From here “Doc’s” nephew, a puny kid; old Charley Williams, who was brave but physically weak, and myself, started to drive him on to Yreka, the physician going ahead once more to make the arrangements and warn the police. The thought of that trip is one long nightmare. His mind worked so fast it was almost impossible to keep up with him. I was his especial friend and pal, and, getting it into his head that I had a cold, nothing would do but that I must have some mountain balm. This we procured after much trouble, and my whole journey was enlivened by eating whole bunches of this herb and washing it down with gallons of water. His chief amusement was to jump up in the air, kick the horses, and land with both feet and with such force that he finally knocked the bottom out of the wagon. All of a sudden, without the slightest sign, he was over the dashboard and rushing across the fields toward a farmhouse we were passing. When I got up to him, there was “Doc,” kneeling beside the pump, drinking water, while beside him stood Mrs. Hall, the farmer’s wife, stroking his head, petting him, and talking to him in a low, controlled voice. Strange is this power of women to realize a situation. I got him away, but we learned afterward that when her husband came back home, an hour later, Mrs. Hall was lying at the pump in a dead faint. We arrived in Yreka at six. The police showed up at nine. We tried to keep “Doc” in a barn, but his spirits were rising every moment, and I decided to tire him out; besides, I had a grudge against the police and citizens for being such cowards and deserting us. I had to play the game with “Doc,” and ours was certainly a tour of destruction. Every place we went into was wrecked—bottles broken and bars smashed. It looked as if a cyclone had hit Yreka. Finally, he said he was hungry, so we found a restaurant. As soon as we went into a place it was ours, as everyone faded away. There was no waiter in sight, so the proprietor waited on us himself, bringing in a huge steak and—I had hard work to keep my balance—an enormous butcher knife to carve it with! But “Doc” did not want to cut his meat. He merely grabbed it up in his hands and wolfed it. Just then I saw faces pressed to the window (his back was toward the door), and for one moment my mind left his. This was my only danger; but there was a sudden feeling of reaction at the thought of relief and I let go. “Say, Boston,” he said, “you’re goin’ back on me!” and taking my nose in one hand, he picked up the butcher knife with the other and pressed it against my Adam’s apple. Instantly, my mind was back and controlling his again. “Don’t be a fool,” I said—it _sounded_ calm—“and kill the only friend you have left.” He subsided. “Oh, all right.” I made an excuse to go out in the back, and a sicker youth than I could not have lived to tell the tale.