“That is the surest way to have it opened again,” said Richards.
He had hardly uttered the words, when, sure enough, the door flew open, amidst a peal of uproarious laughter.
“Tail!” cried one fellow.
“Head!” shouted another.
“They want another dollar,” said Richards. “Well, they must have it, I suppose. Head!” cried he.
“Lost!” roared the fellows in chorus.
“There is something for you to drink,” said my friend, whose wonderful patience and good-humour was bringing us so fortunately through the shoals and difficulties of this wild backwoods’ life. We now shut the door, and had time enough to change our wet clothes for dry ones. We were nearly dressed, when a gentle tapping at the only pane of glass of which the room window could boast attracted our attention. On looking in the direction of the sound, we distinguished the amiable features of Mr Isaac Shifty, who, upon our entering the tavern, had thought proper to part company.
“Gentlemen,” whispered he, removing the remains of an old waistcoat, which supplied the place of one of the absent panes, and then applying his face to the aperture—“Gentlemen, I was mistaken. Our spies say you are not come to the election, but that you are from lower Mississippi.”
“And if we are, what then?” replied I dryly. “Didn’t we tell you as much at first?”
“So you did, but I wasn’t obliged to believe it; and d’ye see, they’re a-canvassing here for next election, and we’ve got an opposition in the other tavern; and as we knew that Bob Snags’s people were expectin’ two men from down stream, we thought you might be they.”