"I'm only a poor Irish boy, but I ain't a thafe, and never mane to be." "Bravo, Andy!" said Colonel Preston, who had awaited with a little anxiety the result of the offer.
Fairfax stooped suddenly, but before he could get hold of the pistol, Andy struck him on the head with the gun-barrel, causing him to roll over, while, in a quick and adroit movement, he himself got hold of the pistol before Fairfax had recovered from the crack on his head.
"Now," said Andy, triumphantly, with the gun over his shoulder, and presenting the pistol, "lave here mighty quick, or I'll shoot ye." "Give me back the pistol, then," said the discomfited ruffian.
"I guess not," said Andy.
"It's my property." "I don't know that.

Maybe you took it from some thraveler." "Give it to me, and I'll go off peaceably." "I won't take no robber's word," said Andy.

"Are you goin' ?" "Give me the pistol.

Fire it off, if you like." "That you may load it again.

You don't catch a weasel asleep," answered Andy, shrewdly.