Part 2

"I guess I'm not making my question clear," Robinson interrupted. "I mean, was it during hunting season?"

"It was last spring. We were plowing the north field."

"Were you carrying a gun?"

"No," Boody said, puzzled.

"That's what I thought."

Doctor Peterson was a frosty looking old chap with black rimmed specs and a grey beard.

"You about ready to go back to town, Doc?" Robinson asked.

Peterson grinned.

"After I drink all the coffee in sight," he said. "And it looks like I have."

Mrs. Boody was with them in the kitchen. The house was quiet.

"I've got to get gas and oil. Guess I'll follow you in," Robinson said.

"Good. The boy's all right. I'll be out again tomorrow. Ready to go?"

Outside the snow had finally stopped falling. The early morning was clear, with a promise of a bright day to come. Robinson started his car and warmed it up. The Doctor said good night to Mrs. Boody and came out to climb into his Model T. Robinson backed out slowly and followed the car down the road toward Indian River.

* * * * *

It was just daylight. Robinson left the car a mile from Rosewood and entered the woods. He had taken his time in town, found an all-night gas station to refuel his car and parked it here just as the sun came up, coloring the frosty, blue-gray hills above him.

Half a mile from the road he turned and entered the swamp where he had found Roy the day before. He started walking swiftly. He was weaponless, having left the rifle in his car. Two hours passed and he had penetrated deeply into the swamp.

He was cold. He had seen no fresh trails. A black squirrel chattered at him, and hid itself on the far side of a cedar tree. A fox hurried across his trail, a red blurr against the snow.

Far away, he heard the sudden dry "snap" of a twig. He found a stump and seated himself. He was very quiet. Suddenly an icy coldness penetrated his entire body. It wasn't the wind or the natural cold that troubled him now. It was the feeling of death--sudden death--poised only seconds away.

Death--behind him, and he dared not look around.

He waited perhaps sixty seconds, and they seemed like hours. He stood up very slowly and started to move his arms rhythmatically in a back and forth motion as though to restore circulation. At the same time, he made it evident to anyone--_anything_, looking at him, that he carried no weapon.

Then, without betraying fear, he turned.

Not ten feet away, poised with every splendid muscle tense and alert, was the biggest buck he had ever seen. The great animal stared at him without fear. Its antlers were held high.

The eyes frightened Robinson. They weren't soft, brown deer eyes. They were, instead, black and beady, like twin windows to Hell.

The head swung back. The hooves pawed at the snow. With a snort, the creature sprang into the air. Robinson ducked quickly to one side, but there was no reason for him to flee. The phantom buck, for he was sure the animal _was_ a phantom, moved past him with incredible speed and was gone in the forest. He was aware of a terrific burst of speed--of a perfectly proportioned body, and that was all.

For a long time, Robinson stood there by the stump. All the education that goes into a man, to bring him culture, was reviewing itself in his mind. All the hunter instinct drained out of him. There was only humbleness left, and respect for wild things.

He knew he would find no tracks, even though he forced himself to look for them. Six inches of untouched snow covered the spot where the phantom had stood.

Robinson shrugged and started back along the lengthy, circular trail to his car.

Norm Boody came out of the house with Roy Starr's rifle. They were all gathered beside the car. Roy, a trifle pale, was wrapped snugly, and resting on the rear seat. Glenn Starr sat beside Roy, his arm about Marjorie. Norma smiled at Glenn.

"I know a secret," she said.

"Better not tell it," Glenn made a pass at her with his open palm. Norma stepped back and laughed loudly.

"Glenn's a hero. He carried Marge out of the cruel woods. He carried her three miles, and now she's consented to marry him."

Glenn gave a war-whoop and started after her. Norma ran into the house and slammed the door.

"You may as well face it," Robinson said. "Roy isn't so weak that he can't kid the daylights out of you all the way home."

Pete Larson spoke from the far corner of the front seat.

* * * * *

"How about the little secret _you're_ keeping, Earl. That was quite a little research trip you took into the woods this morning."

Robinson looked startled.

"You didn't..."

Larson chuckled.

"When you and the doctor left last night, I was suspicious. I went down the road this morning and located your car. _I_ took along a gun for protection. Spent an hour in the swamp. Got tired of tracking you after that."

Norm Boody had been studying them curiously.

"Bill said you were asking a lot of questions last night, Earl."

Larson spoke again before Robinson could answer.

"Of course we all go at things a little differently," he admitted. "However, I got an idea that the phantom wouldn't attack a man who didn't carry a gun. Earl left his in the car when he went into the swamp."

Robinson nodded.

"I went into the swamp," he admitted. "I had an idea the phantom might be sort of a ghostly protector of the herd. We have quite a slaughter of deer up here every fall. It must be hard on them if they have any feeling at all. What's so damn much different between men killing deer, or a deer killing a man? If the Phantom exists, he's sort of a protecting angel--or a God. If I had met him ..."

"You didn't?" Norm Boody asked sharply.

Earl grinned.

"If I _had_ met him," he went on, "I guess I'd do something about it. I guess I'd think he was a pretty grand old guy, standing up to fight for his kind. I'd probably look him over and pray for mercy, and get the hell out of his domain. If I hunted again next year, I'd either find new territory, or prepare to get myself killed."

Norm Boody looked solemn.

"Well, I ain't much for hunting myself," he admitted. "But if I _did_ like to hunt, and I _believed_ a story like that, I'd leave my gun at home when I went into the woods. Ain't that the general idea?"

Roy Starr said weakly:

"Gosh, I'm getting awfully weak already. How about a shot of snakebite medicine."

Glenn found a half bottle and passed it around.

"Might as well finish it. My wife-to-be says I gotta stop drinking as soon as we're married."

"And where are _you_ hunting next year, Larson," Robinson asked.

Larson grinned.

"How about a good week hunting jack-rabbits? I don't think I'd be very scared if I met the God of the jack-rabbits, even if he did shoot fire out of the corner of his nostrils."