Part 47 (1/2)
”What became of him, Olaf?” I asked.
”Oh, he fought some,” said Olaf.
”Did he get away?” I asked.
”Un, yes-yes he got away,” sez Olaf.
”Where did he go to?” sez I.
”I think he went down-way down,” sez Olaf.
”Down where?” sez I. ”Why don't you tell us what happened to him?”
Olaf looked down at his right hand. It didn't resemble a hand much; but it would 'a' been a handy tool to use in maulin' wedges into a log. ”Why,” sez he, ”he wriggled about, and started to squeak; and when I squeezed in on his neck to shut off the squeak, why his neck broke. It was too thin to be stout.”
I held out my hand. ”Olaf,” I sez, ”I want to shake the hand that shook his neck.”
”Yes,” sez Tank, ”and by dad, so do I!” Tank's leg was still tender.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
SKIRMISHES
Oscar arrived durin' the night with the whole four Simpson boys; and word that Kit and the kid were in fine shape, with ol' man Simpson keepin' a sharp watch, and Kit ready to take a standpat hand any time trouble crowded too close. We expected to keep Ty busy, and so didn't worry any about Kit. Before dawn we started the four Simpsons out to make a circle and cross the crick, tellin' 'em to use their own judgment to some extent; but not to run any risk. We wanted 'em to act like scouts and, if possible, to draw Ty into chasin' 'em, and then to lead him back to our camp. We could see all of the other side o' the crick from our look-out.
By dawn the rest of us were down on the edge of the cliff, and we saw 'em find Dixon's body. They were consid'able excited about it; so we judged they had also read the notice on the door.
”What shall we do, to-day?” asked Horace.
”Shoot dogs,” sez I. ”There ain't any call to play safe any longer, and those dogs are the worst bother we have.”
”All right,” sez Horace. ”This will be a good chance for me to see if I'm still in practice. I'm a purty good rifle-shot, Happy.”
I never could quite harden myself to Horace. The change in him was almost as much as that between an egg and a chicken; but yet the' was still a suggestion of what he had been at first-his side-burns, most likely-and it allus jarred me to see him steamin' ahead with self-confidence fizzin' out of his safety valve. He took his elephant gun and trained it on one o' the dogs which was sniffin' around the place where Dixon's body had lain. We were purty well off to the north of the ravine; but it was still a consid'able angle of a down-shot, and a good long one too.
”Remember,” sez I, ”that when shootin' down grade, you are mighty apt to shoot too high.”
He lowered his gun an' looked at me as though I had called him a girl baby. ”I have shot from every angle the' is,” sez he; ”and I've shot big game, too.”
”Ex-cuse _me_!” sez I. ”Shoot now, and let's see what happens.”
You had to take off your hat to Horace when it came to a cultivated taste in firearms. The thing he had got Promotheus with had been small enough to conceal in your back hair, while his present instrument wasn't rightly a rifle at all, it was a half-grown cannon. It shot a bullet as big as your thumb which mushroomed out and exploded, as soon as it hit. The dog died a merciful death; but he left a mighty disquietin' bunch o' remains.
”Good boy, Horace!” I said, slappin' him on the shoulder. ”You keep on removin' the dogs, and I'll go up the slope, and pertect your rear, should they try to come up the ravine.”
I heartily endorsed this slaughter o' the dogs; but I wasn't ambitious to see it done. I have been well acquainted with a large number o'
dogs of all sorts and sizes, and I have deep feelin's for dogs. When it comes to livin' accordin' to a feller's own standard, a dog has us all beat. When a dog signs up, he don't whisper nothin' under his breath. He signs up for the full trip, and he don't ask a lot o'
questions about how long the hours'll be, or what sort o' grub and quarters and pay he'll draw. He just wags his tail, and sez: ”This here feller is my idea of exactly what a feller ought to be; and I'm for him in all he does. If he wants me to fight, I'm hungry for it, if he wants me to be polite and swaller a lot o' insults, I'll do it, or if the time comes when my death is worth more to him 'n my life, why, I don't know nothin' about future rewards or such truck; but I'm perfectly willin' to swap life for death in his name, and I'm proud to take the consequences-so long as he gets the reward.”