And that was all; she swung her mare off into the darkness; they listened to the far gallop, uttering never a word. But when the last distant hoof-stroke had ceased, Mr. Burleson's life and forests were safe in the country. How safe his game was they themselves did not exactly know. That night Burleson walked into the store upon the commonplace errand of buying a jack-knife. It was well that he did not send a groom; better still when he explained, "one of the old-fashioned kind--the kind I used as a school-boy." "To whittle willow whistles," suggested old man Santry. His voice was harsh; it was an effort for him to speak. "That's the kind," said Burleson, picking out a one-blader. Santry was coughing; presently Burleson looked around. "Find swallowing hard?" he asked. "Swallerin' ain't easy. I ketched cold." "Let's see," observed Burleson, strolling up to him and deliberately opening the old man's jaws, not only to Santry's astonishment, but to the stupefaction of the community around the unlighted stove. "Bring a lamp over here," said the young man. Somebody brought it. "Tonsilitis," said Burleson, briefly. "I'll send you something to-night?" "Be you a doctor?" demanded Santry, hoarsely. "Was one. I'll fix you up. Go home; and don't kiss your little girl. I'll drop in after breakfast." Two things were respected in Fox Cross-roads--death and a doctor--neither of which the citizens understood. But old man Santry, struggling obstinately with his awe of things medical, rasped out, "I ain't goin' to pay no doctor's bills fur a cold!" "Nobody pays me any more," said Burleson, laughing. "I only doctor people to keep my hand in. Go home, Santry; you're sick." Mr. Santry went, pausing at the door to survey the gathering with vacant astonishment. Burleson paid for the knife, bought a dozen stamps, tasted the cheese and ordered a whole one, selected three or four barrels of apples, and turned on his heel with a curt good-night. "Say!" broke out old man Storm as he reached the door; "you wasn't plannin' to hev the law on Abe, was you?" "About that grass fire?" inquired Burleson, wheeling in his tracks. "Oh no; Abe lost his temper and his belt. Any man's liable to lose both. By-the-way"--he came back slowly, buttoning his gloves--"about this question of the game--it has occurred to me that it can be adjusted very simply. How many men in this town are hunters?" Nobody answered at first, inherent suspicion making them coy. However, it finally appeared that in a community of twenty families there were some four of nature's noblemen who "admired to go gunnin' with a smell-dog."