Whenever the’s anything on my mind I sleep purty light; an’ the whole Cross brand outfit was on my mind that night; so it’s not surprisin’ that I woke up after a bit. The moon had climbed consid’able, an’ the stars told me it was about two. I had been sleepin’ alone; Horace havin’ decided to crawl in with the Friar so they could quarrel at short range.

The Friar’s tarp was next to mine, an’ I raised myself on my elbow an’ looked at it. I could hear him breathin’ natural, an’ the bulk of him was so large that Horace wouldn’t have made much of a mound anyway; so at first I couldn’t tell whether he was there or not. I crept out till I could sit up an’ get a clear view; but Horace wasn’t there, so I put on my boots as quick as ever.

I sneaked over to the Friar’s tarp; but Horace’s hat was gone, so I knew he was up to some mischief, an’ started for the corral to see if he had taken a hoss. What I feared was, that he had got to thinkin’ about what a super-wonderful flame he had, and had decided to give it a fair work-out by sneakin’ down to Ty Jones’s on his own hook. I was worried about this because I knew they’d do for him in a minute, if they’d catch him where they could hide all traces.

Olaf had built a large square corral an’ a smaller round one, to do his ropin’ in; and when I reached the near side o’ the square one, I heard a slight noise near the gate of the round one. I peered through the poles of the corral, but the dividin’ fence got in the road so ’at I couldn’t see, an’ I started to prowl around. All of a sudden, Horace’s squeaky tenor piped out: “Halt”; an’ I flattened out on the ground, thinkin’ he had spotted me; but just then the’ was a smothered curse from the round corral, an’ when I started to get up I saw Badger-face vault over the fence in the direction of Horace’s voice.

Then I saw Horace standin’ behind a clump with his gun on Badger-face. “Put up your hands,” sez Horace.

Badger was runnin’ straight for him; but he put up his hands at this order, and came to a slow stop about five feet from Horace. The square corral was still between me an’ them, an’ I drew my right gun an’ started around, keepin’ my eye on ’em as much as I could through the poles.

“I reckon I got ya this time,” sez Horace, just as I reached the corner.

“I reckon you have,” sez Badger in a give-up voice; but at the same moment he took a step forward, threw his body back, an’ kicked the gun out of Horace’s hand. Then he lunged forward an’ got Horace by the throat, flung him on his back an’ straddled him—an’ I broke for ’em on the run. Just before I reached ’em, the’ came a heavy, muffled report, an’ Badger-face fell on his side an’ rolled over on his back, clutchin’ at his breast.

Horace rose to his feet, holdin’ a toy pistol, put his hands on his hips, looked down at Badger-face, an’ sez: “If you’d ’a’ just asked Olaf what kind of a light I give out, you’d ’a’ stayed at home an’ saved your life.” That’s how nervous Horace was.

“Don’t stand an’ talk to a shot man,” I sez. “Allus get his gun first.”

Horace gave a jump at the sound o’ my voice, an’ covered me with his pop-gun. “Oh, it’s you, is it?” he sez. “Well, then, you get his gun; but I don’t much think he can use it.”

By the time I had lifted Badger’s gun, the other boys were arrivin’, an’ when they found that Horace had gone out alone an’ shot a hole through Badger-face, they certainly was some surprised. Purty soon Kit Murray came out with Olaf, an’ then Horace told about not feelin’ sleepy an’ bein’ so disgusted at the way we were snorin’ that he had got up to take a little stroll. He said he just went toward the corral ’cause that was the least uninterestin’ place he could think of, and that Badger had sneaked down an’ started to cut the stirrups off the saddles right before his eyes.

“I gave him all the time he wanted,” sez Horace, “so ’at there wouldn’t be any doubt as to his intentions. I reckon ’at cuttin’ up saddles in another man’s corral is goin’ about far enough, ain’t it?”

Just then the Friar finished his examination of Badger, an’ went after his saddle bags for a bandage. “Went clear through his lung,” was all he said as he passed us on the run.

It was purty chilly at that time o’ night; and as the cold began to eat in, it suddenly came over Horace that no matter how much justified he was, he had shot an’ most likely killed a feller human, an’ he began to shake. He went over to Badger-face an’ put his coat over him, an’ sez: “Great heavens! are ya goin’ to let this man lie out here in the cold till he dies? Ain’t the’ some place we can put him? This is horrible.”

“Bring him in the house,” sez Kit. “He don’t deserve it; but we can’t let him lie out here—can we, Olaf?”

