rements. No store contained anything half so useful to him. He had
worked with it for years and it just suited him, so there was nothing to
do but go back. Betsy was too tired to return that day, so he planned
to dig his ginseng with something else, finish his work the following
morning, and get the mattock in the afternoon.

"It's like a knife you've carried for years, or a gun," muttered the
Harvester. "I actually don't know how to get along without it. What made
me so careless I can't imagine. I never before in my life did a trick
like that. I wonder if I hurried a little. I certainly was free to
take it. He always wanted the stuff dug up. Of all the stupid tricks,
Belshazzar, that was the worst. Now Betsy and a half day of wasted time
must pay for my carelessness. Since I have to go, I'll look a little
farther. Maybe there is more. Those woods used to be full of it."

According to this programme, the next afternoon the Harvester again
walked down the embankment of the mourning river and through the ragged
woods to the place where the ginseng had been. He went forward, stepping
lightly, as men of his race had walked the forest for ages, swerving to
avoid boughs, and looking straight ahead. Contrary to his usual custom
of coming to heel in a strange wood, Belshazzar suddenly darted around
the man and took the path they had followed the previous day. The animal
was performing his office in life; he had heard or scented something
unusual. The Harvester knew what that meant. He looked inquiringly at
the dog, glanced around, and then at the earth. Belshazzar proceeded
noiselessly at a rapid pace over the leaves: Suddenly the master saw the
dog stop in a stiff point. Lifting his feet lightly and straining his
eyes before him, the Harvester passed a spice thicket and came in line.

For one second he stood as rigid as Belshazzar. The next his right arm
shot upward full length, and began describing circles, his open
palm heavenward, and into his face leapt a glorified expression of
exultation. Face down in the rifled ginseng bed lay a sobbing girl. Her
frame was long and slender, a thick coil of dark hair; bound her head. A
second more and the Harvester bent and softly patted Belshazzar's head.
The beast broke point and looked up. The man caught the dog's chin in a
caressing grip, again touched his head, moved soundless lips, and waved
toward the prostrate figure. The dog hesitated. The Harvester made the
same motions. Belsh