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They teach me the force o' keepin' my mouth shut; an' much mixin' wi' other folks arter the silence o' the stones 'mazes me men an' wummen do chatter so." "An' so did you, lassie, an' weern't none the worse. Us doan't hear your purty voice enough now." "'Tis better thinkin' than talkin', Uncle Thomas. I abbun nort to talk 'bout, you see, but a power o' things to think of.
What gave the Tower so dark a name was the memory of old Sir James de Nort, Mark's grand-father, an evil and secret man, who had dwelt at Nort under some strange shadow; he had driven his son from his doors, and lived at the end of his life with his books and his own close thoughts, spying upon the stars and tracing strange figures in books; since his death the old room in the turret top, where he came by his end in a dreadful way, had been closed; it was entered by a turret-door, with a flight of steps from the chamber below.
"First of the season," added Bud, slipping his gun back into the holster. "Are they more poisonous then than at other times?" asked Nort. "Guess there isn't much difference, son," affirmed Slim. "I don't want to be nipped by one at any time. Much obliged, Bud," he said, easily enough, though there was a world of meaning in his voice.
It was rather nervous work for the boy ranchers, especially Nort and Dick, as they started at every chance sound which seemed to echo so loudly in the darkness. And once Dick, who was taking the tour of duty with Yellin' Kid, suddenly fired at an object he saw moving.
"North north?" asked Tom, pointing. "Nort yah," said the old man, pointing too. The old man nodded as if he understood. "Ach vauder, yach, Nonnenmattweiher." "What?" said Tom. "What?" said Archer. "Nonnenmattweiher," said the old man. "Yah." "He wants to know what's the matter with you," said Archer. "Water," Tom repeated, almost in desperation.
The animals belonging to Bud, Nort, Dick and their friends were taken in charge by some of the troopers. For it was vitally necessary that means of retreat or of advance be preserved. And of course there was no thought of retreat on the part of our friends. Buck Tooth, the old Indian, slid from his pony with a sigh of relief. He did not care for riding.
"I'll be ready in a moment," remarked Henry Mellon, and Bud and his cousins could not but note how differently he spoke from the average run of ranch hands. "More like one of those college professors who were after the ten-million-year-old Triceratops," remarked Nort, commenting on the talk. "Yes, he is a bit cultured in his speech," assented Bud. "Guess he hasn't been out west long."
"But not Indians' signals," asserted Yellin' Kid. "Whose then?" Nort wanted to know, satisfied that he had not awakened the camp in vain. "They're rockets or some sort of fire works," went on Dick. "First I thought they were shooting stars, but I can see now that they aren't. They're sky rockets or Roman candles." "That's right," agreed Snake.
"By the great horned toad and Zip Foster yes!" agreed Bud, and his cousins knew he must be stirred to unusual depths of feeling to use this name. Zip Foster had not been mentioned in several weeks. The mysterious personage, on whom Bud called in times of great excitement, was almost a stranger, of late, in Happy Valley. In fact Dick and Nort never could get Bud to talk about Zip.
"This is the stuff, Dick!" shouted Nort, as he reloaded his gun and sent another fusilade of bullets into the ranks of the now retreating Greasers. "I'm glad it worked!" remarked the proposer of the Kipling scheme. "Now we can go help Slim and his bunch. They're having trouble!" Indeed the tide of battle did seem to be turning against the foreman and his forces.
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