Had there been any antecedent circumstances to explain his outburst, Brownsville would have accepted it as a characteristic and perfectly natural act, but it chanced that nothing whatever had occurred for a full half-hour. The usual group had been sitting around the stove in the barroom, and the usual drone of entirely uninteresting conversation had buzzed along. Everybody had said something, but nobody knew or cared what anybody else had said. It was therefore a matter of some surprise that even Long Mike should express himself with such vehemence. No one spoke for a moment or so after the shot, but all looked interested. Presently Sam, the bartender, inquired with some anxiety if the big man felt well. “Oi do not,” replied Long Mike, as he put away his gun. “There do be nothin’ at all, at all, that wears me out loike the dead shtillness o’ winter weather, an’ Oi’m thinkin’ it’s toime for a thaw. Ye’ve heard th’ oice i’ th’ river cr-rack whin it’s makin’ ready to break up. Well, Oi feel loike cr-rackin’ thot same way. It’s toime somethin’ was did.” “An’ it’s right y’ are,” said Stumpy, “but what? Sure, ivery j’int in me body is blue-mouldin’ wid shtiffness from the want of excitement. Oi’ve a cr-ravin’ for tumult that’s worse nor a cr-ravin’ for dhrink. Sure, a flood is betther nor bein’ froze up loike this.” “It’s me, too,” said Gallagher. “I have a touch o’ the same complaint, but I don’t see nothin’ ahead till th’ ice breaks up, an’ the boats run again.” “Oi do,” said Long Mike. “Jim Bixby was tellin’ me yesterday that some o’ thim shports in La Crosse was goin’ dead, loike us, f’r the lack o’ things to do, an’ Oi told him to tell thim to come over to Brownsville the next trip o’ the stage. An’ the stage is due now. Oi do be thinkin’ there’ll be some comin’ the day.” The event proved that the big man had not miscalculated, for even as he spoke the jingle of sleigh-bells came up from the frozen surface of the river, and, as they all looked out, they saw Bixby driving, not the usual span, but a team of four horses over the thick ice, and bringing a big stage-load of men wrapped in furs and smoking furiously to keep the keen, cold air from their lungs. It was one of the community visits with which men broke the monotony of the long winters in what was then called the great Northwest, and, because of the habits of the two communities, it seemed more than likely that there would be excitement enough before the La Crosse contingent should be ready to return. Of the visiting delegation there were ten in all, but the most conspicuous among them, as Long Mike was the principal figure in Brownsville, was one Tom Krags, a man of more than local fame, who had amassed a competence on the Mississippi boats by his success at the card-table, and had settled in La Crosse as the proprietor of what he called the “only first-class second-rate hotel in Wisconsin.” It was a flourishing hostelry, with a large cardroom adjoining the barroom.