lukin' for ye sins Saturday.” “And fwhot hev you done with the last I sent ye, ye divil of a McCorkle, and here's me back that's bruk entoirely wid dipping intil the pork barl to giv ye the best sides, and ye spending yur last cint on a tare into Gilroy. Whist! and if it's fer foighting ye are, boys, there's an illigant bit of sod beyant the corral, and it may be meself'll come out with a shtick and be sociable.”
On this particular day, however, Mr. Roscommon was not in his usual spirits, and when the clatter of horses' hoofs before the door announced the approach of strangers, he absolutely ceased wiping his counter and looked up as Dr. Guild, the President, and Secretary of the new Company strode into the shop.
“We are looking,” said the President, “for a man by the name of Wiles, and three Mexicans known as Pedro, Manuel, and Miguel.”
“Ye are?”
“We are!”
“Faix, and I hope ye'll foind 'em. And if ye'll git from 'em the score I've got agin 'em, darlint, I'll add a blessing to it.”
There was a laugh at this from the bystanders, who, somehow, resented the intrusion of these strangers.
“I fear you will find it no laughing matter, gentlemen,” said Dr. Guild, a little stiffly, “when I tell you that a murder has been committed, and the men I am seeking within an hour of that murder put up that notice signed by their names,” and Dr. Guild displayed the paper.
There was a breathless silence among the crowd as they eagerly pressed around the Doctor. Only Roscommon kept on wiping his counter.
“You will observe, gentlemen, that the name of Roscommon also appears on this paper as one of the original beaters.”
“And sure, darlint,” said Roscommon, without looking up, “if ye've no better ividince agin them boys then you have forninst me, it's home ye'd bether be riding to wanst. For it's meself as hasn't sturred fut out of the store the day and noight—more betoken as the boys I've sarved kin testify.”
“That's so, Ross, right,” chorused the crowd, “We've been running the old man all night.”
“Then how comes your name on this paper?”
“O murdher! will ye listen to him, boys? As if every felly that owed me a whisky bill didn't come to me and say, 'Ah, Misther Roscommon,' or 'Moike,' as the case moight be, sure it's an illigant sthrike I've made this day, and it's meself that has put down your name as an original locater, and yer fortune's made, Mr. Roscommon, and will yer fill me up another quart for the good luck betune you and me. Ah, but ask Jack Brown over yar if it isn't sick that I am of his original locations.”
The laugh that followed this speech, and its practical application, convinced the party that they had blundered, that they could obtain no clue to the real culprits here, and that any attempt by threats would meet violent opposition. Nevertheless the Doctor was persistent:
“When did you see these men last?”
“When did I see them, is it? Bedad, what with sarvin up the liquor and keeping me counters dry and swate, I never see them at all.”
“That's so, Ross,” chorused the crowd again, to whom the whole proceeding was delightfully farcical.
“Then I can tell you, gentlemen,” said the Doctor, stiffly, “that they were in Monterey last night, that they did not return on that trail this morning, and that they must have passed here at daybreak.”
With these words, which the Doctor regretted as soon as delivered, the party rode away.
Mr. Roscommon resumed his service and counter wiping. But late that night, when the bar was closed and the last loiterer was summarily ejected, Mr. Roscommon, in the conjugal privacy of his chamber, produced a legal-looking paper. “Read it, Maggie, darlint, for it's meself never had the larning nor the parts.”
Mistress Roscommon took the paper:
“Shure, it's law papers, making over some property to yis. O Moike! ye havn't been spekilating!”
“Whist! and fwhotz that durty gray paper wid the sales and flourishes?”
“Faix, it bothers me intoirely. Shure it oin't in English.”
“Whist! Maggie, it's a Spanish grant!”
“A Spanish grant? O Moike, and what did ye giv for it?”
Mr. Roscommon laid his finger beside his nose and said softly, “Whishky!”
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