or two,
though, I liked the feel of the challenge of the night and the racing
elements, was even a little glad I had added to the dare of the
blackness the thought of Hammersly and his "killing." But I had not gone
far before I was wishing I did not have to save my face by putting in an
appearance at the store that night.

Every Saturday night, with the cows comfortable in their warm barn, and
my own supper over, I was in the habit of taking my place on the keg or
box behind the red-hot stove in Pruett's store. To-night all the snow
was being hurled clear of the fields to block the roads full between the
old, zigzag fences. The wind met me in great pushing gusts, and while it
flung itself at me I would hang against it, snow to my knees, until the
blow had gone along, when I could plunge forward again. I was glad when
I saw the lights of the store, glad when I was inside.

They met me with mock applause for my pluck in facing the night, but for
all their sham flattery I was pleased I had come, proud, I must admit,
that I had been able to plough my heavy way through the drifts to reach
them. I saw at a glance that my friends were all there, and I saw too
that there was a strange man present.

* * * * *

A very tall man he was, gaunt and awkward as he leaned into the angle of
the two counters, his back to a dusty show-case. He attracted my
attention at once. Not merely because he appeared so long and pointed
and skinny, but because, of all ridiculous things in that frozen
country, he wore a hard derby hat! If he had not been such a queer
character it would have been laughable, but as it was it was--creepy.
For the man beneath that hard hat was about as queer a looking character
as I have ever seen. I supposed he was a visitor at the store, or a
friend of one of my friends, and that in a little while I would be
introduced. But I was not.

I took my place in behind the stove, feeling at once, though I am far
from being unsociable usually, that the man was an intruder and would
spoil the evening. But despite his cold, dampening presence we were soon
at it, hammer and tongs, discussing the things that are discussed behind
hospitable stoves in country stores on bad nights. But I could never
lose sight of the fact that the stranger standing there, silent as the
grave, was, to say the least, a queer one. Before long I was sure he was
no friend or guest of anyone there, and that he not only cas