first sight which met my eyes was a brig, with all sails set,
standing out to sea before the wind, about a mile or two from the shore.

Too late! I had expected nothing else, but the certainty of it now
drove me into a frenzy of wrath. I flung myself from the horse and
strode, pistol in hand, towards the deserted shore. There, except for
hoof-marks, which convinced me three horses had passed that way, there
was no sign of living being. By the tracks I could almost fix the spot
at which the party had put off, doubtless in one of the brig's boats.
Of the return track of the horses I could find nothing, and judged that
they had been taken off either at the edge of the water, which the tide
had subsequently covered, or up one of the hard rocky tracks towards the
foreland.

Along one of these, which seemed the most likely, I went for some
distance. It brought me out on to the cliff-top, but disclosed no trace
of what I sought.

I took my red scarf, and fixing it on the end of the sword, waved it
defiantly at the receding ship. Whether it was seen or not, or whether,
if seen, it was understood by those who alone would be likely to
understand it, I could not say.

I was about to return to Malin when a thin curl of smoke from behind a
rock advised me that there was at least one human habitation within
reach, where it might be possible to get information. It was a wretched
mud hovel backing on to the rock--its roof of sods being held at the
corners by stones--and boasting no window, only the door out of which
the smoke was pouring.

An old man, with the stump of a clay pipe in his lips, was turning his
pig out to grass as I approached. He looked at me suspiciously, and
went on without replying to my salutation.

"Good-morrow, father," said I. "You've had a ship in overnight, I see."

"Like enough," replied he in Irish. "Thrt--thrt!" and he gave the pig a
switch.

"Was she English?" I asked.

"'Deed I know nothing of her," said he with a cunning look which
convinced me he was lying.

"What does she carry?" I continued, playing with the butt of the pistol
in my belt.

He was quick enough to notice this gentle hint.

"Bad luck to the ship!" said he; "she's no concern of mine. What are
you looking for? The trade brings me no good."

"Hark here," said I, pulling the weapon from my belt and balancing it on
my fingers. "I'm no custom-house runner. Your cabin may be full, as it
probably is, of rum or bit