Feeling his way in a clump of bushes， he drew out abicycle and prepared to mount. He was in the act ofdriving the gear around with his foot for the purpose ofgetting the opposite pedal in position， when he heard thethud of a heavy body that landed lightly and evidently on itsfeet. He did not wait for more， but ran， with hands on thehandles of his bicycle， until he was able to vault astride thesaddle， catch the pedals， and start a spurt. Behind he couldhear the quick thud-thud of feet on the dust of the road，but he drew away from it and lost it. Unfortunately， he hadstarted away from the direction of town and was headinghigher up into the hills. He knew that on this particularroad there were no cross roads. The only way back waspast that terror， and he could not steel himself to faceit. At the end of half an hour， finding himself on an everincreasing grade， he dismounted. For still greater safety，leaving the wheel by the roadside， he climbed through afence into what he decided was a hillside pasture， spread anewspaper on the ground， and sat down.
“Gosh！” he said aloud， mopping the sweat and fog fromhis face.
And “Gosh！” he said once again， while rolling a cigaretteand as he pondered the problem of getting back.
But he made no attempt to go back. He was resolvednot to face that road in the dark， and with head bowed onknees， he dozed， waiting for daylight.
How long afterward he did not know， he was awakenedby the yapping bark of a young coyote. As he lookedabout and located it on the brow of the hill behind him，he noted the change that had come over the face of thenight. The fog was gone； the stars and moon were out；even the wind had died down. It had transformed into abalmy California summer night. He tried to doze again，but the yap of the coyote disturbed him. Half asleep，he heard a wild and eery chant. Looking about him， henoticed that the coyote had ceased its noise and wasrunning away along the crest of the hill， and behind it， infull pursuit， no longer chanting， ran the naked creature hehad encountered in the garden. It was a young coyote， andit was being overtaken when the chase passed from view.
The man trembled as with a chill as he started to his feet，clambered over the fence， and mounted his wheel. But itwas his chance and he knew it. The terror was no longerbetween him and Mill Valley.
He sped at a breakneck rate down the hill， but in theturn at the bottom， in the deep shadows， he encountereda chuck-hole and pitched headlong over the handle bar.
“It’s sure not my night，” he muttered， as he examinedthe broken fork of the machine
Shouldering the useless wheel， he trudged on. In time hecame to the stone wall， and， half disbelieving his experience，he sought in the road for tracks， and found them—moccasin tracks， large ones， deep-bitten into the dust at thetoes. It was while bending over them， examining， that againhe heard the eery chant. He had seen the thing pursue thecoyote， and he knew he had no chance on a straight run. Hedid not attempt it， contenting himself with hiding in theshadows on the off side of the road.
And again he saw the thing that was like a naked man，running swiftly and lightly and singing as it ran. Oppositehim it paused， and his heart stood still. But instead ofcoming toward his hiding-place， it leaped into the air，caught the branch of a roadside tree， and swung swiftlyupward， from limb to limb， like an ape. It swung across thewall， and a dozen feet above the top， into the branches ofanother tree， and dropped out of sight to the ground. Theman waited a few wondering minutes， then started on.
II
Dave Slotter leaned belligerently against the desk thatbarred the way to the private office of James Ward， seniorpartner of the firm of Ward， Knowles & Co. Dave wasangry. Every one in the outer office had looked him oversuspiciously， and the man who faced him was excessivelysuspicious.
“You just tell Mr. Ward it’s important，” he urged.
“I tell you he is dictating and cannot be disturbed，” wasthe answer. “Come to-morrow.”
“To-morrow will be too late. You just trot along and tellMr. Ward it’s a matter of life and death.”
The secretary hesitated and Dave seized the advantage.
“You just tell him I was across the bay in Mill Valley lastnight， and that I want to put him wise to something.”
“What name？” was the query.
“Never mind the name. He don’t know me.”
When Dave was shown into the private office， he wasstill in the belligerent frame of mind， but when he sawa large fair man whirl in a revolving chair from dictatingto a stenographer to face him， Dave’s demeanor abruptlychanged. He did not know why it changed， and he wassecretly angry with himself.
“You are Mr. Ward？” Dave asked with a fatuousness thatstill further irritated him. He had never intended it at all.
“Yes，” came the answer.
“And who are you？”
“Harry Bancroft，” Dave lied. “You don’t know me， andmy name don’t matter.”
“You sent in word that you were in Mill Valley lastnight？”
“You live there， don’t you？” Dave countered， lookingsuspiciously at the stenographer.
“Yes. What do you mean to see me about？ I am verybusy.”
“I’d like to see you alone， sir.”
Mr. Ward gave him a quick， penetrating look， hesitated，then made up his mind.
“That will do for a few minutes， Miss Potter.”
The girl arose， gathered her notes together， and passedout. Dave looked at Mr. James Ward wonderingly， untilthat gentleman broke his train of inchoate thought.
“Well？”
“I was over in Mill Valley last night，” Dave beganconfusedly.
“I’ve heard that before. What do you want？”
And Dave proceeded in the face of a growing convictionthat was unbelievable. “I was at your house， or in thegrounds， I mean.”
“What were you doing there？”
“I came to break in，” Dave answered in all frankness.
“I heard you lived all alone with a Chinaman forcook， and it looked good to me. Only I didn’t break in.
Something happened that prevented. That’s why I’m here.