and noiselessly took down her husband's revolver from
the mantelshelf, and examined it. He had taken its fellow with him, and
apparently, contrary to his custom, he had taken the powder-flask with
him too, for it was gone from its nail. The revolvers were always kept
loaded, but--by some evil chance--the one that remained was unloaded.
She could have sworn she had seen her husband load it two days ago. Why
was this numbness creeping over her again? She got out powder and
bullets from a small store she had of her own, loaded and primed it, and
laid it on the table beside her.

The night had become very still. Her hearing seemed to reach out till
she felt she could have heard a coyote move in its hole miles away. The
log fire creaked and shifted. The tall clock in the corner ticked,
catching its chain now and then as its manner was. The wooden walls
shrunk and groaned a little. The small home-like sounds only accentuated
the enormous silence without. Suddenly in the midst of them a real sound
fell upon her ear--very low, but different, not like the fragmentary
inadvertent murmur of the hut; a small, purposeful, stealthy, sound,
aware of itself. She listened, as she had listened before, without
moving. It was not louder than the whittling of a mouse behind the
wainscot, hardly louder than the scraping of a mole's thin hand in the
soil. It continued. Then it stopped. It was only her foolish fancy after
all. There it was again. Where did it come from?

_The man in the next room?_

She took up the lamp and crept down the narrow passage to the door of
the back kitchen. His loud, even breathing sounded distinctly through
the crannies of the ill-fitting door. Surely it was overloud. She
listened to it. She could hear nothing else. Was his breathing a
pretence? She opened the door noiselessly, and went in, shading the
light with her hand.

She bent over the sleeping man. At the first glance her heart sank, for
he had not taken off his boots. But as she looked hard at him her
suspicions died within her. He lay on his back with his coarse,
emaciated face towards her, his mouth open, showing his broken teeth.
The sleep of utter exhaustion was upon him. She could have killed him
as he lay. He was not acting. He was really asleep.

She crept out of the room again, leaving the door ajar, and went back to
the kitchen.

Hardly had she sat down when she heard the sound again. It was too faint
to reach her except when she was in the