There were three good sized rooms in the old cabin which was only one story high. One big room occupied the full south half o’ the cabin, a bedroom was in the northeast corner, and a library in the northwest corner. Yes, sir, a regular library, and the Friar and Horace both said it was a choice collection o’ books. Horace showed us one book which had a photograph of the original Prometheus chained to a rock with the vultures peckin’ at his liver, and he certainly must have been some man to stand it. This picture made The’s eyes light up consid’able.
The’ was also some chromos of naked stone images on the wall, which the Friar and Horace called mighty fine copies. They were purty well dumb-founded to find ’at Ty Jones didn’t live as much like a bob-cat as they’d thought. Under the book shelves was a row o’ locked drawers. They stuck out farther than the shelves above ’em, and we wanted to pry ’em open to see what was inside; but the Friar wouldn’t let us.
That was a wearin’ day, and we were all glad when it finally dragged itself to the lake o’ darkness, and dove in. We had our minds made up for a busy night, but waitin’ for trouble is more crampin’ to the soul than bein’ in the midst of it, so we felt cheerfuller as soon as night actually settled down.
We didn’t dare have a fire in the fireplace, for fear it would show ’em our loopholes, and we didn’t care to advertise these any more ’n was necessary; but we set a lighted candle far back in the fireplace, to see to load by. The fireplace was across the southwest corner o’ the big room. There were no loopholes in the library, but we feared the light might leak through a chink in the window shutter, so we didn’t have any light there. We kept one man watchin’ through loopholes in the bedroom, and two watchin’ in the big room, and were able to cover the whole neighborhood.
The cook-shack was the nearest buildin’, and only the two loopholes in the north end o’ the bedroom covered that; so we decided to fling the library window open and fire through that, in case they made a rush from that direction. We knew they wouldn’t be likely to start anything until after eleven, as the moon wouldn’t set until then, so we stretched out on the floor, leavin’ Oscar, Horace, and Spider on watch.
When a feller has been keepin’ his attention wound up for several days, his mainspring finally gets strained, and the cogs in his head get to cuttin’ up regardless. I managed to get a purty fair dab o’ sleep; but it seemed as though I dove straight out o’ wakefulness into a dream, and it was some the rottenest dream I ever had. I dreamed that Ty Jones had come and stooped over me and asked me what I thought o’ the way he had conducted his life. In a dream a feller is apt to do the foolest things imaginable, so I looked up into Ty’s face and told him my true opinion. I sez to him: “Ty, if your brains were blastin’ powder, they wouldn’t make enough explosion to raise your hat.”
Ty didn’t take kindly to this opinion; so he jumped into the air and lightin’ on my face, began to trample it with his heels. The discomfort of this wakened me; but at first I didn’t know I was awake. Several men had been actually tramplin’ on me, and the’ was a general fight takin’ place in that room which was hard to make head or tail of.
In the flickerin’ candle rays, it was mighty bothersome to tell who from which; so the’ was no shootin’. Aside from Ty and Pepper Kendal, we averaged bigger ’n they did, except Horace and Spider. Spider had length but he ran small in the arms and legs, while Horace was twenty-two caliber any way you looked at him. They abused Horace some consid’able, and he got kicked and trampled on purty liberal; but he was of terrier blood, and the second or third time he got kicked into a corner, he crawled out on his hands an’ knees, picked out a pair o’ legs which was strange to him, wrapped his arms about ’em, and fetched their owner to the floor with a thump. I spared enough time to knock the feller on the head; and then Horace played his trick over again.
Olaf was a mad bull in a mix-up like this—Horace said he had beershirker blood in him, and this must be good stuff for it made Olaf grin when Horace accused him of it. O’ course the’ ain’t much head or tail to such a fight, and in lookin’ back on it, it’s just like spurtin’ the pages of a picture-book with your thumb and tryin’ to observe the pictures. I saw the Friar leanin’ again’ the mantel-piece with a hurt look on his face; and it disgusted me.
In times o’ peace, I respected his prejudice again’ violence; but this was no time for foolishness, and I recall mutterin’ to myself a wish that Horace might have the loan of his big body for the next half hour. I saw Olaf knock down two men with one blow, I saw The save ol’ Tank’s life, just as a half-breed was about to knife him from behind; but for the most part it was just about as orderly a mess as a popper-ful o’ corn over a bed o’ coals.