CHAPTER 11.
The fifth summer was passing since we came down Paradise Road--the dog, Uncle Eb and I.Times innumerable I had heard my good old friend tell the story of our coming west until its every incident was familiar to me as the alphabet.

Else I fear my youthful memory would have served me poorly for a chronicle of my childhood so exact and so extended as this I have written.

Uncle Eb's hair was white now and the voices of the swift and the panther had grown mild and tremulous and unsatisfactory and even absurd.

Time had tamed the monsters of that imaginary wilderness and I had begun to lose my respect for them.

But one fear had remained with me as I grew older--the fear of the night man.