Creed's gaze, resting momentarily upon this miniature island, failed entirely to note that it concealed a man who stood immersed in the river from his neck down, and eyed him keenly through narrowed gray eyes; and that also this man was doing a most peculiar thing. Reaching into the pocket of his water-soaked shirt he withdrew several long, steel-jacketed bullets and, holding them in the palm of his hand, grinned broadly. Then, one by one, he placed them in his mouth, drew a long breath, and dived. The water at this point was about four feet in depth and the man swam rapidly, close to the bottom. Creed's glance, roving idly over the river, was arrested by a quick commotion upon the surface of the water almost directly in front of him. He seized his rifle and leaped to his feet, hoping for a shot at a stray otter. The next instant the rifle slipped from his nerveless fingers and struck upon the ground with a muffled thud. Instead of an otter he was looking directly into the face of a man. "God A'mi'ty," he gurgled, "it's the greener!" He leaned heavily against the logs, plucking foolishly at the bark. His scalp tingled from fright. His mouth sagged open and the lolling, flabby tongue drooled thickly. His face became a dull, bloodless gray, glistening glaireously with clammy sweat, and his eyes dilated until they seemed bulging from their sockets. It seemed ages he stood there, staring in horrible fascination at the man in the river--and then the man moved! He was advancing slowly shoreward, with a curious limp, as he had entered Burrage's store. Creed's ashen lips moved stiffly, and his tongue seemed to fill his mouth. "I've got 'em! I've got 'em," he maundered. "'S the booze, an' I'm seein' things!" His groping brain grasped at the idea, and it gave him strength--better the "snakes" than _that_! But he must do something, the man was coming toward him--only hip-deep now-- "Go 'way! Go 'way!" he shrieked in a sudden frenzy of action. "Damn you! Y're dead! D'ye hear me! Go 'way from here!" Suddenly his weakening knees stiffened under him, and he reached swiftly for the rifle on the ground at his feet. Slowly and deliberately he raised it, cocked it, rested it across a log, and took deliberate aim at the center of the man's face--twenty paces away. "Bang!" The crack of the rifle sounded loud and sharp in the tense stillness. The apparition, at the water's edge, raised its hand slowly to its lips, and from between its teeth took a small object which it tossed toward the other. The object struck lightly against Creed's breast and dropped to the ground. He looked, downward--it was a 30-40 bullet--his own! He stared dumbly at the thing on the ground. Then, automatically, he fired again, taking careful aim. Again the ghost's hand moved slowly toward its mouth, and again the light tap upon his chest--and two bullets lay upon the ground at his feet.