minute. 'Course, I'd known about Lonesome's owning them decoys--told
Todd about 'em, too--but I hadn't seen 'em nowhere alongshore, and I
sort of cal'lated they was locked up in Lonesome's hen house, that being
his usual way when he went to town. I s'pose likely they'd been feeding
among the beach grass somewheres out of sight, but I don't know for
sartin to this day. And I didn't stop to reason it out then, neither. As
Scriptur' or George Washin'ton or somebody says, "'twas a condition, not
a theory," I was afoul of.

"I've got 'em!" hollers Todd, grinning till I thought he'd swaller his
own ears. "I shot 'em all myself!"

"You everlasting--" I begun, but I didn't get any further. There was a
rattling noise behind me, and I turned, to see Lonesome Huckleberries
himself, setting on the seat of his old truck wagon and glaring over the
hammer head of that balky mare of his straight at brother Todd and the
dead decoys.

For a minute there was a kind of tableau, like them they have at church
fairs--all four of us, including the mare, keeping still, like we was
frozen. But 'twas only for a minute. Then it turned into the liveliest
moving picture that ever _I_ see. Lonesome couldn't swear--being a
dummy--but if ever a man got profane with his eyes, he did right then.
Next thing I knew he tossed both hands into the air, clawed two handfuls
out of the atmosphere, reached down into the cart, grabbed a pitch-fork
and piled out of that wagon and after Todd. There was murder coming and
I could see it.

"Run, you loon!" I hollers, desperate.