I thought my father had gone crazy; he strode up an' down the floor of the cabin like some caged wild animal, clenchin' his hands an' grindin' his teeth in a way that showed that there was plenty of fight in him, if he only had a chance to let it out.

Once in awhile he would look at his rifle, that hung against the wall, then at the man that stood at the top of the cellar-stairs, guardin' us, as if he had a'most made up his mind to begin a knock-down an' drag-out fight with the rascals.

But then he would look at my mother an' us children, back in the corner, an' go to pacin' the floor again.

If we had been out of the way, I know that he would not have let them rummage about as he did; he would have had a fight with them that would do your eyes good to look at.

But, as it was, I guess he kinder thought that if he was peaceable they would go off an' leave us, arter they found that no whisky was to be had.