“I shall say you told me to ask.”
“That is hardly necessary. Read the poem—‘The Ancient Mariner,’ I mean.”
“I don’t care much for poetry stuff.”
“Don’t you? Well, you were pretty musical about 3 A. M.” Then he played a little with the matter of his rosy dream. “I think, Jack, that very often dreams like this of mine seem to be the outcome of some quite trivial event rather than of the larger things of life. A day or two back I was trying to pick a rose, and pricked my finger. I didn’t get the rose, but I—meant to. I suppose that thorn stuck into some pincushion of the mind. Odd, wasn’t it?”
“I dreamed about bears for a week after that beastly circus on the beach.”
“No wonder,” and they laughed. “I don’t think dreams very interesting, Jack; but twice in my life I have chanced to see dreams produce some very strange results. See how the mists are melting away.”
“What was it about—the dreams?”
“One, Jack, I cannot tell you. The other I can. I had a guide in the Wind River country who used to talk in his sleep. Several times when we were alone in the hills he woke me up by the noise he made. I used to whistle to quiet him long enough to give me a chance to fall asleep. It is a good recipe to stop snoring. I tried it on you.”
“Dick can beat me all hollow! But please go on, Mr. Carington.”
“Well, one night he kept at it so long, and talked so plainly, that I gave up in despair and listened. He was unusually excited this time. I heard him say, ‘Kill him! Kill him!’ Then he groaned and rolled over and groaned so that I thought he had a nightmare. At last he sang out, ‘Let me go! I didn’t do it.’ After this I whistled ‘Yankee Doodle,’ and it acted like a charm. Next morning at breakfast I said, ‘Whom were you murdering in the night, and were they really going to hang you, Billy?’ When I said this he looked at me sharply, and I saw he did not like it. He asked what he had said. I thought it best to say as little as possible, and so replied, ‘You might have been killing bears, Billy.’ I saw he did not believe me. All day long that fellow was restless and uneasy. He twice missed an elk, and he was a perfect shot.”