"Now, Mr. M'Carthy, I wish you to understand that you are wid a
friend--mark my words--avoid the man they call Buck English, for of all
men livin' he hates you the most; and listen, whenever you come to this
country don't stop in procthor Purcel's, otherwise you may draw down
ruin and destruction upon him and his; and, if I'm not mistaken, you're
the last man livin' who would wish to do that."

"By the way," asked M'Carthy, "who is Buck English?"

"I don't know," replied the stranger, "nor do I know any one that does."

"And may I not ask who you are yourself?"

"No--for I've good raisons for not telling you. Good-night, and mark my
words--avoid that man, for I know he would give a good deal to sit over
your coffin--and you in it."

We shall now allow M'Carthy to proceed to his friend's house, which he
reached without any further adventure, and ask the reader to accompany
the stranger, who in a few minutes overtook the body we have described,
to which he belonged. They proceeded in the same way, still maintaining
a silence that was fearful and ominous, for about a mile and a half.
Whilst proceeding, they met several persons on the road, every one of
whom they stopped and interrogated as to his name and residence, after
which they allowed them to pass on.

"Why do they! stop and examine the people they meet?" whispered one of
them a young lad about nineteen--to him who had just warned McCarthy.

"Why," said the other, "is it possible you don't know that? It's aisy