He was afoot, walking in the county road, not more than
two miles from the vacant hotel, when he saw a dog-cart coming like the
wind toward him. The gentleman, driving a splendid mare, checked his
speed on catching sight of him, and called out to him. Upon approaching,
he recognized Mr. Briscoe, whom he had often seen when at work at the
neighboring hotel. On this occasion Mr. Briscoe asked him to hold the
mare while he slipped a coat on the little boy whom he had in the
dog-cart with him--a red coat it was--for it took all he knew to drive
the mare with both hands. And the Irishman declared it took all _he_
knew to hold the mare for the single minute required to slip the child
into the coat. Twice the plunging animal lifted him off his feet as he
swung to the bit. But the gentleman did not forget to pay him royally.
Mr. Briscoe tossed him a dollar, and then, with "the little bye in his
red coat" sitting on the floor of the vehicle, he was off like a cyclone
and out of sight in a moment. Almost immediately afterward the Irishman
heard the sharp crack of a rifle, and a tumultuous crash, as of some
heavy fall into the depths of the valley.
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