they thought that brand wanted to be left to himself, and to give him time to unhitch his horse they made a pretense of hanging about in the doorway while bosworth searched his pockets for a pipe he had no mind to light.

but brand turned back to them as they lingered. “you’ll meet me down by lamer’s pond tomorrow?” he suggested. “i want witnesses. round about sunset.”

they nodded their acquiescence, and he got into his sleigh, gave the horse a cut across the flanks, and drove off under the snow-smothered hemlocks. the other two men went to the shed.

“what do you make of this business, deacon?” bosworth asked, to break the silence.

the deacon shook his head. “the man’s a sick man — that’s sure. something’s sucking the life clean out of him.”

but already, in the biting outer air, bosworth was getting himself under better control. “looks to me like a bad case of the ague, as you said.”

“well — ague of the mind, then. it’s his brain that’s sick.”

bosworth shrugged. “he ain’t the first in hemlock county.”