"Yes. I thought I might get a shot at something." The old woman advanced past the colt and stood beside the pung. She placed her basket on the seat of the pung, leaned her staff against it and removed the shawl from the longish parcel, thereby disclosing a single-barrel shotgun. "I shot away all my ca'tridges yesterday," she said. "It ain't often I hit a rabbit, but I be thankful enough when I do." Jim looked at the gun more closely and saw that it was a breechloading number twelve. He dipped into a pocket and brought up three cartridges and gave them to the old woman. She accepted them eagerly. "Now are you sure you are quite safe here on the road?" he asked. "Aye, Mister, safe enough, thank 'e," she answered, slipping one shell into her gun and the others into a pocket. She wrapped the shawl around the gun, took up the basket and staff and stepped back a pace. Jim shook the reins and the colt got into motion. "Good hunting, Granny," called Jim over his shoulder. "Thank 'e kindly, sir, an' God bless ye!" called the old woman after him. Jim reached the village without further interruption and found Melchior Hammond alone in the store. He asked after the family and was told that all were well as could be expected under the circumstances. "What circumstances?" he asked. "I wish ye'd jailed the old man when ye had 'im cold!" exclaimed Melchior. "He ain't fit to live with--no, nor half-way fit! Ever since you caught 'im cold, right in front of Deputy-Sheriff Hart, tryin' to rob ye, he's been havin' prayers every mornin' an' noon an' talkin' murder every night." "Where is he now?" "Up-river somewheres. He went yesterday to put a crimp into some poor folks up that way who borrowed money from him at four hundred per cent. interest. He's havin' the time of his life, I bet!" "Four hundred per cent.!" "Sure--but it don't show on paper. That's how he did business with old Widow Wilson. Bein' his son is bitter diet, Jim! If I was worth a can of sardines, I'd of cleared out long ago!" Jim made his purchases, refused an invitation to dinner, and set out on the homeward journey. He passed several teams bound for the village; and within a hundred yards of the fork of the roads he came face to face with Amos Hammond. He pulled out to the left to let the store-keeper go by, but, instead of taking advantage of the space, Amos drew rein. So Jim brought the strawberry colt to a standstill. Amos was in a sleigh, despite the fact that he must have left home on wheels yesterday, when there wasn't any snow; and Jim wondered at that. The explanation was simple. Hammond had traded the unseasonable wagon for the sleigh and robes and new harness with an unwilling countryman whose note was in his possession. "D'ye ever see Melchior up this way?" asked Hammond. "Pull out," said Jim. "I want my share of the road. I'm in a hurry." "I asked ye a question." "Which I have no intention of answering. Pull out!"