n of
walking the trails with Mary-Clare.

The real, sordid tragedy element played small part in the autumn idyl,
but it was developing none the less.

Larry on the Point was showing more patient persistence than one could
have expected. He went about Maclin's business with his usual
reticence and devotion; occasionally he was away for a few days; when
he was at home in Peneluna's shack he was a quiet, rather pathetic
figure of a man at loose ends, but casting no slurs. It was that
pacific attitude of his that got on the nerves of his doubters and
those who believed they understood him.

Peneluna, torn between her loyalty to Mary-Clare and the decency she
felt called upon to show the old doctor's son, was becoming irritable
and jerky. Jan-an shrank from her and whimpered:

"What have I done? Ain't I fetching and carrying for him?"--she nodded
heavily toward Larry's abiding place. "Ain't I watching and telling
yer all that he does? Writing and tearing up what he writes! Ain't I
showing you his scraps what don't get burned? Ain't I acting square?"

Peneluna softened.

"Yes, you are!" she admitted. "But I declare, after finding nothing
agin him, one gets to wondering if there _is_ anything agin him. I
don't like suspecting my feller creatures."

"Suspectin' ain't like murdering!" Jan-an blurted out.

"If you don't stop talking like that, Jan-an----" But Peneluna paused,
for she saw the frightened look creeping into Jan-an's dull eyes.

It was while the Point was agitated about Larry that Twombley brought
forth his gun and took to cleaning it and fondling it by his doorway.
This action of Twombley's fascinated Jan-an.

"What yer going to shoot?" she asked.

"Ducks, maybe." Twombley leered pleasantly.

"I wish yer wouldn't."

"Why, Jan-an?"

"Ducks ain't so used to it as chickens. I hate to see flying things as
_can_ fly popped over."

At this Twombley laughed aloud.

"All right, girl, I'll hunt up something else to aim at--something
that's used to it. I ain't saying I'll hit anything, but aimin' and
finding out how steady yer hand is ain't lacking in sport."

So Twombley erected a target and enlivened and startled the Point by
his practise. Maclin, after a few weeks of absence from the Point,
called occasionally on his private agent and he was displeased by
Twombley's new amusement.

"What in thunder are you up to?" he asked.

"Not much--yet!" Twombley admitted. "Don't hit the hole more than once
ou