But the long hours, the excitement, and the inadequate food told on our nerves. We snapped at each other impatiently at times; and once or twice came near to open quarrelling. Johnny and I were constantly pecking at each other over the most trivial concerns.
One morning we were halfway to the bar when we remembered that we had neglected to picket out the horses. It was necessary for one of us to go back, and we were all reluctant to do so.
“I’ll be damned if I’m going to lug ’way up that hill,” I growled to myself. “I tied them up yesterday, anyway.”
Johnny caught this.
“Well, it wasn’t your turn yesterday,” he pointed out, “and it is to-day. I’ve got nothing to do with what you chose to do yesterday.”
“Or any other day,” I muttered.
171“What’s that?” cried Johnny truculently. “I couldn’t hear. Speak up!”
We were flushed, and eying each other malevolently.
“That’ll do!” said Yank, with an unexpected tone of authority. “Nobody will go back, and nobody will go ahead. We’ll just sit down on this log, yere, while we smoke one pipe apiece. I’ve got something to say.”
Johnny and I turned on him with a certain belligerency mingled with surprise. Yank had so habitually acted the part of taciturnity that his decided air of authority confused us. His slouch had straightened, his head was up, his mild eye sparkled. Suddenly I felt like a bad small boy; and I believe Johnny was the same. After a moment’s hesitation we sat down on the log.