“I think more o’ the Friar than of airy other man I know,” he sez to us at the head o’ the stairs; “but I own up ’at I don’t take kindly to religion; and I’ll tell ya why. The’s hundreds an’ dozens of hymns to the doggone sheep-herders; but the’ ain’t one single one to the cow-punchers. Now, what I sez is this, if ya want to round me up in a religion, you got to find one ’at has hymns to cattle men.”
We didn’t bother to explain it to him, ’cause he wasn’t in condition to know a parable from a pair o’ boots. We dragged him along the hall and flung him on his bed. By chance we put him on the bed with his boots on the piller; but he went sound asleep the moment he stretched out; so we just hung his hat on his toe, folded the blanket over him, locked the door, put the key in my pocket, and went across the hall to our own room.
I didn’t want to harbor that liquor any longer ’n I had to, so me an’ Spider slipped down, got some salt an’ mustard, soaked it in water, drenched ourselves—and repented of havin’ been such fools. Then we went up to bed. It had been some time since we had stretched out on springs, and we were cordial for sleep; so we mingled with it in short order.
Still, I wasn’t easy in my mind, and twice I woke up and went into the hall; but I couldn’t hear anything, though I had a feelin’ that the’d been some good cause for my wakin’ up. I lay on the bed the last time with my mind made up to watch. Skelty’s had allus had the name o’ bein’ a tough joint, and this red-eyed Maxwell with his Injun hair wasn’t of the kind to purify it to such an extent that the old customers wouldn’t feel at home.
As I lay there, I saw the window rise, slow and careful. The’ wasn’t any moon; but I could see a hand in the starlight. I made up my mind to sneak out o’ bed, grab the hand, pull it in to the shoulder, and then throw all my weight on it, and yell for Spider. I got up as noiseless as cider turnin’ into vinegar—and then upset a confounded chair, which sounded like two houses runnin’ together.
The window dropped with a bang; and at the same moment the’ came a shriek from across the hall, followed by some scufflin’ and the sound o’ broken glass. After this all we heard was Tank’s voice tryin’ to explain his opinion o’ that part o’ the country and all its inhabitants. I had thought that Tank had discarded most of his profanity; but by the time we had got our guns and crossed the hall to him, I changed my mind. When I put the key in the lock, he suggested to us what was likely to happen to any unfriendly individuals who attempted to enter that particular room.
I told him gently to stuff the piller into his mouth, if he couldn’t find any other way to stop his yappin’; and then I unlocked the door, just as Maxwell and his bartender came into the hall. The bartender had one gun and one candle, and Maxwell had two guns.
When we opened the door, there was Tank with the blood runnin’ down his leg, while he stood in a corner of the room holdin’ his weapon up above his shoulder. “What’s the matter with you?” I sez, a little cross.
“I’m homesick, you blame ijiot!” sez Tank. “What else would likely be the matter with me?” Tank was about as far out o’ humor as I ever saw him get.
Maxwell came in and looked at the pool of blood. “Don’t stand there and bleed on the floor,” sez he.