?"

There was no lack of suggestions. The men knew the locality in which
they lived and knew the houses where there were arms. Sporting guns in
many houses, revolvers in some, rifles in one or two.

"There's a service rifle in Drennan's," said Murnihan, "that belonged to
that nephew of his that was out in France, fighting for the English, and
there's a double-barrelled shotgun there, too."

"Drennan is no friend of ours," said a man. "He was always an enemy of
Ireland."

"And Drennan's away at the fair at Ballyruddery, with his bullocks,"
said another. "There'll be nobody in the house--only his wife and
daughter. They'll not be able to interfere with us."

Murnihan asked for ten volunteers. Every man in the room, except Denis
Ryan, crowded round him, offering to go.

"Eight will be enough," said Murnihan. "Two to keep watch on the road,
two to keep the women quiet, and four to search the house for arms."

He looked round as he spoke. His eyes rested distrustfully on Denis
Ryan, who stood by himself apart from the others. In