"He's a heelin' himself like a fighting-cock," said Stubbs; "and if Sandy don't go to kingdom come with his boots on, then chaw me up for a shrimp."
The man here went to the door, opened it, put his head out in the frosty weather, and peered up the creek for Sandy, and across the creek for the Parson, but neither was in sight.
The "Gay Rooster" company knocked off from their work, with many others, and came to town in force to see the fight. The Howling Wilderness was crowded and doing a rushing business.
The two bar-keepers shifted and carefully arranged the sand-bags under the counter, which in that day and country were placed there in every well-regulated drinking saloon, so as to intercept whatever stray bits of lead might be thrown in the direction of their bodies, in the coming battle, and calmly awaited results.
About dark, a thin blue smoke, as from burning paper, curled up from the chimney of the Parsonage, and the Parson came slowly forth.
"Blamed if he hasn't been a makin' of his will and a burnin of his letters. Looks grummer than a deacon, too," added the man, as the Parson neared the saloon.
He spoke quietly to the boys, as he entered, but did not swear. That was thought again remarkable indeed.
He went up to the bar, tapped on the counter with his knuckles, threw his head back over his shoulder toward the crowd, and yet apparently without seeing any one, and said:
"Boys, fall in line, fall in line. Rally around me once again."
They fell in line, or at least the majority did. Some, however, stood off in little knots and groups on the other side, and pretended not to have heard or noticed what was going on. These it was at once understood were fast friends of Sandy's, and unbelievers in the Parson.