THE HUNDRED-AND-THIRTY-FOURTH PAGE

The rest of the day I was in a state of elation and apprehension. I had no doubt he was nearby. The discovery of the prey excited me. Then, too, from another’s eyes, I was the prey and I was afraid.

Once again, I took comfort in my books and selected several novels that I thought might be useful or inspiring. In an odd way, I thought that they felt betrayed. I had not recently or significantly increased their number, nor had I read very many in recent days. My fears were confirmed when I heard a reverberating crash on the second floor. It was only an ill-stacked pile of books that had toppled, but the weight of the complete works of Harold Frederic can make a thunderous sound. Books know when something’s wrong.

Alone, I had little more than a paring knife, a garden trowel, and the gun I’d bought in Maine.

I recalled I’d not bought munitions along with the gun as my sole, primary purchase was the one I’d bought as a city gift. Sending a loaded gun through the mails was a bit too dangerous, even though I had been skirting danger for more than a year. A trip to the munitions shop down the road supplied my needs, and I sat down on the couch to figure out how to load the thing. The dog watched.