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“Supposin’ what?” demanded the major.

“Supposin’–” said Peter. “Well, remember you got th’ gun, an’ I hain’t got anythin’.”

“Thunder!” said the major.

When they got to where the stalks were very short because of the shade cast by the trees of the wood, they halted again. The leaves were gently swishing in the breeze. Before them stretched the mystic green wall of the forest, and there seemed to be in it eyes which followed each of their movements.

Peter at last said, “I don’t believe there’s anybody in there.”

“Yes, there is, too,” said the major. “I’ll bet anythin’ he’s in there.”

“How d’ yeh know?” asked Peter. “I’ll bet he ain’t within a mile o’ here.”

The major suddenly ejaculated, “Listen!”

They bent forward, scarce breathing, their mouths agape, their eyes glinting. Finally, the major turned his head. “Did yeh hear that?” he said hoarsely.

“No,” said Peter in a low voice. “What was it?”

The major listened for a moment. Then he turned again. “I thought I heerd somebody holler!” he explained cautiously.

They both bent forward and listened once more. Peter, in the intentness of his attitude, lost his balance, and was obliged to lift his foot hastily and with noise. “S-s-sh!” hissed the major.

After a minute Peter spoke quite loudly: “Oh, shucks! I don’t believe yeh heerd anythin’.”

The major made a frantic downward gesture with his hand. “Shet up, will yeh!” he said in an angry undertone.

Peter became silent for a moment, but presently he said again: “Oh, yeh didn’t hear anythin’.”

The major turned to glare at his companion in despair and wrath.

“What’s th’ matter with yeh? Can’t yeh shet up?”

“Oh, this here ain’t no use. If you’re goin’ in after ‘im, why don’t yeh go in after ‘im?”

“Well, gimme time, can’t yeh?” said the major in a growl. And, as if to add more to this reproach, he climbed the fence that compassed the woods, looking resentfully back at his companion.

“Well,” said Peter, when the major paused.

The major stepped down upon the thick carpet of brown leaves that stretched under the trees. He turned then to whisper: “You wait here, will yeh?” His face was red with determination.

“Well, hol’ on a minnet!” said Peter. “You–I–we’d better–“

“No,” said the major. “You wait here.”

He went stealthily into the thickets. Peter watched him until he grew to be a vague, slow-moving shadow. From time to time he could hear the leaves crackle and twigs snap under the major’s awkward tread. Peter, intent, breathless, waited for the peal of sudden tragedy. Finally, the woods grew silent in a solemn and impressive hush that caused Peter to feel the thumping of his heart. He began to look about him to make sure that nothing should spring upon him from the sombre shadows. He scrutinised this cool gloom before him, and at times he thought he could perceive the moving of swift silent shapes. He concluded that he had better go back and try to muster some assistance to the major.

As Peter came through the corn, the women in the road caught sight of the glittering figure and screamed. Many of them began to run. The little boys, with all their valour, scurried away in clouds. Mrs. Joe Peterson, however, cast a glance over her shoulders as she, with her skirts gathered up, was running as best she could. She instantly stopped and, in tones of deepest scorn, called out to the others, “Why, it’s on’y Pete Witheby!” They came faltering back then, those who had been naturally swiftest in the race avoiding the eyes of those whose limbs had enabled them to flee a short distance.

Peter came rapidly, appreciating the glances of vivid interest in the eyes of the women. To their lightning-like questions, which hit all sides of the episode, he opposed a new tranquillity, gained from his sudden ascent in importance. He made no answer to their clamour. When he had reached the top of the fence he called out commandingly: “Here you, Johnnie, you and George, run an’ git my gun! It’s hangin’ on th’ pegs over th’ bench in th’ shop.”