“I think you are very clever and wise, Grandad,” said the girl; and she glanced at Akerley with relief in her eyes.
Akerley felt relief, too. The heavy hitter was off his trail for the moment, at least. But something else worried him.
“About that devil,” he said, turning to Gaspard. “What makes you think it was a devil?”
“I heared it miles an’ miles away,” replied the old man, “It was a devilish sound, hummin’ all ’round in the dark. It was foretold to me long ago in a dream—how I’d be beset by a devil, an’ how I’d best ’im if I kep’ my eyes skinned an’ my gun handy. I ain’t afeared of ’im—but I was at first. I hid in the woods; but pretty soon that old dream come back to me about how a devil would beset me one day fer the cussin’, unbelievin’ ways o’ my youth, but how I’d surely git ’im in time if I kep’ after ’im.”
“What would you do if you found him?” asked Akerley.
The old man twitched a thumb toward the rifle against the wall.
“But if he’s a devil you couldn’t hurt him with a bullet.”
“Ye’re wrong. In my dream I shot ’im dead as pork. And now that I’ve told you all about that devil, young man, I’d like to hear more about yerself.”
“Have you ever heard of men flying in the air?”
“What’s that?” exclaimed Gaspard, with a swift change of voice and a queer, dangerous gleam in his gray eyes. “Men flyin’? No, I ain’t! Nor I don’t want to. Devils may go disguised, in lonely places as well as in towns, fer to dig pit-falls fer the feet of men. But men can’t fly!”