shoving it back into his coattail pocket, he strode lakeward,
muttering lurid threats as he went.

The Mistress watched his lank figure on its way down the lawn to
the dock.

"It's-it's AWFUL!" she faltered, clutching at her husband's arm.
"Oh, you don't suppose he can--can really get leave to shoot
Laddie, do you?"

"I don't know," answered the Master, as uneasy as she. "A mad-dog
scare has a way of throwing everybody into a fool panic. There's
no knowing what some magistrate may let him do. But one thing is
mighty certain," he reassured her. "If the whole National Guard
of New Jersey comes here, with a truckload of shooting-warrants,
they aren't going to get Laddie. I promise you that. I don't
quite know how we are going to prevent it. But we're going to.
That's a pledge. So you're not to worry."

As they talked they continued to watch the constable in his
clumping exit from the Place. Wefers reached the dock, and
stamped out to its extreme end, where was moored the livery scow
he had commandeered for his journey across the lake from the
village.

A light wind was blowing. It had caught the scow's wide stern and
had swung it out from the dock. Wefers unhooked the chain and
dropped it clankingly into the bottom. Then, with ponderous
uncertainty, he stepped from the dock's string-piece to the prow
of his boat.