Norm Boody had been studying them curiously. "Bill said you were asking a lot of questions last night, Earl." Larson spoke again before Robinson could answer. "Of course we all go at things a little differently," he admitted. "However, I got an idea that the phantom wouldn't attack a man who didn't carry a gun. Earl left his in the car when he went into the swamp." Robinson nodded. "I went into the swamp," he admitted. "I had an idea the phantom might be sort of a ghostly protector of the herd. We have quite a slaughter of deer up here every fall. It must be hard on them if they have any feeling at all. What's so damn much different between men killing deer, or a deer killing a man? If the Phantom exists, he's sort of a protecting angel--or a God. If I had met him ..." "You didn't?" Norm Boody asked sharply. Earl grinned. "If I _had_ met him," he went on, "I guess I'd do something about it. I guess I'd think he was a pretty grand old guy, standing up to fight for his kind. I'd probably look him over and pray for mercy, and get the hell out of his domain. If I hunted again next year, I'd either find new territory, or prepare to get myself killed." Norm Boody looked solemn. "Well, I ain't much for hunting myself," he admitted. "But if I _did_ like to hunt, and I _believed_ a story like that, I'd leave my gun at home when I went into the woods. Ain't that the general idea?" Roy Starr said weakly: "Gosh, I'm getting awfully weak already. How about a shot of snakebite medicine." Glenn found a half bottle and passed it around. "Might as well finish it. My wife-to-be says I gotta stop drinking as soon as we're married." "And where are _you_ hunting next year, Larson," Robinson asked. Larson grinned. "How about a good week hunting jack-rabbits? I don't think I'd be very scared if I met the God of the jack-rabbits, even if he did shoot fire out of the corner of his nostrils."