The details were arranged, and contract signed, the next day. A few evenings later Wycliff was sitting in what he humorously called his “office.” It contained a few books, mostly for reference, a convenient desk, a small safe, a stuffed cougar, or mountain lion, from the Rockies, and a mounted moosehead from Maine--all of these things being reminders of more prosperous times. Frowning upon all, and seemingly out of place, was a good likeness of Congressman Baldwin, of whom Wycliff had been a great admirer. Answering a timid knock, Wycliff found a fellow-laborer at the door, a weak-minded French Canadian, a mere boy, who went by the name of “Half-witted Joe.” “How do you do, Joe?” he asked when his old comrade was seated. “Mad.” “What is the trouble?” “Mr. Sharp no pay me. He say me no worth ten dollars.” “Did he pay you anything?” “Yes, five dollars for clothes.” “You worked one month?” “Yes, he promise me ten dollars and board.” “I heard him.” “Me get up early; me work late--eight o’clock, sometimes. Me work hard. Mr. Sharp say me no earn only five dollars. Damn.” “What will you do?” “Me go home, Canada.” “Have you money enough to take you home?” “No. Me sell watch, five dollar.” He exhibited a watch, for which Wycliff thought he could safely pay that amount, and he handed Joe the money. “Thank,” said Joe, as he stepped over the threshold, “Me fix old Sharp.” “Don’t hurt Mr. Sharp,” Wycliff cautioned him. “Mr. Sharp has a good wife, and good children. Besides, you would go to prison.” The tone of his visitor changed. He seemed to realize that he had blundered in making the threat. “Me no hurt Mr. Sharp,” he finally promised, and then he went out into the darkness. “Don’t lose your money,” was Wycliff’s parting advice. When he was out in the night again, Joe’s anger kindled anew, as he remembered the farm-superintendent’s injustice. Although Wycliff’s warning prevented him from doing Sharp bodily harm, he was still bent on revenge. Revenge was still the uppermost idea in Half-Witted Joe’s unbalanced mind, as he approached Beauna Vista, and the dark night had its strong influence upon his thought and purpose. He glanced in at the farm-house windows. The family and the farm-hands were busy reading. Mr. Sharp, he knew, had gone to a public meeting. The coast was clear. He stole around to the side of the barn farthest from the house. He went through an unused stable, to where the lower part of a great mow of hay was exposed. There was the flash of a match, the sudden darting upward of the flames on the edge of the hay-mow, and then Joe hurried out through the yard, across the meadow, and reaching the railroad track, followed it to the edge of a piece of woods.