His form was swathed with a blanket, and there was a certain majesty in the slowly sinking figure, which would have been very impressive but for the fact that it was hardly started when the thin cord by which it was suspended began to twist and untwist, causing the form to revolve forward and backward in a way that was fatal to dignity.
On the impulse of the moment, the Irishman had raised his gun to fire the moment his eyes rested upon the figure.

But he restrained himself, not a little puzzled to guess the meaning of such a proceeding.

The man, as they believed him to be, was slowly lowered, until something like a dozen feet below the opening, where those who had him in charge seemed to think was the proper place to hold him on exhibition for a time.
"Are you going to shoot ?" asked the boy, who did not understand the delay.
"What's the use ?" he asked, with an expression of disgust.
"Why, it will stop the man coming down on us." "Man, do ye say?
He ain't any more a man than me gun is." "What, then, can he be ?" "He's a blanket that they've twisted up so as to look as though it is gathered about the shoulders of an Apache.

It's easy to see that there's nothing in it from the way it swings around, as though it was a little toy; and, be the same token, that little cord which holds him aloft is no thicker than a darning-needle.

Why they are thrying such a simple thrick is more than I can tell." "I think I know," said Fred.