Horace filled the pipe, which was an ancient one, bitter as gall; but when he began to smoke, his face became almost satisfied. The pipe was purty well choked up, so that he had some bother in keepin’ it goin’, but after we’d run a grass stem through it, it worked purty well, an’ we was right sociable until along about nine o’clock, when I got sleepy, myself. Then Tank began to worry about his nerves. Horace had about forgot his own nerves, he was sufferin’ so from Tank’s.
When we see that Horace couldn’t keep awake any longer without bein’ tortured, Tank began to carry on fiercer. He rumpled up his hair, gave starts an’ jerks, but the thing ’at worked best, was just to sit an’ look at his fingers, an’ pick at ’em. He’d form a circle with his left thumb and forefinger, then poke his right finger through this circle and try to grab it with his right hand before it could back out. It was the craziest thing I’d ever seen; but before long Horace got to tryin’ it himself. While Tank was lookin’ at his fingers with his good eye, the free one rambled around, an’ half the time it rested on Horace, an’ fair gave him the creeps; but when I couldn’t stay awake myself, I gave Tank the sign, an’ he got delirious.
“I can’t sleep,” he wailed, “I can’t sleep! My nerves, oh, my nerves! One minute they’re like hot wires, an’ the next they’re like streaks of ice. You’ll have to tie me up, boys, you certainly will have to tie me up.”
I argued again’ it as bein’ inhuman; but Tank begged so that finally I gave in, an’ we tied him to a down pine tree. Horace helped to tie him, an’ he sure did his best to make a good job of it. I was a little doubtful, myself, about Tank gettin’ loose; but he had blowed up his muscles, an’ he coughed me the all-right signal, so me an’ Horace turned in.
Horace groaned consid’able while stretchin’ out; but he began to snore before I had got through findin’ the soft place. When I first go to bed, I like to roll about a bit, an’ stretch, an’ loosen up my muscles—I like to stay awake long enough to feel the tired spots sink down again’ the earth, an’ sort o’ ooze into it; and before I had drifted off, Horace was buzzin’ away at a log in great shape.
I must ’a’ slept an hour when I was wakened by a bright light, an’ lookin’ out, I saw Tank Williams standin’ with his back to the fire an’ glowerin’ down at Horace. “As soon as this log burns off, I’m goin’ to get you,” sez Tank between set teeth.
“What are you goin’ to get me for?” asked Horace. “You asked me to tie you to it. I didn’t want to tie you to it, but you insisted. I’ll untie you if you want me to, and rub your brow again.”
“It’s too late,” muttered Tank. “It’s too infernal late. Nothin’ could put me to sleep now. As soon as this log burns off, I’m goin’ to get you. You was the one which brought back my nerve trouble, an’ you are the one what has to suffer.”
Tank hadn’t been able to free himself from the pine tree; so he had dragged it in an’ across the fire. It wasn’t such a big one as trees go; but it was a mighty big one for a man, tied to it as he was, to tote along. Horace reasoned with him a while longer, an’ then when he saw that the trunk was about burned through, he got purty well off to one side, an’ threw a chunk at me. I popped out of bed on the instant, an’ began to shoot about promiscuous; so as to live up to my reputation.
When I’d emptied my gun, I looked at Tank, as though seein’ him for the first time, an’ sez: “What in thunder da you mean, by raisin’ all this havoc?”