Jim turned to the left and went up the glen. The pockets of his shooting-jacket bulged with the brace of birds he had killed. He had scored three misses, but he was pleased with himself, the birds, and the gun. Never had he seen harder flying birds than these big grouse that were locally known as partridges, and never had he shot under more difficult, more sporting, conditions. The odds were with the bird every time. A puff and whirr of wings, a glimpse of flight and he was lost in the screening foliage. It was the sort of shooting that appealed to Jim, who preferred the sport to the kill. His enthusiasm carried him on and on, and he lost all track of time. His nerves got a jolt once when several deer jumped the road close in front of him, in the gloom, and he realized it was very late. Indeed, so far had he traveled, and so gone was his sense of direction, that it was past eleven when he reached the Hammond house. All the doors were locked, front, side, and back, He was again conscious of that sudden core of heat in his chest. He was about to swing a leg and drive a toe of a substantial boot against the front door when a thought of Mrs. Hammond's frightened eyes caused him to change his mind.
There was a nip of frost in the air, but no wind. Jim passed the remainder of the night very comfortably half a mile above the village, at the edge of the river, beside a good fire of driftwood. He slept soundly until dawn, then swam for a few minutes in the swift, tingling river and returned to the house. The doors were unlocked. He entered the front hall, left his gun and birds there, brushed down his hair with his hands and walked into the dining-room, where the family sat at breakfast. All the Hammonds were present. All heads were raised and some were turned. All eyes were fixed upon the young man who had been out all night.
"Good morning, Mrs. Hammond. Good morning all," said Jim.
"Where you been?" asked Amos Hammond, darkly.
"Out, as you know. Walked too far," answered Jim. "I found all the doors locked when I got back, so I slept down by the river."
"I lock the doors at ten o'clock sharp. This here's a respectable house, a God-fearin' home! Went away right after dinner an' come home later than that. Who give you leave to quit the store?"
"No one gave me leave to quit the store. I didn't ask any one's permission. I went away soon after dinner, as you say, and returned soon after eleven. I went shooting. What have you to say about it?"
"Well, that ain't the worst, maybe. It was all wrong, but I reckon it wasn't the worst. Where'd ye go to? That's what I wanter know."
"Is that all? Now listen to me, Hammond! I don't like you, your looks, your talk, or your manners! You're a four-flusher, and I suspect you of being a crook. You have a bad eye, and I rather suspect that your reputation is rotten. You and your old shop and queer business can go to the devil, for all I care! I am quitting right now."
"Damn you!" cried Hammond in a cracked voice, coming swiftly out of his chair with the bread-knife in his hand and murder in his eyes.