Fight! knives! jails!... Ah, yes, I was still in jail ... and Bud and the burly cotton thief were at it.... I staggered to my feet. "Wait a minute, Bud ... I'm coming." I gave a run toward a barrel, sent it a violent kick, a succession of kicks.... "Wait a minute! I'm coming!" "So am I!" grinned Black Jim belligerently, thinking I meant him and advancing slowly and surely. The barrel burst asunder, the beer sumped and gurgled about my ankles as I stooped and picked up a stave. "The damn fool's ruined a whole keg." I was going to lick everybody in the jail, if I must. "Put that stave down Gregory! put it down, for Christ's sake!" "Good God! Grab Jim, someone!" "Don't be a fool ... hold Gregory ... he's got the stave!" "He'll kill Jim!" "Or Jim'll kill him!"... Then came a shout from nearby. "I'll heve the law on ye, I will! destroyin' a man's cornfield like a lot o' heathens!" Yelling and menacing, the farmer and his big, raw-boned son were upon us. They evidently thought that we were all in such a drunken condition that they could kick us about as they choose. They had just driven home from market-day in Laurel. Everything was mixed up in my head ... but one thing out-stood: I must do my duty by my barrel stave ... as the farmer leaped into the circle he did not notice me staggering on the outskirts. I rushed up and let him have the barrel stave full across the head. At the same time Black Jim had turned his attention to the rangy boy, felling him at a blow. The boy leaped to his feet and ran away to a safe distance. "Paw!" he called out, 'I'll run back to th' house an' 'phone th' p'lice." "Come on, boys, we'd better dig out!" * * * * * We straggled along in silent, rolling clusters, like bees smoked out, down the road ... we heard the rumble of a waggon ... when we recognised that it was our teetotaler coming back for us.... "God, if my old man hears of this I'm done for at Laurel." "So'm I!" "If we only lay low and don't go spouting off about it, things will be all O.K." "We'll send Travers back with a little collection, to fix it up with the farmer, and blarney him out of taking any action." * * * * * In the morning I had a roaring headache ... as long as I lay quiet there was only the slow, deep regular pulse of pain driving through my head, but when I made an effort to get up, my eyeballs throbbed with such torment that they seemed to be starting out of my head.... I fell asleep in the broad day again, waking to find Jack Travers standing by my bed, pale and cynical, dusting off the ashes from the end of his eternal cigarette. "How are you feeling this morning?" "Rotten," I answered. I sat up and triphammers of pain renewed their pounding inside my racked head. --"thought you would, so's soon as I got up, I came down to see you." --"lot of good that'll do."