“It’s eating it,” cried Douglas in shrill excitement. After thoroughly masticating it, however, the baby repented of its condescension and ejected the mouthful in several instalments.
William blushed for it.
“Oh, come on, let’s go and look at the fire,” he said weakly.
They left the barn and returned to the scene of the fire-lighting. The cow, still swinging the remains of the baby’s hat from its mouth, was standing with its front feet firmly planted on the remains of what had been a promising fire.
“Look!” cried William, in undisguised pleasure. “Look at Henry’s cow! Pretty nice sort of cow you’ve brought, Henry. Not much sense taking cows about if you can’t stop them puttin’ folks’ fires out.”
After a heated argument, the Outlaws turned their attention to the cow. The cow refused to be “shoo’d off.” It simply stood immovable and stared them out. Ginger approached cautiously and gave it a little push. It switched its tail into his eye and continued to munch the baby’s hat-string. Upon William’s approaching it lowered its head, and William retreated hastily. At last they set off to collect some fresh wood and light a fresh fire. Soon they were blissfully consuming two blackened slices of ham, the popcorn, and what was left of the cake.
After the “feast,” Ginger and William, as Wild Indians, attacked the barn, which was defended by Douglas and Henry. The “kidnap” crawled round inside on all fours, picking up any treasures it might come across en route and testing their effect on its palate.
Occasionally it carried on a conversation with its defenders, bringing with it a strong perfume of paraffin oil as it approached.
“Blab—blab—blab—blab—blub—blub—Dad—dad—dad—dad—dad. Go—o—o—o.”
William had insisted on a place on the attacking side.