TIBERIUS SMITH
muffled hurrah and gasped, 'MacGully's men to the rescue,' I slipped my moorings on reason. When I woke up I was in blankets at the Swamp House, and Tib, still wearing all his armor except the helmet, was pouring whiskey down my throat. The corn-popping was MacGully's men taking pot-shots at the blood-thirsty heathens.
