The Angel of the Lord

by Melville Davisson Post

　　I ALWAYS THOUGHT my father took a long chance, but somebody had to takeit and certainly I was the one least likely to be suspected. It was awild country. There were no banks. We had to pay for the cattle, andsomebody had to carry the money. My father and my uncle were alwaysbeing watched. My father was right, I think.

　　"Abner," he said, "I'm going to send Martin. No one will ever supposethat we would trust this money to a child."

　　My uncle drummed on the table and rapped his heels on the floor. He wasa bachelor, stern and silent. But he could talk...and when he did, hebegan at the beginning and you heard him through; and what he said-well,he stood behind it.

　　"To stop Martin," my father went on, "would be only to lose the money;but to stop you would be to get somebody killed."

　　I knew what my father meant. He meant that no one would undertake to robAbner until after he had shot him to death.

　　I ought to say a word about my Uncle Abner. He was one of those austere,deeply religious men who were the product of the Reformation. He alwayscarried a Bible in his pocket and he read it where he pleased. Once thecrowd at Roy's Tavern tried to make sport of him when he got his bookout by the fire; but they never tried it again. When the fight was overAbner paid Roy eighteen silver dollars for the broken chairs and thetable-and he was the only man in the tavern who could ride a horse.Abner belonged to the church militant and his God was a war lord.

　　So that is how they came to send me. The money was in greenbacks inpackages. They wrapped it up in newspaper and put it into a pair ofsaddle-bags, and I set out. I was about nine years old. No, it was notas bad as you think. I could ride a horse all day when I was nine yearsold-most any kind of a horse. I was tough as whit'-leather, and I knewthe country I was going into. You must not picture a little boy rollinga hoop in the park.

　　It was an afternoon in early autumn. The clay roads froze in the night;they thawed out in the day and they were a bit sticky. I was to stop atRoy's Tavern, south of the river, and go on in the morning. Now and thenI passed some cattle driver, but no one overtook me on the road untilalmost sundown; then I heard a horse behind me and a man came up. I knewhim. He was a cattleman named Dix. He had once been a shipper, but hehad come in for a good deal of bad luck. His partner, Alkire, hadabsconded with a big sum of money due the grazers. This had ruined Dix;he had given up his land, which wasn't very much, to the grazers. Afterthat he had gone over the mountain to his people, got together a prettybig sum of money and bought a large tract of grazing land. Foreignclaimants had sued him in the courts on some old title and he had lostthe whole tract and the money that he had paid for it. He had married aremote cousin of ours and he had always lived on her lands, adjoiningthose of my Uncle Abner.

　　Dix seemed surprised to see me on the road.

　　"So it's you, Martin," he said; "I thought Abner would be going into theupcountry."

　　One gets to be a pretty cunning youngster, even at this age, and I toldno one what I was about.

　　"Father wants the cattle over the river to run a month," I returnedeasily, "and I'm going up there to give his orders to the grazers."

　　He looked me over, then he rapped the saddlebags with his knuckles. "Youcarry a good deal of baggage, my lad."

　　I laughed. "Horse feed," I said. "You know my father! A horse must befed at dinner time, but a man can go till he gets it."

　　One was always glad of any company on the road, and we fell into an idletalk. Dix said he was going out into the Ten Mile country; and I havealways thought that was, in fact, his intention. The road turned southabout a mile our side of the tavern. I never liked Dix; he was of anapologetic manner, with a cunning, irresolute face.

　　A little later a man passed us at a gallop. He was a drover named Marks,who lived beyond my Uncle Abner, and he was riding hard to get in beforenight. He hailed us, but he did not stop; we got a shower of mud and Dixcursed him. I have never seen a more evil face. I suppose it was becauseDix usually had a grin about his mouth, and when that sort of face getstwisted there's nothing like it.

　　After that he was silent. He rode with his head down and his fingersplucking at his jaw, like a man in some perplexity. At the crossroads hestopped and sat for some time in the saddle, looking before him. I lefthim there, but at the bridge he overtook me. He said he had concluded toget some supper and go on after that.

