He has been sober since, and the spell now upon him has been produced by a subsequent appeal to the Divinity of drink.
To explain, we must go back to that hour between midnight and morning, when the monte players made their abrupt departure.
The sight of three red savages, seated around the slab table, and industriously engaged in a game of cards, had done more to restore Phelim to a state of sobriety than all the sleep he had obtained.
Despite a certain grotesqueness in the spectacle, he had not seen such a ludicrous sight, as was proved by the terrific screech with which he saluted them.
There was nothing laughable in what followed.
He had no very clear comprehension of what did follow.
He only remembered that the trio of painted warriors suddenly gave up their game, flung their cards upon the floor, stood over him for a time with naked blades, threatening his life; and then, along with a fourth who had joined them, turned their backs abruptly, and rushed pellmell out of the place!
All this occupied scarce twenty seconds of time; and when he had recovered from his terrified surprise, he found himself once more alone in the jacale!
Was the sleeping, or awake?
Drunk, or dreaming?
Was the scene real?
Or was it another chapter of incongruous impossibilities, like that still fresh before his mind?
But no. The thing was no fancy. It could not be.
He had seen the savages too near to be mistaken as to their reality.
He had heard them talking in a tongue unknown to him.
What could it be but Indian jargon?
Besides, there were the pieces of pasteboard strewn over the floor!
He did not think of picking one up to satisfy himself of their reality.
He was sober enough, but not sufficiently courageous for that.
He could not be sure of their not burning his fingers—those queer cards?
They might belong to the devil?
Despite the confusion of his senses, it occurred to him that the hut was no longer a safe place to stay in.
The painted players might return to finish their game.
They had left behind not only their cards, but everything else the jacale contained; and though some powerful motive seemed to have caused their abrupt departure, they might re-appear with equal abruptness.
The thought prompted the Galwegian to immediate action; and, blowing out the candle, so as to conceal his movements, he stole softly out of the hut.
He did not go by the door.
The moon was shining on the grass-plat in front.
The savages might still be there.
He found means of exit at the back, by pulling one of the horse hides from its place, and squeezing himself through the stockade wall.
Once outside, he skulked off under the shadow of the trees.
He had not gone far when a clump of dark objects appeared before him.
There was a sound, as of horses champing their bitts, and the occasional striking of a hoof.
He paused in his steps, screening his body behind the trunk of a cypress.
A short observation convinced him, that what he saw was a group of horses.
There appeared to be four of them; no doubt belonging to the four warriors, who had turned the mustanger’s hut into a gaming-house.
The animals appeared to be tied to a tree, but for all that, their owners might be beside them.
Having made this reflection, he was about to turn back and go the other way; but just at that moment he heard voices in the opposite direction—the voices of several men speaking in tones of menace and command.
Then came short, quick cries of affright, followed by the baying of a hound, and succeeded by silence, at intervals interrupted by a swishing noise, or the snapping of a branch—as if several men were retreating through the underwood in scared confusion!
As he continued to listen, the noises sounded nearer. The men who made them were advancing towards the cypress tree.
The tree was furnished with buttresses all around its base, with shadowy intervals between. Into one of these he stepped hastily; and, crouching close, was completely screened by the shadow.
He had scarce effected his concealment, when four men came rushing up; and, without stopping, hastened on towards the horses.
As they passed by him, they were exchanging speeches which the Irishman could not understand; but their tone betrayed terror.
The excited action of the men confirmed it.
They were evidently retreating from some enemy that had filled them with fear.
There was a glade where the moon-beams fell upon the grass.
It was just outside the shadow of the cypress. To reach the horses they had to cross it; and, as they did so, the vermilion upon their naked skins flashed red under the moonlight.
Phelim identified the four gentlemen who had made so free with the hospitality of the hut.
He kept his place till they had mounted, and rode off—till he could tell by the tramp of their horses that they had ascended the upper plain, and gone off in a gallop—as men who were not likely to come back again.
“Doesn’t that bate Banagher?” muttered he, stepping out from his hiding-place, and throwing up his arms in astonishment.
“Be japers! it diz.