rs. Don't seldom ever set no traps
an' I ain't shot a bear fer mor'n 'n ten year. But they've got t' be
decent. If any bear steals my vittles he's goin' t' git cuffed bard.'

Ab's tongue had limbered up at last. His pipe was going well and he
seemed to have struck an easy grade. There was a tone of injury and
aggrievement in his talk of the bear's ingratitude. He snailed over his
whittling as we laughed heartily at the droll effect of it all.

'D'ye ever hear o' the wild man 'at roams 'round'n these woods?' he
asked.

'Never did,' said Uncle Eb.

'I've seen 'im more times 'n ye could shake a stick at,' said Ab
crossing his legs comfortably and spitting into the fire. 'Kind o' thank
he's the same man folks tells uv down 'n Paradise Valley there--'at goes
'round 'n the clearin' after bedtime.'

'The night man!' I exclaimed.

'Guess thet's what they call 'im,' said Ab. 'Curus man! Sometimes I've
hed a good squint at 'im off 'n the woods. He's wilder 'n a deer an'
I've seen 'im jump over logs, half as high as this shanty, jest as easy
as ye 'd hop a twig. Tried t' foller 'im once er twice but tain' no use.
He's quicker 'n a wil' cat.'

'What kind of a lookin' man is he?' Tip Taylor asked.

'Great, big, broad-shouldered feller,' said Ab. 'Six feet tall if he's
an inch. Hed a kind of a deerskin jacket on when I seen 'im an' breeches
an' moccasins made o' some kind o' hide. I recollec' one day I was over
on the ridge two mile er more from the Stillwater goin' south. I seen
'im gittin' a drink at the spring there 'n the burnt timber. An' if I
ain't mistaken there was a real live panther playin' 'round 'im. If 't
wa'n't a panther 'twas pesky nigh it I can tell ye. The critter see me
fast an' drew up 'is back. Then the man got up quickerin' a flash. Soon
'she see me--Jeemimey! didn't they move. Never see no human critter run
as he did! A big tree hed fell 'cross a lot o' bush right 'n his path.
I'll be gol dummed if 'twan't higher 'n my head! But he cleared it--jest
as easy as a grasshopper'd go over a straw. I'd like t' know wher he
comes from, gol dummed if I wouldn't. He's the consarndest queerest
animal 'n these woods.'

Ab emphasised this lucid view of the night man by an animated movement
of his fist that held the big hunting knife with which he whittled. Then
he emptied his pipe and began cutting more tobacco.

'Some says 'e 's a ghost,' said Tip Taylor, splitting his sentence with
a yawn, as he lay on a buffal