strength; one nerves, the other muscle. Onward he strode, the road damp from its nearness to the creek. Out upon the higher land he turned, the shale clicking under his feet. He had the feeling that some one was walking slowly behind him, stealing the noise of his footsteps to conceal a stealthier tread, and he smiled at his fear, but he halted to listen. He thought of a poem, "The Stab," and he repeated it as he walked along, and the swift falling of the knife, "Like a splinter of daylight downward thrown," found an echo in his footsteps. He came to the creek wherein the old horse had stood to cool his hot knees; he crossed the foot-log and was about to step down again into the road when he heard the furious galloping of horses and the rattle of a buggy. The team plunged into the creek, not directly at the ford; the buggy struck a rock and flew into fragments; the horses came plunging on, leaving a man in the water. Lyman rushed forward as the horses dashed past him. By the light of the stars he saw the flying fragments of the buggy--saw the water splash where the man fell. The man made no effort to get up, and Lyman thought that surely he must have been killed. But when Lyman reached him he was trying to crawl against the shallow but swift current. Lyman seized him, dragged him to the shore, stretched him upon the ground. "Are you hurt?" he asked, feeling for his heart. The man muttered something. Lyman struck a match, looked at the man's face, blew out the match, tossed the burnt stem into the road and said to himself: "Of course I had to be the one to find him. Are you hurt, Sawyer?" "You fling me 'n creek?" he muttered, filling the air with the fumes of whisky. "Fling me 'n creek, got me to whip. Tell you that, hah? Hear what I said? Got me to whip." "Blackguard, I don't know but I ought to have let you drown." "Good man to drown me, tell you that," he said, sitting up. "Horses gone?" "Yes, and your buggy is smashed all to pieces." "I believe it is. Bring me the pieces, won't you." He leaned over and laughed like an idiot. "Stopped at a distillery, and stopped too long. Don't take a man long to stop too long at a distillery. What's your name? You ain't Jim, are you? What's your name, anyway; why don't you talk to a feller." "It won't do to leave him here," said Lyman, looking about as if searching for the light from a house. "Do you think you can walk?" he asked. "Walk a thousand miles. Hear what I said? Thousand miles. Where do you want to go, Jim?" "I want to take you to a house." "Oh, I'm all right. But don't leave me, Jim. Whatever you do, don't leave me. I couldn't get along without you. Hit Bob a crack over the head and addled him so he ain't at himself yet. They took him away round here to his uncle's to keep him out of the way, and I drove out there to see him and stopped at distillery and stayed too long. Ever stay too long, Jim?" "Do the doctors think that Bob will get well?"