Shot down like this, and not in battle, but hunting a gang of wagon-thieves." "Ha, ha, ha! ha, ha, ha!" roared the Sergeant, slapping his thigh again and again as he laughed.

"Come, I like that, Mr Moray .-- Here, Mr Captain, let me introduce you to the gentleman who so cleverly carried off your stores last night." I was scarlet with indignation at being called a cattle-thief, and turned angrily away.
"What!" said the prisoner; "him?
Did--did he--did--But Moray--Moray?
Sure, I thought I knew his face again.

Here, I arrest ye as a thraitor and a deserter from the commando, boy;" and his hand went to the holster to draw his revolver, which had not been interfered with.
"Drop that!" roared the Sergeant roughly, and he dragged the prisoner's hand from the holster, wrenching the revolver from his grasp, and nearly making him lose his balance and fall out of the saddle.

"I've heard all about it.

So you're the Irish scoundrel who summoned that poor lad, and when he refused to turn traitor and fight against his own country, you had his hands lashed behind his back and treated him like a dog.