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how he made a living was also an unfathomed secret. His shack was high up on the mountain, in the heart of the timber, surrounded by a small patch of half-cleared ground, set off from the forest by a rail fence which seemed always on the verge of falling apart, but somehow never quite accomplished it.

His only companions were two great shaggy wolf-dogs, vicious, evil-looking brutes with red slavering jaws, whose appearance as they would come charging up to the fence on the approach of a stranger was enough to strike terror into the stoutest heart.

If you chanced on the hermit and spoke to him his lips would draw back in a snarl, disclosing vicious, pointed fangs rather than teeth, and his words came in a low, rumbling growl that carried a menace in the tone as well as, usually, in the words.

The natives generally regarded him as having kinship with the two dogs, and believed all three were in league with the devil. They regarded the mountain with fear and awe; and while some drew their wood from the edge of the forest, none was bold enough to venture into its depths after sundown.

It was said that the two dogs ran wild in the woods at night, and wobetide the luckless traveler whose trail they held. True, there were no actual disappearances which could be charged against the brutes, but this was because none tempted the devil, whose agents they were, by venturing into the woods after dark. In the daytime they apparently stayed at or near the hermit's shack, but at night—ah! that was different.

As for the hermit himself, he was possessed of the evil eye, said the natives. If he looked you squarely in the face your cow would become dry; the water in your well would be polluted; and numerous other misfortunes would surely make your days unhappy and your nights full of fear. Your honest farmer would look fearfully over his shoulder, crossing himself the while, as he explained this to you.

One day there came to the hamlet a stranger from the big city down the valley near the sea. A small, furtive, rat-faced chap he was; he appeared on the street but seldom, having obtained a room at Mrs. Sczura's, in which he stayed except when it was absolutely necessary for him to be out. When he did appear on the dusty road which passed for the main street, he walked with his head down and his cap pulled well over his eyes; and if by chance a person happened to approach him suddenly from behind he would find immediate reason to back up against a wall, while his right hand would seek his coat pocket.

After a few days he began to be on the street a little more frequently, and gradually struck up a speaking acquaintance with some of the men who frequented the grocery store corner of an evening. He was reticent regarding his motive in coming to the village, but seemed very much interested in the geography of the surrounding country, asking numerous questions regarding distances to the next towns, the farmhouses by the way, and the like.

It was inevitable, of course, that he should hear of the Hermit of Chemeketa Mountain. Indeed, he had shown a good deal of interest in the topography of the mountain, the depth and denseness of the forest, and the trails through the woods, before anyone thought of the hermit. Or maybe they thought of him, but hesitated to speak; the stranger was from outside, and would not understand.

But eventually someone mentioned the hermit, and described his peculiarities; how he lived alone, except for his two dogs; spoke also of