Those were his words: "Something seemed to stop inside 'o me." He turned away without saying a word, walked back to strike headquarters, borrowed a revolver from a friend, and started out along the main road which led into the better part of the town.
"Did you ever hear o' Robert Winter ?" he asked.
"No," said I.
"Well, Robert Winter was the biggest gun of 'em all.

He owned the mills there and the largest store and the newspaper--he pretty nearly owned the town." He told me much more about Robert Winter which betrayed still a curious sort of feudal admiration for him, and for his great place and power; but I need not dwell on it here.

He told me how he climbed through a hemlock hedge (for the stone gateway was guarded) and walked through the snow toward the great house.
"An' all the time I seemed to be seein' my daughter Margy right there before my eyes coughing as though she was dyin'." It was just nightfall and all the windows were alight.

He crept up to a clump of bushes under a window and waited there a moment while he drew out and cocked his revolver.

Then he slowly reached upward until his head cleared the sill and he could look into the room.