Лучшие романы Томаса Майна Рида / The Best of Thomas Mayne Reid

“Be japers!” he exclaimed, once more glancing stealthily towards the door, “flesh and blood cudn’t stand the smell av that bewtiful whisky, widout tastin’ it. Trath! I’ll chance it – jist the smallest thrifle to wet the tap av my tongue. Maybe it’ll burn the skin av it; but no matther – here goes!”

Without further ado the neck of the demijohn was brought in contact with his lips; but instead of the “smallest thrifle” to wet the top of his tongue, the “gluck – gluck” of the escaping fluid told that he was administering a copious saturation to the whole lining of his larynx, and something more.

After half a dozen “smacks” of the mouth, with other exclamations denoting supreme satisfaction, he hastily restored the stopper; returned the demijohn to its place; and glided back to his seat upon the stool.

“Tara, ye owld thief!” said he, addressing himself once more to his canine companion, “it was you that timpted me! No matther, man: the masther ’ll niver miss it; besides, he’s goin’ soon to the Fort, an can lay in a fresh supply.

”

For a time the pilferer remained silent; either reflecting on the act he had committed, or enjoying the effects which the “potheen” had produced upon his spirits.

His silence was of short duration; and was terminated by aВ soliloquy.

“I wondher,” muttered he, “fwhat makes Masther Maurice so anxious to get back to the Sittlements. He says he’ll go wheniver he catches that spotty mustang he has seen lately.

Sowl! isn’t he bad afther that baste! I suppose it must be somethin’ beyant the common – the more be token, as he has chased the crayther three times widout bein’ able to throw his rope over it – an mounted on the blood-bay, too. He sez he won’t give it up, till he gets howlt of it. Trath! I hope it’ll be grupped soon, or wez may stay here till the marnin’ av doomsday. Hush! fwhat’s that?”

Tara springing up from his couch of skin, and rushing out with aВ low growl, had caused the exclamation.

“Phelim!” hailed a voice from the outside. “Phelim!”

“It’s the masther,” muttered Phelim, as he jumped from his stool, and followed the dog through the doorway.

Chapter 6

The Spotted Mustang

Phelim was not mistaken as to the voice that had hailed him. It was that of his master, Maurice Gerald.