The weekly Floridian. [volume] (Tallahassee, Fla.) 1867-19??, 1886-08-05

some traveller who had fallen q victim to
this robber, who was as expert and polite
in his calling as Dick Turpin himself.
Tom, preparing to start, hid the bag of
coin under the capes of his great-coat, and
put his pistol into the holsters. Belle
clung to him, begging him to take one of
the men with him.
"He may kill you, Tom, if you meet
him !"
"Nonsense ? Kill a poor dairy
farmer!"
"He may take the money, and we shall
have to begin all over again"
" For shame, Belle l thought you
more of woman. No White Pedler
shall have the money-if there be any
such person, which very much doubt"
1t was gray, cold day in December.
A light snow lay on the ground. Toms
road led him at first through villages and
farms where he was we'll known. Friends
and neighbors ran out to meet him, and
stopping to chat with each, the morning
slipped by. 1t was an hour past midday
before he struck into the lonely road
which led up to the mountains Near the
foot OF the first range of hills was a
bothy, or cabin. Tom dismounted, tied
his horse to the fence, and went in to
warm himself. When he came out, he
noticed that gray mare was standing at
the back of the bothy.
Some cotter on his way to MARKET"
thought Tom, as he mounted and rode
on.
1t was an hour before he reached the
top Of the hill-range. The snow on the
road was unbroken except by his own
horses feet. He had not passed single
house. "This is the Pedler's hunting
ground" thought Tom, mechanically TAX
ing out his pistols to examine them again.
The load was drawn, and they were wet
with liquid which smelled like sour
beer
"This was done at the bothy!'' {" | am
TO have a fight for it" flashed through
his mind, just as he heard the soft foo t.
falls of a horse in the snow, coming up
by-path. He had scarcely time to thrust
the unloaded pistols back, when man,
mounted on gray mare, quietly joined
him. He was short, powerfully built
fellow, dressed in a white great-coat and
low gray hat, beneath which looked out
pleasant, ruddy face and humorous blue
eyes.
"Good morning, Mr. Hardy"
GOOD morning." said Tom, heartily.
lie took in the situation at glance
The man was armed he unarmed. The
Pedler was stronger man than he.
My only chance is to try my wits
against HIS" He looked. The road for
mile or two was wide enough for two
to keep abreast, then it narrowed, going
down the hill, 80 that they had to ride
singly. "Ie will attack me there"
thought Tom, while he exchanged the
news Of the last markct-day with his
companion.
The Pedler appeared to be as much in
need of society as money. He soon made
a joke, after the usual Irish fashion of
those days. Tom replied with one of
his best stories, and nobody, tradition
states could tell better story The
Pedler enjoyed it, and retorted with an
Other, until their shouts of laughter rang
through the hills. Never at any state
dinner had Tom Hardy so exerted him
self as now; anecdote followed anecdote,
and retort followed repartee. Never, too,
had he found a more appreciative COM
panion. The Pedler's face flushed, and
his eyes twinkled with enjoyment.
They had nearly reached the turn
where the road suddenly narrowed. In
field some twenty rods from the road,
stood another bothy. The highwayman
drew rein.
"Pm chilled to the marrow. The fel-
low has excellent whiskey, MIR. Hardy.
What do you say 2"
"Pm ready to dismount," said Tom,
dismounting quickly, without trace of
hesitation.
The Pedler threw himself from his
mare, and started briskly to the bothy.
Tom fumbed, as if tying his horse, until
the hlghwayman's back was turned then
leaping into his saddle he seized the
mares bride and galloped down the hill,
whipping the Pedler's horse until, when
he threw her loose, she fled wild with
terror before him.
He heard volley Of curses from sew
eral voices near him. A bullet whizzed
past his ear, another tore the cloth from
his side. The Pedler was a good marks
man.
Then came the clatter of hoofs behind.
The keeper of the bothy, who was on ac-
complice of the robbers, had horse ready
saddled.
Tom put spurs to his horse, shouted,
called to him, patted his neck. lie knew,
and the horses seemed to know, that the
race was for life or death. The Pedler
would never forgive the trick that had
been played on him.
Turning sharp corner, Tom was for
moment or two out of his pursuer's sight.
He jerked the canvas bag out from his
breast, and hurled it into the bog, near,
as he noticed to dead tree.
Then the mad race continued, the
highwayman still behind, yelling breath
less oaths. Half an hour later, Tom
dashed into the town of Doneraile. The
Pedler drew rein outside, not daring to
enter as 1t was still daylight
The next morning Tom, with couple
of his men, found the canvas bag, half
buried in the bog, paid his debt and went
home to his wife, lighter in pocket but
richer by a good story, which he de-
lighted to tell to the day of his DEATH
Re6eccd Harding Daois.
The lasso commonly used by cow
boys is made Of sixty feet of rope, third
of which forms the loop. When thrown,
it is swung over the head and left shout
der, with a peculiar turn Of the wrist cal.
culated to keep the loop open until it en-
circles the object at which it is flung.
Expert throwers do not pride themselves
| .4oo. h,,t tho horua huf fru