"Yep; whoopin' crazy," confirmed the cheery voice. "He got crossed some way with somebody 'n' worried hisself wild. Ol' people tell me it's a fam'ly failin'--that mos' of 'em end that way.... This Buck, now, hidin' out this-a-way. 'Tain't nat'r'l, is it?... I dunno." He shook his head and gazed out over the wide forest with drawn brows. I did not reply, but slowly reached for my pipe. "When a feller's in office 'n' 's give a war'int, he's got to serve it, or go yeller. I didn't hanker fur this here 'p'intment, I'm free to say, 'n' if I'd a-knowed Buck's a-hidin' out, be durned if I b'lieve I'd 'a' come! Some'n' 's eatin' on Buck 'sides killin' that mule--you can't tell me!... Well, I mus' be scoutin' on." He got on his feet, drank another cup of water, and stood for a moment gripping the muzzle of his rifle with both hands, its stock grounded between his feet. "Don't s'pose you've laid eyes on 'im'?" he added, in a softer, musing tone. "No; not since he walked out of the shop that day." Suddenly the deputy wheeled and faced me. "Pardner," he said, seriously enough considering the almost bantering note he had formerly employed; "I b'lieve Buck's goin' the same way his pappy did!" "Why?" I tried to hold my voice to a brave level, but the monosyllable rang hollow. "The signs ain't right," came the instantaneous reply. "Buck'd never'd 'a' laid out that mule if he'd been hisseff, in the firs' place. He's shoed young mules by the dozen. In the nex' place he'd 'a' settled with Bart instead o' spittin' in 'is face 'n' damnin' ever'body 'n' the law, too. I've got a notion to lose this pesky war'int 'n' go back to where people live!" He moodily pressed his hand to a pocket in his shirt, and I caught the rustle of paper. Then he laughed softly, said good-by rather abruptly, and strode away. I shall not attempt to make a record of the thoughts which assailed me after the deputy had gone. Yesterday came the third attempt on my life. Believing now that my rival's mind was affected, and that he had received the fixed and determined idea of making away with me in some manner which would appear wholly natural, I no longer remained within the Lodge, or kept to the restricted limits of the plateau. I walked abroad, always careful and watchful, it is true, and keeping my feet from suspicious paths. My longing for the Dryad had become a sort of mania, and each morning I arose with the fervent hope that that day would bring her back home. How I looked for the ragged, uncouth shape of Jeff Angel! But his grotesque figure remained absent, and I was left to unfruitful contemplation, a prey to dread.