I myself had imbibed a considerable quantity of the Amontillado by then, and was staring with rapt intensity at the silver candelabrum, whose three glowing tapers seemed to float before my eyes like a trio of ravishing, golden-tressed faeries garbed in robes of gossamer white. So transfixed was I by this radiant vision that only gradually did it dawn upon my consciousness that my host was endeavoring to communicate with me.

“Excuse me?” said I, my words sounding strangely slurred to my ears.

“I was inquiring as to your profession, Mr. Poe. I am still ignorant of the line of work you pursue.”

“Pursue?” said I, quaffing another mouthful of the wine. “I pursue the most rare—most elusive—prize of all: Ideal Beauty!”

“Indeed!” said Asher in a tone that carried a subtle, if unmistakable, note of wry amusement. “And with what weapons do you stalk this precious quarry?”

“I wield only one,” I grandly declared. “My quill!”

“I see!” he exclaimed. “So you are a writer!”

I acknowledged the accuracy of this observation with a little bow.

“And what exactly is it that you write?”

“Tales—poems—”

“And the orneriest book reviews this side o’ thunderation!” Crockett interjected.

“Splendid!” cried Asher, ignoring Crockett’s remark. “Our country is in desperate need of poets.”

“Hear! Hear!” I exclaimed, as I placed my hands upon the edge of the table and began to push myself to my feet. “Let us drink to the Muse Erato, Goddess of the lyric!”

Unfortunately, I had underestimated the unmanning effects which Asher’s intoxicating beverage had already produced upon my nervous system. As I attempted to rise—preparatory to delivering my toast—my feet became entangled in the legs of my stool and I found myself sprawled upon my back, staring upwards at the heavy wooden ceiling beams, which appeared to be rotating at a most alarming rate of speed.

As though from a considerable distance, I could hear the voice of my eccentric host exclaim: “Oh dear!”

As I vainly attempted to elevate myself from the floor—which appeared to be rocking in a most singular manner, not unlike the deck of a storm-tossed vessel—I became aware that Crocked; had risen from his seat and was looming directly above me, one hand out-stretched in my direction. “Grab ahold, ol’ hoss. I reckon you’ve had a mite too much to drink.”

I reached up and clasped the frontiersman’s hand, whereupon he drew me upright with a single, forceful tug. Regarding me with a look of intense solicitude, our host asked if I had sustained any hurt.

“None whatsoever,” I assured him. “Indeed, I am feeling quite energetic, and am most eager to commence our journey homeward.”

“I will not hear of it,” Asher declared. “I insist that you both remain here tonight as my guests. Come” Rising from his place, he took hold of the three-branched candelabrum and motioned us to follow him from the room.