"I know this happened," said the big Canadian one night. "It was in my
own home and I was there. So I can swear to every word of it. We came
out from Scotland, and took up a big homestead in Saskatchewan. We
threw up a log house and began living in it before it was half done.
Evenings, the men came in from the ranches around, and we sat by the
fire in the kitchen and smoked and told stories. Joined on to the
kitchen there was a shed, which was intended for a summer kitchen. But
just then we had half a dozen cots in it, and the hands slept there.
One night one of the boys said he had a headache, and to escape the
smoke in the kitchen which was too thick to breathe, he went into the
shed and lay down on a cot. It was still unfinished, the shed was, and
there were three or four wide boards laid across the rafters at the top
to keep them from warping in the damp. Baldy lay on his back and
stared up at the roof. Suddenly he leaped off the bed,--we all saw
him; there was no door between the rooms. He leaped off and dashed
through the kitchen.
"'What's the matter?' we asked him.
"'Let me alone, I want to get out of here,' he said, and shot through
the door.
"We caught just one glimpse of his face.
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