turned to the right toward the north. The city, which was his goal, lay to the south; yet till noon, for ten miles, he travelled straight north. During that time he showed himself only three times.
The first time was at a farm-house—a small, weather-beaten house in the centre of a clearing, to which he came just after the breakfast hour. A clatter of dishes, the song of a woman’s voice, met him as he approached. He stood in the doorway, red-barred, sullen-jawed, the rifle in hand; and the song died in a high quaver.
“Gimme food,” he growled; “quick!”
The woman stared at him, white-faced, the dish that she had been wiping held tight against her breast. He scowled; the dish fell to the floor in twenty fragments.
“Quick!”
Without a word, she turned to the pantry.
“An’ don’t squeak,” he went on; “if ye do, I’ll cut your head off.”
She placed the food before him on the table—bread, meat, potatoes, milk, a pot of luke-
