Then all stripped to the buff for a swim in the stream ... a treacherous place where the bottom was at times but two or three feet from the surface, and the mud, soft and semi-liquid for five feet more.  And there were snags, and broken beer and whiskey bottles all over the bottom where it was decent and gravelly.

Bill, with his solemn dundreary whiskers, leaped high in the air like a frog, kicking his legs and yelling drunkenly as he took off.

“Look out, Bill,” I shouted, “it’s nothing but mud there!”

But Bill didn’t heed me.  He hit with a swish and a thud instead of a splash, and didn’t come up.

We put out in our rickety boat.

By that luck that favours the drunkard and fool, we laid hold on Bill’s feet sticking out, just under the water.  We tugged mightily and brought him forth, turned into a black man by the ooze ... otherwise, unharmed.

* * * * *

It was not till two hours after midnight that they whisked away townward and left me alone, so that the graciousness of silence could enfold me again.  I looked forward to a week’s peace, before they descended on the camp again.  But I had a premonition that there was to be no peace for me there.  For Randall had said to me before he drove away....

“You know Pete Willets?  Well, he’s liable to come here for a few days, during the week ... a nice quiet fellow though ... won’t disturb you.”

The thought of another visitor did disturb me.  Though I knew Pete Willets as a quiet, gentle shoemaker in whom seemed no guile, I wanted to be alone to think and read and write.

Wednesday noon Pete Willets drove up, accompanied by a grubby Woman whom at first glance I did not relish.

“Hello, Johnnie, Frank said we could use the shack for a day or two.”

“Forever, as far as I’m concerned,” I answered, beginning to tie up my books in a huge bundle as big as a peddler’s pack, and as heavy.

Impatiently tying the horse to a post, they were in the shack and immediately prone on my bunk.

As I shouldered my load their murmuring voices full of amorous desire stung me like a gadfly.  I hurried off toward Laurel, angry at life.

I explained to Randall why I had left his camp so soon.  He was gravely concerned.

“I didn’t tell Willets he could have my shack to take Gracie there.  This is a bit too thick.”

“Who’s Gracie?”

“—­a bad lot ... a girl that’s been on the turf since she was in knee skirts—­as long as I’ve known her.  He loves her.  She can twist him around her little finger.  She’s going to get him into something bad some day.  He’ll do anything she wants.  And she’s capable of putting him up to anything.”

“Willets is weak, when it comes to women ... don’t drink much ... a hard worker ... everybody likes him....

“Did you ever notice his limp ... only slight ... scarcely noticeable, isn’t it?... he’s a corking mechanic as well as shoemaker ... mighty clever ... now for instance, you wouldn’t ever have known, unless I told you, that his left leg is made of wood?”