olved to give
Guard the whole of the roast that was left over from yesterday's
dinner when we reached home again.

"Ain't you even goin' to try to help me? Goin' to let me lay here an'
die?" demanded the angry voice from under the ruins.

"Oh, no, certainly not. I'll try to help you out. I guess you've been
here long enough," I replied, cheerfully.

"Huh! I should think I had been here long enough. This night's work'll
prob'ly cost me thousands of dollars--but I'll have that whelp's life
when I do git out; that's one comfort."

For a wicked instant I was tempted to turn away and leave our
unrepentant enemy where he was. The impulse passed as quickly as it
came, but I am not ashamed to confess that before setting to work to
try to extricate the prisoner I threw my arms around Guard's neck and
hugged him ecstatically. "It's all right; we're safe!" I whispered in
his ear, as if he could understand me--and I am not sure to this day
that he could not. Then I began tugging away at the rotten pieces of
wood that, fallen in a heap, formed a rough sort of wickiup, under
which Mr. Horton reclined at length. It was a pretty hard task, for
some of the timbers were heavy enough to tax all my strength; but an
opening was made at last, and through it Mr. Horton slowly crawled
into the light. He was compelled to advance backward, after the manner
of the crawfish, and as he finally got clear of the ruins and
staggered to his feet, he was a most disreputable-looking figure.
Apart from a good many scratches and bruises, he did not seem to be
injured in the least. The timbers had fallen in such a way that their
weight did not rest on him. His scowling face, as he turned it to the
light, was further disfigured by several long scratches and by a dry
coating of blood and dirt. His coat--the coat, again--was torn, his
hat gone, and his bushy iron-gray hair stood fiercely upright. The
change from the semi-darkness of his place of imprisonment to the full
light of day partially blinded him, and he stood, blinking and winking
for a full minute after getting on his feet; then he apprehensively
examined his arms and legs.

"I reckon there ain't none of 'em broken," he said at last,
grudgingly. "But it's no thanks to that dog of your'n that I ain't
chawed into mince-meat--confound you!"--this to Guard, who was
sniffing inquiringly at the legs of his late quarry. The words were
further emphasized by a vicious kick, which, missing its intended