“No,” sez Olaf. “If you say bring him in, in he comes.”

“That’s right, that’s fine. I don’t bear him any malice,” sez Horace. “I hope he gets over it an’ lives to repent.”

We packed him into the house an’ Kit made a fire an’ heated some water. As soon as the water was hot, the Friar cleaned out the wound with it an’ some foamy stuff out of a bottle. Then he dissolved a drab tablet in some water an’ tied up both openings. Horace sat in a corner durin’ this operation, with his head in his hands, shiverin’. The reaction had set in; an’ all of us knew what it was, though I don’t suppose any of us had had the chance to give way to it as free as Horace did.

Badger-face was all cut an’ scarred when we stripped him; but he looked as tough an’ gnarly as an oak tree, an’ the Friar said he had one chance in a hundred to pull through. He didn’t speak to us until after the Friar had finished with him. Then he said in a low, snarly voice: “I don’t much expect to get over this; but before I slip off, I wish you’d tell me who the little cuss who got me really is, an’ what’s his game.”

We didn’t hardly know what to say; but finally Tank sez: “We don’t feel free to tell you who he is, Badger-face; but I’ll say this much, he ain’t no officer of the law.”

I thought it would be the quickest way to straighten Horace up, so I told him ’at Badger-face wanted to talk to him. Sure enough, Horace took a deep breath an’ stiffened his upper lip. Then he walked over to the bed. “How do ya feel, Badger-face?” sez he.

“Oh, I been shot before,” sez Badger; “but it burns worse ’n usual this time, an’ I reckon you’ve got me. It grinds me all up to think ’at a little runt like you did it, an’ it would soothe me to know ’at you had some sort of a record.”

Horace looked thoughtful: he wanted to comfort the man he was responsible for havin’ put out o’ the game; but he could see that the whole truth wouldn’t in no wise do, so he put on a foxy look an’ sez: “I never worked around these parts none; but if you’ve ever heard o’ Dinky Bradford, why, that’s me. I know just how you feel. You feel as much put out at bein’ bested by a small-like man, as I would at havin’ a big feller get ahead o’ me; but you needn’t fret yourself. There’s fellers right in this room who have seen me go four days without food an’ then do a stunt which beat anything they’d ever seen. Don’t you worry none. Now that you’re down an’ out, we all wish ya the best o’ luck.”

Me an’ Spider an’ Tank had to grin at this; but it was just what Badger needed to quiet him, an’ his face lit up when he asked Horace how he had managed to shoot him.

“I used my auxilary armyment,” sez Horace, but that’s all the explanation he’d make. I found out afterward that he had a thing called a derringer, a two-barreled pistol, forty-one caliber, which he carried in his vest pocket. I told him ’at this sneaky sort of a weapon would give him a bad name if it was found out on him; but he said ’at he shot from necessity, not choice, and that when it came to gettin’ shot, he couldn’t see why the victim should be so blame particular what was used—which is sensible enough when you come to think it over, though I wouldn’t pack one o’ those guns, myself.

Badger-face was out of his head next day, and for two weeks followin’. The Friar an’ Kit an’ Horace took turns nursin’ him, an’ they did an able job of it. Water, plain water an’ wind, was about all the Friar used in treatin’ him. Kit wanted to give him soup an’ other sorts o’ funnel food; but the Friar said ’at a man could live for weeks on what was stored up in him; an’ Horace backed him up. Kit used to shake her head at this, an’ I know mighty well that down deep in her heart, she thought they would starve him to death before her very eyes.

We tore up the old shack on the hill, snaked the poles down with Olaf’s work team, an’ set it up in the Spread; so ’at we’d be handy in case we was needed. A couple o’ the Cross-branders drifted by, an’ we gave ’em the news about Badger-face an’ Dinky Bradford havin’ come together an’ Badger havin’ got some the worst of it; but they wouldn’t go in to see him, an’ they quit wanderin’ by; so ’at we didn’t hardly know what to expect.

We had hard work thawin’ out the clay for chinkin’, an’ we didn’t get the cabin as tight as we’d ’a’ liked; but we had plenty o’ wood, so it didn’t much matter as far as warmth was concerned; but we had the blamedest time with a pack-rat I ever did have.

I don’t know whether pack-rats an’ trade-rats is the same varmints or not; but neither one of ’em has a grain o’ sense, though some tries to stick up for the trade-rats on account o’ their tryin’ to be honest. A pack-rat is about three times as big as a barn rat, an’ fifteen times as energetic. His main delight is to move things. Horace said ’at he was convinced they were the souls o’ furniture-movers who had died without repentin’ of all the piano-lamps an’ chiny-ware they had broke. A pack-rat don’t care a peg whether he can use an article or not; all he asks is the privilege of totin’ it about somewhere.

