Though our horses were very tired, we rode thirteen miles more that night, and, about ten o'clock, arrived at a beautiful spot with plenty of fine grass and cool water, upon which both we and our horses stretched ourselves most luxuriously even before eating.
Capital jokes were passed round that night while we were discussing the qualities of the mountain-goat flesh, but yet I felt annoyed at our feat; the thing, to be sure, had been gallantly done, still it was nothing better than highway robbery.

Hunger, however, is a good palliative for conscience, and, having well rubbed our horses, who seemed to enjoy their grazing amazingly, we turned to repose, watching alternately for every three hours.
The next day at noon we met with unexpected sport and company.

As we were going along, we perceived two men at a distance, sitting close together upon the ground, and apparently in a vehement conversation.

As they were white men, we dismounted and secured our horses, and then crept silently along until we were near the strangers.

They were two very queer-looking beings; one long and lean, the other short and stout.
"Bless me," the fat one said, "bless me, Pat Swiney, but I think the Frenchers will never return, and so we must die here like starved dogs." "Och," answered the thin one, "they have gone to kill game.