At length John Jones pointed to a hollow lane
on our right, seemingly leading into the glen.
"That place, sir," said he, "is called Pant y Gwyddel - the
Irishman's dingle, and sometimes Pant Paddy, from the Irish being
fond of taking up their quarters there. It was just here, at the
entrance of the pant, that the tribe were encamped, when I passed
two months ago at night, in returning from the other side of the
hill with ten shillings in my pocket, which I had been paid for a
piece of my work, which I had carried over the mountain to the very
place where I am now carrying this. I shall never forget the
fright I was in, both on account of my life, and my ten shillings.
I ran down what remained of the hill as fast as I could, not
minding the stones. Should I meet a tribe now on my return I shall
not run; you will be with me, and I shall not fear for my life nor
for my money, which will be now more than ten shillings, provided
the man over the hills pays me, as I have no doubt he will."
As we ascended higher we gradually diverged from the glen, though
we did not lose sight of it till we reached the top of the
mountain. The top was nearly level. On our right were a few
fields enclosed with stone walls. On our left was an open space
where whin, furze and heath were growing.
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