240 NEIGHBOURS UNKNOWN 



him, studied him, when he little guessed 



their scrutiny. They knew where he lived, 



in the cabin with one door and one window, 



at the back of the stumpy clearing on the 



side of Broken Ridge. They knew his wife, 



the straight, swarthy, hard-featured woman, 



who wore always some bright scarlet thing 



around her neck and on her head. They 



knew his black-and-white cow, with the 



bell at her neck, which made sounds they did 



not like. They knew his yoke of raw-boned 



red steers, which ploughed among the stumps 



for him in the spring, and hauled logs for him, 



laboriously, in the winter. They knew the 



disquieting brilliance which would shine 



from his window or his open door in nights 



when all the forest was in darkness. Above 



all, they knew of his incomprehensible power 



of killing at a distance, viewlessly. On 



account of this terrible power, they had tried 



to avoid giving him offence. They had 



refrained from hunting his cow or his steers ; 



they had even respected his foolish, cackling 



chickens, being resolved in no way to risk 



drawing down his vengeance upon them. 



Now, however, it was different. 



As the two grim avengers followed the 

 trail, like fleeting shadows, a red doe stepped 

 leisurely into their path before she caught 