　　Roy's Tavern consisted of a single big room, with a loft above it forsleeping quarters. A narrow covered way connected this room with thehouse in which Roy and his family lived. We used to hang our saddles onwooden pegs in this covered way. I have seen that wall so hung withsaddles that you could not find a place for another stirrup. But tonightDix and I were alone in the tavern. He looked cunningly at me when Itook the saddle-bags with me into the big room and when I went with themup the ladder into the loft. But he said nothing-in fact, he hadscarcely spoken. It was cold; the road had begun to freeze when we gotin. Roy had lighted a big fire. I left Dix before it. I did not take offmy clothes, because Roy's beds were mattresses of wheat straw coveredwith heifer skins-good enough for summer but pretty cold on such anight, even with the heavy, hand-woven coverlet in big white and blackchecks.

　　I put the saddle-bags under my head and lay down. I went at once tosleep, but I suddenly awaked. I thought there was a candle in the loft,but it was a gleam of light from the fire below, shining through a crackin the floor. I lay and watched it, the coverlet pulled up to my chin.Then I began to wonder why the fire burned so brightly. Dix ought to beon his way some time and it was a custom for the last man to rake outthe fire. There was not a sound. The light streamed steadily through thecrack.

　　Presently it occurred to me that Dix had forgotten the fire and that Iought to go down and rake it out. Roy always warned us about the firewhen he went to bed. I got up, wrapped the great coverlet around me,went over to the gleam of light and looked down through the crack in thefloor. I had to lie out at full length to get my eye against the board.The hickory logs had turned to great embers and glowed like a furnace ofred coals.

　　Before this fire stood Dix. He was holding out his hands and turninghimself about as though he were cold to the marrow; but with all thatchill upon him, when the man's face came into the light I saw it coveredwith a sprinkling of sweat.

　　I shall carry the memory of that face. The grin was there at the mouth,but it was pulled about; the eyelids were drawn in; the teeth wereclamped together. I have seen a dog poisoned with strychnine look likethat.

　　I lay there and watched the thing. It was as though something potent andevil dwelling within the man were in travail to re-form his face uponits image. You cannot realize how that devilish labor held me-the faceworked as though it were some plastic stuff, and the sweat oozedthrough. And all the time the man was cold; and he was crowding into thefire and turning himself about and putting out his hands. And it was asthough the heat would no more enter in and warm him than it will enterin and warm the ice.

　　It seemed to scorch him and leave him cold-and he was fearfully anddesperately cold! I could smell the singe of the fire on him, but it hadno power against this diabolic chill. I began myself to shiver, althoughI had the heavy coverlet wrapped around me.

　　The thing was a fascinating horror; I seemed to be looking down into thechamber of some abominable maternity. The room was filled with thesteady red light of the fire. Not a shadow moved in it. And there wassilence. The man had taken off his boots and he twisted before the firewithout a sound. It was like the shuddering tales of possession ortransformation by a drug. I thought the man would burn himself to death.His clothes smoked. How could he be so cold?

　　Then, finally, the thing was over! I did not see it for his face was inthe fire. But suddenly he grew composed and stepped back into the room.I tell you I was afraid to look! I do not know what thing I expected tosee there, but I did not think it would be Dix.

　　Well, it was Dix; but not the Dix that any of us knew. There was acertain apology, a certain indecision, a certain servility in that otherDix, and these things showed about his face. But there was none of theseweaknesses in this man.

　　His face had been pulled into planes of firmness and decision; the slackin his features had been taken up; the furtive moving of the eye wasgone. He stood now squarely on his feet and he was full of courage. ButI was afraid of him as I have never been afraid of any human creature inthis world! Something that had been servile in him, that had skulkedbehind disguises, that had worn the habiliments of subterfuge, had nowcome forth; and it had molded the features of the man to its abominablecourage.

　　Presently he began to move swiftly about the room. He looked out at thewindow and he listened at the door; then he went softly into the coveredway. I thought he was going on his journey; but then he could not begoing with his boots there beside the fire. In a moment he returned witha saddle blanket in his hand and came softly across the room to theladder.

　　Then I understood the thing that he intended, and I was motionless withfear. I tried to get up, but I could not. I could only lie there with myeye strained to the crack in the floor. His foot was on the ladder, andI could already feel his hand on my throat and that blanket on my face,and the suffocation of death in me, when far away on the hard road Iheard a horse!

　　He heard it, too, for he stopped on the ladder and turned his evil faceabout toward the door. The horse was on the long hill beyond the bridge,and he was coming as though the devil rode in his saddle. It was a hard,dark night. The frozen road was like flint; I could hear the iron of theshoes ring. Whoever rode that horse rode for his life or for somethingmore than his life, or he was mad. I heard the horse strike the bridgeand thunder across it. And all the while Dix hung there on the ladder byhis hands and listened. Now he sprang softly down, pulled on his bootsand stood up before the fire, his face-this new face-gleaming with itsevil courage. The next moment the horse stopped.

