Suddenly the little man was aroused from his lethargy as though he had heard a shout. He began talking rapidly.
“I stood behind the door of the cabin, and when he come in I downed him with a club. Then I tied his hands and his feet and fastened him to the floor. I sat beside him and spit in his face till he come to a-groanin’. And it was a couple days before he could talk sense or knowed who I was.
“And he begged and he cussed, but I didn’t say nothin’. He got hungry; so I chawed at some pemmican I had left from the trip so’s he’d get hungrier. He got thirsty; so I drank more’n I wanted so’s he’d get thirstier.
“Said he’d get me into heaven for just one sup of water; so I went out with my cup; I filled it with dust; I put it to his lips.
“Said he’d send me to hell if I didn’t give him just one drop. So I give him more dust. And by and by he got luny like, and cussed like a bull-whacker and whined like a sick woman by turns.
“God, Hank! How that man hung on!
“And by and by he seemed to get a little sense for a spell, and he yelled out: ‘He had blue eyes, didn’t he? Look at mine!’ And I cuffed him in the mouth till his teeth was bloody, ’cause his eyes was blue.”
The little man hesitated. Suddenly an expression of supreme terror came over his face. The wolf was dead—the frightened sheep looked out of his eyes. There was a sound of footsteps. The shabby light of early dawn had already cheapened the glow of the guttered candle.
The door opened—a priest entered.
The little man gave a yell of terror and shrank into his corner.