He sat so long that the worthy colonel began to feel indignant; to sit in a cramped position on the outside of a house, for the sake of abused human nature, was an action more praiseworthy than comfortable, and the colonel began to feel personally aggrieved at Grump’s delay. Besides, the colonel was growing thirsty.
Suddenly Grump arose, looked down at the sleeping youth, and then knelt beside him. The colonel briskly brought his pistol to bear on him, and with great satisfaction noted that Tom’s muzzle occupied a crack in the front walls, and that he himself was out of range.
A slight tremor seemed to run through the sleeper; “and no wonder,” said the colonel, when he recounted the adventure to the boys; “anybody’d shiver to hev that catamount glarin’ at him.”
Grump arose, and softly went to a corner which was hidden by the chimney.
“Gone for his knife, I’ll bet,” whispered the colonel to himself. “I hope Tom don’t spile my mad by firin’ fust.”
Grump returned to view; but instead of a knife, he bore another blanket, which he gently spread over his sleeping guest, then he lay down beside Mix with a log of wood for a pillow.
The colonel withdrew his pistol, and softly muttered to himself a dozen or two enormous oaths; then he arose, straightened out his cramped legs, and started to find Tom. That worthy had started on a similar errand, and on meeting, the two stared at each other in the moonlight as blankly as a couple of well-preserved mummies.
“S’pose the boys ’ll believe us?” whispered the colonel.
“We ken bring ’em down to see the show themselves, ef they don’t,” replied Tom.
The colonel’s report was productive of the choicest assortment of ejaculations that had been heard in camp since Natchez, the leader of the Vinegar Gulch Boys, joined the Church and commenced preaching.