　　I could hear him plunge under the bit, his iron shoes ripping the frozenroad; then the door leaped back and my Uncle Abner was in the room. Iwas so glad that my heart almost choked me and for a moment I couldhardly see-everything was in a sort of mist.

　　Abner swept the room in a glance, then he stopped. "Thank God!" he said;"I'm in time." And he drew his hand down over his face with the fingershard and close as though he pulled something away. "In time for what?"said Dix.

　　Abner looked him over. And I could see the muscles of his big shouldersstiffen as he looked. And again he looked him over. Then he spoke andhis voice was strange. "Dix," he said, "is it you?" "Who would it be butme?" said Dix. "It might be the devil," said Abner. "Do you know whatyour face looks like?"

　　"No matter what it looks like!" said Dix. "And so," said Abner, "we havegot courage with this new face."

　　Dix threw up his head.

　　"Now, look here, Abner," he said, "I've had about enough of your bigmanner. You ride a horse to death and you come plunging in here; whatthe devil's wrong with you?"

　　"There's nothing wrong with me," replied Abner, and his voice was low."But there's something damnably wrong with you, Dix."

　　"The devil take you," said Dix, and I saw him measure Abner with hiseye. It was not fear that held him back; fear was gone out of thecreature; I think it was a kind of prudence.

　　Abner's eyes kindled, but his voice remained low and steady.

　　"Those are big words," he said.

　　"Well," cried Dix, "get out of the door then and let me pass!"

　　"Not just yet," said Abner; "I have something to say to you."

　　"Say it then," cried Dix, "and get out of the door."

　　"Why hurry?" said Abner. "It's a long time until daylight, and I have agood deal to say."

　　"You'll not say it to me," said Dix. "I've got a trip to make tonight;get out of the door."

　　Abner did not move. "You've got a longer trip to make tonight than youthink, Dix," he said; "but you're going to hear what I have to saybefore you set out on it."

　　I saw Dix rise on his toes and I knew what he wished for. He wished fora weapon; and he wished for the bulk of bone and muscle that would havea chance against Abner. But he had neither the one nor the other. And hestood there on his toes and began to curse-low, vicious, witheringoaths, that were like the swish of a knife.

　　Abner was looking at the man with a curious interest.

　　"It is strange," he said, as though speaking to himself, "but itexplains the thing. While one is the servant of neither, one has thecourage of neither; but when he finally makes his choice he gets whathis master has to give him."

　　Then he spoke to Dix.

　　"Sit down!" he said; and it was in that deep, level voice that Abnerused when he was standing close behind his words. Every man in the hillsknew that voice; one had only a moment to decide after he heard it. Dixknew that, and yet for one instant he hung there on his toes, his eyesshimmering like a weasel's, his mouth twisting. He was not afraid! If hehad had the ghost of a chance against Abner he would have taken it. Buthe knew he had not, and with an oath he threw the saddle blanket into acorner and sat down by the fire.

　　Abner came away from the door then. He took off his great coat. He put alog on the fire and he sat down across the hearth from Dix. The newhickory sprang crackling into flames. For a good while there wassilence; the two men sat at either end of the hearth without a word.Abner seemed to have fallen into a study of the man before him. Finallyhe spoke:

　　"Dix," he said, "do you believe in the providence of God?"

　　Dix flung up his head.

　　"Abner," he cried, "if you are going to talk nonsense I promise you uponmy oath that I will not stay to listen."

　　Abner did not at once reply. He seemed to begin now at another point.

　　"Dix," he said, "you've had a good deal of bad luck...Perhaps you wishit put that way."

　　"Now, Abner," he cried, "you speak the truth; I have had hell's luck."

　　"Hell's luck you have had," replied Abner. "It is a good word. I acceptit. Your partner disappeared with all the money of the grazers on theother side of the river; you lost the land in your lawsuit; and you aretonight without a dollar. That was a big tract of land to lose. Wheredid you get so great a sum of money?"

　　"I have told you a hundred times," replied Dix. "I got it from my peopleover the mountains. You know where I got it."

