Johnson poured him a cup of water and carried the canteen to the spring to be refilled. On his return he stepped into the kitchen. Growing uneasy over his long absence, I went in search of him, strolling carelessly to the door. The room was in darkness, so I struck a match. There was Lafe behind the door, with an old apron of Hetty's clutched in both hands. He was simply looking at it, and looking. "Lafe," I said. He dropped the apron hurriedly and came out. We did not face each other. "Tell me something." "Let's have it. What do you want to know?" I hesitated, doubtful how he might take the question. "Well?" "How did you know where to hunt? What made you think Hetty was up there?" "I didn't think," he replied. "Didn't you see that li'l firefly? The minute I set eyes on him, he sort of seemed to wave at me. Yes, sir. I remembered what you'd said, too, Dan. Jim-in-ee, there he is again. Look!" Jack-o'-Lantern had abandoned his game of hide-and-seek among the trees and was now circling the house. He twinkled from door to window, as though to peep in. Perhaps something discouraged him; at any rate, he continued to flit in long, soaring glides. Lafe noted these, marveling, and we squatted on the rock again, determined to stay there. Then, looking upward to a star which shone in line with the chimney, he perceived the eerie light quivering above the roof. The location evidently suited Jack-o'-Lantern, for there he hung. At last there were sounds within, and Johnson clutched the dog where it crouched between his knees. The brute whined under the grip of his fingers. We got to our feet and the dog looked up at us in doubt, much mystified as to what all this could mean. The merry spark above the roof gave a final twinkle and went out. At the same moment an inner door opened, releasing a flood of light into the hall-way, and a high-pitched, treble yell that lifted the hair at the nape of my neck and set Johnson to shaking, rent the night air with the suddenness of a popping cork. The doctor stuck his head out of the door. He called in suppressed glee: "Come on in, Lafe. She wants you. Say, he's a dandy." Jack-o'-Lantern had found a habitation. CHAPTER XXXIII JOHNSON ONCE MORE IN ROLE OF SHERIFF Horne of the Anvil approached his sixtieth year full of vigor. His birthday would also mark the thirtieth anniversary of his marriage. It had been a fat season. His steers were rollicking, the calves romped high-tailed, the valley pastures held clear-eyed cows and his horses were a comfort between one's knees. Therefore Horne saw that all was good and waxed content of heart, and he bade his boss, Lafe Johnson, to make all ready for a dance, for it was in his mind to do honor to his neighbors, humble and high. "Tell everybody to come a-running," said he, "and kill the fattest yearlings we've got. Better pick brindles, though, Lafe. Those red ones bring too much money."