itself among them.
I cannot be ashamed to say that I retreated
again, farther this time; let him who has had a like experience decide whether
to blame me. Feeling my way among the trees, I put several stout stems between
me and that lurker by the waterside. They would not fence it off, but might
baffle it for a moment. Meanwhile, I heard the water splash. It was wading
cautiously through - it was going to follow me.
I found myself standing in a sort of lane, and
did not bother until later to wonder how a lane could exist in that grove where
no man ever walked. It was a welcome avenue of flight to me, and I went along
it at a swift, crouching run. The footing, as everywhere, was damp and mossy,
and I made very little noise. Not so my unchancy companion of the brook, for I
heard a heavy body crashing among twigs and branches to one side. I began to
ask myself, as I hurried, what the beast could be - for I was sure that it was
a beast. A dog from some farmhouse, that did not know
or understand the law against entering the Devil's Croft? That I had seen only
two feet did not preclude two more, I now assured myself, and I would have
welcomed a big, friendly dog. Yet I did not know, that
this one was friendly, and could not bid myself to stop and see.
The lane wound suddenly to the right, and then
into a clearing.
Here, too, the branches overhead kept out the
snow and the light, but things were visible ever so slightly. I stood as if in
a room, earth-floored, trunk-walled, leaf -thatched.
And I paused for a breath - it was more damply warm than ever. With that breath
came some strange new serenity of spirit, even an amused self-mockery. What had
I seen and heard, indeed? I had come into the grove after a terrific hour or so
of danger and exertion, and my mind had at once busied itself in building
grotesque dangers where no dangers could be. Have another smoke, I said to
myself, and get hold of your imagination; already that pursuit-noise you
fancied has gone. Alone in the clearing and the dark, I smiled as though to
mock myself back into self-confidence. Even this little patch
of summer night into which I had blundered from the heart of the blizzard -
even it had some good and probably simple explanation. I fished out a
cigarette and struck a light.
At that moment I was facing the bosky tunnel
from which I had emerged into the open space. My matchlight struck two sparks
in that tunnel, two sparks that were pushing stealthily toward me. Eyes of
fire!
Cigarette and match fell from my hands. For
one wild half-instant I thought of flight, then knew
with a throat-stopping certainty that I must not turn my back on this thing. I
planted my feet and clenched my fists.
'Who's there?' I cried, as once before at the
side of the brook.
This time I had an answer. It was a hoarse,
deep-chested rumble, it might have been a growl or an
oath. And a shadow stole out from the lane, straightening up almost within
reach of me.
I had seen that silhouette before, misshapen
and point-eared, in the dining room of John Gird.
VII
''Had the thing been so
hairy?"
It did not charge at once, or I might have
been killed then, like John Gird, and the writing of this account left to
another hand. While it closed cautiously in, I was able to set myself for
defense. I also made out some of its details, and hysterically imagined more.
Its hunched back and narrow shoulders gave
nothing of weakness to its appearance, suggesting rather an inhuman plenitude
of bone and muscle behind. At first it was crouched, as if on all-fours, but
then it reared. For all its legs were bent, its great length of body made it
Learning to Kill: Stories