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pictures cut from newspapers. Shelving filled with dishes—covered with papers with the edges scalloped and crimped—behind the cook stove in the corner. A slab of bacon hanging over a can of flour, a box beside the stove filled with great chunks of wood—all told of comforts that were his for the taking. A pair of slippers, run down at the heel, and an apron thrown across the back of a chair showed that a woman’s presence had graced the room not long before.
The Killer's eyes fell upon the opening leading to another room. Cautiously he drew his gun and tiptoed toward the faded curtain which served as a door. A board creaked beneath his weight. He stopped short, every nerve tingling.
From behind the curtain came a groan. Then a woman's voice, plaintive, pain-racked:
"Is that you, William?"
The Killer made no answer. With body hunched forward, poised on the balls of his feet, his glittering black eyes never left the curtained opening. His gun was well in front of him, his thumb on the hammer.
"Why don’t you answer me, William?" came the voice again, "Please hurry. You have been gone so long and I'm so sick."
The Killer twisted his body to one side of the opening where he would be partly out of range.
"It's not William," he answered gruffly. "'’m a stranger lost in the storm. Are you alone?"
The woman gave a startled cry, "Yes—Oh! God, yes!" she answered. "And I'm sick—awful sick. Please help me."
“Are you armed?” asked The Killer,
Without waiting for an answer, he picked up the lamp and, stuffing the gun back into his pocket—but with fingers still locked around the butt—he pushed aside the curtain and entered.
The woman who lay between the coverlets was young. Jut now her face was drawn with pain and pinched with cold. A startled look appeared in her eyes as the grim visage of The Killer appeared within range of her vision, and she shrank back closer to the wall. The Killer stepped closer to the bed and eyed her questioningly.
"Hump!" he grunted. "Fire! Hot water! Pans?—where are they?"
He lighted a lamp which stood on a stand near the bed, the woman's eyes following every move, filled with wonder and fear.
"Are you a—a doctor?" she asked weakly.
The Killer smiled wryly. Then he
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