“’"Tom,” said my father, “how often have I told you that I haven’t got a drop of liquor in the shanty?  I never had.  I don’t use it myself, an’ I don’t keep it for—­”

“’"That’s a lie!” yelled three or four of the band.

“‘"You a trader among the Injuns, an’ not keep whisky?”

“’"We know a thing or two more than that.”

“’"We have heard that story often enough,” said Tom.  “We know you have got the liquor, an’ we are goin’ to get it afore we leave this shanty.  If you won’t bring it out an’ treat, like white man had ought to do, we’ll have to look for it ourselves—­that’s all.  Here, boys,” he said, turning to his men, “jest jump down into the cellar an’ hunt it up, ‘cause we know he’s got some.  An’ you, Jake,” he added, catching hold of a big, ugly-lookin’ feller, “you stand here, an shoot the first one that tries to get away.”

“‘The men ran down into the cellar, and we could hear them cussin’ an’ swearin’, as they overturned every thing in the useless search.  My mother, a’most frightened to death, gathered us children around her, an’ sank back into the furthest corner.  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.  After searchin’ around the cellar for more ’n ten minutes, one of ’em called out,

“’"Wal, boys, it’s easy enough to see that the cuss has fooled us.  Thar’s no liquor here.  He’s hid it in the woods, somewhere ’bout the shantee.”

“’"That’s so,” said another.  “I’ll bet he has got plenty of whisky somewhere.  Let’s go up and hang him till he tells us where it is.”

“‘"No, no, that won’t do,” said Mountain Tom.  “You fellers are gettin’ so that you talk like babies.  Shoot the rascal down.  We’ve had trouble enough with him.  If we can’t get the liquor here, there are plenty of places where we can get it.”

“’"That’s the talk!” yelled the band.  “Shoot him down!  Tear him to pieces!”

“‘The man who was standin’ at the head of the stairs heard all the rascals had said, an’, with a yell of delight, he raised his rifle an’ drew a bead on my mother.  But the ole man was too quick for him.  With a bound like a painter, he sprang across the floor, an’, grabbin’ the villain by the throat, lifted him from his feet, and throwed him down into the cellar, an’ in an instant shut the door, an’ fastened it with a heavy bar of wood.  Then, takin’ down his rifle, he said to us, a’most in a whisper,