s--but after all, it might be the
best way to push him up to that."

"I think not" said Bevan. "Doesn't English law say that a man should be
held innocent till he's proved guilty?"

"It's little I know or care about English law," answered Flinders, "but
I'm sure enough that Irish law howlds a bad man to be guilty till he's
proved innocent--at laste av it dosn't it should."

"You'd better go an' pump him a bit, Mr Fred," said Bevan; "we're close
up to the Sawback range; another hour an' we'll be among the mountains."

They were turning round the spur of a little hillock as he spoke.
Before Fred could reply a small deer sprang from its lair, cast on the
intruders one startled gaze, and then bounded gracefully into the bush,
too late, however, to escape from Bevan's deadly rifle. It had barely
gone ten yards when a sharp crack was heard; the animal sprang high into
the air, and fell dead upon the ground.

"Bad luck to ye, Bevan!" exclaimed Flinders, who had also taken aim at
it, but not with sufficient speed, "isn't that always the way ye do?--
plucks the baste out o' me very hand. Sure I had me sights lined on it
as straight as could be; wan second more an' I'd have sent a bullet
right into its brain, when _crack_! ye go before me. Och! it's onkind,
to say the laste of it. Why cudn't ye gi' me a chance?"

"I'm sorry, Flinders, but I couldn't well help it. The critter rose
right in front o' me."

"Vat a goot shote you is!" exclaimed the botanist riding back to them
and surveying the prostrate deer through his blue spectacles.

"Ay, and it's a lucky shot too," said Fred, "for our provisions are
running low. But perchance we shan't want much more food before
reaching the Indian camp. You said, I think, that you have a good guess
where the camp lies, Mister--what shall we call you?"

"Call me vat you please," returned the stranger, with a peculiar smile;
"I is not partickler. Some of me frunds calls me Mr Botaniste."

"Well, Mr Botanist, the camp cannot be far off now, an' it seems to me
that we should have overtaken men travelling on foot by this time."

"Ye vill surely come on de tracks dis naight or de morrow," replied the
botanist, riding forward, after Bevan had secured the carcass of the
deer to his saddle-bow, "bot ye must have patience, yoong blood be
always too hote. All in goot time."

With this reply Fred was fain to content himself, for no amount of
pressure availed to draw anything more sat