　　"Yes," said Abner. "I know where you got it, Dix. And I know anotherthing. But first I want to show you this," and he took a little penknifeout of his pocket. "And I want to tell you that I believe in theprovidence of God, Dix."

　　"I don't care a fiddler's damn what you believe in," said Dix.

　　"But you do care what I know," replied Abner.

　　"What do you know?" said Dix.

　　"I know where your partner is," replied Abner.

　　I was uncertain about what Dix was going to do, but finally he answeredwith a sneer.

　　"Then you know something that nobody else knows."

　　"Yes," replied Abner, "there is another man who knows."

　　"Who?" said Dix.

　　"You," said Abner.

　　Dix leaned over in his chair and looked at Abner closely.

　　"Abner," he cried, "you are talking nonsense. Nobody knows where Alkireis. If I knew I'd go after him."

　　"Dix," Abner answered, and it was again in that deep, level voice, "if Ihad got here five minutes later you would have gone after him. I canpromise you that, Dix.

　　"Now, listen! I was in the upcountry when I got your word about thepartnership; and I was on my way back when at Big Run I broke astirrup-leather. I had no knife and I went into the store and boughtthis one; then the storekeeper told me that Alkire had gone to see you.I didn't want to interfere with him and I turned back...So I did notbecome your partner. And so I did not disappear...What was it thatprevented? The broken stirrup-leather? The knife? In old times, Dix, menwere so blind that God had to open their eyes before they could see Hisangel in the way before them...They are still blind, but they ought notto be that blind...Well, on the night that Alkire disappeared I met himon his way to your house. It was out there at the bridge. He had brokena stirrup-leather and he was trying to fasten it with a nail. He askedme if I had a knife, and I gave him this one. It was beginning to rainand I went on, leaving him there in the road with the knife in hishand."

　　Abner paused; the muscles of his great iron jaw contracted.

　　"God forgive me," he said; "it was His angel again! I never saw Alkireafter that."

　　"Nobody ever saw him after that," said Dix. "He got out of the hillsthat night."

　　"No," replied Abner; "it was not in the night when Alkire started on hisjourney; it was in the day."

　　"Abner," said Dix, "you talk like a fool. If Alkire had traveled theroad in the day somebody would have seen him."

　　"Nobody could see him on the road he traveled," replied Abner.

　　"What road?" said Dix.

　　"Dix," replied Abner, "you will learn that soon enough."

　　Abner looked hard at the man.

　　"You saw Alkire when he started on his journey," he continued; "but didyou see who it was that went with him?"

　　"Nobody went with him," replied Dix; "Alkire rode alone."

　　"Not alone," said Abner; "there was another."

　　"I didn't see him," said Dix.

　　"And yet," continued Abner, "you made Alkire go with him."

　　I saw cunning enter Dix's face. He was puzzled, but he thought Abner offthe scent.

　　"And I made Alkire go with somebody, did I? Well, who was it? Did yousee him?"

　　"Nobody ever saw him."

　　"He must be a stranger."

　　"No," replied Abner, "he rode the hills before we came into them."

　　"Indeed!" said Dix. "And what kind of a horse did he ride?"

　　"White!" said Abner.

　　Dix got some inkling of what Abner meant now, and his face grew livid.

　　"What are you driving at?" he cried. "You sit here beating around thebush. If you know anything, say it out; let's hear it. What is it?"

　　Abner put out his big sinewy hand as though to thrust Dix back into hischair.

　　"Listen!" he said. "Two days after that I wanted to get out into the TenMile country and I went through your lands; I rode a path through thenarrow valley west of your house. At a point on the path where there isan apple tree something caught my eye and I stopped. Five minutes laterI knew exactly what had happened under that apple tree...Someone hadridden there; he had stopped under that tree; then something happenedand the horse had run away-I knew that by the tracks of a horse on thispath. I knew that the horse had a rider and that it had stopped underthis tree, because there was a limb cut from the tree at a certainheight. I knew the horse had remained there, because the small twigs ofthe apple limb had been pared o&, and they lay in a heap on the path. Iknew that something had frightened the horse and that it had run away,because the sod was torn up where it had jumped...Ten minutes later Iknew that the rider had not been in the saddle when the horse jumped; Iknew what it was that had frightened the horse; and I knew that thething had occurred the day before. Now, how did I know that?

