Courier Democrat. (Langdon, N.D.) 1891-1920, 1900-12-13

when reached an open space I slack
ened speed and waited for him. s
Have you any business with me?'' I
asked. !.
Yes, signor. You are English. viii
you read this letter and send me an
answer to it? 1t is from one of your
countrymen. If the signor would be
SO Kind, would wait for him or his
messenger here, at nine o'clock tomor-
row evening""
AND with that he mirgIed With, the
passers-by and was soon lost to sight.
me mans speech, like his dress,
smacked of the country, and, wonder
ing who my correspondent could he.
and Why an answer must needs be
carried by special messenger, hurried
nome and undid the packet. And first
came upon an ill-writtetn scrawl
and it took me some time to make it
out, for many of the words were
wrongly spelt, and others belonged to
a patoit with which I was not very
familiar: but made shift to translate
1t, and it babe the person into whose
hands it might fall to read the accom-
panying letter from the Signor Ma
guire, and to give the answer as the
bearer had directed. Should there be
any attempt at .treachery the reaedr's
life would pay for it.
I had scarcely any need to peruse the
Enclosed epistle to tell me that was
dealing with brigands, these pests Of
society, 1 had fastened to read my
countryman's letter. 1t ran as fol-
lows
Here am I, James Murtagh Mcguire.
OF Clare County, Ireland, in the hands
OF Italian brigands, and my company
is so highly esteemed that they won't
part with me under a hundred pounds.
I've only one relative in the world, an
old miser of an uncle, by name Phelim
Mcguire, of the town of Clonmel. but
the deuce penny he'd pay for me,
seeing that he was always prophesying
that I'd go to the bad and. by this
and that, it's there I'm landed. They're
pleasant set of scamps that I'm with,
drinking Your health one minute
though, by the same token, the wines
poor stuff-and politely telling you
that they're going to cut your throat
the next, and asking you when it
would be convenient for you to have
it done. I believe it's. their intention
to get rid of me piecemeal, for when
1 made them Understandable it's
wonderful how poor they are at their
own language-that I'd a relative at
some distance, they limited that he
might take a polite attention if they
sent him one of my ears. Well, they
want G100 by this day week, and
they've made me write this to be taken
to Rome to one of my countrymen. I
don't know whom they mistake me for
"a lord, maybe; but, of course, this is
the penalty you pay for being dis
tinguished looking.
You'll be wondering how I came into
this fix, and whether. if you get me
out of it, I'm ever likely to pay you.
I'm a poor fellow on tramp, learning
the ways of the country-and mighty
free and easy they are-doing a bit
of painting and taking few notes for
a book, and was sketching when they
snapped me up, don't know the name
of the place where Tn staying, and
I'm very hazy as to the date, but some
time about now there should be S50
or so waiting for me in the bank at.
Naples. If you care to advance the
hundred I can hand over the fifty, but
when you'd get the other fifty is more
than Jim Mcguire can tell you. AS l
said, or meant to say, I'm only writing
this to keep them in good humour for
awhile, and my solemn advice is that
you don't give them cent. Maybe, as
they think so much of me, they might
make me one of themselves, and it is
an elegant dress they have, and myself
would look we'll in it. Anyway, don't
think that what's left of me is worth
fifty pounds, and it's always good
maxim never to buy pig in a poke.
The ink is little better than water,
and elbow room isn't plenty, so that I
can't produce as elegant an epistle as
I could wish to do. If they're for kill
ing me, I've no one to mourn for me,
and maybe I'd sleep just as soundly
under the sod here as I would If the
green turf of old Ireland was covering
me- It's been a diversion to write this,
and if you could only catch the fellow
who brings it, and crack his skull,
you'd have one demon the less in the
world, and you would be doing a
service to yours, in haste and the
bonds Of the brigands IT, won't give
the beggars a capital "b'D,,
James Murtagh Mcguire
1t was curious letter, and there
was a sufficiently strong under-current
of sadness in it to show that the
writer fully appreciated the gravity OF
his position, and in the advice anent
the messenger there appeared the
typical recklessness of the Irishman.
had money and to spare, and re-
Numbering my own feelings when l
saw my father playing for his life. and
knowing full well that this Mcguire
would, in all probability, be killed un-
less the ransom were Forthcoming. I
determined to run the risk of losing
the hundred pounds. and so sent word
that would pay it. took the note
myself and gave it to the messenger,
and within three days I was shaking
Maguire's hand and looking into his
handsome face.
He was considerably older than I,
somewhere near forty, but his face
was lined with the marks of trouble,
which, however, had not yet dimmed
the luster of his blue eyes, nor robbed
him of his merry laugh. He was fairly
tall, but of perfect form, and with an
,,nrir,t carriape that bespoke the