He lifted his eyes mechanically. A cold thrill ran through every fibre. For there, close by the door, somebody--something--was peering through the space between the logs of the wall. The face was invisible, but the shape of a man's head was distinctly defined. He realized that it was no supernatural manifestation when a husky voice began to call the mare, in a hoarse whisper, “Cobe! Cobe! Cobe!” With a galvanic start he was about to spring forward to hold the door. A hand from without was laid upon it. He placed the muzzle of his gun between the logs, a jet of red light was suddenly projected into the darkness, the mare was rearing and plunging violently, the little shanty was surcharged with roar and reverberation, and far and wide the crags and chasms echoed the report of the rifle. There was a vague clamor outside, an oath, a cry of pain. Hasty footfalls sounded among the dead leaves and died in the distance. When the ranger ventured out he saw the door of his house wide open, and the firelight flickering out among the leafless bushes. His wife met him halfway down the hill. “Air ye hurt, Tobe?” she cried. “Did yer gun go off suddint?” “Mighty suddint,” he replied, savagely. “Ye didn't fire it a-purpose?” she faltered. “Edzactly so,” he declared. “Ye never hurt nobody, did ye, Tobe?” She had turned very pale. “I 'lowed it couldn't be the wind ez I hearn a-hollerin'.” “I hopes an' prays I hurt 'em,” he said, as he replaced the rifle in the rack. He was shaking the other hand, which had been jarred in some way by the hasty discharge of the weapon. “Some dad-burned horse-thief war arter the mare. Jedgin' from the sound o' thar running 'peared like to me ez thar mought be two o' 'em.” The next day the mare disappeared from the stable. Yet she could not be far off, for Tobe was about the house most of the time, and when he and the “Colonel” came in-doors in the evening the little girl held in her hand a half-munched ear of corn, evidently abstracted from the mare's supper. “Whar be the filly hid, Tobe?” Eugenia asked, curiosity overpowering her. “Ax me no questions an' I'll tell ye no lies,” he replied, gruffly. In the morning there was a fall of snow, and she had some doubt whether her mother, who had gone several days before to a neighbor's on the summit of the range, would return; but presently the creak of unoiled axles heralded the approach of a wagon, and soon the old woman, bundled in shawls, was sitting by the fire. She wore heavy woollen socks over her shoes as protection against the snow. The incompatibility of the shape of the hose with the human foot was rather marked, and as they were somewhat inelastic as well, there was a muscular struggle to get them off only exceeded by the effort which had been required to get them on. She shook her head again and again, with a red face, as she bent over the socks, but plainly more than this discomfort vexed her.