There were no precautions I could take before starting forth. I simply
bore my stout stick in my left hand, and kept my right in the side
pocket of my coat, clasping the handle of my revolver. That was all I
could do. A sense of foolhardiness enveloped me as I strode down from
the plateau along the tree-bordered, vine-grown way. Would a truly well
balanced person thus jeopardize his life? Most likely he would not. But
a certain recklessness of spirit had come upon me, begotten of the
Dryad's cruel absence, my long wait, and the abrupt aggressiveness of
Buck. When a man's temperament becomes surcharged with a sentiment of
this color, you may look for him to do things which had not even
bordered his existence in saner moods. As I proceeded without
molestation, a sort of dogged defiance gained ascendency and my head
went higher, while my face became set in a mask of determination.