nd body for the best
part of an hour before I remembered that in a drawer in the front parlor
lay two little old-fashioned pistols, unloaded but in good order.

I had grown so excited and uneasy that I felt as if I could not rest
unless I got up, found those pistols and loaded them, though nobody had
ever heard of a burglary in Maysville, and half the time the doors were
left unlocked at night. Rather despising myself for my nervousness, but
yielding to it nevertheless, I rose, put on my dressing-gown and slippers,
lit my candle and went to find the two little pistols. I stepped very
softly, not to disturb Minny, for I should have been quite ashamed then to
have her know my cowardice. I looked in at the door as I passed. She was
sound asleep, with her baby on her arm. The baby, however, was broad
awake, but lying perfectly still, with her little finger in her mouth. Her
eyes shone in the lamplight as she turned them on me--not startled like
another child, but simply questioning. The little creature looked so
unnaturally wise and self-possessed that I was reminded perforce of a wild
tale Wyanota had once told me about a remote ancestress of his who had
married some sort of a wood-demon. The legend ran that Wyanota's family
was descended from the offspring of this marriage, and I think Wyn more
than half believed the story.

I passed on, and going into the next room found the pistols, carried them
back to my own chamber, and loaded them carefully. I was quite accustomed
to the use of firearms. There had been times in my life when I never sat
down to my work or went to rest without having rifle or pistol within easy
reach of my hand. When I had loaded the weapons, I put them on the table
by my bed and lay down again. My excitement seemed to have subsided, and I
was just falling asleep when I heard a door in the kitchen violently burst
open. I thought the wind had done it, and waited a moment to hear if the
Panther would rise and shut it.

The next instant there was a shot, a wild cry as of mingled pain and fury,
the sound of a heavy fall and a struggle. Before I had well realized that
the noise was in the house, I found myself at the kitchen door with my
pistols in my hand. I was greatly startled, but my one idea was to help my
old friend. The miserable door resisted me for a moment. Seconds passed
that seemed hours. When at last I tore it open, I saw a man in his shirt
sleeves lying dead on the floor, his head shattered