It was a narrow room under the eaves in the ell. One cobwebby window looked southwest across the corner of Fanning’s pasture and over the wheat fields along the Emmetsburg road. The room smelled of preservatives and dry feathers and mice; it was a bed-chamber being transformed slowly into a lumber-room, a repository of household ghosts. Calf-bound books, scabby and worn, were stacked upon the spinet in the corner, and several oil paintings lay face down on the faded patchwork which covered the bed. A thin permeation of gathering dust whispered over everything. “Those trunks in the corner,” said Dan. “It’s the bottom one. Help me lift off this critter on top.”

They grasped the huge hair-trunk by its dry leather handles. Huddlestone’s face was suddenly pale, but he cemented his thin hands around the ring. Bale stared at him across the rounded top. “By God,” he said, “I forgot.”

Elijah’s lip curled. “Forgot what?”

“Look out!” ordered Dan. Rudely he shouldered Hud out of the way and threw his own weight against the trunk. It leaped, teetered, began to slide. “Look out,” gasped Dan again. With his shoulders against the bulk, he let it thud to the floor without too mighty a crash. The window casing jiggled lightly.

“I’m sorry, Hud.”

The thin man said, “Oh, don’t mind me.” He walked over to the window and stood looking out, and probably seeing nothing. “I think it’s better, anyway,” he mumbled. “I got something new a couple of months ago.” He turned and drew the loose cloth of his trousers tightly across his groin, so that Dan could see the shape of the truss which bunched underneath. “Old man Niede’s got more than one thing against me. Maybe I oughtn’t to blame him.”

“Tell him to go to the devil,” Dan said. He kept his face pushed down toward the trunk, and fumbled noisily with keys. Presently he threw back the lid, and a wave of camphor struck him in the eyes. He folded back the cold, limp garments, hunting and hunting.

Elijah scraped around for a few minutes, drumming on the window. Then Dan heard a metallic thud. Elijah had found a gun in the corner. “What’s this, Dan? Was it yours?”

“No. I don’t know—it’s just a musket.”

The rusty lock clicked. “Tell you,” said Elijah, “this is a Sixty-nine.”

“A what?”

“Buck-and-ball. A lot of the troops are using them now. She loads with three buckshot and a ball, or more if you want’em. She’ll shoot the daylights out of anybody at point-blank range.”