become slick on the
pine-needles and heather, and he slipped and fell several times, but he
rose and struggled on. Then he saw the bare brown cliff of a great
canyon over the tops of the trees, and suddenly realizing the distance
he had come he turned and walked homeward.

He found the Bradley house wrapped in darkness. He could hear Luke
snoring out to the gate. He went round the house to the back door. It
was unlocked, and he slipped in and gained his own room. Without
undressing he threw himself on the bed and tried to sleep, but the
attempt was vain. He lay awake all night, and when dawn broke he had
not yet decided whether he was going away or not. He really believed
he was losing his mind, but he did not care. He rose and sat at his
window. The sky along the eastern horizon was turning pale, and the
chickens were crowing and flapping their wings. He heard Bradley
lustily clearing his throat as he got out of bed. Later he heard him
in the kitchen making a fire. Westerfelt knew he would go out to the
barn-yard to feed and water his cattle and horses, and he wanted to
avoid him and his cheery morning greeting. Buttoning his coat round
his neck, he tip-toed from his room across the passage and went down
the street to the stable.

One of the big sliding-doors had been pushed aside, and in the back
yard he saw Jake washing a buggy, and heard Washburn in one of the rear
stalls, rattling his currycomb and brush together as he groomed a
horse. He went into the office. The outer door was closed, and it
would have been dark there, but for Washburn's lighted lantern which
hung on a peg over the desk. He sat down at the desk and tried anew to
think. Presently he decided that he would go to Atlanta, and that he
would write a note to Mrs. Floyd, telling her of his change of plans.
He took up a sheet of paper and began the note, but was interrupted by
Washburn's step outside. He crumpled the paper in his hand, quickly
thrust it into his pocket, and pretended to be looking over the pages
of the ledger which lay open on the desk.

"Hello!" Washburn stood in the doorway. "I didn't know you wus heer.
Anything gone wrong?"

"No; why?"

"It's a little early fer you, that's all." Washburn dropped his brush
and currycomb under the desk, and, full of concern, stood looking down
at him.

"Thought I'd come down before breakfast" said Westerfelt. "How was
business yesterday?"

"Good; nearly everything out, and