old man droned on. "Why, we've seen their footprints lots of times. The funniest footprints—like a little baby's. And Mike Collins (him that has that farm over there on the hill), he's heard Them hollerin' and carryin' on in the night, and seen lights flicker around that slab until dawn sometimes. He had a couple of big dogs, an' he sicked 'em into the canyon to see if they'd catch anything. But the dogs never come back an' Mike never found no trace of neither one." His voice trailed off.
"Gettin' along toward sundown, Mister," he began again after a pause. "Don't you reckon you’d better be headin' toward town?"
"But you?" I pressed him. I'd some vague idea of getting him to an alienist. "You can't stay here alone. You'd better come with me. We'll be safer together, you know."
The old man chuckled sadly. "Don't do no worryin' about me. Mister," he said. "I'm nearly always here. Come sundown, of course, I'll head fer the road down yonder. I got to wait until the last minute, though. Mebbe you ain't the only feller that'll come through here."
I said, "You mean you stay here every day to warn people off? You're a sort of sentinel?"
The old man nodded. "Me and old Sam Timmons changes off," he told me. "Sam was Roy Timmons' dad. At first we tried puttin' up signs. But They took 'em down. Mebbe They can't read our writin', Mister, but They musta known somehow what them signs said. So now we jest stay here ourselves. They can't do us no harm, 'cept sometimes they chuck a few rocks long about sundown"
He broke off. A stone whanged into a tree, grazed off and fell into a bush. I looked about for the thrower, but there was nothing inside except the green wall of underbrush.
"See that, Mister?" the old man chuckled. "That means They're mad!" He raised his gun and fired both barrels in the air. Strange echoes awoke in the still air.
"That'll stop 'em," he said proudly. "They don't like guns and shootin'. It scares 'em. 'Course, they're extra bold now, 'cause it's gettin' along toward the time of the full moon. Then they'll come out to dance around the old slab, and you'll see the lights flickerin' and hear 'em holler until near dawn. . . . But, Mister, you better be gittin' out of here while there's time. Don't worry none about the old man. Some of th' boys from town alluz come to fetch me if I don't show up right on time."
I left him reloading his gun. He was staring into the deepening shadows on the canyon wall, and his face was drawn and pale.
"If only I could git one good shot at Them!" I heard him mutter.
The journey was longer than I had thought it. The pathway was steep and ill-defined; the underbrush caught at my boots. I hurried along as fast as I dared. My imagination was busy with every rustle and crackle of breaking twigs. As the shadows lengthened, I became sure that something followed me unseen. . . .
I was running, and panting for breath, as I came out onto the welcome asphalt of the road that led to town. I rested there for a moment before going on, thankful for the glare of lights and the familiar sound of rushing motors. As I did so, one of the cars drew abreast of me and halted.
"See anything of an old feller with a gun?" its driver queried.
I made out three other men in the vehicle.
"Yes," I said slowly. "I did."
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