I was not at ease. One of the reasons I had lingered was in the hope that Buck would return. But he didn't. The man was desperate. I could doubt it no longer. He was half crazy. Ordinarily he would have compromised with Bart. He was now simply an unchained devil, loose and bent on mischief. My feelings were not soothed when I reached the Lodge. Pinned to the door with the same nail which had held the message was a sheet of my writing paper, and on it was a large, rude cross, traced with a finger which had been dipped in blood. It was the third and last warning. CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO IN WHICH I SPAR WITH DEATH The past week, culminating on the night in I which I sit and write with barred door and shuttered windows, has been a hard and dangerous one for me. Three times have I escaped death so narrowly it would seem Providence had a hand in the game. On no occasion was the would-be assassin visible, but I knew well chance had not aimed these well directed blows at my life. I can't understand Buck's tactics. They are hidden, merciless, savage in their deadly intention. I had not thought he would stoop to this. I had eliminated this contingency when considering my plan of action. It was incredible, but no doubt lingers in my heart to-night. Buck Steele is trying to murder me secretly, and in such a way that it would seem the result of an accident. His plots suggest the cunning of an unsettled mind, but, while it certainly is strained under the force of his mad passion, I do not believe Buck's brain is unbalanced. He wants me out of the way, but at the same time he wants to avoid any odium, and be free to live his life here at Hebron. He knows that if he kills me openly it will mean, at the least, exile. I have thought long and often over the problem, and I am sure I have come upon the right solution. That he does not compel a meeting which could result in a fair fight, from which no especial blame would revert to him should he prove the victor, is simply because he is afraid to undergo the risk--to accept the possibility of being killed instead of killing. I do not mean by this that he is a coward, but his desire for Celeste has so wrought upon him that he is casting aside all chances for defeat, though his sense of honor and fair play, if he had any, goes with them. He has become a scheming machine, and a most formidable one, I must confess. Now I will make a brief record of what has taken place the last seven days.