They had him down on his back one time, and he was gnawin’ away contentedly at some feller’s thumb, when the feller reached up his trigger finger and scooped out Tank’s eye. The shape and color weren’t hurt a bit; but some o’ the workin’ parts got disconnected, so that he couldn’t see with it; but it appeared to be full as good an eye as the one he looked with.
All the sleep Tank ever wanted was six hours out o’ the twenty-four, and he didn’t care how he got ’em—ten minutes at a time, or all in one lump. He could sleep sittin’ up straight, or ridin’, or stretched out in bed, or most any way. I think he could sleep while walkin,’ though I was never able to surprise him at it. He agreed to back me up, and Spider Kelley also said he was willin’ to do everything in his power to furnish our guest some pleasant recollections after he’d gone back to a groove which fitted him better.
As soon as I began to plan my trip, I started to rehearse curious secrets about Tank to the Eastener, whose name was Horace Walpole Bradford. I told Horace that Tank had a case o’ nerves which made his ’n seem like a bundle of old shoe-laces; and that if something wasn’t done for him soon, I feared he was goin’ to develop insanity. I said that even now, it wasn’t safe to contrary him none, and that I’d be a heap easier in my own mind if Tank was coralled up in a cell somewhere, with irons on.
I didn’t tell Tank what sort of a disposition I was supplyin’ him with for fear he’d overdo it. Tank didn’t know a nerve from an ingrowin’ hair; but when he and Horace paired off to tell each other their symptoms, I’ll have to own up that his tales of anguish an’ sufferin’ made Horace’s troubles sound like dance music.
I told Horace that a trip through the mountains would soothe and invigorate him, until he’d be able to sleep, hangin’ by his toes like a bat; but the trouble was to find something which interested him enough to lure him on the trip. There was a patent medicine almanac at the place, and I studied up its learnin’ until I had it at my tongue’s end, and I also used a lot o’ Friar Tuck’s health theories; so that I got Horace interested enough to talk my eardrums callous; but not enough to take the trip.
I didn’t know much about nerves; but I was as familiar with sleep as though I had graduated from eleven medical colleges, and I knew if he would just follow my directions, it would give him such an appetite for slumber that he’d drop into it without rememberin’ to close his eyelids. Ol’ Jabez happened to mention an Injun buryin’ ground with the members reposin’ on top o’ pole scaffolds, and this proved to be the bait. Horace wanted to see this, and it was a four days’ drive by buckboard; so I heaved a sigh o’ relief and prepared to do my duty.
When all was ready, we packed our stuff in the good buckboard, putting in an extra saddle for the accident we felt sure was goin’ to happen. Spider started as driver, while I rode behind, leadin’ a horse with Tank’s saddle on, though Horace thought it was Spider’s. We had told him that it made our backs ache to ride in a buckboard all day, so we would change off once in a while. Horace wanted to do the drivin’ himself; but we pointed out that he wasn’t used to our kind o’ roads, and consequently favored the little hills too much. He was inhumanly innocent, and it was almost like feedin’ a baby chalk and water.
We trotted along gentle, until the rear spring came loose goin’ down a little dip to a dry crick bed, about ten miles out. We talked it over and decided ’at the best plan would be for Spider to drive back and get the old buckboard; so after unloadin’ our stuff, I took the tap out o’ my pocket, fixed the spring, tied a rope about it to deceive Horace, and Spider drove back for the old buckboard which had been discarded years before, but which we had fixed up for this trip and painted until it looked almost safe to use.
Before long we saw the buckboard comin’ back; but much to our surprise, Tank Williams was drivin’ it, an’ givin’ what he thought was the imitation of a nervous man. He would stand up an’ yell, crack his mule-skinner, and send the ponies along on a dead run. He came up to us, and said that he had had an attack o’ nerves, hadn’t slept a wink the night before; and when Spider Kelley had refused to let him go in his place, he had torn him from the seat an’ had trampled him.
“I trampled him,” sez Tank solemnly, his free eye lookin’ straight into the sun. “I hope I didn’t destroy him; but in my frenzy I trampled him.”