The sun left the world and Ermine with his gloomy thoughts.
Late at night Captain Lewis sat at his desk writing letters, the lamp spotting on the white disk of his hat, which shaded his face, while the pale moonlight crept in through the open door. A sword clanked outside, and with a knock the officer of the guard hurriedly entered.
"Say, Bill, I have your scout Ermine down by the guard-house, and he's drunk. I didn't lock him up. Wanted to see you first. If I lock him up, I am afraid he'll pull out on you when he comes to. What shall I do?"
"The devil you say—Ermine drunk? Why, I never knew him to drink; it was a matter of principle with him; often told me that his mentor, whoever he was, told him not to."
"Well, he's drunk now, so there you are," said the officer.
"How drunk?"
"Oh, good and drunk."
"Can he walk?" Lewis queried.
"No; all he can do is lay on his back and shoot pretty thick Injun at the moon."