“Something not quite right, sir captain, to my mind,” said the ancient.  “They have ugly stories here of pucks and banshees, and what not of ghosts.  There it was again, wailing just like a woman.  They say the banshee cried all night before Desmond was slain.”

“Perhaps, then, this one may be crying for Baltinglas; for his turn is likely to come next—­not that I believe in such old wives’ tales.”

“Shamus, my man,” said Amyas to the guide, “do you hear that cry in the bog?”

The guide put on the most stolid of faces, and answered in broken English—­

“Shamus hear naught.  Perhaps—­what you call him?—­fishing in ta pool.”

“An otter, he means, and I believe he is right.  Stay, no!  Did you not hear it then, Shamus?  It was a woman’s voice.”

“Shamus is shick in his ears ever since Christmas.”

“Shamus will go after Desmond if he lies,” said Amyas.  “Ancient, we had better send a few men to see what it is; there may be a poor soul taken by robbers, or perhaps starving to death, as I have seen many a one.”

“And I too, poor wretches; and by no fault of their own or ours either:  but if their lords will fall to quarrelling, and then drive each other’s cattle, and waste each other’s lands, sir, you know—­”

“I know,” said Amyas, impatiently; “why dost not take the men, and go?”

“Cry you mercy, noble captain, but—­I fear nothing born of woman.”

“Well, what of that?” said Amyas, with a smile.

“But these pucks, sir.  The wild Irish do say that they haunt the pools; and they do no manner of harm, sir, when you are coming up to them; but when you are past, sir, they jump on your back like to apes, sir,—­and who can tackle that manner of fiend?”

“Why, then, by thine own showing, ancient,” said Raleigh, “thou may’st go and see all safely enough, and then if the puck jumps on thee as thou comest back, just run in with him here, and I’ll buy him of thee for a noble; or thou may’st keep him in a cage, and make money in London by showing him for a monster.”

“Good heavens forefend, Captain Raleigh! but you talk rashly!  But if I must, Captain Leigh—­

’Where duty calls
To brazen walls,
How base the slave who flinches’

Lads, who’ll follow me?”

“Thou askest for volunteers, as if thou wert to lead a forlorn hope.  Pull away at the usquebaugh, man, and swallow Dutch courage, since thine English is oozed away.  Stay, I’ll go myself.”

“And I with you,” said Raleigh.  “As the queen’s true knight-errant, I am bound to be behindhand in no adventure.  Who knows but we may find a wicked magician, just going to cut off the head of some saffron-mantled princess?” and he dismounted.

“Oh, sirs, sirs, to endanger your precious—­”

“Pooh,” said Raleigh.  “I wear an amulet, and have a spell of art-magic at my tongue’s end, whereby, sir ancient, neither can a ghost see me, nor I see them.  Come with us, Yeo, the Desmond-slayer, and we will shame the devil, or be shamed by him.”