. Murty was
wiry, despite his years, and his grip seemed to Black Shawn like the
handcuffs already upon him. There was little struggle left in Shawn,
and he just stood sobbing, while his gun smoked up between him and
Murty.

'What black work is this, my fine fellow?' said Murty quietly.

Black Shawn came to himself, seeing he was stopped by a man and no
ghost.

'Let me go, for God's sake,' he sobbed out. 'I've shot Ramsay-Stewart
below at the bridge, and the police are after me.' Just then the moon
rolled from behind a cloud, and Murty Meehan saw his prisoner, saw
that he was young, and would be handsome if his face were not so
distorted by emotion. Now there came a sudden sound of footsteps
pelting along the road, and Shawn was taken with a tremor, though,
mind you, he was a brave man, and it was horror of his sin was on him
more than a fear of the rope. Murty Meehan made up his mind.

'Give me the gun,' he said. 'I'm old and worn-out, and I might have
had a son of your age.'

Shawn, hardly understanding, fled on the moment he was released. A bit
further the lord's wall gave way to iron palings, and not far beyond
was the open country and the road to the hills. Once in the hills
Black Shawn was safe.

But they found Murty Meehan with the smoking gun in his hand, and what
more evidence could be wanted? He was tried for the murder, and
pleaded 'Not guilty'; and the number of witnesses called to testify to
his character was enough to fill the court-house, but then, he
couldn't or wouldn't explain the gun, and the judge declared it was
the clearest case that had ever come before him. He was very eloquent
in his charge over such a crime being committed by an old man, and
expressed his abhorrence of poor Murty in a way that might have seared
the face of a guilty man, though it didn't seem to come home very
closely to the prisoner.

A month later Murty was hanged in Ballinscreen jail. He was many a day
in his quicklime grave before Black Shawn heard how another man had
suffered for his crime. After long wandering he had escaped to the
coast, and coming to a seaport town had been engaged by the captain of
a sailing vessel, short of hands, who was only too glad to give him
his grub and his passage in exchange for his work, and ask no
questions. But it was a time of storms, and the ship was blown
half-way to the North Pole, and as far south again, and arrived at New
York long after all hope of her safety had been given