‘I’ll be the death o’ you when I get loose!’ screamed the prisoner.  Another long-drawn yell followed, and then sounds as of a terrible struggle going on inside, with occasional cries and curses.

Done was greatly perplexed, but there was, he thought, only one course open to him.  A fellow-creature was pent in the barrel, and it was manifestly his duty to go to the rescue.  He had seized the Peetrees’ axe with the intention of knocking in the head of the cask, when a warning shout from the direction of the lead caused him to desist.  One of the Peetree brothers was running up from their claim.  He arrived angry and breathless.

’What in thunder ‘re you up to?’ he panted.

‘There’s a man in that barrel,’ answered Jim.

’Well, I’m likely to know all about that, ain’t I?  Drop that axe and mooch along after your own business.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Done, ’but it seems to me that this is almost any man’s business.  You’re not at liberty to keep a fellow-creature cooped in a barrel at your own pleasure, even on Jim Crow.’

’That’s just so, but the man in there’s my father, which makes a dif’rence, perhaps.’

‘Your father?  Are you keeping the old man in pickle?’

‘No; we’re keeping him outer mischief, an’ that ought to be enough for you.’

’Of course, I don’t want to interfere with your family arrangements, but this is a bit out of the ordinary, and you’ll admit my action was only natural.’  Jim picked up his billy and crossed to his own tent, the man in the barrel breaking into fresh clamour, and calling down Heaven’s vengeance on his son’s head through the bunghole.

‘Shut up, you infernal ole idiot!’ cried the dutiful son.  While Done was busy over the fire, Peetree junior drove the bung into the barrel, and then rejoined our hero.

‘Naturally, you wouldn’t understan’,’ he said, jerking his thumb towards the barrel, ’but the ole man’s such a dashed nuisance when he’s on we gotter do somethin’ with him.’  The tone was apologetic.

‘I dare say you are quite justified,’ Jim answered.  ’A man doesn’t keep his father in a barrel for mere amusement.’

‘No, he don’t ordinary, does he?’ answered the native gravely.  ’Fact is, the dad goes on a tear now ‘n again, an’ we pen him up to sober off.  We can look after him all right after knocking off, but if we was to let him loose while we was at work he’d go pourin’ Bill Mooney’s fork-lightnin’ gin into him till he had his bluchers full o’ snakes ’an the whole lead swarmin’ with fantods.  So when he starts to work up a jamboree we pull off his boots an’ tuck him in the tub, fastens the head, an’ leave him till he’s willin’ to think better of it.’

‘Well, that’s bringing up a father in the way he should go,’ laughed Jim.  ‘I apologize for attempting to break into your inebriates’ retreat.’

‘Inebriates’ retreat!’ A wide grin slowly developed on Peetree’s gaunt face.  ‘That’s a first name for it,’ he said.  ’Hanged if we don’t have it painted up!’