But we did not stop the stream. For once we saw the militant Peter, his fearless lieutenant, Rob Currier, and all the rest of the ever victorious army held in check. No feeling that we were violating the fitness of things could detract from the sweetness of the moment. If eternal defeat had not embittered us in the past, we might have been more artistic and less human on this occasion. But in an instant, and as by direct intervention of the gods, our retreat had been turned into triumph, and that we did not intend to relinquish.
Woe, woe, to the vanquished!
"Aw, that's a great thing to do!" sneered Rob Currier.
"You can't do it!" shouted Joe Carter in a state of great excitement; "Indians don't have hose!"
"That's all right," I replied, "these Indians have got some. They got it from a settler's cabin, or—or—or somehow. Anyhow, they've got it."
"But 'tain't fair," reiterated Peter Bailey.
"'Tain't fair for five of you to be always masserkerin' us," remarked my fellow Indian.
Peter was disposed to bitterness. He did not enjoy having his military plans frustrated in such a manner.
"You're only a couple of babies,—you're afraid to be masserkered," he said.