Finally, Spider got disgusted an’ he went down an’ joined the others, an’ they sure raised a riot; but all the time, Horace slumbered on. Spider caught up our hosses, put our saddles an’ packs on ’em, threw some pieces of old canvas he brought along on the fire; and he an’ the rest raised a wild warwhoop and galloped away; but Horace was too busy to pay any attention. Spider an’ the boys had to work next day, an’ they was some put out not to have a little more fun for their trouble. It was all Spider could do to keep ’em from sneakin’ back an’ kidnappin’ Horace, but this was liable to give the whole thing away, so he talked ’em out of it. As soon as the noise had died down, I set Horace’s watch back five hours, an’ then I went to sleep myself. It was purty chilly, and I wasn’t quite sure who the joke was on.
When Tank woke up, he started in on Horace; but his noise wakened me up first. When Horace saw what had happened to the camp, he was about wordless; but after we had called him down about it for five or ten minutes, he flared up an’ talked back as harsh as we did. He said ’at he had kept guard for over three hours, fightin’ off sleep by walkin’ back an’ forth; and hadn’t sat down until it had started to lighten in the sky. He stuck to this tale, and I’m sure he believed it himself. He’d been so sleepy the night before that he couldn’t have told a dream from an actual happenin’, so when he began to get excited, we dropped it.
“All right,” sez Tank at last; “you’ve put us into a nice fix, but the’ ain’t no use tryin’ to pickle yesterday. What we’ve got to do is to hoof it back, an’ we might as well begin. We’re in a nice fix: nothin’ to eat, not a single cabin on the road back, an’ for all we know the’s a pack of Injuns watchin’ us this blessid moment.”
“How do ya know it was Injuns?” sez Horace.
“Look there, an’ there, an’ there,” sez Tank, pointin’ at moccasin prints an’ feathers. “Then besides, no white men would ’a’ burned up the tarps.”
“Do you mean to say ’at we got to walk all the way back?” sez Horace.
“All the way, an’ without no grub,” sez Tank.
Horace sat down on the end of a charred log. “Well, I’ll die right here,” sez he. “This spot suits me as well as any other.”
“You don’t have to die at all,” sez I. “A body can go forty days without food, an’ it does more good than harm.” Friar Tuck had told me a lot about fastin’, an’ I was keen to try it out on Horace. From all I could see from the theory o’ fastin’, it was just what was needed for Horace’s nerves.
“Look at me,” sez Horace, pullin’ at the waist of his clothes. “I bet I’ve lost twenty pounds already, on this fool trip. Twenty pounds more would make me a corpse, an’ I’d just as soon be made one here as anywhere. As soon as I rest up a little, I’m goin’ to begin to yell until I draw those blame Injuns back, an’ have ’em finish the job in short order.”