Aside from his size, there was nothing striking or handsome about this backwoods giant, neither of face nor of form; yet, sleeping or waking, working or at leisure, he would be noticed--and remembered. In his every feature, every action, was the absolute unconsciousness of self, which cannot be mistaken; whether active or passive, there was about him an insinuation of reserve force, subtly felt, of a strong, determined character, impossible to sway or bend. He lay, now, motionless, staring with wide-open eyes into the fire and breathing slowly, deeply, like one in sleep. There was a hammering upon the door; another, louder; then a rattling that made the walls vibrate. "Come!" called the man, rousing and rolling away from the fire. A heavy shoulder struck the door hard, and the screaming wooden hinges covered the sound of the entering footfall. He who came was also of the type: homespun and buckskin, hair long and face unshaven. He straightened from a passage which was not low, then turning pushed the unwieldy door shut. It closed reluctantly, with a loud shrilling of its frost-bound hinges and frame. In a moment he dropped his hands and impatiently kicked the stubborn offender home, the suction drawing a puff of smoke from the fireplace into the room, and sending the ashes spinning in miniature whirlwinds upon the hearth. The man on the floor contemplated the entry with indifference; but a new light entered his eyes as he recognized his visitor, though his face held like wood. "Evenin', Clayton," he greeted, nodding toward a stool by the hearth. "Come over 'n sit down to the entertainment." A whimsical smile struggled through the heavy whiskers. "I've been seeing all sorts of things in there"--a thoughtful nod toward the fire. "Guess, though, a fellow generally does see what he's looking for in this world." "See here, Bud," the visitor bluntly broke in, coming into the light and slurring a dialect of no nationality pure, "y' can't stop me thataway. There ain't no use talkin' about the weather, neither." A motion of impatience; then swifter, with a shade of menace: "You know what I came over fer. It's actin' the fool, I know, we few families out here weeks away from ev'rybody, but this clearin' can't hold us both." The menace suddenly left the voice, unconsciously giving place to a note of tenderness and of vague self-fear. "I love that girl better 'n you er life er anything else, Bud; I tell ye this square to yer face. I can't stand it. I followed ye last night clean home from the party--an' I had a knife. I jest couldn't help it. Every time I know nex' time it'll happen. I don't ask ye to give her up, Bud, but to settle it with me now, fair an' open, 'fore I do something I can't help."