Yet, after much labor, he managed to stuff a roll of the blankets into the corner and then shift himself until his back rested against this support.

But his strength deserted him again.

His pipe was dropped down in the left hand, his head sagged back.
Still they dared not approach him.

His two sons stood about, shifting from one foot to another, as if they expected a blow to descend upon them at any moment, as if each labored movement of terrible old Bill Campbell caused them the agony which he must be suffering.
As for Bull Hunter, he sat again on the floor, his chin dropped upon his great fist, and wondered for a time at his uncle.

It was the second great event to him, all in one day.