It broke the spell.
My eyes opened. My arms regained power. Instinctively I reached out a hand and drew my canine guardian toward me, placing a cheek against his cold, moist nose. That was enough for Charlie. The faithful brute grew wild with joy. He barked, whined, jumped, capered, pirouetted after his own stump, and, in a word, did the most tremendous despite to all my careful training in the line of reserved and dignified demeanor.
I rose to a sitting posture and finally drew myself up on my feet, gazing around me in a bewildered, uncertain sort of way.
“Hello, boys, what's the matter?” I managed to articulate.
“Hello, and what's the matter yourself?” replied the Doc.
“Yes, that's precisely what we came out here to know,” put in the Judge.
“I guess—I think—yes, let me see!—I believe I—I—must have dropped off in a little doze, boys! Very kind of you to look me up. Only—say, you never surely meant to shoot my dog? I'd have haunted both of you to your respective dying days if you had, supposing I was a cold corpse instead of a man taking a little nap.”
“Taking a little nap! Hear him! I should rather say you were. But, look here, Scrib, do your little naps always mean two or three hours of the soundest sleep a man ever slept who wasn't dead or drugged?”