"But, Captain, they are pursuing me! If they should track me
here?"
"Thar is a rifle over thar, and yer's my navy revolver. When I've
emptied them, and want you to bear a hand, I'll call ye. Just now
your lay is to turn in. It's my watch."
There was something so positive, strong, assuring, and a little
awesome in the captain's manner, that the trembling, nervously-
prostrated man beneath the blankets forbore to question further.
In a few moments his breathing, albeit hurried and irregular,
announced that he slept. The captain then arose, for a moment
critically examined the sleeping man, holding his head a little on
one side, whistling softly, and stepping backwards to get a good
perspective, but always with contemplative good humor, as if Catron
were a work of art, which he (the captain) had created, yet one
that he was not yet entirely satisfied with. Then he put a large
pea-jacket over his flannel blouse, dragged a Mexican serape from
the corner, and putting it over his shoulders, opened the cabin
door, sat down on the doorstep, and leaning back against the door-
post, composed himself to meditation.
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