oulder blades, eyes hard and bloodshot. When the man
turned he would rush forward and spring at his throat.

But the man hurried on, and looked neither to the right nor left, nor
behind him. Thus they came suddenly out of a wilderness into a village
that straggled up the sides of mountains. There were glimpses of white
cottages clinging to abrupt hillsides, or rambling steps leading to
green summer lawns, or swings in the shade, or white-clad, romping
children--children like Tommy Earle.

Yonder down the street glass knobs of telephone poles glistened in the
sun. At the end of the street rose the white columns of a long building
with a big, black, dust-covered car in front. Women in white, children
with nurses, sallow mountain folk, were abroad in the first coolness of
the afternoon. It was the busy season, when the heat of cities drives
people to the fresh air of the mountains and a hundred such villages
spring into life and laughter.

Through this holiday crowd went the red-faced, dusty man. Twenty paces
behind followed the gaunt Irish setter. People stopped in the street to
look back at him. Children pulled on their nurses' hands, thrilling to
make friends with such a big dog, then pulled back, distrustful of the
look in his eyes. Man, then dog, passed the drug store where behind
plate-glass windows cool-dressed men and women sat at slender tables.
Next to the drug store was a brick garage with a gasolene meter in
front. About the entrance loitered a group of men watching. One was
bigger than the rest and wore a wide-brimmed hat.

Through this group pushed the man with the ten-gallon can. Close behind
now followed the gaunt Irish setter. It happened quickly, like one of
those mountain tragedies that brood over such places, remnants of feuds
that hang on to the skirts of civilization. Two muffled pistol shots
broke the peace and security of the village and brought men running to
the garage. For the man with the ten-gallon can had turned at last, and
Frank had sprung straight at his throat.

From the confusion of crowding men came the hoarse shout,

"Turn me loose! Let me kill that dog! Can't you see? He's mad as hell!"

"I've got the dog all right!" cried the big man in the broad-brimmed
hat. "If he's mad I'll 'tend to him!"

Plunging, barking, begging to be turned loose, old Frank was dragged
backward across the cement floor. In the door of a glass-enclosed office
the big man, holding tight to his collar, tur