warm coffee. He gulped it down like a dog, watching all the time the woman through narrowed lids. Once, at some noise in the yard, he took up his rifle and glided a-tiptoe to the window. He stood there a moment, peering out; meanwhile, the woman took hold of the table with both hands, leaning forward heavily, her eyes closed; but as he turned and went back to the food, she stood up again, very stiff.
When he had done eating, he crammed under his jacket the meat and bread that remained, strode out, and vanished in the woods.
An hour later he heard the sound of an axe. He crept toward it through the undergrowth and saw a wood-chopper working over a fallen log. The man’s shirt was open on his chest; his face was red and shiny, and at each stroke he uttered a sound between a grunt and a shout. “Huh-huh-huh,” he said as he chopped. Collins rose before him as the axe rose—and the wood-chopper became a statue poised with axe high in air.
“Put down that axe,” Collins growled.