We weren’t at all sure ’at we wouldn’t be routed out in the night; so when we went to sleep, we’d stack our boots an’ hats where we could find ’em easy. Sometimes the pack-rat would toil so industrious ’at he’d wake us up an’ we’d try to hive him; but most o’ the time he’d work sly, an’ then next mornin’ we’d find our boots all in a heap on the table, or in the corner under the bunk or somewhere clear outside the shack; until we was tempted to move the shack back where it was, there not bein’ any pack-rats up there.

Then either the pack-rat reformed into a trade-rat, or else he sold out his claim to a trade-rat. Anyway, four nights after we’d been settled, we began to get trades for our stuff.

Horace was sleepin’ this whole night with us, an’ next mornin’ he wakened before light an’ started to dress so as to relieve the Friar. He had put his boots on the floor under the head o’ his bunk, an’ when he reached down for ’em he found one potato an’ the hide of a rabbit. The rabbit hide had been tossed out two days before, an’ it had froze stiff an’ had a most ungainly feel at that hour o’ the mornin’. Horace scrooged back into bed an’ pulled all the covers off Tank whom he was sleepin’ with. When Tank awoke, he found Horace sittin’ up in the bunk with the covers wound around him, yellin’ for some one to strike a light.

We all struck matches an’ finally got a candle lit. When Horace saw what it was, he was hos-tile for true, thinkin’ it was a joke one o’ the boys had put up. We had had a hard time convincin’ him o’ the ways o’ pack-rats, an’ now when we sprung trade-rats on him, he thought we were liars without mercy; but when the Friar came out to learn what the riot was, an’ told Horace it was all so about trade-rats, he had to give in.

“Well, they’ve got a heap o’ nerve,” sez he, from the center o’ the beddin’ which was still wound around him, “to lug off a good pair o’ high-heeled ridin’ boots, an’ leave an old potato an’ the shuck of a rabbit in place of ’em!”

After this Horace took a tarp into Badger’s room an’ bedded himself down in a corner, which was all around the most handy thing he could do; but the rest of us had a regular pest of a time with that rat. We couldn’t find out where the deuce he got in; but he distributed our belongin’s constant, an’ generally brought us some of Olaf’s grub-stuff in exchange. We couldn’t trap him nor bluff him, an’ it generally took a good hour mornin’s, to round up our wearin’ apparel.

One night we kept the fire goin’ an’ changed watchers every two hours. Ol’ Tank was on guard from two to four, an’ he woke us up by takin’ a shot. We found him on his back in the middle o’ the floor, an’ he claimed he had been settin’ in a chair an’ had seen the rat walkin’ along the lower side o’ the ridgepole with one o’ Tillte Dutch’s boots in his mouth. Dutch had the spreadin’est feet in the outfit, an’ we couldn’t believe ’at a trade-rat could possibly tote it, hangin’ down from the ridgepole; but Tank showed us a lot o’ scratches along the ridgepole, an’ a bruise on his chin where the boot had hit him when the rat dropped it. The’ was also a hole in the boot where his bullet had gone, but this didn’t prove anything. Still, Tank stuck to his story, so we had to apologize for accusin’ him of lettin’ his good eye sleep while he kept watch with his free one.

We stuffed burlap into the hole about the ridgepole, an’ that night bein’ Christmas eve, we all gathered in and held festivities. We danced an’ told tales an’ sang until a late hour. None of us were instrument musicians; but we clapped our hands an’ patted with our feet, an’ Kit took turns dancin’ with us, till it was most like a regular party. Mexican Slim bet that he could do a Spanish dance as long as Horace could sing different verses of his song; but we suppressed it at the ninety-first verse. Tank wanted to let him finish, in the hope it might kill the trade-rat; but we couldn’t stand any more, ourselves.

Then the Friar taught us a song called, “We three Kings of Orient are”; an’ we disbursed for the night. It was a gorgeous night, an’ me an’ the Friar took a little walk under the stars. One of ’em rested just above the glisteny peak up back o’ the rim, an’ he sang soft an’ low, the “Star of beauty, star of night” part o’ this song. He allus lifted me off the earth when he sang this way. Then he sez to me: “After all, Happy, life pays big dividends, if we just live it hard enough”; an’ he gave a little sigh an’ went in to tend to Badger-face.