to encounter the trail of the Red Beast so freshly printed here among the pleasant Westchester hills.

And to us the silent house seemed to say: “Gentlemen, gentlemen! Look at the plight I’m in — you who come from the blackened North!” And with never a word of lip our heavy thoughts responded: “We know, old house! We know! But at least you still stand; and in the ashes of our Northland not a roof or a spire remains aloft between the dwelling of Deborah Glenn and the ford at the middle fort.”

Boyd broke silence with an effort; and his voice was once more cool and careless, if a little forced:

“So it’s this way hereabouts, too,” he said with a shrug and a sign to me to dismount. Which I did stiffly; and