　　"Listen! I put my horse into the tracks of that other horse under thetree and studied the ground. Immediately I saw where the weeds besidethe path had been crushed, as though some animal had been lying downthere, and in the very center of that bed I saw a little heap of freshearth. That was strange, Dix, that fresh earth where the animal had beenlying down! It had come there after the animal had got up, or else itwould have been pressed flat. But where had it come from?

　　"I got off and walked around the apple tree, moving out from it in anever-widening circle. Finally I found an ant heap, the top of which hadbeen scraped away as though one had taken up the loose earth in hishands. Then I went back and plucked up some of the earth. The underclods of it were colored as with red paint...No, it wasn't paint.

　　"There was a brush fence some fifty yards away. I went over to it andfollowed it down.

　　"Opposite the apple tree the weeds were again crushed as though someanimal had lain there. I sat down in that place and drew a line with myeye across a log of the fence to a limb of the apple tree. Then I got onmy horse and again put him in the tracks of that other horse under thetree; the imaginary line passed through the pit of my stomach!...I amfour inches taller than Alkire."

　　It was then that Dix began to curse. I had seen his face work whileAbner was speaking and that spray of sweat had reappeared. But he keptthe courage he had got.

　　"Lord Almighty, man!" he cried. "How prettily you sum it up! We shallpresently have Lawyer Abner with his brief. Because my renters havekilled a calf; because one of their horses frightened at the blood hasbolted, and because they cover the blood with earth so the other horsestraveling the path may not do the like; straightway I have shot Alkireout of his saddle...Man! What a mare's nest! And now, Lawyer Abner,with your neat little conclusions, what did I do with Alkire after I hadkilled him? Did I cause him to vanish into the air with a smell ofsulphur or did I cause the earth to yawn and Alkire to descend into itsbowels?"

　　"Dix," replied Abner, "your words move somewhat near the truth."

　　"Upon my soul," cried Dix, "you compliment me. If I had that trick ofmagic, believe me, you would be already some distance down."

　　Abner remained a moment silent.

　　"Dix," he said, "what does it mean when one finds a plot of earthresodded?"

　　"Is that a riddle?" cried Dix. "Well, confound me, if I don't answer it!You charge me with murder and then you fling in this neat conundrum.Now, what could be the answer to that riddle, Abner? If one had done amurder this sod would overlie a grave and Alkire would be in it in hisbloody shirt. Do I give the answer?"

　　"You do not," replied Abner.

　　"No!" cried Dix. "Your sodded plot no grave, and Alkire not within itwaiting for the trump of Gabriel! Why, man, where are your little damnedconclusions?"

　　"Dix," said Abner, "you do not deceive me in the least; Alkire is notsleeping in a grave."

　　"Then in the air," sneered Dix, "with the smell of sulphur?"

　　"Nor in the air," said Abner.

　　'Then consumed with fire, like the priests of Baal?"

　　"Nor with fire," said Abner.

　　Dix had got back the quiet of his face; this banter had put him where hewas when Abner entered. "This is all fools' talk," he said; "if I hadkilled Alkire, what could I have done with the body? And the horse! Whatcould I have done with the horse? Remember, no man has ever seenAlkire's horse any more than he has seen Alkire-and for the reason thatAlkire rode him out of the hills that night. Now, look here, Abner, youhave asked me a good many questions. I will ask you one. Among yourlittle conclusions do you find that I did this thing alone or with theaid of others?"

　　"Dix," replied Abner, "I will answer that upon my own belief you had noaccomplice."

　　"Then," said Dix, "how could I have carried off the horse? Alkire Imight carry; but his horse weighed thirteen hundred pounds!"

　　"Dix," said Abner, "no man helped you do this thing; but there were menwho helped you to conceal it."

　　"And now," cried Dix, "the man is going mad! Who could I trust with suchwork, I ask you? Have I a renter that would not tell it when he moved onto another's land, or when he got a quart of cider in him? Where are themen who helped me?"

　　"Dix," said Abner, "they have been dead these fifty years." I heard Dixlaugh then, and his evil face lighted as though a candle were behind it.And, in truth, I thought he had got Abner silenced.

　　"In the name of Heaven!" he cried. "With such proofs it is a wonder thatyou did not have me hanged."

　　"And hanged you should have been," said Abner.

　　"Well," cried Dix, "go and tell the sheriff, and mind you lay before himthose little, neat conclusions: How from a horse track and the placewhere a calf was butchered you have reasoned on Alkire's murder, and toconceal the body and the horse you have reasoned on the aid of men whowere rotting in their graves when I was born; and see how he willreceive you!"

