“Badger-face,” sez Horace, “I’d rather give you this milk peaceful; but I’m goin’ to give it to ya, an’ you can bet what ya like on that.”
Badger opened his eyes again, an’ they were dull an’ glazy. “This reminds me o’ the water-cure at the pen,” he said, an’ then set his teeth.
“Hold his hands, Happy,” sez Horace, as full o’ fight as a snow-plow. “Hold his head, Friar. Now then, swallow or drown.”
It looked purty inhuman, but Badger had to swallow after a bit, an’ when we had put as much milk into him as we wanted—only a couple o’ spoonfuls—we let him go, an’ he fell asleep, pantin’ a little. We woke him up in half an hour, an’ put some more milk into him. When he slept, his breathin’ was more like natural, an’ the fourth time, I didn’t have to hold his hands; so I went to sleep myself.
Well, Horace won this fight, too. In about four days, Badger-face began to have an appetite, an’ then it was all off with him. He couldn’t have died if we’d left him plumb alone; but he hadn’t give up yet. The Friar kept him down to a mighty infan-tile diet, sayin’ that a lung shot was a bad one, an’ the pure mountain air was all that had saved him; but even now fever was likely to come back on him.
It was close to the tenth o’ January when Horace came in from a ride one evenin’, an’ went in to see Badger-face, still wearin’ his gun. Quick as a wink, Badger grabbed the gun; but Horace threw himself on Badger’s arm, an’ yelled for help. The Friar an’ Olaf rushed in from the lean-to, an’ corraled the gun in short order.
“You blame little bob-cat, you!” sez Badger. “I didn’t intend to use the gun on you.”
“I know what you intended to do,” sez Horace; “but you don’t win this deal as easy as all that.”
[CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN—A STRANGE ALLIANCE]
After this we tied Badger-face in bed an’ kept watch of him. He kept on gettin’ stronger all the time, an’ a good percent of his meanness came back with his strength. Sometimes he’d spend hours tauntin’ Horace an’ the Friar; but they didn’t mind it any more ’n if Badger had been a caged beast. Then one night he concluded to try cussin’. He started in to devise somethin’ extra fancy in the way o’ high-colored profanity; but he hadn’t gone very far on this path, before Olaf came in as black as a thunder cloud.