No--that window was _not_ a perfect square. _Something had encroached
on the lower edge._ Nor was the ticking of the clock the only sound in
the room. There was, beyond dispute, a heavy breathing neither her own
nor poor Wolf's. Wolf slept very silently, and his wakeful wheezing was
unmistakable. Then Audrey saw against the stars the black, demoniac
silhouette of something anthropoid--the undulant bulk of a gigantic
head and shoulders fumbling slowly toward her. "Y'aaaah! Y'aaaah! Go away! Go away! Go away, snake-devil! Go 'way,
Yig! I didn't want to kill 'em--I was feared he'd be scairt of 'em. Don't, Yig, don't! I didn't go for to hurt yore chillen--don't come
nigh me--don't change me into no spotted snake!" But the half-formless head and shoulders only lurched onward toward the
bed, very silently. Everything snapped at once inside Audrey's head, and in a second she
had turned from a cowering child to a raging madwoman. She knew where
the ax was--hung against the wall on those pegs near the lantern. It
was within easy reach, and she could find it in the dark. Before she
was conscious of anything further it was in her hands, and she was
creeping toward the foot of the bed--toward the monstrous head and
shoulders that every moment groped their way nearer. Had there been any
light, the look on her face would not have been pleasant to see. "Take _that_, you! And _that_, and _that_, and _that_!" She was laughing shrilly now, and her cackles mounted higher as she saw
that the starlight beyond the window was yielding to the dim prophetic
pallor of coming dawn. *       *       *       *       *

Dr. McNeill wiped the perspiration from his forehead and put on his
glasses again. I waited for him to resume, and as he kept silent I
spoke softly. "She lived? She was found? Was it ever explained?" The doctor cleared his throat. "Yes--she lived, in a way. And it was explained. I told you there was
no bewitchment--only cruel, pitiful, material horror." It was Sally Compton who had made the discovery. She had ridden over to
the Davis cabin the next afternoon to talk over the party with Audrey,
and had seen no smoke from the chimney. That was queer. It had turned
very warm again, yet Audrey was usually cooking something at that hour. The mules were making hungry-sounding noises in the barn, and there was
no sign of old Wolf sunning himself in the accustomed spot by the door. Altogether, Sally did not like the look of the place, so was very timid
and hesitant as she dismounted and knocked. She got no answer, but
waited some time before trying the crude door of split logs. The lock,
it appeared, was unfastened; and she slowly pushed her way in. Then,
perceiving what was there, she reeled back, gasped, and clung to the
jamb to preserve her balance. A terrible odor had welled out as she opened the door, but that was
not what had stunned her. It was what she had seen. For within that
shadowy cabin monstrous things had happened and three shocking objects
remained on the floor to awe and baffle the beholder. Near the burned-out fireplace was the great dog--purple decay on the
skin left bare by mange and old age, and the whole carcass burst by the
puffing effect of rattlesnake poison. It must have been bitten by a
veritable legion of the reptiles. To the right of the door was the ax-hacked remnant of what had
been a man--clad in a nightshirt, and with the shattered bulk of a
lantern clenched in one hand. _He was totally free from any sign of
snake-bite._ Near him lay the ensanguined ax, carelessly discarded. And wriggling flat on the floor was a loathsome, vacant-eyed thing that
had been a woman, but was now only a mute, mad caricature. All that
this thing could do was to hiss, and hiss, and hiss. *       *       *       *       *

Both the doctor and I were brushing cold drops from our foreheads by
this time. He poured something from a flask on his desk, took a nip,
and handed another glass to me. I could only suggest tremulously and
stupidly:

"So Walker had only fainted that first time--the screams roused him,
and the ax did the rest?" "Yes." Dr. McNeill's voice was low. "But he met his death from snakes
just the same. It was his fear working in two ways--it made him faint,
and it made him fill his wife with the wild stories that caused her to
strike out when she thought she saw the snake-devil." I thought for a moment. "And Audrey--wasn't it queer how the curse of Yig seemed to work itself
out on her? I suppose the impression of hissing snakes had been fairly
ground into her." "Yes. There were lucid spells at first, but they got to be fewer and
fewer. Her hair came white at the roots as it grew, and later began to
fall out. The skin grew blotchy, and when she died----"

I interrupted with a start. "_Died?_ Then what was that--that thing downstairs?" McNeill spoke gravely. "_That_ is what was born to her three-quarters of a year afterward. There were three more of them--two were even worse--but this is the