　　Abner gave no attention to the man's flippant speech. He got his greatsilver watch out of his pocket, pressed the stem and looked. Then hespoke in his deep, even voice.

　　"Dix," he said, "it is nearly midnight; in an hour you must be on yourjourney, and I have something more to say. Listen! I knew this thing hadbeen done the previous day because it had rained on the night that I metAlkire, and the earth of this ant heap had been disturbed after that.Moreover, this earth had been frozen, and that showed a night had passedsince it had been placed there. And I knew the rider of that horse wasAlkire because, beside the path near the severed twigs lay my knife,where it had fallen from his hand. This much I learned in some fifteenminutes; the rest took somewhat longer.

　　"I followed the track of the horse until it stopped in the little valleybelow. It was easy to follow while the horse ran, because the sod wastorn; but when it ceased to run there was no track that I could follow.There was a little stream threading the valley, and I began at the woodand came slowly up to see if I could find where the horse had crossed.Finally I found a horse track and there was also a man's track, whichmeant that you had caught the horse and were leading it away. But where?

　　"On the rising ground above there was an old orchard where there hadonce been a house. The work about that house had been done a hundredyears. It was rotted down now. You had opened this orchard into thepasture. I rode all over the face of this hill and finally I enteredthis orchard. There was a great, flat, moss-covered stone lying a fewsteps from where the house had stood. As I looked I noticed that themoss growing from it into the earth had been broken along the edges ofthe stone, and then I noticed that for a few feet about the stone theground had been resodded. I got down and lifted up some of this new sod.Under it the earth had been soaked with that...red paint.

　　"It was clever of you, Dix, to resod the ground; that took only a littletime and it effectually concealed the place where you had killed thehorse; but it was foolish of you to forget that the broken moss aroundthe edges of the great flat stone could not be mended."

　　"Abner!" cried Dix. "Stop!" And I saw that spray of sweat, and his faceworking like kneaded bread, and the shiver of that abominable chill onhim.

　　Abner was silent for a moment and then he went on, but from anotherquarter.

　　"Twice," said Abner, "the Angel of the Lord stood before me and I didnot know it; but the third time I knew it. It is not in the cry of thewind, nor in the voice of many waters that His presence is made known tous. That man in Israel had only the sign that the beast under him wouldnot go on. Twice I had as good a sign, and tonight, when Marks broke astirrup-leather before my house and called me to the door and asked mefor a knife to mend it, I saw and I came!"

　　The log that Abner had thrown on was burned down, and the fire was againa mass of embers; the room was filled with that dull red light. Dix hadgot on to his feet, and he stood now twisting before the fire, his handsreaching out to it, and that cold creeping in his bones, and the smellof the fire on him.

　　Abner rose. And when he spoke his voice was like a thing that hasdimensions and weight.

　　"Dix," he said, "you robbed the grazers; you shot Alkire out of hissaddle; and a child you would have murdered!"

　　And I saw the sleeve of Abner's coat begin to move, then it stopped. Hestood staring at something against the wall. I looked to see what thething was, but I did not see it. Abner was looking beyond the wall, asthough it had been moved away.

　　And all the time Dix had been shaking with that hellish cold, andtwisting on the hearth and crowding into the fire. Then he fell back,and he was the Dix I knew-his face was slack; his eye was furtive; andhe was full of terror.

　　It was his weak whine that awakened Abner. He put up his hand andbrought the fingers hard down over his face, and then he looked at thisnew creature, cringing and beset with fears.

　　"Dix," he said, "Alkire was a just man; he sleeps as peacefully in thatabandoned well under his horse as he would sleep in the churchyard. Myhand has been held back; you may go. Vengeance is mine, I will repay,saith the Lord."

　　"But where shall I go, Abner?" the creature wailed; "I have no money andI am cold."

　　Abner took out his leather wallet and flung it toward the door.

　　"There is money," he said-"a hundred dollars-and there is my coat. Go!But if I find you in the hills tomorrow, or if I ever find you, I warnyou in the name of the living God that I will stamp you out of life!"

　　I saw the loathsome thing writhe into Abner's coat and seize the walletand slip out through the door; and a moment later I heard a horse. And Icrept back on to Roy's heifer skin.

　　When I came down at daylight my Uncle Abner was reading by the fire.