in attending to their spits, that they had
neither seen nor heard us--although they themselves were now silent, and
we were within less than twenty feet of them. The intervening bushes,
however would have sheltered us from their sight, even if they had been
a little more vigilant--as I should have expected Sure-shot to have
been. They were trusting all to the thicket in which they had pitched
their camp; and, being hungry and wearied no doubt, were for the moment
off their guard. Some fantasy decided me not to disturb them for a
moment--a sort of curiosity to hear what they would say, and, if
possible, discover their _whence_ and _whither_. We were perfectly
within earshot; and could have heard even a whisper passing from their
lips--as we could also note the expression upon their faces. A sign to
my companion was sufficient; and, crouching behind the leafy screen, we
awaited the continuation of the suspended dialogue.

CHAPTER FORTY FIVE.

THE BARROW IN DEBATE.

Our patience was not put to a severe test. O'Tigg was not the man to
keep his tongue in tranquillity for any extended time. Neither was
Sure-shot an admirer of the silent system. Both were talkers. On this
occasion, the "infantry" was the first to make himself heard.

"Be japers! comrayde, I'm afther thinkin' fwhat purty fools us hiv bin,
to tak it afut this way, loike two thramps, whin wez moight ivery bit as
wil hav been stroidin' a pair ov good pownies. We cowld a fitched a
pair from the Fort wid all the aize in the wurld."

"Yees, Petrick, certing ye ain't fer 'stray 'bout thet pertickler; we've
been raither ungumptious."

"Besoides, wez rooight as wil hav been hung for a shape as a lamb.
We'll be flogg'd all as wan, iv the iskhort foinds us, fur taykin' the
guns, an' the knapsacks, an' the whaleborra--bad luck to the borra!"

"No, Petrick, don't cuss the berra--it hes served us for certing. We
kedn't a got along 'thout the machine--how ked we? We ked niver hev
toted our doin's es we've did; an' but for the piece o' bacon an' thet
eer bag o' meal, we'd a sterved long afore this, I recking. Don't cuss
the berra."

"Och! it's made my showlders ache, as if some skhoundrel had been batin'
them wid a sprig ov shillaylah!"

"Ne'er a mind 'bout thet! yer shoulders 'll be all right arter ye've got
a wink o' sleep. Spank my skin! ef thet ere wan't a cute dodge--it's
throwd the Indyens off o' the scent for certain; or we'd a heerd some'ut