be afther tryin' somethin' on, so I laid for him. I planted a certain
mule where he _could_ stale it an' guarded the rest four deep. Begob,
will ye believe me, but he fell into the thrap head-first--the poor
simple divil."

"But he got your mule," said Albert Edward, perplexed.

"Shure an' he did, you bet he did--he got old Lyddite."

Albert Edward and I were still puzzled.

"Very high explosive--hence name," O'Dwyer explained.

"Dear hearrts," he went on, "he's got my stunt mule, my family
assassin! That long-ear has twenty-three casualties to his credit,
including a Brigadier. I have to twitch him to harness him, side-line
him to groom him, throw him to clip him, and dhrug him to get him
shod. Perceive the jest now? Esteemed comrade Monk is afther pinchin'
an infallable packet o' sudden death, an' he don't know it--yet."

"What's the next move?" I inquired.

"I'm going to lave him there. Mind you I don't want to lose the old
moke altogether, because, to tell the truth, I'm a biteen fond of him
now that I know his thricks, but I figure Mr. Monk will be a severely
cured character inside a week, an' return the beastie himself with
tears an' apologies on vellum so long."

I met O'Dwyer again two days later on the mud track. He reined up his
cob and begged a cigarette.